Surrender has already happened.
You did not do it.
Before this breath,
a boundless invisible flower
blossomed all around you,
releasing the miraculous pollen
of the ordinary.
Enjoy the fragrance called
'Just What Is.'
Don't worry about who
surrendered, who fell into
this bottomless ageless cup
of sweetness,
and is still falling, still falling
through utter silence...
If Truth could be spoken
by words and thoughts,
this earth would not be teeming
with trees, birds, mist,
distant mountains,
the glory of dust.

Naked Beholding

"Behold the lilies of the field, how they grow." ~Jesus
Jesus wants you to really look
at the wild poppy,
the lake, the mountain,
to see the gentle explosion
of your own wonder,
a torrent of sparkling pixels,
particles of bliss in the void.
Keep perception nameless.
Turn the ordinary
into the miraculous
with a pure naked beholding.
Enter the wilderness of breath
where subject and object
meet like lovers in a kiss,
and your Bodhisattva mind
is blue sky unclouded
by thoughts.
There is no world of things.
Take a walk in deep silence,
each step a healing gift
awakening the seeds.

Photo of Mt. Rainier by Alex Noriega


However you worship,
take a blessed breath
of the newborn light
that is never even one
moment old!


To those who are alone
on Christmas,
please understand
that we are
all alone,
yet we share
one breath.
It is our core, our
essence to be alone.
And our aloneness
contains the stars.


Why does the flame
in the temple of the heart
need no oil?
Because it drinks
from the radiance
of the Self.


When the mind stops
names and stories
onto the ordinary,
miracles arise,
"I" and "it" dissolve
in the wonder of Thou,
and a raindrop has
no boundaries.


Listen to evening fall.
Listen to darkness come.
Listen to the stars.
Beyond the farthest faintest sound,
listen to silence.
Listening cleanses the mind
of thought.
Listening awakens
the sparkling grace
of the present moment...
What was that troubled dream
of the world
swept away
by this breath?


The only question that matters is,
will you hold your last breath
in resistance,
or give it away
in gratitude?
The answer is how
you do it now.
Each exhalation a departure,
each inhalation a gift.
Dying and living are not two.
At the still point between
it is always solstice.
Take in the Winter moon.
Give back the night.
Listen to the birthless seeds
singing to the sun
all through the long
good darkness.


You got in here by following the rules.
You'll get out by breaking them.

It's a privilege to be born in a body,
the weight of skin, ephemeral
and dark as ununoctium.

But your greatest adventure is beyond
the rim of light, unboundedness.

Dear one, when you go, please leave
an echo of your song, the way a fallen
petal leaves the scent of jasmine,

so that those who truly listen to
what's hidden in silence will close

their eyes to savor this breath
and hear you call from deep inside,
"Don't follow, just dissolve."


Please, no more saviors.
Please, no more heroes.
We don't need them now.
If everyone simply does
their own task
with care,
whenever possible
performing small acts
of kindness,
the world will blossom
with a mad sweet fragrance!

Journey of the Magi

Drop the reins
of your mind.
Let the camel of your breath
lead you.
Follow the star that rises
over the mountain in your brow
through the empty desert
of longing
into the dark valley of your chest.
Something unspeakable
is born there,
and a lady is gazing down
into the straw
where beams fall upward
into her face, that face
bemused and grateful,
not so much with a look
of astonishment
as of certainty
that nothing could ever
surprise her again.
There, you could bow
and drink from the well
of wonder
gushing out of the earth.

Painting: 'Adoration of the Child' by Gerrit Van Honthorst,
1620, Uffizi Gallery, Florence


"If the birth of Christ happens not
in me, what does it profit me?"
~Meister Eckhart, 14th C.

Christ is born
as the light of
pure awareness
in the womb
of silence between
your thoughts.
Now be the mother
of your own heart.


O my Soul,
why do you belabor
this petty distinction
between darkness and light?
Find the Beloved
who is nearer than your body,
whose joy was yours
before night or day.
Sun, moon and stars
rise and set in her silence.
Have you not tasted
the whole sky in a breath?
From brilliant threads
of invisible love
spin all these worlds
in the space of your heart.
Consider that you, you also,
could mother creation
just through the work
of being still...

Madonna by Masacchio


You don't have to melt
until you are ready.
Every pain in your flesh,
every numb stiff resistance,
every emotion of anger, envy
or shame, each staunch
opinion or belief
is just a part of you
that is afraid to melt,
afraid to lose I-dentity.
You don't have to melt
until you are ready.
But know this, friend:
when every particle dissolves
you are not gone.
You are God,
watching your glorious body

Demon Kiss

Kiss your demons
and they will turn 
into dark angels.
Drive your dark angels away
and they will return
as demons.
Lust is not a demon
but a dark angel filled
with un-created star nectar.
Anger is not a demon
but a dark angel filled 
with healing fire.
Grief is not a demon
but a dark angel who carries
an ocean of love in her jar.
Depression is not a demon
but a dark angel whose
river of wisdom runs
deep under the earth.
Addiction is not a demon
but a dark angel bearing gifts
of empathy and compassion
beneath her broken wings.
If you do not bow
to your dark angels
you have to act them out
and they possess you.
But if you bow to them
they breathe through you
and dissolve into the energy
of awakening.
You possess them.
Beware of 'enlightened' teachers
who claim to have no darkness.
They lead you into the darkness
that they hide...
A true teacher
will never estrange you
from your dark angels.
A true teacher empowers you
to taste the wine of night
and bow to your own humanity.
Then you are blessed and born
on earth.


Please make mistakes.
In your golden latticework
of wounds
you look more shattered
and beautiful.
A trellis of cracks
on the mirror of God
gives each reflection 
intricate wings.
One appears as many there
because we dare to stumble.
Surely, love grows vines
on the arbor of our
broken places
making wine of sorrow.

Photo by the surrealist, Martha Macha


Truth is wild and free.
Truth is not known
but un-known
through boundlessness.
What is meditation?
It is not concentration
but expansion,
the opposite of concentration.
Not effort but surrender.
Not even the effort
to be effortless.
The vast blue space
of divine awareness
is already here.
Just be light as a cloud
and dissolve
in the Sky you are.
The first and last instruction
was given by the sage
Ashtavakra: "Layam vajra,"
Dissolve now!
This is not a poem.
It is just the Truth.

Your Name

Stop being so intelligent!
Putting capital letters after your name
will make it taste no sweeter
on a lover's lips.
The wisest teacher tells you everything
in a single syllable
whispered in your ear
for the price of a flower.
Whoever spoke the moon and stars
into their joyous dance
first held all that could be known
in a breath of silence.
You were there, spinning in that
womb of prayer.
Why do you claim to know anything
when you can't even remember
your true Name?

Painting by Mahmoud Farschian


Keep returning to Me here
where I am You.
Don't feel for something in your chest.
Don't look for the comet trail of a breath.
Don't pray.
Just fall through the 'O!'
where every prayer begins.
And don't push out the shadow.
Let her ocean of darkness en-womb you,
tumbling your jagged crystal brilliance
into a rounder saltier stone,
opaque transparency embracing
the confusion of the un-resisted storm.
Please, don't try to still your mind.
Silence is already here,
preceding the moment
when you look.
You ever rest where songs arise.
All instruments attune
to one trembling note -
my Name -
the sound of not trying.
Don't kill desire.
Only dive into crimson chaos,
the poise between your ventricles,
where countless pistils glisten
at the center of the musk rose.
Don't you remember?
You've been releasing this fragrance
into the garden
for six billion years!

Photo by Kristy Thompson


Mary, you thought He was
the gardener,
But He was the garden.
Every seed knows this.
When Creature and Creator
both get thirsty,
you meet here by a well.
He loves you because
you've had countless paramours
yet you remain alone, lingering
between breaths.

He asks you for a drink.
Here's the secret -
You are his thirst.
The well is your own chest.

Painting by Frank Wesley

Remains (A poem from 'Wounded Bud')

Of your mother and father all that remains
is you.
Of the bee and flower, just honey.
Of the master and disciple only
a quivering white stream
pouring from bowl to cup.
Why ask if there are one or two?
Compare us, my beauty, to melting snow.
Give up perfection, take up laughter and tears.
Drown in what you are.

Why Sing?

 Music is the breath of the planet.
 Bend and be hollow.
 Why have you received this
 gift of longing?
 To let some vast green Spirit
 play the frail reed
 of your body...