Adrift in this leaky vessel
sea worthy
but small

A clay sieve
the light moves through
holding larger things
within

All the smaller pieces
get through
along with that which flows

Adrift
awash
a modest craft
drowning
and surfacing
again

A cracked pot
the light gets in
that cannot hold the water
back or within

Fear and its rabid hunger
Hunger and its pitting fear
wind together
relentlessly
endlessly
wanting

Is this how we speak?

What will sate this appetite?

It is not you
that requires this
eternal filling up
and emptying out

The invisible empty grail
(suspecting that your thirst
is unquenchable)
floats inside its own emptiness
cleans the plate of you
on which it rests.

In the deep kindness of asana
the flow of air
in
out
the gentle touch
of body and breath
entwined
and
dancing together
no one
lagging behind
no one
catching up

here the most loving posture
is you
quiet
awake
alone in the room
here there is only you
discovering yourself
like the first blossoms of laurel
in spring
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

this unfolding movement
arms
hands
fingers
skin
hips
thighs
knees
feet
toes
oh!
more skin!
what lies beneath this?!

this is not a competitive sport
not with your neighbor
on the mat next door
- don't even try showing yourself up
there is no one here watching
and if
just if, there was
only love could wind its way through
the maze of limbs
and
this still breath
this quiet heart

wrapped snugly
in the blanket
of non-belonging
non-knowing
non-believing
non-escape

freedom still
just a taste on the tongue

as the blanket is torn to shreds
(dust in the windless wind)
all remains tossed into the vast
nothing snug about it
loose and sailing
free-falling
gone

freedom now just
another word
meaningless
still
beautiful

Feeling like a whirling dervish
turned to stone
a pillar of salt
not moving a hair

grinning out loud
the only prayer that comes
is this!

I cannot find you anywhere
walking up and down
the tree-lined streets
there is everything to see
but you.

I imagined that all
your old familiar haunts
had closed down
too empty without you
everyone gone mourning

but moving toward the window
there is only the space
now empty of you
and full of others
living it up
as if you'd never been

I long to knock hard
on the glass
to cry out loud
to scream your name
remind them of your
infinite goodness
fearless loyalty
undying love
infectious laugh
devoted friendship
everything you gave your life to

but knocking doesn't happen
crying doesn't happen
screaming doesn't happen
no one will hear me

there is only this empty space
here
where you and I
have never been.

A parade marched through the town.
Everywhere was music:
LOUD
dancing and singing
brass bands playing
and kettle drums
boom budda boom budda boom.
Multi-colored lanterns
exquisitely bright and beautiful
designed and made
with magical hands
sewing magical threads
onto magical bits of nothing
and oh, those play people
designed to look like others
riding busy bicycles
some with real wheels
some with imaginary ones
how on earth
will we know
which ones can be ridden somewhere
in particular
and which ones are just for fun?
laughing out loud
at their bright beauty
and streams of thinking flow:
Hey, I've got nowhere to go anyway!
I'll take three candy apples
oh, and one with caramel
and that silly hat there
and the electric blue one
the one with the made-up wheels
rainbow crepe-paper and hibiscus
tucked in the spider-web spokes
and ride off up to the moon
like the kid in ET.

--dedicated to Chantelle Rytter, with love and appreciation for your magic

It is clear to see
and sometimes painful to watch
the throes of agony
he endures
in order to know.
He says he will quit soon
because exhaustion
and this endless torment
might be getting the best of him.

On some afternoons still
he knocks on the door
of someone who appears to know.
This one who appears to know
has burned all of her books
taken her certificates down
and protests loudly to have
only the knowledge of nothing at all.

She shares this lack of knowledge
along with cups of peppermint-nettles-nothing tea.
Sometimes the visitor cries hard
because of his belly full of dredged-up grief
sometimes because of his unresolved joy
occasionally he laughs out loud at his own folly
and is precious and earnest if nothing else.
Mostly, he comes for the tea.
This is known by the one who knows nothing
based upon often finding the empty cup
placed mindfully on the table by the door.

You there lurking in the shadows
the light throws
on the walls of your own becoming.

The spiny figures flashing on the wall
are you, dear
hiding away
from your own
blinding beauty,
running hard.

Shall we hazard a guess?
Is that a searchlight in your hands?
Please, I invite you not to flip the switch.
Not this time.

If you could only see 
that out there in the deep 
empty darkness of mystery
nothing glows without you

It awaits 
with wonder
you to carry your walking, waking presence,
your very birth and being
across the threshold of nothing
into the open arms of beauty.