the flowering of the senses


butt on cushion
body is one vast eye

the eye of I

body is a thousand-armed antennae

the hearing of I

body is perfume-breathing breath

the nectar-nose of I

body is an ocean of tentacles

the feeling, touching and tasting of I


I sees, hears, smells, feels this new day

without a trace of any yesterdays.


I is this new day.


suddenly the eyes of the ‘I’ are open


darkness to light,
night to day
the dawning light
that will display the appearance of the daytime world
is never in a hurry

it arrives in its own sweet time,
gradually and graciously, then,
all-of-a-sudden – it’s here!


waking up to one’s true identity is similar:

impossible to achieve,
yet ripeness ripens
via some-non-thing we call Grace
and suddenly the eyes of the ‘I’ are open

et voila!

that can never again be caught napping


one vast transparent eye


‘eye-I’ melts into the world
as one
vast transparent eye

‘me-mind’ constantly tries
to drape its veils of memory-weave
over the vastness

yet – not so constantly now…
less and less often
and with notable absence of conflict

the idea of ‘my-me’ fades
‘eye-I’ flowers
and this flowering is all there is