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.


‘I’ is toad toading …


The brick paving in the little enclosed garden outside the sanctuary is alive with Life.  Tiny, tiny toads, about the size of my little finger nail, are doing their thing.  How they hop on those barely-there back legs!  What power, what precision!  What sort of a world is perceived by that minute nervous system?

Suddenly, this is there and that

and ‘I’ is toad toading . . .

Kookaburra starts cackling and breaks the spell;
goes off into great gurgling hoots of kookaburra-speak.

And again, this is there and that

and ‘I’ shakes with the cackles . . .

Life’s the only player here,
living the wild wonderment
of the ten thousand things.


can you hear the grass growing?


folded up on my zafu
eyes wide open
senses alive, alert
brain like a tuning fork
resonating, singing –
the pitch is off the scale
(can you hear the grass growing?
can you bear the pressure
inside a swelling dewdrop?)

sitting, breathing, being:
– the dawning of a soft new day

– body breathing itself sigh by sigh

– the hub of heaven’s heartbeat

shining sunbeams on skin
where just a breath before
was cool darkness

waking up is just like that


there is no eye that can see ‘I’


‘I’ embodies everything that can be perceived and thereby known and experienced
‘I’ is the transparent diamond aware-ing of perception’s play
which includes the appearance of an objective perceiver with its objective perceptions

‘me’ is one of perception’s objects, just as are ‘you’ and ‘them’

but ‘I’ is not any-thing objectively
– there is no eye that can see ‘I’ –
and can never be known

‘me’ spends its life looking for ‘I’
calling IT God, Spirit, Reality, Beloved –
(108 names, I’m told)
until the savage wisdom of the ages
arises, re-organizing the brain:

ne’er the twain can meet

for ‘I’ is all-there-is


eyes feast on the vastness of ‘I’


a tardy arrival on the cushion today
the sun is already painting luminous shadow-patterns on the grass
and highlighting the fullness and busyness of space:


insects zoom
feathers float
blossoms drop
webs glisten
birds dart
leaves shimmer


eyes feast on the vastness of ‘I’



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