memo to busy wee-me


this pathless path has only three signposts
and they don’t point to any-thing or any-place:


shut up


into the unknowable Knowingness that you already are, that you are, that you are,
that you are


sitting in the dawn-blushed sanctuary
sitting on the zafu:  point zero
sitting with the rhythm of Life’s breath
sitting with hum, furnace of the universe
sitting with so, silver singing silence

sitting ’til the sitter is the sitting
and the blushing and the breathing
and the hum-ing and the silence
and there is only Beloved’s Beingness
and wee-me is a thought-galaxy yet to be invented


sitting as suchness


sitting at 2am, at 3am, at 4am

awareing distant thunder-rolls
pattering rain, the throb
of body-beat
the sweet silver singing
on the other side of thinking

watching the dance
of candle flame and curling
smoke from incense stick

the soft shifting shadow-shapes on
brick, the floating lace on invisible

at 5am the first timorous bird wakes the kookaburras who are sleeping late this dull dawn, and the chorus of craw, cackle, warble and trill begins

at 6am the eastern rim is softly lit
the earth stirs, exhales, mist rises

I make tea


mooning, hair on end


standing in my backyard at the balmy tropical dusk-hour, my gaze gluing itself on a row of pines that underlines the eastern sky and something happening that stands my hair on end and obliterates every trace of mental activity leaving nothing knowable save the ceaseless singing continuo of the Being-field

the full moon rising


song of silence


silver singing silence

punctuated by call of dove
and craw of crow
laughter of jogger and roar of truck

embroidered by pen scribbling
by sun peeking through lillypilly
by flicker of shadows on brick

felt by this throbbing body’s beat-land

known by this unlit Light as its Beingness
brought to Awareness


silver singing silence