Forever Never

We all know what happens next.
We are going to become creation.
We are going to become God.
We are going to invent God.
God is going to invent us,
then fall into matter,
becoming you/me/us.
We will become one.
We will become not-two.
It will happen in slow motion.
It's going to take forever.
It's never going to end.
It already happened,
in the blink of an eye,
like a thought balloon
in a cartooniverse
that suddenly inflates and disappears.
Once upon a time,
We started to live forever.
We became eternity.
We were no longer physical beings.
We were made of astral light.
There was no time, only spaciousness.
We all fell in love with each other.
We all made love with each other
over and over again
in every different position
and permutation.
We knew everything that ever happened
or could happen.
We were so curious and creative.
We loved each other so very much.
There was enough time for everything.
We were so patient and meticulous.
We took the time to do everything perfectly
like carving an incredible temple
on the peak of a jagged mountain,
constructing a sand mandala,
finding a new subatomic particle
in a gigantic super-collider.
Like ice skating on the edge of a cliff,
like skydiving,
like kissing the first girl you've always loved so much.
Like kissing her again,
like kissing her again,
like kissing her again.
Like being young again,
and again,
eternally.
Like starting over.
Like seeing everything for the first time,
knowing it for the first time.
Like settling on other worlds.
We always knew that creation was perfect
even when we chose to forget it,
but we decided to become that creation -
to feel such absolute compassion
for each starfish
for each snow flake
for each infant being
for each ancient being
for being itself.
How hard it is to be, at times.
We learned to love and forgive
everything about ourselves,
including our faults and demons,
as we purified and overcame them,
over successive incarnations,
in innumerable universes,
just for the sake of attaining
impartial angelic severity,
for the experience of attaining grace,
serenity, salvation,
enlightenment and illumination.
We always knew it would end like that,
Because nothing ever began,
and it happened over and over again,
eternally - but so lightly and gracefully,
Just enough for the illusion of matter
And the matter of illusion
To join together. Later on,
we apologized to ourselves
for allowing the illusion of suffering
to hurt us so deeply,
temporarily.
He and she and we
Were the greatest artists ever known.
We made it all possible.
We conceived all of it
Without thought or effort.
Whatever we imagined simply happened.
Sometimes this seemed unbearable and tedious
So we self-created nothingness and plunged back into it,
that ever-renewable,
self-replenishing fountain,
that swallowed us up
into infinity, until
we remembered we had made a date
on Mulberry Street
in the cold winter rain
with a woman in a blue coat
whose eyes were like starlight
whose soul was poetry
on a planet in a solar system in a galaxy,
and how could we miss that appointment,
even if it required
inventing things like
hydrogen, carbon, and oxygen,
gravity and neutrinos,
desires and dreams,
then finding a cab to get us crosstown?

Void

The eternal ecstasy of the Void
Subsumes all into it,
Expels all from it;
Nothing exists - outside of it.
It is not a thing or a way or a path.
It is unconditional.
One response to it is terror -
But that is meaningless.
You can surrender to it, knowing
You were always surrendered to it. 
Even God emerges out of it
And sinks back into it.
Does the Void have a memory, a color, a feeling-tone? 
No, it has none of those things. 
It contains everything
without containment. 
The Void is the effortless answer
to no question. 
God, consciousness, creation - 
so many colorful distractions,
flimsy dissipations. 
The Void doesn’t even try 
to consume or obliterate them. 
Beyond death, beyond nonbeing, 
Beyond any quality that can be named, 
any shape or form, beyond any duality, 
just the limitless, unbounded, unrealizable.

Love is perhaps the last tone one recognizes
as one passes into it.

Madness is just a stage one goes through
on the way to equanimity, stability
in the face of it.

We are already annihilated in its
crystalline feathery infinity - 
we are already reconstituted
in trillions upon trillions
of puppet show worlds,
playing these little parts, 
strutting our hour out.

When you unite with it,
You become it. 
You no longer try, strive, crave, swoon. 
You have no place to go.

How sacred this moment is: 
Listen to it.

July 19, 2015

After the End of It

In the desecrated places
In the lost lands
in the willingness to bear witness
in the forgetting of it
in the time of the amplitude
the ancestral remembering 
walking into the nowness of the softening
the willing wondering
in the time of this desecration
this holy time
this pig shit time
in the faces of the puppets in the wandering
in the spaces between places
in this rusted nail time
resurrection time
animal time
in the night into which it unfolds
day by night by day
in the longing, the craving, for this unraveling
in the knowing of the cruelty
in the wandering
in the time after the time of it
in the city after the end of it
the end of time the forgetting of it
in the mother and the father of it
in the breaking of the seals and the vestiges
in the wondering time
he who in his speaking knowing believing passes into it
she who in her clawing calling gnawing pulses through it
there where vast space encloses
the sphere in which we enter into it
the tomb in which time unwinds
the wind in which crime unbinds
no sin anywhere found 
no forgiveness either
only repetition of gesture, tone
as winter freezes a bird’s shadow
as god stops the heart of a nation
with one dark bloom
it is only this unheard stillness
in the embracing of it
relinquishing it

July 8, 2015