The Iron Rhinoceros

Known to no one
The Iron Rhinoceros
Was hollow
To the eyes that no one sees
Though sacred
That the sun would worship itself
In the sheen
Upon the dark reflections
Of shadows
In great shoulders to that strength
So bound to a horn so long
For pale phallic dreamers
Who know that musk is the nectar of sweet halos

That would drown even a butterfly 

Moonlight Sonata

 

She played with her fingers
Upon the wooden table
As though it were a piano
But he could hear the music
As his eyes lulled
And she smiled
Knowing that he did
As the world outside the window
Faded away
For she knew what he did not yet know himself
That he loved her
As she played more beautifully than ever before 

The Prodigal Son

One need not die to go to hell
Everyone can have as much as they need
Nor is it a punishment from God
But rather the curriculum
Of the universe
Where one learns the falsehood
Of what is thought
To be true
The result of a great forgetting
Knowing the tree of knowledge, but not
The Tree of Life within
For that which is seen,
Is not as it appears
And for That Which Is, there are no words
When we desire to know
Our true Self
We find there is nothing outside us
All is consciousness
All is a projection of the mind
And there is no evil
But its illusion in our own heart
He that knows this truth
Becomes the Light
Because only Light can know the Light
And it is this ‘Absolute’ that we surrender to:
Unconditional Love
Where there is nothing to judge
Everything is allowed to happen as it does
And no moment will ever be
More divine or perfect
As all problems and sorrows
Are transcended
And beauty is seen as never before
No longer do we seek
Or wait for heaven
For we are the Eternal, and always have been
And when this is known
The Prodigal Son comes home
He has awakened
From the dream of life
To the ecstatic radiance that is his immortal heritage
One need only to knock at the door within
And ask to know the ultimate Reality

Fragile

 

Almost
Weightless
With an unquiet hunger
Like a glass heart
    that lingers
Or a fragile half-god
Not knowing that something
    is inherently
flawed
In the motionless moment
And the too silent waiting
    to cross
    the ever narrowing
    way
Of something more
    or less
And too delicate
For the unknown fate
Only to be followed by the grasses
    of yesterday
And intricate scents to ponder
Past the legends of life
    that whisper
Into the grayness of twilight
Where all drifts intently
   and falls

The Scar

 

The moment returns
The ragged knife and its hunger
Pathetic at the end
Though innocent lips before
Like an intersection
Of unexpected blood and pain
That smells all the same
To the butcher of life
And love’s shadow
But it is ourselves in the sink’s landscape
That fades to a sleeveless scar
Eventually forgotten until seen
Half-remembrance deeper than the scar itself

I Am the Self

I Am the Self
that has awakened
from the sleep of non-existence
which once thought
itself apart
from all things
I Am the One Presence
That Which Is
beyond all seen phenomena
The supreme knowledge
that thought
cannot contain
The true seat of Being
The temple of That beyond God
The Light
That Is all things
for nothing exists in the universe
that does not rise within me
I Am the Eternal Knower
That which was never born nor ever dies
That which never changes
though I abide in the radiant bliss of Nothingness

  

The Gatekeeper

 

It was raining purple trees
There would be no kiss today
Or paper sentimentals
Dedicated to the edges of the heart
As the spider dared
To peak out of its hole
But the would-be crushing blow
Was not as fast as the many-eyed Medusa
That should have now
Been on the valley floor
This spy and keeper of secrets
Ever watching
Which probably knew as well of the floods
Across young innocence
Still heard in the distant trains and empty seashells
Buried in albums now left to dust
But the rain will soon end
And the spider-web over heaven will still be there
With its god that is not able to tell itself apart from what it sees
As it waits for tomorrow’s dispute
Made of ancient repetitions

Physician, Heal Thyself

Physician, heal Thyself
For That Which Is
Is Perfect
Only the shadow of ego
Perceives something less than Perfect:
The sickness
And poverty
That comes from hate
And fear.
Self-realization reveals True Reality
Where these things do not exist;
There is only
The One Radiant Being
That Which Is
And that sees only Perfection
All has always been Perfect
And there is nothing that is not Perfect
For All is the Self,
All is the Absolute,
All is God.
The name matters not
But the truth is your Self,
Your very Being;
Thus, waste no time thinking of dis-ease,
Or of anything
Less than Perfection
For Love knows not dis-ease,
And the truth will make you whole.                                 

A Fact of Sunlight

The darker the water
The clearer the reflection
Of the face
A fact of sunlight
The day does not know
And that thought
Only worth 
The mind that would hold it
Like a god of ten-thousand eyes
Not yet seeing as one ~
And if there be a last thought above all others
With none thereafter
Let it be the taste of beauty I have known
For I can still smell her in the fragrance of her footsteps