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Dance With It

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The final apocalypse has already happened. The Last Judgment transpired a moment ago, in your diaphragm, as you exhaled.  The End of the World  is now, a sunbeam shattered through the prism of a dragonfly’s wing, scattering colors on a still pond. Creation ever dissolves in the tranquility of chaos.  All that exists is a glorious explosion of free energy, which is Love. When you are doing what you truly love, are you not living in the End Time? Skiing through powdery snow, knees and spine in fluid sync, effortless yet concentrated, leaning into every graceful parallel just so; or in the heart of the game, dribbling through the defense, feinting a shot over here, then firing a pass precisely  over there,  without even looking,  to your teammate  whom you somehow see beyond seeing in the synergy of consciousness that unites us all without diminishing the uniqueness of each; or when your spirit and body unite at the molten core of love-making: in that mo...
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Small (A Poem, and Video)

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    Knowing makes you small. Big spirits mutter in amazement, mantras like, “WTF?” and, “I have no idea,” their windows and doors wide open, letting wind blow seeds in. Some meet the Master and start building earthworks right away with sandbags of mind dust and suspicion bones. Others see a long-lost Friend, scent jasmine and let their last breath go, falling into dazzled silence, dark as the soul of Beauty. From that moment on they’re breathed by an Other who is deeper inside them  than memories of birth or death. Sun floods earth, one perfect beam for each awakening bulb. It depends on how ready you are to burst open and fill the air with the fragrance of your Unknowing. Listen, dear, this world is a dry cocoon. Soon it will crack and shatter, spilling up into golden air the crinkled rainbows you've kept holding too long  in your chest. Give up certainty. Just unfold. Photo: A visitor in my backyard
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Lilith (For the Day After International Woman's Day)

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I will not stop at your skin. I won't turn back at the dazzle of your purity, that most subtle  substance of erotic fire. I pass through your locks and doors, a villain of galaxies scattered in your thimbleful of brownest loam. I imbibe You, not the color  of your flock, or scent of your  ancestral herd. I taste the smoke of your true  volcano, your voice, not the missing tooth in your old harp of chromosomes. I must see mountains melt  and tumble down your spine from the death's head of wisdom to the broken pomegranate in your birth valley. Smell the musk of your tears, hearken your bloody drum throbs, flutes in your panther walk as you shoulder all darkness  between stars,  and growl down black paths  through the core of Andromeda, which is the core of every proton  in my body.  I insist on beholding the smokeless  undulant flame of your form as it scorches my eye,  feeling the pai...
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For International Woman's Day

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  Can you pour the ocean into a thimble? Can you honor Woman in one day? The whole lifespan of Allah, Shiva, Yahweh is one breath in her eternity. Earth spins on her spine of stillness. Planets circle their suns because her darkness is awake. Stars drip from the rim of her bowl. We drank from her silence before we were conceived, trillions of galaxies suspended like dust in the golden beam of her gaze. When She closes her eyes, there is fullness. When she opens them, we dance.
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No Timeline (Video)

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You are not in time. Time is in you. You are not a tick of the clock.  You are the Witness of past, present, and future.  
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