Spirit writing, spirit drawing
a light player plays.
Playing color, opening fruit
vibrations of transparency.
Spirit made, playing matter.
What does it matter for matter to matter.
It needs to be played by spirit.
Is your shadow of serious getting in the way again?
Laying down tobacco, call in the empty vessel.
Allow the breath to become the holy flute.
Unadorned, animated by wind, open to the dirt of being.
Step through shadow to play as light.
Unknown knowing, mastery in play, awaken out of your mind.
See the sea through the black hole, open eye of unknowing knowing.
Can you open to hearing as a flute opens to breath warm and lush?
The landscape of color traveling through spirals of sea shell to register where?
Where in your mind palace does hearing occur?
Yard bird calls to lawnmower’s,
Crepe Myrtle pour color as vibrating waves of pink on arching front porch.
No one comes to notice.
Only the yard man to spray chemical mist,
spraying away the very bee’s that create the bloom.
All matter of buzzing stops.
Yet color vivid, vibrates still.
What color vibrates, red, pink or purple?
Are you healed by seeing?
Can bird song open your heart?
Where do you long to be?
Energy of color vibrating you of hidden hills.
The house at the bottom of the drive.
A river of light flowing from north to south.
Owls nesting in the east canopy.
Red, red, all ages of red, barking chirps to each other and to me.
Finding the hidden places to rebirth the union.
Seeing the lines in the air as the birds arch to and fro.
Stillness are hills hidden, no bother of city noise or light of night.