Winebowls

[Guest guest]

Called to the window

by the Moon-splitting Eye,

 

I tendril-turned my melon-self

to face the Eastern Shams rising.

 

The Sun from Nowhere shone in me.

i began to shimmer-shudder everywhere at once.

 

When His Face cracked open -

A jungle-melon Smile,

 

It swallowed the day and night -

Just so many seeds.

 

Spit them in the wind!

i see them break into swifts and terns,

 

turning into me, turning into Winebowls

sitting on a ledge

 

of plum-lipped Surrender.

i spill my SweetWine into You.

 

 

 

......Come closer, my love

and let me whisper to you

about the world beyond

Peach Blossom River -

far from the scent of your own

awaiting funeral pyre,

past the taboo place in the

Forest of Ancient Light,

across the cool Plateau of Mirrors

where the Deva Murti rituals

spontaneously ignite.

 

Do not be misguided -

this nowhere place remains unknown

to the Sorcerer of Attention and the

Shamans of the Flower of Alchemy.

 

If even the secret shout

"O'Chi Wa!"

cannot touch it, how much less

the Lullaby at the

Sandman Soiree?

 

You have journeyed far from the

Domain of Odd Glances

where the owls are not

what they appear.

 

You have abandoned cloud

sculpting to the Sky Aesthetist,

and the ghost of the host

with the intriguing duality axioms

to the realm of imaginary playmates.

 

You have snorkled the amniotic coves

in the womb of fetal attractions,

and confronted the Coincidence of the

Elevens in the Valley de los Ojos.

 

Every stone's dream is to fall

into the footprint of Mr. Gone,

but in your pilgrim's progress

you have renounced the Bardo of the

Haunted Heart.

 

Meeting at the White Lodge,

where the woodbine twine,

you have mastered the

asana of the coronary surprise

and tasted the chemistry of

nocturnal languidity.

 

You have glimpsed the benign silhouette

of the siddha loka chromosome

through the third eye view of the

autonomic tourister, where the

Glyphs only hint at aboriginal

sensation, and the reluctance of

echoes hangs on the cusp of the

Rapture.

 

In the Salon of the Ninth Yana,

as rainbows arc in curved air

above the nests of the Gandharvas,

you have traced the lines of transmission

along the neural nets,

and gazed into Pandora's mirror of

prurient interests, where

inebriates with no roses

touch noses.

 

Listening to incense at the Shrine of the

Shine, you have seen the face in the fire

foretold by the return of the Red Hat,

and in sublime Luna wave trance you have

sung in the swoon of the Puja Angel.

 

Neither fate nor plate

tectonics, nor sirens of the

Theta Islands, nor

guise of the kami, nor any

hypnogogic formula of the

Synaptic Posse at the Bindu

Junction has delayed your

exploration of the

Airborne Luminosities in the

Tabernacle of Lost Vocabularies.

 

Your memoirs as the Molecular

Voyager have cataloged the

Dances for Sleepwalkers, the

Valerian Rubrics, the

Sounds That Move Air, the Chakra

Balloons, the Seraphim Candy, the

Birdsongs of the Mezazoic, the

Clouds of Forgetfulness,

soft as pillows, mid-night

at the Oasis.

 

Gathered at the Totem of the Casual

Charism, under the dome of the

Nebularium, you once leaned closer,

beguiled, as Monsieur Babylon

expounded from the Chi Wu Journal,

but still your mudra formed

the question mark.

 

Having drunk deep from the

Well of Bodhi and dined

at the impeccable dervish buffet,

you witnessed the miraculous and

blissful pacification of the Nadis,

and gleaned intimate details from

the ephemeral little secrets of

the Ashkaic files.

 

 

Now

you seek only welcome

rain in the banana grove.

 

 

No more soliciting prana, no more

metabolic response modifiers, no

more manifestos of the Anti-gravity

Conspiracy, no more curious anatomies or

endorphin nativities for you.

 

Perhaps only a good seat

near the water

at Playa Bonita

would suffice.

 

It just might

be enough.

 

The mere phantasms and

glandular expressionism at

Dakini Park have relinquished their

place to the exquisite Space

Between Thoughts.

 

If there is a word that means

"to move harmoniously, piercing

Through and transcending impediments",

it must be used here.

 

Captivated by the

Endlessness of Blue –

Vast, Empty and Marvelous –

in serene anticipation

you now approach this

House of Cards.

 

Forsake this House of Cards!

 

In truth, my Love, it is

a house of cards.

 

The great starry Being,

the One Who is living us now,

in Whom we have our

Breath and Life,

is even now

relentlessly devouring us

at the speed of Light

with infinite variations of the

Eternal Kiss!

 

May all beings enjoy

This Profound Brilliant Happiness!

 

All beings enjoy

This Profound Brilliant Happiness!

 

We are like

minnows in the bloodstream of

This Beloved –

drawn by some mysterious impulse towards

obliteration in the Heart.

 

The measure of our resistance

is the arithmetic of our pain.

 

 

But now –

foolish me!

 

I have poured the good wine

through a cup whose bottom has

dropped out.

 

It splashes and pools at

our feet, and yet,

and yet –

 

Such an intoxicating bouquet!

 

 

 

LoveAlways,

 

Mazie & b