Steve

Soon Be Home‍

switch to the bigger view

if your own clogs up

do it now no need to wait for weeks

in misery or set out hunting yourself

you’re not a snark

you’re still here

even when you think you’ve gone

even when you feel you’ve gone

even when you panic: gone

– you haven’t left

– you can’t lose yourself

– you didn’t go anywhere

you are here

just stop looking over there

that is a mis-vision

you can’t head yourself off at the pass

can’t find what hasn’t been lost

you may only displace yourself in the looking

prior to any plotted movement

before all thinkings of awayness

there you are –

so what use in conjuring up distance?

what you are is beyond all this going away business...

there is no need to search for anything

no need to recover yourself

no need even to practice for an hour –

you are here

so long as you stop imaging

you are not

and if you have ceased to be here

then correct yourself / untilt your own ship

at keel / set your own eyes straight

no need to run about righting the world –

it’s not a picture frame on a wall

unrectify your own imagined slant, and there you are –

the undeparted – everything back in focus

that cannot be seen

– So

get off your horses; stay all metaphors;

leave the dead poets alone

(none are needed)

stop grubbing up graveyard images

and interring yourself

(it isn’t necessary)

drop the conviction / cease taking sides /

refrain from creating this world with your thought

(just pack it in)

and be

leave all else but this alone / deal with

your own mind and we’ll soon be home

‍

‍

‍Aegis / open skies‍

Turn back

not forward left or right but

back, as if blown by the wind,

drifting prior to any scattering

real at last / nameless / drawn

out of the picture completely

the frame goes & dissolves –

would you believe it: identity

a thought; so now who are

you minus the concept fuzz?

Going borderless what walls

remain for wits to echo in?

All that noise snap-released –

and you find yourself still

(even as the noise goes on)

spaceless before any word

aware of air breathing itself

asking your self, under aegis's

first rainbow in love's open

skies, where do I stand here?

‍

‍

Bail Out‍

limping away from the world

thinking yourself lost again

in the muddle of your practice

or shocked stone cold sober

cleaning up the indulgence –

when you are coming back to who you are

after the sense of you has dipped

from the perfection of being

to a lot of thoughts about being

and the noise is more than you’d prefer

but you’re banging through it anyway

because you’re long past preferences

in looking for that thing

to drop you back in

to settle you down

into that position of peace again –

a man of Tao again –

but the efforting itself is cluttering you up

with all that casting about

yet still you can’t seem to reel in those lines

the idea of you snapping up each thought

the thinking constantly going out in search....

telling you,

hey, trust me, I have this, I’ll get what we’re looking for...

but after fifty years of dreaming you’re still a stooge

and so the panic sets in

and you grow frantic, deranged,

set to turn the wrong direction

for the hundredth thousand time

ten-thousand more orgasms just to get away

as the world drags at you and dreams confuse you

as problems suffuse you

as it all nips and yaps and bites at you

and in the fray it comes to you

my god, I’m doing it again –

boot-strapping into a circus of dust

when so scratching about is itself

the obscuration

because the self-filled mind is an activity –

is itself nothing more than the act of return

to that point of view where you are looking from the activity –

even in its spiritual format it’s still more of the same

yet even amid the shrapnel of that recognition

still you go on

– in the very next second –

looking for what you seek

seeking for what you are

reaching for what you want

grasping what’s in the way

knocking things out of the way –

the peace the practice that you seek

the thing yourself that you seek –

when you’re doing it again

BAIL OUT

IT’S ALL IMAGINATION

you are not an OBJECT to be SOUGHT

not the object of your THOUGHTS

you are the centre of the circle

and as such PRIOR-TO and INDEPENDENT

of all this FUCKING SHITE

It’s all imagination;

nothing but a pair of glasses;

take them off and stand

with conviction where you are

‘what’s looking is what you’re looking for’