DEAD KNOWLEDGE

The moment the tongue meets the palate...
The moment vibration enters the mouth...
The moment the two meet and words are created...
A hilt is put on a stainless blade...
Relegated to but a mere sword...
Like many things...
It dies the day it was born...
Though still supported by the formless...
A dunce only tastes what he drinks...
Tis a tea drawn to perfection...
Stemming from the sun, then the herbs...
But both having no mouth...
Still a better dinner as there is love...
Not bread alone...
Aye, but there is a meat that never goes stale...
No preparation required...
Tis sustained by itself...
Eat this daily...
And the tongue will become obsolete...
This is an absolute beyond obsolete...
Tis enough to feed a nation...
But not by knife and fork...
This food is the feeding itself...
This food is the nation itself...
This food is the knife and fork itself...
This food is the absolute obsolete itself...
For, there is not enough saliva to digest this...
No stomach can handle that which never runs out...
But the meat and flesh of the hand...
That is always subject to death...
Aye, sit with the family of light and eat well...
Eternal, this knowledge is never born, never dies...


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IMPERISHABLE

A source of food beyond birth and death...
Upon transcending abundance itself...
It cannot become that, as it is that...
Inside of the war is battle, death and destruction...
Outside of that state of war...
Peace, victory over cause...
The imperishable is the supporter of both states...
It is everything to that...
Before and beyond...
Tis the time--here and now...
The oxygen to the Earth...
And that which allows the oxygen to be received by Earth...
Tis all things including the word itself...
But upon describing...
Upon learning and speaking of it...
All is lost...
A sage is he that destroys his tongue upon learning...
Tis a state of nature first learned by the Sun...
And the Sun taught it to man...
The way of the light is the brilliance...
Aye, but the speech of man...
It relegates him to but a quarry...
All for those that claim to know...
Even bliss is lost when sought...
All things in man are destroyed upon identification...
But for he that is foolish and aloof to the illusion...
He shines again like that radiant splendour...
No words are needed for that which is all things...
Not a thing is needed for that which is in you...
Pure in its existence, as the nectar on the toungue...


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FREEDOM FROM DISEASE

O, Radiant Light...

Blessed is he that strengthens his body, O, Lord...
With your spirit and presence in his heart...
Made by your hand Dear Lord, from dust...
May we remember our immortal nature...
This thing we call disease is but our own creation...
The thought of sickness exist only in our mind...
It is only our heart that has plagues of pain...
Guide us, O, blissful splendour...
Help us back toward our eternal form...
Remind us of our imperishable seat, O, Lord...
Our faith in this seat makes us whole...
Rising from the earth to the light...
May all your splendid forms free us...
May all your forms dormant in us come alive...
May we never force them to sleep again...
O, Lord make our foreheads adamant again...
For, no hand heals better than your own...
May we know only your remedies my Lord...
Tis in our heart where all tools lay...
Thank you Lord...


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TAKE ME

I have no thing...
I hold not even the sound of this flesh...
No hand truly holds that infinite form...
Blessed I am to experience...
A mere taste of sight...
A mere sight of touch...
A mere touch of that beyond description...
For, no lamentation can produce enough tears...
No stone can contain your form...
No ivory can shape your love...
No temple of hand can contain your bliss...
No ritual can truly bring me to you...
Tis said...
You are the stone, ivory, temple and ritual...
Ignorant is he that says there is a way to you...
Tis said...
You are the way....
Tis said...
You are every aspect of truth and light...
How dare I even consider choosing...
No bending needed for your union...
No discipline needed for your union...
No observance needed for your union...
No grasping needed for your union...
But in ignorance...
I seek only to withdraw back to you...
And upon abandoning the duality of hands...
My surrender of all...
I have no body, no mind...
I have no intelligence...
The Mother has re-opened the womb...
Naked in rebirth...
I am ready...
Take me...


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FRUIT TREE

The tree gives and receives unconditionally...
All in the name of the root...
And so with the root to the earth...
Tis so with the earth, to the Earth...
A system of all systems...
Aye, but a pain it is...
A tea bag containing but a part of the bush...
How can it colour the source of all water...
How can a true taste by man be had...
How can a true taste with mind be perceived...
The spirit describes not itself as it has no words...
It is only by identification...
Tis this way we know there is a fruit, with a source...
A source that never parts with its own manifestation...
Extending itself into all things...
The work is always the same, distinct and separate...
Tis an herb of immortality and poison...
All in the same leaf and the stem...
But he that drinketh the blood and abandon the flesh...
He becomes all things...
Knowing not a one or a two...
He knoweth not anything outside of the whole...
And as the saliva mixes with the nectar...
She rest happily in her temple...
All sustained by Him...
Beyond any complicated union...
Tis an arranged marriage from birth of all...
But not accepted until he reaches the holder of the house...
And cultivating the land...
He continues the work...
That of planting fruit seeds...
For the children...


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WITH HER ALONE

O, Sweet Mother of the Land...

All things cometh to us without asking...
The sun and the rains, they nourish all...
Our roots, our stems, our veins...
You have bestowed all gifts with ease...
And with that ease shall we live...
And with that nourishment, O, dear Mother...
May we nourish the creations of your land...
May we understand the power, O, Mother...
Of surrender and allowing to your grace...
Never shall we force a thing...
You made no request of us...
Never shall we make one of you, O, mother...
May we move as still or voracious as the ocean...
May we create and destroy like you and the Father...
Tis by this grace are we held...
Tis by this grace are we existing...
Tis by this grace alone do we do anything...
With you alone dear Mother shall we remain...
And only until the Father calls for our absorbtion...


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DEVOTION

Pious in public no more...
The sage carries the religious paraphernalia...
Only deep within his blood...
Woven into his skin...
The priest still picks up the cross daily...
But it is hung in the temple of his heart...
All scriptures becoming living word...
The saint has nothing to prove...
Even the learned ones...
Eventually the books are put into the fire...
They too blend with the ash...
Remembering the dust from which they came...
The place of worship...
Relegated to the inner cabinets of his mind...
His radiant persona...
His twinkling eyes and sweet speech...
God is infinitely seen in him...
And unaware of his actions...
He is the truth and the spirit...
An ocean of perfection...
He can only reveal that which is in us...
Not a word or action of ignorance by man...
They cannot move him...
Knowing only himself...
He is fully joined...
He, knowing that all things are worthy to be praised...
He extends himself even into the blind man...
Identifications with the body and mind...
Fully denied and now he is fit...
Seeking only to live as the light...
He shines radiantly in the hall of the kingdom...
Blessed is that devotee to wash his feet...
But best that devotee do it swiftly...
Otherwise the sage may do it first...


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