Moonflower

Moonflower

Moon flower bright in the sun’s night light

Bloom power sprite in fun’s right might

To leap alight allure aloft oh leap across the moon

Fairy and scary and skald and skunk oh paint a tune a rune

Glowing globe smiles down on threads of a connected world

Wave-particles travel space and wires in no time

Packets are sent, encrypted, received, and deciphered

The soft folds of her petals conceal secret essences

Concealment and revelation is her cycle of slivers and circles

The body language of nature ever babbles

Tenseness of times and planning and wooing and mucky yucky work

Her curves interrupt my problem-solving trance oh Lotus Goddess

   who allures with the infinity of her petals

Gestures of offering give order and peace to the motions of the body

Can we seamlessly morph from one trance to another?

Nothing to grasp or keep in dream-like Samadhi 

All appearance is play at the moment’s interface

Moonflower Night flower Winter flower

Flower out of place and flower out of time

Moonflower uniting the realms of poets

Hidden in the facade of consensual reality

Unseen by conditioned eyes

Exquisite nectar flows, in my dreams

May we be free of clatter says the hypnagogic chatter

Moon salutation balances tire the prana container

And corpse pose balances the twilight state betwixt awareness and slumber

Then the body falls away and naturalness abides

Rahu comes to swallow yet again as the cycles of appearance ever unfold

The nodes are a much longer series of phases, seasons of the sky

The sky and time revealed secrets to the watchers

More dreams of secret towns in this ever foreign culture land

The dying peck at the dead and we hide away their corpses

I hide my way back along the gully, an unlikely deceiver

I casually converse with my would-be pursuer

Anxiety hovers

So what comes up from this mix? I wonder

I dream often of the field where the moon rises

Another place too with a deep dark river current

That is a place of gates and dams

And a hill where appeared alien ships

Dreams and memories of dreams

This is too a record of the time

Oh Moonflower you only come out at night

In the long night of winter you shine lonely as beings cave up

The illusion of the line is betrayed as an endless series of crescents,

   zigging and zagging through curved space like streams on globes with nodes and lobes

Subtleties beyond our grasp dance before us

We give chase

This is an endless song of realization, to whatever degree of refinement

It is a record of the time, of dreams, ideas, aspirations, of currents current

All swimming together in a mythic soup spiced with meter and rhyme

   and alluring alliteration

Strands dissolve and combine. Birds disappear and return. Seasons eclipse one another.

I am alone. We are all alone. Captured in bodies that we encourage to betray us.

I attempt to touch you with words. Probes of hair seeking strange knowledge.

Songs of strangers and news of the day.

Strangely I long for swirl, the whirlpool’s invincible force sucking universes away

Water seeks the lowest spot and the truth it seeks the surface

Guilt sometimes pushes it out and then it becomes worthless

Searching for a lie to tell my friends in hell

Back there in your nervous chair

You take it so easy that you just don’t care

Song words of a questing boy child. Oh how time goes on

I am still tribeless except for this small clan of disparate elements

Possibly, maybe, even probably – they all fall away without wily pestering

Availability and offering chances of glory shall lure them, yes?

We shall see

Putting out kin feelers and waiting for cha ching

Oh how I long to recognize my spirit family in others

I breathed in your presence oh Rahu of devouring

Dark moon of the full

Now to recite the words of goodness clothed in qualities

And to see the flower after and beyond the great devour

Oh how appearances deceive the mind of the unmindful

I swooped in and entered the heart of the city but courage fell silent

   in the places where each is to his own

I manage to read about the folly that that the yogi transcends

No matter as I make my way back home to be among the species in the clan

I am sitting in a room and “something” is all encompassing

Or so says the hypnopompic word machine

Did we make words or did words make us?

Some fall away meaningless and impotent

Others intrigue, inspire, and incite

Players enter pictures and what becomes? Interesting at least at first but I am wary

Moon dark offers to hand to old paradigms disguised as new

Good luck with that and more of the same only slightly ahead of yesterday

I wish I could find something to get behind but nothing presents itself

We are indeed Zombies, moving unfazed toward goals that call us like machines

We notice naught but our illusory goals

Time to cut off this trickling faucet of questionable questions