hair’s cascading across bed sheet
3 am: the night jasmine has no argument with silence. the beloved is a trickster
playing her game of concealment unconcealment. a little smoke and mirrors
and the whole illusion of Two is conjured up. not that i am saying One is less a
perceiver and perceived
is and is not
praise and blame
self and other
past and future
gain and loss
birth and death
lover and beloved
time and eternity
fame and shame
beings and buddhas ….. and the land of alternation.
the game is just a flight of fancy an excuse for the warmth of your lips, the curve
of your hip, my arm draped across thigh, the carelessness of hair’s cascading
across bed sheet. An invitation to acceptance and its
unbecoming… the vagaries of two and one.
what remains is Only and
even that is to many words.
the luminous in-between has no name and, even untouched by ‘is’ or ‘is not’ … the emergence of appearing not yet appearance. the golden ground. Between the past and future what is found is not “the Now” but this lambent radiance spread evenly across and flowing into the becoming of is.
between your birth and your death as well. It is called “your life” but, in fact, is only the divulgence of mysterious luminescing. Likewise between You and Me only
this unutterable bright mystery. the luminous inbetween.
3 am: the night jasmine has no argument with silence.
t.k., tsogyelgar, traktung khepa