The Lady of Mystery

the yin and the yang, at terminus, interchange
spinning the wheel of eternity
providing the ceaseless motion
those beautiful attractions
that compel us to continue

poetry becomes science
and mystery, dissertation
logic becomes emotion
and longing fulfilled is a name for the Self

the soothing parable
the honey-coated touch of theorization
words being some solace, a shelter
from the raw edge of realization

yet this is deception still
the Self is not any part of this
enjoy the rounds, the round about, if you will,
if not, then abide

there is on the far shore a keenness
yet soft beyond description
where all alchemies are made as one
and from whom the methods of mystery
take up their notation

all vain efforts arising in emulation
to encapsulate the truth
stymied in desolation
by the imperviousness of its sooth

Sovereign Self, dominion of the Real
lend grace to this moment
give statements your “feel”!
The lady of mystery will carry you along,
sing these proud moments, sing your true song

With what grace is given me to reveal
by these methods of mystery:
release the boundaries
that in words can conceal
the sweet nobility of the Real

that pride of formation
tenacious and dumb
giving ruin to declaration
though sufficient to some

in the moment of recognition
of what is achieved
there lies desecration
in what was believed

in moment, come moment
they follow along,
yet drowning there slowly
we do not belong

be what you are now
or say nothing more
Reality comes only
when you open all doors

Then there is no question
of what has been done
not even an echo
to haunt anyone

in silent audience
pride slithers and creeps
until recognizing itself
it yawns and then sleeps

in this moment
that which is needed is done
yet there is no need
to go tell anyone

who could you run to
who could you seek?
Who would not know
the words that you speak

who would not notice
the work has begun
on the foundation
of what we become

yet sweet declaration
impossible to deny
with no aim or reservation
no territory to descry

continues to swell
within and again
here is the moment
we find ourselves in

if you recognize
what is hidden herein
let your song be carried too
let us be as one

yet do not suffer
pride to awake
its sleep may be fitful
slumber slow to take

all solicitations
it may make in your name
pay them no heed now
show them no shame

we are together
forever and now
it could not at all be otherwise
anyhow

Sovereign Self, dominion of the Real
lend grace to this moment
give statements your “feel”!
The lady of mystery will carry you along,
sing these proud moments, sing your true song

With what grace is given
me to reveal
by these methods of mystery
release the boundaries
that in words can conceal
the sweet nobility of the Real

It is the joy of the mystery to carry these words
when there is no attachment to what may be heard
all these insinuations of the most Profound
the titillation that makes mystery go’round

sing the words that although made to deceive
call forth beauty without cease or reprieve
embrace the mystery in all good sooth
for she is the handmaiden of Truth

And weaving and weaving, spinning and spinning,
those gossamer threads made of pure Being
in the grand patterns that come into view
are the manifest revelations of the True.

Yet without recognition of Beauty within
and Mystery as divinity within your skin
You may take that which is its own occasion
and mistake it for illusory enervation

Without a glimmer of the essence within
what nets we tangle and ensnare ourselves in
All along secretly holding the key
to the one that we all finally will be

With truth and beauty within
the inflamed passion and boundless affection
resolved intention and relations
recognize the essence of what is said
You are imagination itself, not what you have read

Now Dream that firmament you have chosen
Now Be that being to whom all are devoted
Now Adore all that which you have created
& Recognize the sovereignty of all your relations

Why question another for what they have chosen?
Seeking for causes will lead you to nothing
The choices themselves are what lends them meaning
within the tapestry of an Infinite Being

Find that within you that calls out, valiantly singing
ride it forever while it gives you meaning
yet never forget the paradox of Being
you are not your goal, rather the essence of Seeking

In the mirror of mirrors, the Truth lies concealed
there is no answer in reflections, no secrets there to be revealed
There is no final solution there, no perfect version of illusion
Only a myriad of chambers, endlessly recursive

The themes within them somehow comforting
semi-permanent, ever evolving
a structure to hang infinity on
adaptive, intelligent, flexible, fluid

Never could its nature be truly pinned down
you may attempt it forever, it will never be found
a mirror contains nothing but reflections, you see
these reflections have been called “world” since antiquity

“world” is a noble and beautiful thing
not a trap for ensnarement as you may think

without us to guide it and wisely give it form
without the cooperation for which it was born
it brings us all that we thought never should be
when it is only a reflection of our vanity

like a child that has been forsaken
like a poorly mended doll
we let this “world” languish
if we even consider it at all

when it is perhaps the most amazing and precious of things
the endless renewment of the seasons and all that they bring
the one true child of the Real, this mysterious queen
waiting only to be cherished and recognized

then “world” is whatever you wish it to be
it is waiting for your decision to set it free
hanging on every word,
hanging every word to hear

curlicue outlines of hidden integrity
the speaker and listener of ubiquity
the womb of enchantment, nativity
becoming imagination’s flower, actually

manifesting the progeny of the Real

Lend no credence to any book of principles
it is your credibility they seek to borrow
Though these calculations may be incredible
they will not set you free from sorrow

Lend no ear to dismal prophecy
if you recognize the Lady of Mystery
No tale told of a final doom
will ever come to pass

there is no termination of the Real
there is no limit to what it may reveal
There is no fate written that may not be undone
by pure recognition of what has begun

there is no pale surveyor of acts and of deeds
no hangman, no apocalyptic men and their steeds
no courtroom, no jailer, no baliff, no one!
No demons to taunt you for what you have done

You are the one who is in charge of all things
yet in pride, self-wounding, ever suffering
finally finding integrity in the seeds you have sown
recognizing your Self in the fields you have grown

Now take responsibility for this moment,
and all that you survey
will conspire to aid you without delay
in achieving the purpose for which you have come

What is it, what is it?
Who is it, where from?

How could you, why would you
convince anyone

To simply follow where you may have led
Deny them the chance to commit in your stead
Steal the secret from their waiting heads
leave them among the ranks of the dead

instead..

be done with coercion, debate and its folly
accept that deep unity, rejoice and be jolly
in the face of corruption, the wise one must laugh
or what use is wisdom, bathwater and bath?

What better solution for suffering
than to enjoy what you have
and share it with others, who willingly
accept what you have offered?

Sovereign Self, dominion of the Real
lend grace to this moment
give statements your “feel”!
The lady of mystery will carry you along,
sing these proud moments, sing your true song

With what grace is given
me to reveal
by these methods of mystery
release the boundaries
that in words can conceal
the sweet nobility of the Real

for some, revelations come through words
for others, in actions, in motions
a turn of phrase, sequence of notes
a caress, a glance, flavor of serenity

a yawn and a stretch
some coffee or tea
the shape of the landscape
the colors you see

a clever move, a daring dash
subtle interchange, using the rules of the game
intense training rewarded
and skill used judiciously

these intimations of infinity
are in every way identical, you see?