The Drowned Book

We admire the growing garden, the fading sky; we taste the blossoming conversation

keep my body vibrant with new varieties of favors and the familiar pleasures too

Look at this surprising flower
which cannot be seen, and yet
its fragrance cannot be hidden.
God is the invisible flower. Love is the flower’s fragrance, everywhere apparent.

At a garden, I am these flowers. At a woman, I am God’s lover. At the incomparable vastness, that; at the most pitiful, heartbreaking stupidity, this. Prophetic radiance, of course.
Orbits of attention conduct you through many identities. Don’t be surprised at anything you might become.

Be absorbed in being, in this sweet weather, pleasures coming and remembered. Fully here, you may get to look over into the other and feel its wholeness filling you.

Release and let flow through you anything you feel has become yours. It may be a thought, a stance, or something more material

Allow the flow and spaciousness of fulfillment. Don’t block a strong desire. Let coverings fall away as they will, and must.

Accept the pleasures given, and don’t try to keep them with you. That’s addiction. The intellect’s interests and pleasures are running water flowing from the east and from the west. Taste and let them go.

Lovers do not look back to beginnings or forward to the end. They are simply here, seeing this.

Human aliveness fades as vision fails to see the source that makes and moves through form, shaping events.