Where tears take me 2/3/12

I go out from under

what is held as familiar.

I do not have names

for what I notice.

I do not even want,

for what noticing gives me.

But I want for tears,

given freely towards all things.

I do not want

to come onto anything

found as separate,

nothing barren,

nothing desecrated,

nothing that does not

receive me openly.

I want for tears

to be the storytellers

for all that is the past

that is not honestly spent

in its ripeness for then.

I want for tears,

my tears,

as evocatives,

for deeper pains to come clean,

for misunderstandings

to feel for the light,

for the judgments to be unsealed,

for everything kept to be drained,

for my sense of life to be full

in empty ways.

I want for my tears

to greet new entry

beyond entry's claim of beginnings,

to greet familiarity

as a freshness of frame,

a sensing towards wholeness,

all reaching as embrace,

reaching as a closure

that overcomes the forgotten,

as forgotten-ness

masks the unknown.

I want for my tears

to soften the walls of issues

and lessen the perception

of distance,

tears for the migration of memories

to seek haven wherever they are,

tears for death not to be

the ultimate symbol of loss

as if an un-ripened love,

rich in the roots of caring

but never to reach

the unwavering blossom.

I want for tears

that do not bow

or break in the winds

but from that blossom,

throws a confetti

of fragrant celebration,

tagging each passage of breeze

with a melody,

soon not fallen to the ground

but carried as a hymn

of their meeting,

within the moving on

that has no loss.

I want for my tears

to be the touching of skin,

of skin to skin,

to have no beginning,

to have no boundaries,

to seek no special place,

to soothe as if it were always

as a legion of hands and hearts,

through every hand,

through every touch

of any two hands,

conversing in the consummate

of one movement

where all things share

the shimmer and the pulse,

the dance and the stir,

the one movement ,

however the door of touch

be opened.

I want for my tears

to fall down,

to find no gravity,

to not toil in pools

for the gathering of like kind.

I want for no tears

towards continuums

that contrast to the rest of life.

I want for my tears

to not know of themselves,

not as liquid,

not as response,

not as the compressions

of anguish or delight.

I want for tears

that are emissaries

with no place to go,

tears as messengers

with self evidence

being the one ear they travel,

the one canyon they traverse,

the one planet they cup,

the one sky of bones they sing

to the one mind.

I want tears

with no surface,

no separation,

no method of liquidity,

tears with no journey,

no orientation,

reaching everyone

with no one left to discover,

no revelation from the outside in.

I want for tears

that embrace time as a toddler,

that know the spacial-ness

of the Tao.

I want for the elementals of tears

ground into everything,

resoundingly,

that no definition

or position can be found,

pervasive beyond means,

collective beyond numbers,

sheer beyond notice.

To tear,

beyond we.

To tear

the one involuntary unknowable

body of soul . . .