What is resembles darkness
before it, burst apart
into a space full of stars

is as if what is
awakens then
by its own light



It's daytime, life twitters
lustily in leafy trees
always waving

they whisper in our ears what
is as if what is
wants to hear itself



When everything blindingly
contracts again
star by star

losing its light
stiffens, stiffens
consciousness

Pastures, fields and neighbourhoods
along the long serpent -
the river that connects everything

the spine of the patches
Hemed on the other side
with piles of triangles -

bare ridges, scratched
with wide and empty roads
to one another

Mount Wind is rising above
and much, much higher still
a light line limits the tapestry of fields

Spring, and it's still snowing
above the little ant-people
How fast they live

Twice as high: the heavenly
white strip that unassailable
hovers over everything

Only then the ever blue sky
in which I let me fly, safe
beneath eternity

I love Amsterdam at night
rows of narrow houses on the canal
lit windows, slow time
jewellery of my loneliness

predictable daytime traffic
manoeuvering through logos and slogans
grumpy faces, professional smile
turning diagonally on steep sections

zigzag track from right to left
watch out, it causes accidents
attention, left is going, right is standing
flashing lights in the middle every now and then

like nothing is wrong
grab like crows in the poo
between garbage and inventory
ephemeral, a group on the sidewalk

familiar strange ordinary
fellow citizens where we live
quite easily next to each other
our contacts interchangeable

Amsterdam at night
narrow houses on the canal
lit windows, slow time
jewellery of my loneliness

Gathered in The
The ETERNAL
ultimate Hyperhole:
the mortal remains
spaceless abreast
The ALL-IN-ONE

the souls as resurrected
bodies spiritually
close around it
a firmament
The radiant SOMETHING

of the inconceivable
The full NOTHING, stardust
without mass, chips
of every event
and we: timeless shades

in the hyper-hereafter
of our existence, our
illusions of the physical life
we undoubtedly lived
in the time that necessarily is

because it is not
in the darkness which shines
in the light and doesn't
know itself, but man and animal
every atom, is its witness

unable to comprehend It

As a child I crawled invisibly
away in the lower house
under the veranda
to see the rats
potter among woodlice

I felt big and strong
I pressed my lips together
against the little weak creepy cushions
and let their hard tails
whip my Gulliver body

I liked being their Atlas
under the adult world
upon my shoulders
which I separated from the earth
to keep it as it is

With wide arms I listen
With hands full of green ears
Polyphonic whispers of fluff
Fine traces of sound
on the bench

A woman and her daughter
look around, the girl stares
and says with wobbling legs

I'll be a mum just like you
with a daddy and a child
who thinks this is the most beautiful place
of all, the whole world, the universe

*

The girl plays with a ball
pulls a flake of my bark
asks: is your name scratched in it?
What is he old, isn't he, triple thick I think
and those lumps, would he be sick?

Her mother laughs and takes the picture
she wished to have had of herself:
the girl, and I incognito

not as wise, not as full
high and wide
of past as I am now
and smaller than what I know
of all the people

who caressed me
of all the wishes
they shared with me

Born in light
tasting what life is
rolling and running
full laughing most of all
and the wheel turns the water

around the earth surrounded by
winds with clouds and
the fire of the sun
the wheel of beauty:
the seasons

bamboo shoots and blossoms
all dying
the fluttering flight of the skylark
the wonders of the forest
beavers reconstructing the brook

a junebug on a journey
over my leg and flying
in my hand which I close
and open again
the smells

of vegetable being cooked
moss and steaming dew
mushrooms in autumn
the village in the winter months
when the stoves burn

the wheel of my life
my kids, my work
the colours of my clothes and
from my hands the healing voice
of seven long strings

The children ask why
we live where we live
how you got

the antique lamp, and why
I don't know all the answers
With magic

I make stories out of it
life stories
of pain, sorrow and success

smeared up smooth
with a little boasting, shiny
with enough meaning

to make them survive
to let them give support and comfort
hope in anxious days -

anecdotes, whipped up sturdy
and thickened till they are firm enough
for others to preserve them

and robust enough to remember them
and to pass them on
stories to pass on

There is a fantastic gate
somewhere in the golden middle
a gateway to the good life

There are more, and more beautiful
to eternity, paradise and hell
higher worlds than the earth

given only to believers
not obtained, not built together
with strangers

like that one gate
of stories of what it can be like
on earth for people of good will

Whoever passes
the fantastic gate
finds another one, and another one

The mountain stands imperturbable
in the sun, being, being

Receiving clouds, and hail, snow
their bubbling and whirling going away

at its feet, the children's rush
and the pubertal noise of water

playing itself hot
in an embedded adventure

And I am standing on top
of the mountain, being, being

Receiving the sun, experiences
and night thoughts, growing old

Everything melts, nothing in my hands
nothing in my open arms

My perspective between the rusty leaves
is a dream house on the edge of the forest
picked up on the way, in the fall

Rich colours in the sun caress
the wooden skin flakes
of Mother Earth

and I am passing by
just a moment
a guest

Everything is
love no a moment
everything is just a moment

tasta-visi-heara-smellable
for some moutheye earnoses
and even less tangible no

everything ís tangible
interconnected
just feel

with the nameless
sixth
just feel if you dare

not to think about it
it is inconceivable
it is all

I want to go there or see a movie
about it: the steppes

the jungle, the Himalayas
I want to shine my light
in trenches, I want to know

everything, made manageable
so that the whole world becomes mine
and I become a true citizen of the world, no
I want more, be a cosmo citizen

among spirits, angels and gods
exist forever, I want to experience

space adventures, but near
home, because I already am so tiny
a minor matter, a speck on mountain

or sea, interchangeable in the crowd
I don't want to relativise away
my efforts, not to be completely
invisible in universe and time

Let there be light, and there was light
big bang alpha from darkness
the first day the beginning
of all days of history

until the last day
in the omega hyperhole
the way, the truth
life and all

is described and recorded
in hologram bits, all
that exists existed and will exist
it has expanded itself in time

and it has compressed space again
it is collecting in It's
ultimate hyperhole which sees all
and knows all, and it stands still

As long as we can we'll walk
in circles together
the youngest in the outer lane

acquire meters and learn a lot
are handed more and more
batons stories where we are

heading a finish line
behind which no one needs
to run anymore hand in hand

we will walk on we will
live in peace we will all be
winners no relay race anymore

the youngest in the outer lane
grandma's on the inside bend
close to the black hole

Sometimes I dream away
to a better world
without fuss

Then I focus my mind
on a piece of true reality
for which I don't have an eye other times

I unfold my life open
fom the divided attention
of time, that sense

of energy leaking away
to this and that, this one and the other
right now and ever later

out of the nets of my memories
my self-made images that only
suffice for a moment to measure time

No atomic clock can help me
to do better
I throw everything together

suffering, wastage, peace and
my experiences, together one
timeless energy

Moor at the orchard
wade through soft grass
and golden-yellow apples
to the pond in the middle
steaming in the evening

Enter the round basin
glide into the warm water
and swim over the bottom
of your primeval-applewise knowing
to the stairs of the tower

From the gallery, read the wind, the well
the flow of time, their ripples, their depths
and the misty shadows from later
which in the outside world
only will be recognizable

when the truth in which you
have bathed, is past
Known once, remains known
somewhere in the haze of your
dressed-up consciousness

In the early morning, I received the truth
a clear sound

I searched and saw no one, not even the light
of an angel, it was quiet and I was alone

with the truth, that calmly awaited
what I would do and didn’t make a sound

It was just there, and I saw clearly
what was hidden from me before:

the truth was big, when I looked away
I still saw it in the corners of my eyes

I couldn't ignore the truth
My thoughts ran around and my heart

was pounding and I wished
I could give it away to someone

but I love the people I know
too much to give them unasked

such a present, I was ashamed
of myself in the light of the truth

my heart skipped a beat
and I wondered why I got it

and from whom, a friend, an enemy?
I did not know, I did not know what to do

Explaining the perceptible
with the imperceptible
scanning it with fantasy
and micro and macro senses
to also understand ourselves
we who are in the middle
of what we experience

the influences and interactions
that we want to dis-cover
by ridding them scientifically
of magic, romance, holiness
and other superstitions
that keep us from knowing
what we don't know

The giant that stopped me
was a wall on the bank
of the big river, far
beyond the palaces

where servants like angels
provided a heaven on earth
for princes and princesses and always

there were naked sages before the gate
begging to warn the people
that they shouldn't have any illusions

There was a small hatch in the wall
which opened for an old hand a moment
giving me an ordinary pebble

It was a stone from paradise
on the other side of the wall
It was smooth. What to do with it?

I am just such a stone, polished
by life and in the future
falling to dust, pity us

stones from paradise
on this side of the wall
where the kings suffer in seclusion
from boredom and the trouble
to keep it that way

Yóu have a head, with everything:
cheeks, chin, and ears, nose and
eyes that determine your position

That head of yours is full:
there is a tongue in it, with teeth
and a lot of brains, but

I don't have that myself

I am not that myself

When I think of the inside
of my skull, there is nothing:
a void

And when I concentrate on it
I just have no thoughts
as if I am completely at ease

not something, just space
an observing spirit
to whom the world appears

It happened by itself
the training of my body
to eat, poop, and sleep
at set times, the limits

that punish me
if I pass them
to consciously enjoy
the freedom that I didn't have

as a baby, when I was still purely
an observer of the world
a stormy place of rest
a heaven of the limits

heaven of the constellations
that I drew, my maps
of the intertwined patterns
around me, the limits

of what I knew, of what I know
safe walls with windows
if I want to go further
in my meditation

Because the whole is whole
completely without nothing
and of course anyway
also all nothing
of the whollyverse

not just the unthinkable
what ever was
before the beginning
of the stars
and what will be
after the existence
of the stars

but also the illusion
of the time
in which we live
and think we know something
of what the whole ignorantly knows

All the elements that we arrange
in the Periodic Table, the very first
bacteria and also we humans
are creators of the universe

In time and space we transform
the energy and co-write
the imperishable facts
on the edges of black holes

That information already existed
as Creator
giving it space and time
with a big bang

It's inconceivably
and inseparably both
energy and information
are aspects of each other

My mind doesn't get that
Even if in deep meditation
my consciousness unites
with all that exists, I am ignorant

archetype birch

bare or green
forest light of spring

forest not really being
forest wood

young wood
promise

that became desire
though you have to get on

youth
memories

She waves to me: mummy look
She plays in the grass, the earth is turning
She shouts throughout summer and rains

from white sand to black sand
She is a little pig, gruntgrunt
and one more time, one more time

One two see sour sive
singers she has, and dirty seet
that climb everything: mummy look

Her hands want to take everything
feeling the whole grown-up life
herself, caution, it is hot

She drags my bag with her like a lady
She likes sweet gruel and bread
without crust, cheeks with peanut butter

She cheers for the gnomes: mummy look
who always come to help her
at night when she sleeps

World citizens run around
Busy parasites in the thin crust
of earth

kept at work by her
and digested in her. She sweats decay
from her pores, a delicious smell

healthy to live in, but intoxicating:
some think they are astronauts
on spaceship Earth

They race nearly 800,000 kilometers
per hour along with the sun, spinning
a pirouette at 1,670 kilometers

per hour. Say them goodbye
adieu, whatever that means
wish them a pleasant journey

to heaven
and upon arrival the realization
that they already were there

The sky is blue and cold today
as if the atmosphere is thinner
and I can sense the void

under which the houses are small
and low, meaningless
fleeting and interchangeable

The old timber factory seems to be leaking
On the right side of the base
smoke rises from the building

as if a reversed draught
through the black chimney hole
absorbs, from distant stars, seas
of gigawatts of power for the city

Thought enough, it's time
to live and do
to feed and breathe

to breathe in the tiniest
vibrations of the allsoul
the knowing consciousness

of love and death
everything I know
if I'm not thinking

So thought enough, it's time
to live and do
to give shapes

to possibilities, to the seeds
of my passion and my will
to give shapes to love and death

It is not personal
when things go wrong
although I live wisely
because we put everything together

in the karma mixer
of instincts and virtues
and circumstances that change
from moment to moment

My life is too short
for any karma of my own
It only comes out
of the karma mixer later

as a drop in the brew
That's all I am
insignificant, even
when I'm famous

Drops of passion trickle down
through the counting-house, it's time
to live, but how?

Shall I travel
to a beautiful story
and conquer that place?

Shall I sail over the seas
of feelings or fly over them
and ponder

where I want to land
where there is a task
for my wishes

and create a space there
which I do not yet know
so that I arrive somewhere

I didn't go to?

Om-heavy waves crush
the interiors of mountains of stars
to seas of powderpure sand seed

and liquid toxins, they vibrate
them together into form adventures
sometimes a placenta

It couldn't go otherwise
than it is going on
the creation, the koan

of drawing forms
from nothingness
and the time in between

If, yes than it would have turned
out differently, but we live in this way
a raft on liquid fire

a thin crust around
blood substances and blood toxins
full of swarming tests

multiples, the unstable
with a beginning and an end
an end and a beginning