If There Is No Reason…

What is the bottom of judgement?
Do we descend the depths
only to find the sea floor
and sit, finally on hard ground?

Or is there more…

Can we descend though the bottom
where judgement ceases
to press all around us
and squeeze our veins?

When we pop through
what was assumed and made solid
is that when it will happen
is that when the pressure will
drop away
and we will be inflated
expanded into love
and acceptance?

Is there a difference between
accepting murder
and accepting that violence exists?
What is this pressure
of finding a reason
to make it all ok.

If I could just find a reason
it would be ok.
If I could just find a reason
it would be ok.

If there is no reason
can it be ok?

Your History, Your Future, Your Friend

Floating, the pain becomes detached
And floats with me
It’s not the same
Because I can see it
It’s a kind of wonder
As old as consciousness,
Maybe older.
I think it is always there
Mostly attached
Tied to my experience
By the necessity
Of culture
And by it’s mystery
To begin with
I think it might be
The vestigial arm
Of the priority
And pride
Of intellect,
Creating attachment to everything
Naming everything
The brain cannot experience
It’s a calculator and
Right now
That’s how we choose
To experience our life
And because you can’t forget
About the numbers when you’re
Doing math
You can’t see your pain for what it is,
Your history
Your future
Your friend

The Sins of the Parents are in Full Bloom

The Sins of the parents are in full bloom,

And the parents are desperately trying to get out of the room
The parents are children
They can’t be trusted
To see the truth of the things
That they’ve busted
And like children
They’re prone to a tantrum
When they don’t get what they want
A tantrum’s their anthem.

The parents are children
But their sins are mature
They’ve created and supported
And shouted for war
But the worst ones have,
Like children
Pretend,
That their choices were Noble
And could not have led to this end.

But, still worse, and gravest of all of the Sins
Is their willful deception
Of how it begins
And their indignant opinions
That they take for truth
And feed to their children
As if sick from the flu
They decide that their children
Are just like them
And they don’t give a thought
To what it means is they’re not
Or, even more, how good it might be
If their children, from them,
Were eternally free
Instead they build bunkers of hate
To surround their kids
And to keep them safe
But by safe what they mean,
These child parents,
Is same, same as them
Like little pet plants

The Sins of the parents
Are in full bloom
Their refusal to look
Beyond their own gloom
Only entrenches their children
To a similar Doom
And as they all scramble
To exit the room
All pointing their fingers
And teaching the rule
That it’s not you that that’s
The problem
It’s some other fool.

The Sins of the parents are in full bloom.

The Steamroller Of Life-Pt. 1

Vermont
an idea with green mountains
a philosophy with pure water
and my philosophy isn’t the same
and my idea isn’t the same
as yours.

So possessive
am I, of my ideas
So possessive
am I, of my “I”
without knowing it
I need it
without knowing it
I don’t breathe without it

My “I”
not freedom,
chains and heavy
my “I”

I never want my son to feel this heaviness
this reliance on being recognized

And I continue to follow
in my desire and fear
and achieve the things I am most afraid of

My “I”
my map
my knowledge
my way
to what can only be,
and I know this now,
misery and want.

But what about the feeling
The one about getting rolled over
by the steamroller of life
and people
if you don’t stand and proclaim
if you don’t stand and proclaim
and fight
what about that steamroller of life

It’s coming for me.

What Will Happen If I Let Go

I don’t know what this urge is
or where it comes from,
this distant pull
this distant hang on
I can’t get away
it’s like I’m always hanging on
to something.

And so I don’t know what it’s like to fall
to be free in space
muscles no longer tensed
fingers no longer white knuckled
tight and pained
no longer gripping
falling back,
maybe I won’t hit the ground
maybe there’s no ground to hit.

Hanging on though,
that’s what I do,
I hang on
to what I think is the truth
and everything comes from there
and, like clothes, my beliefs I wear
and I get frantic when something
starts tugging on my leg
because it makes it harder to hang on.

Why am I hanging on

And what does my world look like
if I let go.

It seems impossible
because…

What does it look like if I let go

Will I warm
will I thaw
will my sharp edges
dull
will metal become cotton
and glass become water
will I be flattened by the world
and is flat, bad?

What will happen if I let go.

Do Stop Believin'

What’s better than believing?
Maybe…everything!

Why do you believe
Do you like the cage
or is it more of a featherbed
is it a reprieve
do you like the rage
that comes from your head

What is this about belief
what is the relief
we are the thief
of our own peace
stealing it away
forbiden play
we’ve lost our way
on easy street

But it’s not easy
no, not at all
it’s much harder
because we never fall
and we never learn
because we never burn
we’re never cut
into ribbons and threads
destroyed by truth
outside our head
we never allow cracks
of doubt
to take root
and reverse the drought

The funny thing
is that doubt is there
drought is too
we’re dry as bones
we think we do
we think we doubt
we think we’re dry
we think we’re in trouble
But it’s a lie
Our belief is strong
and never questionned
not on the level
that would allow
digestion

If we allowed digestion
we’d be blown away
doubt gives way
and there’s no protection
finally we see the day

So don’t believe
if you want to live
you only decieve
yourself and kids
there’s something bigger
it’s not God
it’s life that’s bigger
it’s life that’s god.

Partners

I can do anything if you walk beside me.

I can face anything if you’re on my team

I can do anything if I have a partner

And I’ll stand for you if it’s not a dream.

And you say it’s all bullshit

Because who needs a team

And who needs a partner

To realize their dreams

And you say you can just do it alone

And that we’re all on our own

And you don’t need anyone

To make a home

And that’s where we differ

Because what is a home

But a space in your head where

You’re free to roam

And roam you will and roam alone

But as night follows day

And light shows the way

There are two consciousnesses

That only together make one

And I’ve that is greater than anything else

Greater than anything you can do in your own

So if you want to explore and go far from home

While carrying with you your own sense of home

You can’t do it alone

It’s not big enough son,

You need a partner, a teammate to help you grow.

A 9 Year Old Learns Hate

Life is so rich
but the cream does not rise
it’s more like digging for gold
actually it’s more like
wiping the steam from the mirror
you have to make an effort
to get to the richness
and the more effort
the more richness,
as far as I can tell.

Because once you make the choice
to wipe the mirror
and see
you will then see more
than what you saw before
and you might not like
what you see
you might want the steam again
you might turn away
you might not believe your eyes.

None of it matters.
Unless you want more.
So you can always come back to that question,
if you are lost.

Do I want more?

My son told me
to my great dismay
that he didn’t really like Trump
and he should go away.

My son is nine
and some would cheer
he’s on their side
oh what a dear.

And those same some
would accept
and open doors
And he’s too young
to know about whores.

So he’d walk through
in innocence
not realizing what
The agreement’s meant.

But every door
and every hug
and every atta-boy
will leave him poor
pull out the rug
we won’t kill the boy.

A nine year old
learns hate from the world
before he learns to understand
A parent’s job
is to temper hate
so that their child, straight, can stand.

So when you face your child’s corruption
meet it with faith and sadness
this is the trial, there’s no other way
unless what you want is madness.

It should be sad, terribly so
but that’s the way it is
without hate there is not strength
to deliver the loving blow.

So you must not meet that certain hate
with certain hate yourself,
you cannot hurt the ones you hate
if what you want is wealth.

If what you want is poverty
then hate and hate away
and give in to that “good” feeling
as you cut and slash away
and teach your child to cut and slash
at those they disagree with
and teach your child
to point their finger
aiming it with your struggle.

So fight you will and fight you must
to overcome the heavy you
you were taught to hate
and now what are you to do
start by asking what’s worth more
your child’s joy
or you?

The Freedom of Chaos, Pt.1

The rocket seemed far out to sea
the platform, barely visible
as the magnificent cylindar
defied all reason
pencil straigt
flames like lasers
driving against the deck
and the magnet

We are all stuck here
and we’ve learned to live with it.

We watched from the beach
for any imperfection
habitually hoping
to see a kink in the armour
to see something
that would lead
to the freedom of chaos.

And there it was.

The ship, just off angle
before touching home
and just off angle is enough
and the ship began to tilt
and as it fell into the sea
it became huge
before it sunk
huge and close
no longer academic
no longer abstract
far from the beach
now, it was right on top of us
and it didn’t stay sunk,
bursting out of the sea
with a final blow of the tanks,
and now,
it’s own freedom
spun it like a wild
firecracker
200 stories high
and a football field wide.

It blocked out the sun
and all on the beach stopped
the freedom of chaos was
quickly replaced
with the fear of chaos
and death
and tremendosity.

The behemoth rocket
lurched and belched
aircraft carrier size flames
as it fell, again,
towards the beach

and people ran

I shouted for my boy
he was no where to be found
so I grabbed my son
and we ran

It was much worse than a rocket
something was coming for us,
something called chaos,

And we ran.

The Beauty Of Writing

When I’m riding the river
it’s like there’s nothing else
I am the river
every drop and rock
tumbling down
and it’s only when
I step to the side
and ground my boat
that I see
there was no me
it was just me

As for my mind
reluctanly I go back
first dipping a toe
then more
but not yet, not yet
I walk the edge now
between river
and shore
a place where answers
are irrelevant
a place where smile
and touch
are the language

In time I will return
the pull of the tides are strong
and I will analyze
and seek
and the resentment will come
heavy and as attached
as my desire

Maybe I won’t spend as much time
maybe I’ll be on the shore
with my feet
perhaps up to my knees
or waste
in the river
not going anywhere
with nothing to deliver
with no haste
where smiles
and touch
are the language

Elan Mudrow

Smidgens

Bitter Gertrude

Blogging about Theatre and Culture since 2013

Engage!

Critical Dharma for Thinking Minds

Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha

Musings and books from a grunty overthinker

Josep Goded

Seeking Truth

LYNCH

:to put to death (as by hanging) by mob action without legal approval or permission

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