Archive | October 2016

An Autumn Morning

What a color that wakes me
to remind me who I am
the one who perceives
flash explosions trace my eye
through human grey walls
and interruption
non-sensical
blowing apart right angles
and clean lines
color burst burst color burst
it can be more dramatic when it’s just a glimpse
and not a continuous blanket
they are different perceptions
different places of being
one of awe so complete that you weep
and one like a dagger
of joy that reminds about the cage.

Morning Conversations II

Have you ever seen a Mandalla process?
The monks drop grains of coloured sands
instead of a crayon or marker,
filling in lines of an intricate design.
They literally tap, with small sticks,
metal straws, tapered on one end,
to let the sand out.
There are four or five or more working on it
at one time.
Bent over, tapping, tapping…
It takes days – at least.

When it’s finished, it is a magnificent piece of art
created by so many
using only the sand and the old tools
it’s a design as sharp and vibrant as a picture
perhaps it took weeks and hundreds of hours.

And then they wipe it clean.
Destroy it
All the beautiful colors and precision lines
all the time, and the beauty of the creation
gone.
And there is nothing.

We are here…I am here…
to make meaning of life
not for me, not at all for me
my purpose is to create the meaning
But not in a way that holds any self
or any ego…
This is so foreign for me – I am of the self, I am of the ego
and both fight (because it’s their purpose) to hold onto
the surety of control – the avoidance of purpose
beyond and outside of them.

I can barely see it…
but I see it.
I can barely feel it…
but I know it’s there.
This concept of purpose,
Of making meaning of life.
I want it
Like I want air
but more
more in a way that is indescribable
but only overcoming
of the smallness of myself.

The thing that helps me the most,
is to imagine – imagine this bamboo
wind chime hanging above my head –
It is a gentle morning
grey and cool
The type of colouring that makes
the fall trees extravagant
in their proclamations of death.
This wind chime – it’s a hollow sound
like drops of wooden water might sound
I imagine if no human ever heard that sound
The wind would still breath through
The bamboo would touch
But no human ears…
ever.

And then I can be struck
by the fact that I hear it.
And that it would exist without me hearing it.
As would the same wind
through the extravagant trees
Bursting proclamations of death
painting everything.
All would exist without me.
And none would be perceived
And none would be meaningful
And I can just barely grasp it
but it’s there…The canvas and movie of life
I struggle to grasp it
I am…
I can only hope to allow for more
it’s best to stop here
and not assume I am capable.

Will I Do What I am Meant to Do?

I wish to sit at the piano
and play
and play what is true
and play what my vessel
receives
and processes
I wish this to be my bending of steel
I wish this to be my 21st century rail gun
I wish to cut and skewer darkness
where the intent of such things is to
keep humans down
and low
Is this a task for me?
Yes.
Is this a task I will accept?

The Death of the hope of Facebook

It’s been dead for some time
but I’m so dull
-as planned-
I didn’t see
and now – junk food for the brain –
a place where the only purpose
for those in control
is to make money
When you don’t have control of the source
you don’t have control of the source
and when you think it doesn’t matter
you have subscribed
Until you recognize that the air you breath
can be turned off
or changed
or polluted so that you slowly asphyxiate
or injected with poison
that you are to arrogant to feel
the poison of sameness
the poison of affirmation
the poison of attention
But what’s most beautiful and simple
is that now that Facebook is exposed
as the simpleton it truly is
the bully
afraid for it’s life
it becomes clear
like the wizard behind the curtain
how much more there is.
Yes. Many will die
but it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter because it doesn’t change the fact
That Facebook isn’t what we’ve been waiting for
but it is what we’ve created
what we’ve wanted
like all other things we’ve wanted
and confused with our true hearts
our childs souls
like all other things we’ve wanted.
The things we want do not have power over us
unless we give it.
Facebook perhaps was never meant to provide a hopeful product
maybe it’s always been about the pussy or the dollar
but that’s ok – it opened the door to hope – like the clumsy
giant that can’t help but do damage
as it plods on it’s heavy way
And I have seen
and so have you, maybe.
What a shinning example.
Are you poisoned?

Big Muscles and Delicate Jewelry

I saw Wendy
at Whole Foods
I didn’t understand what I saw
at first
and the human joy welled in me
before my slow, simple brain
made the connection

Wendy
A man in earrings
A beautiful man
in earrings and make up
hair done just so – but for the wisps
frustratingly out of place
as she greeted and rang people through

Big muscles and hands
delicate jewelry
both were her costumes
neither were her.
neither were him.

I’m so glad I saw it,
I’m so glad my heart was open.
Wendy.

Celebrating The Death Of Things

Fall in the Northeast is beautiful death.
All things turn
and prepare
and for us – we get to see
If I was one with all things
I would never have the
experience I’m having now
of forgetting
or enjoyment
or suffering
I would see the leaves as the same
rather brilliant green
or antique hued red
whether I am ready or not
I cannot skip past the place where I sit
today
The challenge of being human makes
bending steel
like rubber bands

Can you kneel before the king
after discovering you’re clean
or must you kneel first
in order to discover it.

I know what I’ve been taught
about human things
and I’ve been taught
what others have been taught
and I have discovered
only on the continent long discovered
I do not trace new lands
I dig into recycled trash and treasure
and assure myself
that I see the world

For I do see the world
as I wish to see it
and just because I am surrounded by recycled
Trash and Treasure
doesn’t mean
that universes don’t exist
and it is solely in my
desire, my wantingness, to accept
that I am not the center
that my treasure and trash
is only mine…
in my desire to accept this
I will find the path
to deeper humanity
the only endless path.

It truly exists.
But only
only
If we make it so.

Oh, how I love the months
descending into color
and quietness
preparing for the blanket
of death
to sleep the rebirth.

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