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Friday, July 31, 2009

For now

what beckons what calls

what summons what draws


I take back the naming

to receive you

I take back the assumptions

to be with you

I take back my entitlement position

just to be here amongst you


I have been gone

but now return as now returns


I have been gone

on a long journey

filled with naming things

making assumptions

holding positions


it was a long journey away

but now return as now returns


thought is now

but not by association

thought lives

but not as judgment or conclusion

thought is not an endless procession

of still shots passing

calling that stillness


thought coming out of stillness lives

for now


for now

what beckons what calls

what summons what draws



Thursday, July 30, 2009

The tongue I chase as my tale

I come out of the dark

but are not of the dark


I show myself coins

that have two sides

as if they were soiled money

that know their owners

and of their deeds


I tell of a comparative worth

from lessons portrayed

but my timeline

has only one dimension

wrapped around my bawl un-rivaling


my paradox eats my back

all the way up to

the tongue I chase as my tail


I stone the void

with otherwise admissions

sparks will fly

when my frozen tears break silence

two halves of my chalice

do not make a whole


I have myself on the night watch

of receivership

yet nothing dies

when so much light is present


I make my say come to me

as a take-away

that will end

with the absolution of this tracker


a heave and a sigh meet

to determine

what’s in common to them

they only have what they are

and their shadows


these as my shadows

console each other

in commonness

yet the heave and the sigh

argue for the same god . . .


would you ever say this

about yourself?


my paradox eats my back

all the way

up to the tongue

I chase as my tail . . .



Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Meaning sickness

I get sick inside

of being meaningful

the words are like stones

sinking in topic pools

away from the splash

of their spokenness

dead weight into memory    

like a gravity

pulling them down

to the synopsis bottom

of what was previously said

at another moment in time

yet now

removed from the surface

of its play

remembered in an environment

unlike its origin

no holographic video

to redeem the preciousness

simple un-embellishment


assigned any redelivery

he said what she said

that he said she said . . .

okay     well

what was the heart

of the matter?

what was the heat

of the moment in the matter

well     what was the intent

behind the matter

and what was the motive of it



like I said    

I get sick inside

the apparel of meaning

sure I wear the getup

from the inside out

whatever the splash

it comes up later     

looking like stains

and nothing ever dries the same

as it was originally

when it mattered

ever so delightfully so

before it became

memory retained    

and that meaning fill!







Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Hurt is a method

hurt is a method of carriage

for me

it is to bring to the moment

what I was unable

to originally bring

to the moment of then


that as I was     

for then . . .


for I was not current

but projected

I was not present

but presenting

I was not of it

but attending

falsely posing as myself

yet quite privately

feeling foreign

and portrayed


so this then    

a form of overcompensation

as I claimed myself

to be within it

was featuring what I liked

and I had fantasized it

as some of my reality

into this setting

by attempts at concealment

from my past of disappointments

that that then

presently represented


I did not see

into the method

of hurt from then    

into the whole of the picture

but saw only that

which was made up

of my disclaimers


claims against myself

that I made up

from previous self-judgments

that held me back

from that now

and into the next now

yet I was not freed

by embracing it


for how it was    

was because

‘all of how it was’    

is somehow the convolution

of the claim

and that was a tally mounting

as a momentum held forward

against myself impending

with justification being as

the busy work of now    

to represent me


it is a mix of denial

and projection

as a twisted fix of now

with a cluttered sense

of composition

in a ‘was/will be’     

nothing-current passing

and I was nowhere

really present    

tethered to reactions

and posing

as my self guardian

for that cause

just working a premise

of downside unworthiness

and a momentum

of self as style


by all of that

as unjustified

but none the less

as an affective method

of hurting

yet acting as though

not a sense of deep concern

and obviously not the claim

or the case for it as cause


but that personalized pain

is just that

that that is the unresolved in me

and it is somehow embedded

in the cast of the culture

that passes

as my acceptable

behavior’s undertakings

shared with

and directed towards others


it is as a private con of them

by its superficial claims

and a self-sabotage

in its lack of personal conviction

and these appearances

though mutually exchanged

are the subterfuges unnamed

and we     are all hurting    

internally hurting

to the degree

that our private

hidden embarrassments

can carry us on as it forward

as an almost unconscious

hardly knowable agenda


and we believed it

to be adequately concealed

from others

and yet constantly revealed

to some of those

who are of the same


that this hurt as it lives on     

is by its method

a hand-me-down

from one person to another

from one generation to the next

a hurt behind the content

that conceals itself

a hurt within the secret context

that propels it


in a shadowy world

of private moments that surface

out of the grind

behind what appears to be

but this hurt is only a method

a restimulation of a deeper source

what then could it possibly be

without a more original cause

and thus a deeper explanation?


spirit of this journey

bring it forward into view

let me bathe it

into past existence

as it becomes my sentinel

for this as clearing to occur

and a messenger

taking me into an expanse

of the purer source as light

for I am now aware

that this hurt is only method

making sacred my journey

coming back to source


Monday, July 27, 2009

ah these incessant questions . . . as riddles:

can we emotionally celebrate

what already is . . .

for it to happen?


when is radiance

preceding response?


when is the rich opportunity

of experience itself

as service?


where is “belief” unendingly safe?


when is panic as reality

functioning efficiently?


when is challenge

as the introduction of frame

as frame is

as the conclusion of structure?


when is mind

sensing prominence

as love?


how do you

take the time

to trust into timelessness?


when does using diligence

instead of presence

yield to be as presence?


why is the proof of worth

as a life dialogue?


what is the pledge of with-held-ness

yet saved as self love?


when is experience

not emotional entitlement?


when is wanting a method

for presence deferment? 

Sunday, July 26, 2009

meow of now

if I live to find words

then I am already

missing the point


if I live for the pointedness

then I have removed myself

from the now


this now

that I live as noticed

precludes my presence in it


that I live as observance

well it is not my business

. . . that I live is


my shorelines

are filled with awareness

taking me away from that now


my surfaces of interaction

are self-delusions of concern

away from the now


embodiment itself as realized

is a distraction easily embraced


each of these as dalliances

makes now a smaller possibility


what     now is this?


no words leave clues

for words are my soft suicide

lived as hard acts

away from the now


for all of words

as bowls of warm milk

starve the kittens they feed

from their meow of now


now has no shelf life

for in a memorizing world

there are no post-its

to take you back

recognition becomes

so speechless and tongueless

in the operatic surrender

through the now


for this now . . .

experience is not the payoff

but the exhaust




Saturday, July 25, 2009

(Af)fronting us

nature does not speak

it is not preferential towards our listening

yet what of nature we overhear is honorable


there are domains of conversant exchange

we are at the next table, in another room


where there are whispers

when we go to them

we learn to read their lips as getting there


wonders are our phase of arrival 

miracles are our form of self-introduction

where the future holds back the punch line

expectations are our signs of impatience


we are mostly somewhere else

in the photo with what is

fictitiously claiming that the it that it is

. . . is our is!


we wanted function as surmise

and feel moved along by understanding

as a prosthetic for being aware


our every motion has a fulcrum assumption

through an axis of assertion

they are reversibly interchanged

in unknowable ways

by unperceived means


as long as we maintain as separate

this future . . . our future

is affronting us



Friday, July 24, 2009

A bird’s journey

A bird, after crawling through the thick pitch of a dark sky for hours, landed in an underground tree. Like an albatross, unstably perched on a twig of attention, this bird longed for a familiar story from out of the blue, as told by the forever winds that rise up from the heat of whispers coming from the below combined with the incessant flight-song echoing from the within. Hard pressed to settle down, it twizzled its head to falsely reclaim what was so dear about the action of flight in the joy of flying.


As if we were being brought into frame, an awareness settled in to the unexpectedness of this moment. With our senses on alert, a beak is sharpened against a near by branch much like a human would pause to stretch and flex to get one’s inner bearings. There is an intimacy of self-observation. Physical fatigue calls for a rest. Every next step, no matter what direction, would need full and undivided attention. So much history into so much heed, and so little application as obvious. It is like the alert of wide-open eyes is a darken cave where the rods and cones scramble their roles to give support from the light that is available. It is transcendent to be in it and of it and yet we, in witness from beyond it, like sensing the enormity of the cave yet craving tactile and immediate details for anchoring.


That we as witness have no method of intervention, feel useless yet providing in unrealized ways. Is there a crazy wisdom at work and we as a whole are also the evidence undisclosed unto ourselves? If it were I, I would like to take to wing what talons my attention. To fidget with form as if every next touch, even wing against a cave wall, is a bead in the mantra of life presented to my consciousness unfolding, as a bird of prey now in a life of prayer.


And to realize that perched in an underground tree, is much like the life of the hanged man, giving me hope that there are roots in the sky above me and that all as paradox plays out. And to crawl is as to fly is like how now is as a glass half full that prepares me for what is to come. And now feeds and nourishes me in ways I cannot demand. For there is no demand placed upon wisdom, or serenity, or anything to overcome. All will come and go and come again and I am obliged to surrender the remembrance of the first time to fully arrive at nothing more than now but with more candle power in my consciousness, brighter flame in my presence and not withholding to the embrace of everything as flight is dance and dance is flight and roots in the sky that will receive me.




Thursday, July 23, 2009

Kazoos of soul

we are as kazoos

extraverted out of soul

appear as celebrated soloists



as so much our separate song

drown out or dumb down

by audience ambivalence

yet myopic in tonal exhales


fixed with an incessant reed of need

each a masterpiece of serenade

that spotlights do not portray

that volume does not convey

that appearances do not in depth reveal

that message from within itself


lost upon the wash of those who receive

such is the breath and exhale of now

we     some as troops    

some as terrain

some as tromp

cumulative yet inevitably dispersed


a curious spend of blinkered perspectives

fracturing faceted forces of humankind

fill the view


this making music of life as expenditure

wagging with our forms as tongues

to say what can’t be said

inferring by behavioral trickledown

in motions concealed as surefire facade


a reverence out of silence

behind these blares

yet kazoo justified

we are amidst wind

in the forest for the trees

bearing kazoo as breath

of common soul

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

My will

my will out of assertion

offers me nothing lasting

yet everything is in stone

I become the custodian

of things I didn’t want

that represented my prison


my will out of surrender

offered me nothing lasting

yet everything in constantly changing

I am at the mercy of gratitude

for things that come my way

offered me the expression of my being


my will out of control

offered me a kingdom of smallness

yet everything there is strained

I demanded my image reflected

in everything around me

that only stifled my essence in vain


my will out of my way

offered me little in resistance

yet everything in stillness came my way

I am amazed in responsiveness

for I had willfully pleaded with effort

that now revealed was not the means

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

On the way

on the way

to undressing the self

I came upon

a wardrobe of words


all my clothes

were hand-my-downs

from identity’s wants


I accidentally looked

into the mirror of meaning

to sense what remains

nobody was looking back


there was only


now namelessly

pouring back and rising


into the flood

I swam

until only current

knew my name     fading away

as effort’s spent in signage

Monday, July 20, 2009

Soothe my longing heart

is this some trick of the mind?

is there a hammock or a trampoline

made exclusively of inner dialogue?

am I in a self-talk conversation

on an elevator going up or down

within a quivering building

in a massive earthquake

on a trembling piece of land ?

have the earth’s poles

radically shifted

and a tsunami is about in passing?

or are we just out of orbit-sync

with the moon?

I am in search

of an ultimate disclaimer

in a proper personalized scale

something of substance

to hold the hand of my mind

and to soothe my longing heart

that is in audience

awaiting in the sway

no swoon will eventually come

to soothe this form of longing

yet only by letting go

can my being . . .

be heartfelt and clear