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Thursday, January 31, 2013

a penny’s worth (haiku) 1/31/13

metallic flavor
spending some time on your tongue
taste copper penny

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Hope to see ya * 1/30/13

There are times
when everything seems so close
intimately so,
and yet as accomplices
somewhat very far away.
Times when my breath,
although close at hand,
is my best friend of insistence,
when my skin is a consensus public
voting on my behalf me
on issues that really hadn’t come
to my person’s attention,
when my bones moan
as if they live either
immediately upstairs or down stairs
and complain,
when my mind is like visiting
a subway station in rush hour,
and when excess salvia in my mouth
is concern for who last used it
and forgot to turn it off!
And they walk me around,
seems like senselessly at times.
I wake up to mid-sentence
and feel responsible to finish.
I can be laughing
and have no rhyme or reason
and certainly no excuse for that.
I can’t say I am sleepwalking
or ingested adventure, by any means.
Just rowing along,
noticed event after noticed event,
in an ocean of self in the moment,
and blam! I loose frame
or gain dimension
or become my invisible twin!
For then, most of quote, “reality”,
seems like
riding in a fast car and gazing out.
What I mean is,
that lots of reality for then
is like litter on the side of the road
in potential blur
if I don’t really focus in on it
and otherwise,
there is everything in the car, steady
and intimately in locality agreement
even though not existing as me
but right next to me,
if you get my drift.
I mean,
even my body is only right next to me
but we are speeding along together,
it seems.
I can’t really have a dialogue
with myself about this,
because the bubble bursts
and I am back to being me
with all this paraphernalia
of manifest self
and no capacity for slippage back out!
Control is not a usable technique.
I can’t force this to happen.
Obviously there is some incantation
or secret code that I do
that gets me there but I not know.
“Bugga, bugga”, I don’t know.
It’s like a kind of intimacy
that my real senses
are not prepared to go there.
Some translation on my part allows
for a sense of things to seem okay
but all too slippery
for experiential demonstration.
No, commanding it to occur
seems unlikely.
I am surely thinking
this happens to more people
then just me
but I haven’t met that way yet!
I mean, what are the odds?
And furthermore,
what do we do if we did?
Well better than that is,
if we did,
would we ever want to go back?
Hope to see ya there
and see what we do
for then . . .

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

bird-wing 1/29/13

bird-wing feathers
whispering wind harmonicas
accompany flight with song

Monday, January 28, 2013

I forgot the words * 1/28/13

No, in my world,
this goes quite the opposite.
Words imposed with feelings
hunt me down.
They will constantly badger me
in the moment with repetition 
until I agree to sit down
and have these words
out of me,
to say what it is,
they want me to say.
For they want me
to leave breadcrumbs
for the minds and hearts
of others.
They want me
to put whole feelings
into and behind the words
They want the potential
of burst forth to be embedded
in what I write.
I didn't forget the words.
No, they track me down 
and forge in me,
a follow through. 
And I am expanded
and somewhat frontal empty
while this all happens,
almost timelessly so.
And I look at what is written,
as if for a first time,
to say it out loud to myself,
before I pass it along . . .

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Memory’s curse (haiku) * 1/27/13

use of memory
kibitz expectation’s plea
cursing with details

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Gliding in the sheer * 1/26/13

Gliding in the sheer,
as the blur
is worth a thousand words.
The motion itself
is the prayer
as images ascending
yet no vision comes to mind
or is needed.
There is a fragrance of soaring
and a sweet smile in bloom
that is ever coming my way,
without any noticeable movement.
There is a rhythm
that silences and deepens
and enhances.
And there are no formalisms
for my people coming to mind.
The embrace with them fills
with what thought
would have presented.
I have these wings for now
as my means,
more than I could
consciously intend.
What has this lightness
as if of a feather touching me,
is what breathes me,
beckons me,
yet calls me from within.
Please, I do mean
for any of these words
to separate us.
This as worth
demonstrates the one heart
where we are all in sync.
Where I enter
from being my person,
I joyously leave behind,
to become one with all.
The emotion shared
from there as now,
is to experience enormity
without the distraction
of meaningfuls or particulars.
Life knows of me
as I have searched for meaning.
But in this desert of light,
the mirages are emotionally wet
with meaning.
I read from these mirrors
as they are reading me.
This is how I come to
meet surrender.
Nothing is more sacred.
Everything identified
becomes these refinements
for this prayer of nothing.
Sleep is simply the same song
sung in a deeper soothing voice.
When I whisper these truths,
my mind is aware
but seamlessly undisturbed.
Our lives are the one vigil.
This quantum process
begets us all.
You can be or go
any where upon this earth
and the same prayer
will eventually be said
from your lips directly to you.
To truly and deeply know this,
allows you to disrobe
in wisdom and be . . .
Breath implores the heart
to journey the life riddle.
Living never answers
in the complete truth,
but the candle of life
provides the light
of the ever-drawnness,
to be from within
and to be . . .

Friday, January 25, 2013

unnumbered (haiku) 1/25/13

unnumbered pages
neatly stacked . . . practicing book
without print or bind

Thursday, January 24, 2013

In a visual culture 1/24/13

In a visual culture,
we share what we can see
by where our attention goes,
kissing up to symbols.
In an auditory situation,
we deftly hear what can be heard
by imagining that listen and location
are the tasks at hand.
In a touching encounter,
we feel for the nurturance
coming forth from where
touch appears to occur.
In an eye to eye,
we let the light share
be the beam
in wide eyes towards empty fullness.
In an instance,
we allow the timelessness
to seep in, breaking down
the supposed boundaries
of our false protection and precision.
In an inner voice,
comes the affinity
of at least, a familiarity of tone,
if not even topic and conclusion
but not without
the potential entrapment
from our assumptions
that always seems to go,
unmentioned . . .
Our creativity is freedom,
coming forth in connectivity,
without regard for sunrise or sunset.
All of this is wondrous,
attuning yet randomly still.
All, as if this,
in a visual culture all,
had a handle to it
and our experience as method,
was the only grasping at,
for what already is in hand . . .

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

her sigh 8 1/23/13

Her enveloping sigh 
leaves a indelible burdensome tattoo
on the tabletop of my feelings.
Salt and pepper,
I can never shake . . .

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

A moment with voice * 1/22/13

Reawakening to each moment
amid an environment
heavy with contingencies,
considerations incessantly barking
in the background,
the burdensome weathering
of emotional follow thru
discharging in the air
where by breathing
as an assumed comforting labor
of occasional recognition
is, once in a while,
appearing as a sigh,
amidst the fanfare of symbols
gushing forth with meaning
and my audience face
amidst the reluctance
and outright resistance
to intentionally perform
apparently meaningful acts
that are simply, empty of soul
yet are rationally construed
but barren of juice,
too thought out distended,
too comatose automatic
and too dumb-down rehearsed
to be repeated to death.
I go away from such acts
and yet repeatedly do them
at the same time.
I give of myself
and give up myself
by doing so.
It is a helpless treading
of the liquid of lostness
but still grappling
with new found substitutes
for a shallow
but spirited existence.
Dutifully floating down
but subjectively lifted up
by the naiveté
of my first person novelty
prancing delightfully before
its own cynical self-conscious view.
There is a murmur
with a half mind voicing it.
There is an exhausted listening
with a half mind hearing it.
Nothing is really of distraction
and no thing is really a focus.
Happening is in effect.
Living this life is as affect,
disguised as a functional self
representing itself.
I am here as my agent
to represent myself
to gain a permission
to be myself,
well, to be my undisclosed self.
I am here to negotiate
for a wealth of being
and to limit performance times,
audience appraisals,
well actually,
to be perfectly honest
to eliminate story and audience
No standing back,
no withheld-ness,
no senseless regard
for the appropriate demeanor
or the politically correct topic or delivery.
All candid, all alive, all the time.
I hurt, I laugh, I loose.
We hurt, we feel, we embrace.
Slap me
with unexpected turns in the road.
Throw pebbles
at the windows of my soul.
Rub up against my caricatures 
and make me respond from beyond.
Validate my infrequent aliveness
with likewise when and return.
Sober me up with soulfulness.
I want the nectar
of the depth of being
to wash over me.
I don’t want me.
I want the me of us,
the momentum of us-aliveness
poured over me.
I don’t want words
and somehow agreement.
I want the oneness of us
suckered out of me.
I don’t want definitiveness
or accountability’s reward.
I want the collective
with empathy slap stick shared.
I have a moment with voice,
but I am still only breathing in
what oneness breathes out . . .

Monday, January 21, 2013

taste lingers (haiku) 1/21/13

now sweetness is gone
the popsicle stick remains
that chewed, taste lingers

Sunday, January 20, 2013

default tantra * 1/20/13

I’d like to believe
I am still interested in sex.
Yes, curvaceous and sensuous
and physical beauty is wondrous.
But sex is not
the automatic affirmative.
There was a time when sex
did not even justify an equation
to exist.
Maybe, at times in life,
there was a formula,
as an explanation
for pasts remembered.
But somehow,
sex became a buzzword,
not a trigger for clear images,
but more of a context,
more thoughtfully a notion
involving intimacy,
conversational exchange,
mutual time momentously,
a sense of comfort and ease,
subtler exchanges than topic,
touch as an environment,
and voices tones as
a potential mating dance.
No, not full headlights on tantra,
but more of a default tantra,
more of a presence dance,
more high quality unsaidness,
more of spirit revealed
and then risked as shared.
No, procreation
is not pressing the button.
Chemistry is less physical
and actually
more auric field electrical.
Vibes is not a checklist revisited,
but feel has an expanded depth to it.
Perks are wonderful
but they do not essentially affect
the flow of the bottom line.
There is no, “if a I had dollar
for every time
this personally happened to me”
type of accounting going on.
It is more like the study of
the place in me that knows
how to express with watercolors
what deeply needs
to get out of me
and shared to reveal my spirit
in a deeper way.
So I call it, default tantra
as a way of this 
all coming into frame . . .

Saturday, January 19, 2013

sleeping (haiku) 1/19/13

deep rhythmic breathing
of someone dear sleeping near
under watchful gaze

Friday, January 18, 2013

the bearing of bother * 1/18/13

Beingness is useless
to the mind of inquiry.
Revelation, as a method,
is hired by a party
consciously within oneself
who cannot benefit
from the results obtained
but can become a custodian
of what they claim
and keepsake it
as a proclamation
of or towards understanding
yet it is without true
transformational merit.
Example, I now know the name
and location of a river
but I am not part of its flow.
Another, I can be contextual
about the prison of my circumstance
but I cannot express the depth
of my being in evidence.

If I sense enormity,
I am by summary it seems
away from it.
What I experience
is a resultive existence.
What it is that is actually happening,
cannot be confined to account
or confirmation or register
as my experience.
I am the now
but my experience of now
is a sampling in a tokenism way.
The way that knowing is constructed
to function in and as person,
is a denial of a person’s presence
as a being.
Knowing is a false sense of locality,
reference and function.
Knowing is like dying skin cells
at the surface of the being,
evident but in the last stages
of efficiency and affect.
We commingle as if we are leaves
on ideological trees of cultural themes
in civilized forests.
Seasons come and go.
There are roots and trunks
and canopy,
yet now is non-cyclic
and all of mass manifests
as essentially one.
Our sensory input,
when mind consciously usurped,
is by depiction.
The subsequent embrace
leads to eventful accounts
but not timeless immersion
that has no telling or after affects.
You cannot visit now as an experience.
Now has no events and no story.
We are reductionistic to think
and live in mentally equivalent modeling
as our versionary truth.
Therefore, I cannot have hurt
without details to celebrate.
I cannot have pain
without locality.
I am not any of myself
as I claim.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

trees (haiku) * 1/17/13

trees with shallow roots
hope for high water table
fear high winds’ affect

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Ennowment * 1/16/13

Experience itself is
anecdotal to the now.
Ennowment is more the essence
rather than enlightenment.
Enlightenment seems to imply
that meaning would be the savior
and that knowledge imparted
would be the medium.
If enlightenment was
a superhighway out of here,
available to everyone equally,
which it is,
why would there be speed traps
for efforting,
and toll booths for self worth
and besides that,
who would man them?
With ennowment,
there is no coming back.
There is no here or there
to start with.
That ‘there is’, of itself,
is a slight falsification.
For there is no self-consciousness
to ‘is’.
is like a form
of identical twin sibling rivalry,
where one lived,
not knowing itself
to be a twin
and the other is living
through the first twin,
not knowing its own fate
more directly.
And the dead twin
is way more chatty!
Thus self-consciousness
rather than parallel universes
seems to be the norm.
don’t think about . . .