also for viewing

check out my video haikus
and slideshow videos on youtube at "junahsowojayboda"

Saturday, August 31, 2013

still’s (haiku) 8/31/13

what is still’s stillness?
joy of movement’s rhapsody
self, present, within

Friday, August 30, 2013

cruel to be just kind * 8/30/13

Such an odd fate, 
to settle for the blade of kindness
and not truly address what is seen,
to retreat into the short lives of compliments
and unchallengeable positions of service,
to not risk being judged for saying a deeper truth,
to acquiesce to another's comfort zone politics,
to find suitable answers outside 
of sensitivity's observance, 
to live into a lesser focus 
as if enrolling of others required it, 
as if this form of denial 
is a performance form taken to heart 
and internalizing it is, in some measure, 
giving off a presence of social grace, 
offering a suitable mask of sincerity 
to live down the contrivance, 
to appear to have lead an un-offensive life 
in the measure of all others' eyes,
to have debated internally inconclusively 
as an avoidance style 
from acknowledging deeper principles.
If caring is a falsification of chaos, 
if kindness is a looking past, 
a not wanting to interrupt another's movie, 
where are there restraints 
about kindness and caring 
or are they permission granted statuses 
of acceptable interactional sharing?
Are we all involved in some sort of version 
of the king's invisible clothes storyline?
Are we accomplices in the tradeoffs
with having each other as friends?
Is the value of humankind ever diminished 
to the posture of caring, as benchmarks 
reserved for only demonstration status?
Where, in caring, does interest become insult,
observation become heresy, 
genuine concern become premeditation, 
insistence become interference?
Is the right to life, 
a right to aloneness and isolation?
Are we not all in some method, by avoidance,
of socially acceptable self-suicide?
When is fearfulness to say not only an act of vanity?
When do complaints register as care rendered?
If my need to care envelops all others around me
then what is my agenda?
What if I need to appear to be kind by being kind? 
How can kindness hurt anybody?
Doesn't kindness have its own agenda? 
Kindness in spontaneous response seems wonderful,
but if someone only has a kindness button 
and it is on all the time, 
is there not room for suspicion? 
So what if kindness is really a relational placation 
to get along or to be non confrontational?
So what is an acceptable motivation for kindness,
an exceptional loving heart, 
no matter what first impressions?
If kindness is as a get-by mode, 
as it makes no waves
nor be seen in a bad light, 
then is kindness as a result,
a judgment strategy, 
kindness as a form of shielding,
or kindness as a privacy method, 
kindness as a prison, 
as proof of aloneness and isolation,
kindness as a means of justifying unworthiness?
Kindness, as calculable, is scary.
Treating a cynic with kindness interacts like how?
How empty can it be?
When kindness meets up with kindness,
how many doors can kindness not open?
Is it not so that every act has its elements 
or facets of kindness, 
even if they are not formalized
and directed with attention?
When is kindness an environment for disease?
Can there be that much paradox
between appearances and source?
When, in personal politics, 
did kindness get a technical position?
Isn't kindness an indirect way of un-approachability?
Why do we call it out as the discernment of kindness?
When does kindness loose its innocence, 
that kindness is a broker for something 
so much subtler as to remain unnamed?
What is that that goes on yet falls prey 
to the claims of the currency of kindness?
What distance need be gained by naming it
as if identified by its appearances?
How short of frame, to ponder motive 
as if concealed by acts.
Acts that are ignited and sweetly passed
as the communing of kindness in flame,
warmly consuming all in its path.
It’s cruel to be just kind . . .

Thursday, August 29, 2013

now’s medium (haiku) 8/29/13

now’s medium is
interactive radiance
there’s no time like now

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

the now * 8/28/13

The world with content
is not in the now.
The notice of content is a fallback position.
That referential layer is not immediate.
It is imminently secondary
in those nanoseconds before recognition fills.
Now has no language forming.
Any language that appears in the now
has to come in a channeled way
where all parties hear it for the first.
Our assumed now, with the eyes,
has too narrow of a focus.
Now is a gaze focus
where variables of motion interact.
Flow is the confluence screen seen.
Now does not generate recognition
in the ordinary sense.
Our normal recognition is like a still camera 
taking shots then processed into language code
and subsequently meaning appears
as the frontal preoccupation to our real now.
Now has no boundaries.
Everything is fluid with energetic integrities
but for us,
we are on a limited sensory input roll.
Since are senses are tuned to register symbols
and have limited range of perceptual training,
the import of what is sensed
is mostly menu related,
sensing what we already know.
We generally reside
in the affirming involvement
as the fill of our reality surmise.
We are behaviorally preoccupied,
sensorially consumed, and mentally flooded
with this nature of interactiveness
as our consciousness.
We are basically flush
with what is in front of us
and the doing of it that it presents.
Now is a difficult concept to participate in.
Now is unlike the rest of experience.
We take experiential baggage into the now.
The frame modality for the now
is not fixative in nature.
You are not a spectator.
There is nothing referential to be gained.
It all plays
and you are party to this as yourself.
There is no sense of command.
This transition reminds me of this process:
Imagine you are deathly afraid of water,
afraid of drowning. Even bathtubs bother you.
Neurotically you don’t like it when it rains.
Fountains and birdbaths are aversions.
But you are drawn to what you fear.
So it’s rain off the roof that you ponder,
feet in puddles, wading in baby pools,
idly sitting by a running creek,
leaning out, on a bridge
over a fast flowing river,
a day at the beach and eventually
a walk near a lake water.
Setbacks are internal but the draw is on.
Finally there are longer showers,
a careful time in some else’s Jacuzzi,
a view of the ocean from high above,
a run on that beach below, playful splashing,
and dodging wave surges up the beach.
Another day at the ocean happens,
the air, the surf, the waves lapping,
carefully water up to your knees,
a surprising wave up your back,
your balance lost,
and now your are simply floating as swimming,
still there are haunts in the back of your mind.
For it’s always been you and then the water.
Now you in the water.
Carefully it’s manageable.
Parts of it are playful.
Look around, everyone else in the water
is secretly favorable applause.
You are buoyant and float without a struggle.
Many revisits later, it’s a wonder.
That inner fear is very remote but present,
easily overcome in a flash.
Now swimming here and there,
out and about, big waves get handled.
Surf is a frenetic ride of sorts,
just you and the water.
And then it happens.
A break through is possible.
You get caught in a rip current.
All of your previous information,
your entire relationship with water 
that led you to this point is challenged.
Swimming is a struggle.
It is you against the water.
Old histories and fears leap into the fray.
Panic and doubt surface in the mix.
Physical fatigue begins to burden.
Your worst vision is about to happen.
The struggle weighs heavily.
And then, by some strange fate,
either you surrender or you break frame.
And you stop fighting the water.
The water will take you to your fate now.
And in relaxing, you feel the current,
not as the enemy but as a flow,
kind of like a stream current.
You go with it in small strokes.
You relax just enough
to get a sense of the water’s movement,
that you are one with the water,
working together.
So you angle off to the side of the current
and the push against your body ceases.
You are now just bobbing in the ocean,
far from shore but free.
The water is not the enemy
you can be fluid with it, in it.
You can be one with the ocean.
And as much as there was a struggle
and you are tired,
you have made the initial breakthrough:
Now is like the ocean itself.
And you are part of it.
You feel it.
It dances with you.
It’s like riding bareback on a swift pony
when you rhythm connect.
It’s all of a water slide downward.
It’s underwater dives and you up for air.
A wave is a mood passing.
Current is a deeper sweeping cause.
The water, an intimacy shared.
Now, the real now, leaves words behind
for you to,
just be.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

pre-birth (haiku) * 8/27/13

before you were born,
para-natal consciousness?
spirit on the rise

Monday, August 26, 2013

now refines itself * 8/26/13

I want to free-fall with tears,
over the brim of sanity’s custody.
To cave in, crashing through,
down crib walls, to a levity meeting me.
A cascade of crushing anguish
yet somehow, from within, lifting.
Winces turned into sudden burst of crying
that unexpectedly gives me wings.
Wheat from shaft is occurring.
I cannot see but feel the flutter
from within me growing.
Everything of me
that is false structure is collapsing.
Melting dead weight memories
fade in a falling away.
Only the purest of me is willing to fly.
Earnest without fail or substitution rises.
Now refines itself, as the sky I travel.
Under these circumstances
baffling metamorphosis occurs.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Understanding (haiku) 8/25/13

note: understanding
without real, true, empathy
is impotency.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

reach confides in grasp * 8/24/13

Cognition may not, for the most part,
be personal immersion.
Sensory input is, as always, just invitational.
Solutions and answers are handrails 
abandoned in support of coming
into the moment, fully present.
Know your capacity for emptiness
to embrace what is being offered.
Flow of being will travel
through all emotions and thoughts
to beyond self-consciousness
to source trust and express love.
We are in receivership of everything
as only passing through
if we are admittedly open to the possibilities.
Authentic witness has no conclusions
or judgments that have any staying power.
Allowing the emptiness to fill in its flow
with the ever passing
as the mind and emotions, for themselves, 
would account for,
gives us a sense of spiritual perspective.
Reach confides in grasp . . .

Friday, August 23, 2013

linearity (haiku) * 8/23/13

without your feelings exchanged
is rational fraud

Thursday, August 22, 2013

experience as an outcome * 8/22/13

Experience, as an outcome,
is our posture of predisposition
yet in the deepest recesses of it as being,
experience would want emotion
to set aside the modesty of topic.
It would want inspiration
to stop coming on and just be.
Experience would want emotion's life
to feel as if it were a pride of lions feasting
with all deaths towards a redistribution of spirit.
Experience would long for language
to have tonal prominence as its definitive means.
It would want to end the surprise
felt from another's touch.
Experience would want the sounds of all voices
to be the only true thirst for sound at all.
Experience would, in time,
like to genuinely decompose into presence
and not just all together be forgotten in passing.
Experience, for itself, would like to embrace
the makers of paradox.
It would want miracles to also profess
their indifference for their deeds.
Experience would want to revel in
desire's essential character behind its many voices.
It would want tears acknowledged
for their nourishment.
It would want the earth's brain to know laughter,    
first hand.
Experience would want time to only exist
at mid sneeze.
It would want wisdom to stop dressing up for others
and experience would like from us
fewer stories and less reminiscing in history.
Experience would agree to show us where joy is
and the why’s and how’s of joy
but fully admits
experience itself cannot ever be
the source of our true joy . . .

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

wide eyes * 8/21/13

The dishes, thrown to the floor,
spattered into patterns of laugher.
My eyes were raised in a visual toast,
to celebrate breaking free.
The birth cannel of conscious spirit
is a life long passage.
Wide eyes will often greet me
unexpectedly . . .

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

every word a zealot * 8/20/13

Every word is a zealot,
a vehement summation,
a linear contextual distortion,
an addiction's precision,
definite finiteness in mind-gem settings.
Each word is
the single mindedness
of an intrusive handout,
static and overbearing
like a forced attendance slide show,      
up close and frontal
as the elevator door of meaning opens    
revealing a light house spotlight
as an outcry of exactitude's utterances
into the crevices of understanding. 
The portrayal of comprehension's vigilantes
are as good guys,
solidifying a contrivance
as a tryst of meaning as cognition.
This is almost convincing
towards recognition's habit 
of attentive dedication,
aligned towards pseudo agreement.
This, a contemporary
of superficial adversarial cogency,
composed of guardedness
and knowing's contention.
It’s always with that ‘where's-Waldo’ view.
It is a kind of acne
on the face of a smiling God.
Every word a zealot.

Monday, August 19, 2013

Curiosity (haiku) * 8/19/13

killed the cat several times
but cat has nine lives

Sunday, August 18, 2013

quirks that bemuse * 8/18/13

From a quantum perspective,
all of mass is just sensory tourism.
All of the naming of things
is a hypnotic form of suggestive isolation.
Most all of think
is a frozen image focus market.
Integrative think is running ahead
of its audience share potential.
Recognition is really a security guard
at the sanity door
checking id’s for possible censure.
Blame is a peephole sense of causality.
Anger is a flashflood an issue bound
gridlock environment.
Topic is a form of myopia
that has consensual approval.
A bargain is when a dreamscape leaks
unto a mindset and needs a wipe away
by purchase.
All of thought is a hand-me-down
done in a discretionary manner.
The way a mind greets a new thought
is a form of celebrity ambush
by the paparazzi of self.
Seeing a lit candle in a darken room
is your eyes solemnly French kissing
a sacred image from your past.
The metaphorical bother with details
is that they are all in a smaller font
and present in lower case.
What if waggle is the cause
and happy-face is the result?
What if laugh
is the ultimate whole brain answer
and consciousness itself
is only the circumstances of questioning?

Saturday, August 17, 2013

authenticity (haiku) * 8/17/13

this is now’s most precious gift
believe it or not

Friday, August 16, 2013

a bad, bad man * 8/16/13

“You’re a bad, bad man 
and you release the bright red devil in me.”

Not so, that is so not so.
I have encouraged your spectral range of being
to profess its true colors.
I have invited your canine teeth
to acquire caving skills as an artist.
I have asked the landscape of the body,
your body, to undulate the geologic column
through all of its eras and epochs.
There are no religious overtones a calling,
no polar icecaps of positioning to be melted,
there is only the search for the holy grail
that is never in one place,
generates light in its passage,
becomes an environment without audience,
and never stops molecularly dancing.
Your use of “bad bad” is like a double negative!
Engorgement of spirit is all I ask.
The trickledown will benefit everyone
in your field charisma, even unknowingly.
Friction-spark-ignition to light
is an event illusion.
On is always,
focus becomes presence,
flow is empty-fullness,
timelessness is evermore  . . .