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Tuesday, February 28, 2017

nourishmeant (haiku) 2/28/17

laughing is gravy
the bowl is this moment’s view
slurping is allowed

Monday, February 27, 2017

the burning of yearn 2/27/17

If everyone had a Go-Pro for eyes
and a web channel for a conscious brain
and a media search for the most-est,
could we get on with this deep thirst
with much more efficiently?
Topics seem to launch from the mouths
but fly away without a care in mind.
I want to know the world better than just order.
I wanted people with crayons in their hot hands
all over the daily pages of me.
I wanted radiant colors off of the fresh flower gardens,
in full bloom from looking into the eyes of others.
I wanted touching another to be in the way
that a river from a distant inland journey
meets up with the ocean itself
and they come to eventually embrace into one.
I wanted a sky full of empathy for clouds,
troubled clouds but being with sky presence,
all dissipated into love.
I wanted all these as metaphors to be pheromones,
filling lives with incentives and operatives as means.
I wanted wanting to make it so,
and that I would be the sun of endorsement
for this, from and for, all of us,
from the burning of yearn . . .

Sunday, February 26, 2017

that demand (haiku) 2/26/17

today is the day
events happen that demand

life story toughness

Saturday, February 25, 2017

Play into the be 2/25/17

We are all in a trance of cognition,
rewarded with answers and conclusions
that, like fresh cut flowers,
look great initially
but are dying as we receive them
because they are cut off from life.
We are duped into a false notion in our minds
because we are in rapture with the symbols
and loose sight of the ongoing livingness lost.
Our minds are enrolled in a gift giving process
in which all the gifts are dead on arrival
dead of their natural life
but alive in our minds
because of the symbology we assign.
Every time we capture as audience,
something we claim as special,
we are taking a timeout
to freeze frame and store
that which has lost the momentum
for its livingness to appease us
within our storied account.
We don’t levitate
but believe in taking the cognitive stairs,
and every step is a loaded freeze frame
of effort towards some stated goal.
Drawnness has a lightness of being
while determined-and-directed carries
an excess along with the process itself.
We make a bucket list into a weight belt
and then travel the upstream of accomplishment
to get there
as if stories merit any other moment in time
but in the illusion of now.
Reality is then the coma at hand
as in a case of a limited consciousness,
a stupor of intelligence
getting no evolutionary advancement
as benefit but only as oblivion
of placative memories to dwell upon in passing.
Stress itself is a form
of potentially dysfunctional Chi Kung.
Loving is a form of creative stress
as stress is a mediumship of integral livingness.
Reality as we have at it,
is a cognitive virus
where coping is like tilling the fields
of our cellular life.
Every moment presents living and dying
in support of our being.
Aging is just a presumptive tally line.
We want quantum passage
beyond the metaphor of time and space,
beyond materialization,
beyond quantum field differentiation
in the subtlest of ways.
We want oneness
beyond the handicap of mindfulness,
language, mass representation
or even spiritual enterprise,
just the universe without the time bind,
or the space occupancy,
or the consciousness of curiosity
as if we, in the bleachers,
comment about the field in play.
I go into emptiness as a meaning
that I last grasp before none,
I leave my crayons of coloration,
my inquisitive inquisitional mind,
my emotional buoyancy of being,
my method for story and account,
my senses as Clydesdales of awareness,
and only breathe in beyond the physical,
going forth undifferentiated from all else,
giving up the entitlement of know,
just to play,
to joyously play,
vastly into the be . . .

Friday, February 24, 2017

waited 2/24/17

please, breath your self alive
you are worth the life force to bother
our verbal intimacy,
so face to face, can wait
deal with the front page of your life
where we are fine print,
can have soft eyes
when they naturally occur
but I waited for you to think of me
not registered as my ears burning
but more so, a tap on my intuitive shoulder
I would smile an emotional
back your direction
as if we were otherwise touching
more like body to body,
a next to each other, notice that we are touching
even though for that to occur
I would have to think of distance as just our clothing
and contact as thoughtfulness communally etheric
where time would not alter our mutuality of mood
there, no expectations crowding to looksee or gander
we are there, sometimes always there
smooth as, sailing the seas as the sea . . .