Memories Descend

 She had her hip aligned and the cosmos shifted 

while memories descended on the unwilling

bravery marks her words

faces, more like demons, mark her history

as she shares without flinching

"this is my journey"

"see it now, thoroughly listen"

 while the tide trends towards ripples and her reflection

clarifies

The Apocalypse

 It is time.

The apocalypse.

It is the unveiling of what was in charge of your mind so many years ago. It is the unveiling of archetypes. Anger is an ancient word for regret. Self-pity is not mastery. Self-pity is a ruthless portrayal of what was once love…and then lost. I am so regretful.  Longing is a mirage.

The veil has slipped. The archetypes. The imagined ones. The shake it with all you got ones.

 The work ones. The shepherds, vanished, leaving only echoes.

They are dreams broken, archetypes who drained the life of insight, of revelation.

They are dripping with sarcasm. With ego. With death defying journeys that bring home the fated ones to the hearth, to arms of warm, not of peace but of fortitude. Anguish with every swing of the ax.

Anguish with every blow to the heart. Anguish with every I must perform …to do this, or else. 

The veil is lifting.

Now.

Why did I have to race home? The energy is so high. The archetypes are leaving. The archetypes are going towards home.    

What is truth. Compassion.

What is evil, the unalive, not awakened ones.

What is peace?

What is happiness?

What is nurturing?

What is abandonment?

What is caring?

How do we develop tools to be that which are sustaining? How do we reach our goals? Our ends. To meet the needs of the one? Of the God force within us?

To tell the truth when lies are so much easier on the heart and in some ways the soul. Why the suffering? I am so angry that I have not successfully stood up against the tyrants. I have swayed and been pushed over.  

Thinking ‘they are idiots' but remaining silent. I am sorry.  Anger or regret.

Fear, regret, anger; each born of the other, circling endlessly.

The Rapid Deterioration of Space

 "Deterioration of Space":

In the void's embrace, galaxies fade, erased, 

Cosmic dust whispers of time's cruel haste. 

Silent echoes where stars once danced, 

Infinite blackness, a chilling trance. 

Time's relentless march Leaving naught but shadows, a cosmic ballet,

Memories of light, now lost in dismay.

Planets crumble, their beauty effaced, A symphony of entropy, in space embraced. Yet amidst decay, the cosmos finds grace.

Tea and Things

He walks into her apartment which smells like patchouli, lavender and chamomile followed by a hint of mint tea. Conversing, she follows a stream of magical uncertainty punctuated by wisdom on the 1/2 hour

Cheese Haiku

 I want cheese (3)

Empty calendar (5)

Where's my cheese? (3)

Moon is Full

Full Moon Buddha

Oh Heart Glorious

Moongliding on a flat horizon

Earth Temple lifts off

What's a wasp

Those little wasps zapping you all day long
without a schedule
at unpredictable times
so that you are constantly distracted

How many times do the notes go back into boxes, into pockets, into folders?
When is it time?

Osprey

                                                                       Freedom 

Wisdom surrounds us.  I imagine wisdom as an osprey flying high in the sky, calling loudly

who answers its call
who surprisingly says yes

who hears, “Here's what you requested.”
who says, “We believe it's you.”

Freedom. Not just one assists in the world
not just one says yes
not just one says ok
not just one says what can I do

https://www.lamayeshe.com/advice/prayer-peace?fbclid=IwAR0WjzBIVc31SaIIFzFD6FDYves-cDZvm9lTMW7zZG2uwtV_pnHjFv2C1OQ

INSEPARABLE: YOU ARE ONE

I.

Ride the wave!
Catch the arc!

YOU are swimming in a foreign, an ancient and a
familiar universe.
Thrust in the Deep

ARE you blindly seeking
or are you seeing some common pathway in
this enveloping dark roller coaster ride?

ONE

You meld with an enormous being.
Will it become YOU?

I call to you
Can you,
Do you,  hear ME?

Vibrations, while soft, beat like a drum,
Lullaby libido in our cave;
Expansion.  Reverberation.  Ovulation. Evolution. Re-evaluation. Evaluation.
Sympathy.  Revolution. Volition.

____________________________________

Rehearse this phrase: There! Newness is created

A joyous ONE, of our two parts created on the moment
A conglomeration of all shared intimate pasts.

______________________________________

II. 

An infant's seat

,,, is cradled between our hearts
and I can see our attempts to love each other,
How we are so much like children in a playground.
Our feet bathed in the mud we named;
 "We are not of love".

This phrase, no longer a shock to us,
We name it: "Shame"
And it is carried like a torch,
Passing along these stories we keep for our parents,
and our  ancestors
Who stood once on this fertile soil and claimed;
 "IT IS GOOD".

I can imagine in the very beginning, maybe there was an argument,
It could have been the excitement,
or even a long-held desire for change
That started this incessant arguing over who is right
or,  who is wrong.

An argument that may have come from fear,

Aim. Steady. Fire!
This, this new now, becomes a perpetual mudslinging contest that has left us covered in layers of
anger, shame and fear and ... madness.
Our features are now so dirtied, truly we are unrecognizable in our shared, innocent hypocrisy.

III. 

We have known each other,
Swimming, paddling and splashing together for quite some time.

Since when we were but small tadpoles nursing the water
for the warmth we were remiss to have missed in our egg-stage.

We found ourselves in one pond floating and swamping it next to one another
schmoozing it up among the swamp weeds.  And there we were screaming and laughing about almost dying the last time the flood drowned our watering hole.
Or the sun, unrelenting, smiled on us too long and dried out our womb.

And there we were choking with the laughter of past sweethearts, the pain swelling in us and eventually erupting as an infant croak.

And then we wept, the salt-water tears spilled over;
overwhelming our fresh-water pool.

And yet we clung to the the weeds in our swamp, victims
Even as the salt seeped from our wounds, our pond-womb slowly gave way to contrivance as it slowly become an assault to our own existence.

We created great pain so afraid were we of birth into our new way
(Where we were promised lungs, legs to walk, on the land - upright - and be the well-loved amphibians that we were)
___________________________________________________

We were nearer to the answers than even I knew.
But to be crystal clear ... we wanted to know was the pond really dying for us?
Was it not breathing life for us anymore?
Really?
____________________________________________________________________

So we stayed ...
For awhile, until we actually felt deeply dismal hatred for the other
Blaming the other for the other's salt tears
Polluting our home.
All the while forgetting that our own tears,  even if unshed were intensifying the concentration
the salty ions, in our own bodies eventually shed in our shared pond.
__________________________________________________________________
And, still it continued...
I AM NOT DOING ANYTHING!

We shouted, me at you - you at me.
I say it is you, who came here in the first place, in so much pain.   See here how I have been so supportive and still you question me about my motives! Are you faking your tears to get a respone from me? Or just creating a way to add your filth to our system while blaming me for your insolence?

We blamed still!.  You blamed me, I blamed you!
While we did - our pond was still filling with salt from our bleeding and morbid wounds.

And yet, neither of us desisted, nor did we leave .

I guess at a time of advance evolution we might leave for a little while but then longing for the other would return to the resulting low-brow come-ons, "Why are YOU still here?" or "Get off your fins and walk lilke an amphibian - you fear-based idiot tadpole!"

We struggled, You fought, I fought.  And so on and on (and on)  it went.
____________________________________________________


BEING IS BELIEVING

The great nothingness is beyond belief.  I stared into barren mysteries and it changed my heart from a place of yearning to being.  The Freedom of Being.

What the Heart Knows is ...?

My heart says 'broken'
My soul says 'fix it'

My mind says clutter
My body says clear it

My body says 'move'
My matter says 'claim it'

Circular
 dream
Circular
awake

Circular ambient
Ambient says drive it
My mind says clutter

Portal Flight

She prepares a star ship set course for the moon
her shadows turn gray
while her complexion is ashen white
salt spray peppers her lips
while skin composes ears
speech prepares song
and feet are prepared for dance

she watches and freezes
as he is lost in the dance performer's shoes
she grips the stairway railing
while he loses his step
will she perform?

they have taken the heart away
they have taken a dream away
they have made a slave of her today

she shakes off the domestication
like a heavy whip

while those who are hounddogs
who are looking for those rabbit holes
where defenseless creature live

they dream about feeling powerful
chasing tails in their sleep

Karmic butter

She cuts through karma like a saw cuts through butter
a straw a handle a bone a fragment
a string of hearts

Dream Child:   I’d cross the Rio Grande for you Even if you’ll only come to the shore.   I’ll blend the sky into rainbow hues With an open heart – you can see that and more.   Dream a little. Laugh a little. Dream child. Become your best. I am right here beside you […]

Heaven's Light (by moonlight)

 will she don ballerina shoes (not for relaxing)

while playing with children to teach

or will she fall amongst the stars

and create a wave in heaven's unfurled (furthest) reach

and how will travel suit her (with betrayal or seduction)

if she faces towards the day will love succomb (or betray)

gentle swiftly feminine ideals fade to night (as lightning strikes ignite)

setting in motion thoughts of grandeur (while tired bones and body beg for tenure)

the Feminist, the lost one (the duck dabbles) while city crews dismantle

rising in a unisex chorus (WILL YOU)

negotiate-her. again. (WILL YOU) please organize (be precise) cherish us?

will (YOU) bring down the skies (so that we can just play and we can dance)?

And what (of the Light)? Will you disentangle this for (US)?

Asia 2017

Chocolate

The Stars

When I hid my chocolate among the stars
it was only because I thought you would never look up

This was after I dreamt you had hidden yourself  among the trees of the deep, dark forest along the streams and the stones

 All I thought was, if only I could only dream about you ...
was the only way to see you

Why I consider embarrassment a strategy

I fell prey to being alone.

Neglected in the prison-pool of timelessness.
A precious resource that unfolded before me like never before.
I came into being as I came into loss.
And then, you returned.

I blamed you for leaving me alone in the first place,
unprotected and envious.  My needs mattering less and less.
The scales tipping towards those who demanded,
Those who prettied themselves, thinned themselves,
who appeared free, or should I say, unslaved.

What is it fair or not fair?

I had been given a role,
Afterall, I was given unilateral permission to have 'success' or become 'failure'.
As if I chose.  And IF I chose either? Or neither?
A split atom, a Schrodinger's cat... I might disappoint or even anger,

Falseness or truth. Despair or fashion. Drops or tides.
Alone I will say that, yes, alone. Alone while I waited.

The Angels Light Up the Night Sky

The angels light up the night sky while bandages around my heart keep the ache from spilling out into my protected silken bandages.  And yes, I am wrapped cautiously around "new". Veins in my arms mark the chapters of my story even yet while these chapters are still unfolding. I notice people that can't listen. I notice people that can help and do. I notice myself feeling pride in my closure of a door, with Love and peace. I wonder when the bruises will fade - I wonder. Moving is measured by the healing of the scrape on the top of my foot. by the number of bumps and bruises on my legs. by the broken finger nails, and dirt that remains underneath. By the sore muscles from the multiple life-heavy boxes I hand-carry up one set of stairs and down another. Up another. and open and clean and toss. Another set of stairs. The angels light up the night sky. The move is done and another chapter begins. As if reading one non-stop novel at a time isnt enough.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEvsDuJYEnI

The Drummer Has Split the Infinite