Everyman's Life a Fairy Tale

Reflections of

2011-04-16T16:02:00.000-07:00

Reflections Of

stemware

laughter

counter tops

a rendezvous

Resolve to Dissolve

2011-03-13T09:52:00.001-07:00

I lived outside today

.... for a little while

and wondered why we've grown so determined

to separate ourselves from nature.

My legs crossed beneath me

on weeds and grass and pillowed ground.

The sun at one o'clock.

A distant bark and rattle of a man at work

were notes out of tune

amidst the rhythm of

distinct species announcing themselves in

well trained song.

Where bare skin felt the earth's connection...

feet on soil, sun on face and neck

birds and other sonic wizards

against the exposed filaments of inner ear...

These fused bonds requested

that all my points be exposed

to any other chorus

which Madam Divine wished to share

So the troublesome layers,

whether blouse or jeans, glasses or stubbon opinions

that stood between my own nature

and nature's nature

were dissolved and at that moment

I was author and audience

of her sublime dance and song

I lived outside today

and shall return

Poetry

2011-01-10T13:38:00.000-08:00

Everyman's Life is designed as a resting place for my new poetry. I had stopped writing poetry for more than 20 years. At one time, many moons ago I had a box of it from when I was very young. I also had a different life and was quite a different person (in a way) and never thought of myself before those twenty years had come, as anybody who wouldn't just sit around and write poetry pretty regularly.

So when I started back a few years ago, I had become pretty proficient on a computer. What I discovered was that I was rusty on poetry. Some pieces came easily but I really wanted to try to revert to a style which I hadn't really used since I was very very young. Like my earliest poetry before I was even 11 or 12 was all rhyming poetry.

I decided there was a reason rhyming poetry was enduring. It is because it is musical and is memorable, as much for the sound and alliteration, as for the actual words or theme. Obviously, rhyming poetry is quite out of vogue. Certain people who aren't extremely literate (I mean that by the truest definition, i.e. someone who doesn't read much poetry ((that includes me))--) may think poetry usually rhymes. But take it from me, if you were to poll 100 people who spend much time with writing poetry now, a very large percentage would think rhyming poetry is very passe.

Still knowing all that, I took a stab at some rhyming poetry. As I look at it now, I have actually forgiven myself. You see there was a time after I had written it that I was very embarrassed about it. So I beat myself up over it. Hey, I stopped writing rhyming poetry before junior high. By high school I was already a poetry snob. I was so deluded that I thought I had skill enough to proclaim my independence from tradition.

Now I wish to tell everyone, including the 99% of poets who think poetry shouldn't rhyme and if it rhymes then it isn't good poetry, Go to Hell. Go to Hell if you judge poetry on the basis of meter or rhyme or existence of or lack of existence of alliteration. Go to Hell if you judge poetry period. If you enjoy poetry--Congratulations. If you like to write poetry--"May I have this dance?"

If you like some poetry and don't like other--welcome to your mind--it is extremely unique...your mind I mean. But my point is, the reason a poem is good is if it is written to communicate a feeling. Period. That's it. Technique is up to the artist. But presence or absence of art is the kicker. How good the art is is totally subjective.

A beholder's eye does not require a license.

More is more or less--LESS. Less is much much MORE

2011-01-09T09:50:00.000-08:00

More is more or less--LESS. Less is much much MORE

Learning to add is the easiest of math.
Subtraction is harder by far.
Our cups will level off by evaporation.
But that requires that we learn to stop filling.
Stopping is a great start.
Removing is the second step.
Finding ourselves is the reward.

Seeking the reward is filling again.
And thus no prize will come of it.
Even finding the reward requires that we look
with new eyes.
Finding ourselves looking is walking backwards.
Holding your breath leads to death.
Exhaustion leads to illness.
Stopping may lead to rest.
Staying at rest is key.

Less means less than not seeing the difference.
The center between more and less holds no space.
The passageway works because of what is not there.
What is there prevents us from finding the passage.
Therefore we learn to subtract in order to find more.

Today

2011-01-02T07:50:00.000-08:00

Why fire?
Why rain?
Will simplicity come again?
Two hands are cupped and swing.

The sun pulsates.
The water cools.
Combined, they steam.
Pores open.

Heaven above.
Earth below.
Forgetting--the goal.
Return to the uncarved block.

Shadow Boxing

2010-05-19T17:10:00.000-07:00

hello box.

box with a bunch of symbols on top.

Font?

Font with an arrow. push it. go ahead.

it is magic. called a pull down menu.

menu?

menu in a window.

but what window?

and why is that line blinking at me?

it is trying to remind me that it will perform its duty.

just type.

type and it will make the letters appear.

in the window.

under the menu.

other symbols.

how do i know that the little "b" in dark type means BOLD?

and the little slanted "i" means italics.

How do I know?

Did anyone ever tell me?

never had a class.

my daughter has probably had a teacher tell her.

she will probably never wonder why we call these boxes or windows.

i like them. all of them.

especially the colorful little painting of a symbol. it means picture.

it means go find a pretty picture and put it in with your words.

a world. there is a wide world waiting.

the blinking line reminds me how fast. the pictures. how fast i can find the pictures.

do you want a picture?

do you want?

do you?

do?

you're not really there are you?

what if i find a picture of you?

would you come then?

would you come to see your picture?

would you tell people that you found your picture in a box with a pull down menu?

Spon.ta.ne.ity

2010-03-24T11:44:00.000-07:00

having never failed to sample life's little cur.i.os.ities

i wonder what was given up in all that freedom?

ah, i see. inte.gri.ty.

wow. a schmuck eh?

will you have me for all my failings?

will you accept this whisper of regret as a sample of my trust in you?

my gosh, can it really be a crime (hears Fred Astaire)

dancing cheek to cheek?

distracted by the overwhelming whiff of sweet lilac,

he departs to make love to the purple bush.

enshrined in rhap.so.dy,

his awareness of some separate self disappears.

and with it, any thoughts of in.secure.ity

White Space

2010-02-11T15:53:00.000-08:00

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain...

Quote the Iva, "There's always more."

There is more to see than meets the eye

"White Space, my place, Facebook, a dollar"

Quote the Iva, "Always more."

Stressed out, time poor, globalized, uncivilized,
massacred, distractions
falsify, simulate,
stimulate, "we see things"

Quote the Iva, "Always more."

We hope it's true, we think it's true, it sounds true, doesn't it?

Quote the Iva, "Always more."

Prprprprprpropaganda?

They wouldn't do that to us, would they?

Quote the Iva, "Always more."

And so to still the beating of my heart, I sit repeating

What most people Believe in today is some type of lie

Written with a nod and a thank you to the thinker, writer and designer of "What Most People Be(Lie)ve in Today, is some type of Lie," Michael Iva

to learn more see, http://www.changethis.com/32.04.100WaysKillConcept

spectrum

2010-01-28T04:56:00.000-08:00

a friend bemoaned rare sun by invoking fair juliet and my internal taoist voice praised rain

go figure

Our Island of the Sun

2009-12-22T06:14:00.000-08:00

Our Island of the Sun
by Winston Riley

Legend
A king whose ship was lost at sea pleaded a course of sanity.
Dependent on each other, the crew on deck should have sought esprit.
To such a ship came King O'bom.
Instead the crew, intent on blame ruled by anger, they sought to shame each other
on this land, whose name
was Island of the Sun

Two sides were formed, the red and blue. Which sword of these, they knew not whose
was tempered best. For strength be true, the test was hope for all--not few.
All eyes were focused on O'bom.
From far enough above, the ball seemed motionless and could not fall if tribes connected,
one for all on Island of the Sun.

What was the goal, they should have asked. For things designed to toss, not last?
To find the games which pleased them best? Would such an end provide them rest?
This voyage would define O'bom.
No easy job for any man. Invisible, they say, the hand which moves the trading of the land
on tiny Island of the Sun.

So much bloodshed traced back to oil with cousin coal their sky did boil.
Their rivers stunk and species failed, as with their values lost, their soil.
For these crimes they blamed O'bom.
Sixteen thousand kids died each day from hunger, instead of laughed or played. (I pray that your child, like mine, may
flourish on Island of the Sun).

Much of the pain, they believed by scriptures read could be relieved
and would comfort them in their grief. Would God guide Commander in Chief
to save a hungry child, O'bom?
"My Lord is best," one side would say. Others claimed theirs would save the day.
For tint of skin and love of faith, they waged a war
under the sun.

On what few things could they agree? What sacred views could both they see?
From pain all children should be free and healthy land on which to be
Petitioned thus to King O'bom:
Books and shoes, enough to eat. Not mines but grass under their feet. Unspoiled air
to breath and meet
on Island of the Sun!

Now
On these two battles we depend. A safe haven for all children and toxic free
systems have always been the guiding rule of nature's blend.
All eyes are focused on O'bom.
Perhaps it's us--our blue and red. Can we these two colors shed? So that all children
can be fed on Island of the Sun?

What's the difference between us two? So many bad habits to lose. If some of mine are lost,
will you? Purple is made by red and blue. Do not mistake the hue
O'bom!
Preservation of life requires that we take lessons from the fire, the care of which we should never tire
is Our Island of the Sun

Our Island of the Sun

2009-12-19T11:28:00.000-08:00

Two sides are formed, the red and blue.

Which sword of these, we know not whose

is tempered best. For strength be true

the test is hope for all--not few.

Our eyes are focussed on O'bom.

From far enough above, the ball

seems motionless and could not fall.

Tribes connected, one for all.

on Island of the Sun.

What is the goal, we may should ask.

For things designed to toss, not last?

To find the games which please us best?

Will such an end provide us rest?

The time we're in defines O'bom.

No easy job for any man.

Invisible, they say, the hand

which moves the trading of the land

on tiny Island of the Sun.

So much bloodshed traced back to oil

with cousin coal our sky does boil.

Our rivers stink and species fall,

as with our values lost, our soil.

For which of these can we blame O'bom?

Sixteen thousand kids die each day

from hunger, instead of laugh and play.

I pray that your child, like mine, may

enjoy Island of the Sun.

Much of the pain, we believe,

by scriptures can be relieved

and comfort us in our grief.

Will God guide Commander in Chief

to save a hungry child, O'bom?

"My Lord is best," is what I say

and you plead yours will save the day.

For tint of skin or love of faith,

we'll wage a war under the sun.

On what one thing can we agree?

What sacred view can both us see?

From pain all children should be free.

Armed with this similarity, we

beseech the service of O'bom.

Books and shoes, enough to eat.

Not mines but grass under their feet.

From land to land all brothers meet!

Rejoice our Island of the Sun!

One war deserves a fight to win.

A safe haven for all children

to acquire true happiness when

they serve others instead of them.

All eyes are focussed on O'bom.

Perhaps it's us--our blue and red.

Can we these two colors shed?

So that all children can be fed

on Island of the Sun.

What's the difference between us two?

So many bad habits to loose.

If some of mine are lost, will you?

Purple is made by red and blue.

Do not mistake the hue O'bom!

Preservation of life requires

that we take lessons from the fire.

For care of her. that we not tire--

our Island of the Sun

Reading Between the Lines

2009-11-17T13:00:00.000-08:00

climate change, peak oil, water shortages

the cutest little babies you ever saw

HIV, H1N1, wars and famine, deforestation

reunions, Yoga, Tai Chi, Facebook and search engines

confined animal feeding operations

Thanksgiving

Obesity, diabetes, heart disease

Kellogg's, General Mills, Kraft Foods

Dashing through the snow

small children without parents

Eggnog

Depression

On a good day you get egg role

I'm sorry mam, your son was killed by a car bomb

good things come in small packages

that's another can of worms

it is hard to imagine anything so beautiful

gone to hell in a handbasket

Whatever can be imagined can be invented

we face mass destruction and turmoil

the most uplifting version of Ave Maria

the most hideous crime ever committed

the generosity of the human spirit

greed, depravity and hatred

Our

choices

are

form

mathematics

determined

invisible

calculator

Oh Glory Be

You. Me. Art.

2009-10-24T08:35:00.000-07:00

If you live and are living--you make art.

Your smile is art. Your hair, in whatever state, is art.

Your bald head is art (and shiny).

Your walk is art. Your love is such precious art.

Your touch is art and so pleasing.

Your view is artistic. All that you see is art (and glorious).

All that you impact is new art.

All that you hold in your heart is too. Art.

You are such a great artist. There is no one who does art like you.

Tomorrow we can find other art to enjoy.

Let's make art today.

Consciousness Recognizes Itself

2009-10-18T09:19:00.000-07:00

We sat relaxed as a gathering, engaged in light exchange,

remembering the significance of the night before…

when the white flittering flock of winged warriors slashed the morning rain

with the muffled explosion of their gliding gallop.

Bursting in like trumpets and tambourines born from nowhere,

rustling the tree top canopy with their synchronized swirling swooping dance,

then perching as a squadron, like a hundred shimmering spots of vibrating energy--

speckled reflections of diffused sunlight.

We whooped and whistled from inside the maloca and smiled.

Our selves were absorbed in to the Oneness of the forest universe.

All was well at Soga de Alma.

Lens Cover

2009-09-30T19:07:00.000-07:00

A thin sheet forms the skin that holds back tears.

No one knows what the chemical is which bubbles up as majesty.

Colors with power enough to take your breath away,

changing on a canvas which no camera has lens enough to understand,

on a certain dusk, at a certain place, in a thousand lands.

And you lose yourself in the foreground,

wondering which part is observer and which part is observed.

This moment is all there is.

Farmers in Lab Coats

2009-08-29T09:14:00.000-07:00

Chorus:
Do you remember the spread on the table,
by the bounty of our cousins own chores?
When commun’ty meant swings sets and picnics
Only got to by walking out doors.

Verses:
They name fake butter for valleys and corn cribs
While our health is secure we are told
Farmer John now wears a lab coat.
What you eat is what he has sold.

A coal fired farm fact’ry is spewing
In the distance from dawns early light.
Our diets are hardly sun ripened
As the boxes depict in disguise.

An ancient recruit has changed nature’s system
And we’ve developed a taste for synthetics
So with loss of soil and income
Our farmers are replaced by our medics

Bronto and Rex have been long buried
But my Uncle stirred them up from the grave
And their ghosts are like bubbling ink stains
So blighted fields our lives can not save

Helix lived on a spiraling stair case
Spawned on the farm in old family ways
Along came a molecular whiz kid
And zapped poor helix to a weird purple haze

Now the science is known as ag-culture
Though more closely related to Frank Stein
Our four wheeled shopping carts runneth over
With toxins though our kids do not mind

Who runs the show here, we might be askin
Why don’t we get out and vote with our forks
And tell Betty Crocker, Unc’ Ben and Aunt Mima
That their stuff we aint buyin no more

The Astronaut Shuttle (Sang to All Night Long)

2009-07-27T21:16:00.000-07:00

Sun is down The sky is clear
Throw back your head and have no fear
As space freaks, we're safe up here
Do the Astronaut Shuttle
Space walk, space walk
Take off your helmet, unzip your pants
Get the feel of moonwalk trance
Come over here and Shuttle
Astronaut, astro do, it’s better
Take off your suit, don’t talk
Come over here and Shuttle
Astronaut too hot the weather
Take off your suit, Moonwalk
Come over here and Shuttle
In the sky, tonight
In the sky, tonight
In the sky, tonight
The colony is groovin town
The Moonwalk now is Shuttle Down
The mission is good, don’t frown
Do the Astronaut Shuttle
Space Walk, Moonwalk
Take another shot
Tang and Tanqueray
Space docking wallbanger way
Come over here and shuttle
Astronaut, astro do, it’s better
Take off your suit, don't talk
In the sky--tonight!
In the sky--tonight!
In the sky-- tonight!
In the sky--tonight!
Can I come inside your space suit
I’ll show you mine
Oh yours is tight
And mine is fine
We all are floating
Dig the atmosphere
How you like the space?
I love your spheres
Space Junk!
Come on it’s time to shuttle
In the sky--tonight
In the sky--tonight
In the sky--tonight
In the sky--tonight
I like your space strut
Your crazy space hut!
In the sky
Down on Earth in mission control
To be up here, they’d give their soul
In the sky
Down on Earth in mission control
To be up here, they’d give their soul
In the sky
Float by, float by

Blessed Event

2009-07-26T04:15:00.000-07:00

The space shuttle Endeavor has mated with the space station
and shot squiggly astronauts into the mother ship.
Now this tiny town of astronauts is pregnant again,
two hundred and twenty miles above Gaia, the mother of the mother.

The cosmic colony seems to be a very bright star with the
“apparent speed of an airliner.”

Walter Winchell would have called the result of this orgasm
A Blessed Event. And so it is!

Renewal

2009-07-22T19:43:00.000-07:00

Did we inherit our legacy or did we attract it?
Are we innocent regarding our current dilemma or have we enabled it?
Is arrogance partly to blame for our feelings of helplessness?

→Starting today I will embrace HOPE and defend it!

→Starting today I choose to regard all those who are working for change as heroes!
(and for those who aren’t, may I reflect compassion, gentleness and understanding)

→Starting today I accept my role as a citizen of a planetary brotherhood which starts inside me, extends to my family, then my community, and is not limited by any artificial boundaries or shorelines

It's Time!

2009-07-20T07:04:00.000-07:00

There’s a new occupation showin how to make a buck or two
There are very old seeds for sowin forgotten crops tried and true
There’s an old faithful slogan that’s restored the silent few
We’ve served the corporate system in spite of hunger and our thirst
It’s time now, Gawdamit, to put We the People first

There’s an old breed of warrior stormin as an army into light
And the children will be born in time to change the wrong to right
It is called a green economy and we have it in our sight
They fooled with Mother Nature, and the bubble it has burst
It’s time now, Gawdamit, to put We the People first

And if you like celebratin, then throw back your head and shout
For what we are creatin is what unity is all about
As a family of six billion strong there really is no doubt
Say no to tanks and missiles, the oil fields, they are cursed
It’s time now, Gawdamit, to put We the People first

Every morn a step is added on the path to life that’s free
You can feel the spirit rumblin ‘neath your feet, don’t you agree?
So put your arms together with your neighbor, it’s time to be
The world that we’ve been promised, the best, not the worst
It’s time now, Gawdamit, to put We the People first

I'll Drive My Hybrid to the Movies

2009-07-17T16:43:00.000-07:00

Freed a spider today from inside my garage
Trapped for hours in a plunger, I let him go
Have you ever been trapped in a plunger?
I didn’t think so.

Play it easy my friend,
save yourself from the whales.
There's a whole world spinnin out there
Take yourself off the shelf

Saw a funny movie today, wasn’t a mirage
All alone in the theater, I watched the show
Have you ever sat alone in a theater?
I didn’t think so.

refrain

Listened to the computer today, jockey named of Rog
Music shot out my Dell, but really a radio
Have you ever played tunes on the computer?
I didn’t think so.

refrain

Rode in my car today, wasn’t a Dodge
My little Civic is a hybrid though
Have you ever owned a hybrid?
I didn’t think so.

refrain

My wife said it will be awhile
before she’ll go barefoot in our garage.
But I’ll drive my hybrid to the movies again.
Wouldn’t you?
I thought so. Oh yeah, I thought so.

refrain

What Life is Really For

2009-07-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

Friends are like the earth, absorbs our stride
regardless of our mood or face
our steps are welcome, come gloom or glide
and like the cycle of the orb sets pace
we pray our friends shall too abide
for we are charmed by their embrace

Friends are like the sun above whose rays
do gleam and glow and sprinkle us with light
inspite of shadows cast by filtered haze
they radiate and make a darkened path seem bright
and just as nightly rest complements the days
the warmth and shine of friendship calms the night

Friends are like the water where it bends
as oceans or rain or rippling rivers roar
Our thirst to quench or for our skin to cleanse
without a price or seeking an award
they shower us and too become our lens
through which we see what life is really for

In the Distance

2009-07-10T20:31:00.000-07:00

From a day that a boy sang a song of changin times
with a wind blown voice on freedom flashing chimes
about masters of war and a hard fallen rain
Oh brothers and sisters will the voice come again?

We’ve heard about Goliath, the monster who was
and a kid with a stone who slayed him because
it was time for a hero, it was time for a fall
Oh brothers and sisters, do you hear the call?

In the distance, in the distance
There's a light, do you see?
In the distance, in the distance
Take my hand come with me.

The Jericho walls, like Saddam and Gomorra
are crumbling around us, can you take any more of
the half truths and reason we receive with a wink
Oh brothers and sisters, do you recognize the brink?

We’re awake, there’s no doubt, believe me we hear
all the warnings of disaster, the message is clear
Our voices we share and our hearts are the sun
Oh brothers and sisters, we’re not many, but one.

In the distance, in the distance
There's a light, do you see?
In the distance, in the distance
Take my hand come with me.

Don’t abuse the money changers, they’re not to blame
Storm not the Bastille, we need the exchange
And our systems and technology have been hard fought and won
Oh brothers and sisters, our future has begun

Blow a kiss to our mothers, give a hug to our dads
thank our artists and our minstrels, give a nod to the lads
Let our spirits be our beacon, let our will never cease
Oh brothers and sisters, in the distance it is Peace.

In the distance, in the distance
There's a light, do you see?
In the distance, in the distance
Take my hand come with me.

A room with a view

2009-07-10T09:05:00.000-07:00

How did we meet here?
In this confined space
A break from the race
to stare at this square

Smiling Fields

2009-07-07T17:12:00.000-07:00

I stretch my legs toward nature’s scene
A daily walk past neighbors’ courts
of trimmed, groomed lawns--mostly green
as you’d expect from tools, the sorts
that rumble and sputter and emit
the smells and fumes you can’t forget

Beyond those carpets of chemistry
lies a mix of costumes in a sea sublime
so no damage lingers from memory
of petro murk and grease and grime
The trail revealed a waving mass
of spirits dressed as flowers and grass

A party of life which seemed to say
"Spread out with us but first you must
agree to live the rule of play
and wear a face that we can trust.
This one you’ve worn along the mile
should be covered with a mask of smile."

Among the daffodils, you'll find me there
dancing to a Zephyr beat
in sunlit, sparkling, cleansing air
and with my friends, we’ll gladly greet
you with a song and open arms
if with us you'll share a smile and charms

A backwards Frost

2009-07-06T19:02:00.000-07:00

Two worlds enticed me
one which promised milk for money
another whispered things less shiny
“that which glitters will finally blind thee”
said the voice as sweet as honey

But still the gold had sex appeal,
and though my soul seemed to know
that love of castles was not real
and temptations to make a deal
would only lead to loss and sorrow

Both worlds welcomed me that day
by way of slow or fast lane go
It was for speed and power play
the other boring place seemed gray
It mattered not that life was “show.”

I shall be telling this with a tear
Someday from now I know not when
that I chose the world less rare
and now my future seems to bear
pretense, instead of truth which could have been

Two roads diverged, each a world
and I chose the one more traveled by

The Serpent Visitor

2009-07-06T04:14:00.000-07:00

Oh sacred fire which coils have known
and spires as two along the glowing rod.
Two lovers have found the magic
of being one. One ALL of everything has turned to two
and is soon lost in ten thousand things.

I’ve known you and welcome your return.
My pillow is wet at night with your sweet kisses.
You dance along my spine and entertain me with your funny movies.
Yes you were in the garden, and perhaps you have some dealings
with the forces of darkness.
Oh shame, for treachery was done in the rewriting
of Genesis. Mr. Snake—the spirit of transformation,
please visit us more often, in our sleep walk…

Now is the time to set the record straight.

The Gold Pill

2009-07-02T04:49:00.000-07:00

On the edge of a dream
the message guide held my hand.
We looked out together
from the cliff overlooking wakefulness.
“What do you see?”

Spread before me was the landscape
of the unknown,
except there were no more questions.
And the meaning of “between Heaven and Earth,”
was revealed.
Sorry my friend, if I share all
we’d have to swallow each other and disappear.
Such is the nature of magic.

But here are a few clues
if these kinds of games are fun for you…
“What does the space between Heaven and Earth
look like?
Does it stay the same?
Who are you? Do you stay the same?
And what is the difference between Heaven and Earth?
Breathe. Relax your shoulders.
You ARE.”

Also my friend, I’ll give you the Gold Pill.
Guard it well and nothing will be withheld from you.
It is where art meets knowledge.
Now, go to work.

The Invite

2009-07-02T04:23:00.000-07:00

It’s so easy to lament
all the things we missed having
like perfect hair or child stardom
or the cleverness of Dickens or Poe.

As we stew in that broth of regret,
the flavors become more intense
until they reach a point of perfection themselves
and there is nothing left to do except
be disappointed that we will now be eaten
by some fortunate hungry soul.

It occurred to me just now
what it is I’m capable of.
To see with both eyes
to hear with both ears
to taste with nose and mouth
all the beauty which is mine to enjoy.

There was a rush of simple pleasure
which came with the thought
of such great abundance with nothing except myself
standing in the way of possessing every
infinitesimally minute detail of the great puzzle
which extends from the tips of me

And there it was, as if it had been delivered
with the other dreams from the night that had passed
On my pillow, the thought of an embossed card
with the loving touch of a parent or best friend
who with a delicate sense not to impose
anything except that which is peace and comfort
a message whispered by an angels’ choir
You are invited

Rough Stuff

2009-06-25T09:18:00.000-07:00

man this is hard

if all i wanted to do was make money

life would be such a breeze again

but to actually want to fix problems

and help businesses

this is hard

From Genesis to Integration

2009-06-22T16:46:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!
I apprehended myself being unaware.

With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,
and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.
Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes
which twice tatooed my soul,
and whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.
Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.
Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...
we'll imitate the tall slender shafts of prairie grass heavy with seed--
a ballet to the beat of the breeze.
Around and through and under, laughing all the way.
We can have everything, only by loosing ourselves in everything.
Behold the alchemy when sun marries rain!
By what magnetism is that spectrum organized?
Oh Maestro! Your kettle drum rattles my spine!
while I ascend on the steps from your stringless guitar
which fills my head with cl-cl-clouds...
I taste this nectar and my thirst is vanquished.
Who else could be in this midsummer night's eve,
except we who is ME who is S/HE...see?

Walking Lines Finished!

2009-06-21T08:16:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!

I apprehended myself being unaware.
With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,
and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.

Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes
which twice tatooed my soul,
and whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.

Around and through and under, laughing all the way.
We can have everything, only by loosing ourselves in everything.
Behold the alchemy when sun marries rain!
By what magnetism is that spectrum organized?

Oh Maestro! Your kettle drum rattles my spine!
and stuffs my head with cl-cl-clouds...
thank you for this nectar, my thirst is vanquished.

Who else could be in this midsummer night's eve,

except we who is ME who is S/HE...see?

Walking Lines (post LOHAS)

2009-06-20T02:17:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!
I apprehended myself being unaware.

With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,

and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.

Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes

which twice tatooed my soul,

and whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.

Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.

Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...

we'll imitate the tall slender shafts of prairie grass heavy with seed--

a ballet to the beat of the breeze.

Around and through and under, laughing all the way.

We can have everything, only by loosing ourselves in everything.

Behold the alchemy when sun marries rain!

By what magnetism is that spectrum organized?

Oh Maestro! Your kettle drum rattles my spine!

and stuffs my head with cl-cl-clouds...

thank you for this nectar, my thirst is vanquished.

Who else could be in the midst of this midsummer night?

Walking Lines 14

2009-06-18T19:19:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!

I apprehended myself being unaware.
With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,
and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.

Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes
which twice tatooed my soul,
and whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.

Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.
Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...
we'll imitate the tall slender shafts of prairie grass heavy with seed--
a ballet to the beat of the breeze.

Around and through and under, laughing all the way.
We can have everything, only by loosing ourselves in everything.
Behold the alchemy when sun marries rain!
By what magnetism is that spectrum organized?

Oh Maestro! Your kettle drum rattles my spine!
and stuffs my head with cl-cl-clouds...
thank you for this nectar, my thirst is vanquished.

2009-06-17T20:43:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!
I apprehended myself being unaware.
With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,
and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.
Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes
which twice tatooed my soul,
and whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.

Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.
Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...
we'll imitate the tall slender shafts of prairie grass heavy with seed--
a ballet to the beat of the breeze.
Around and through and under, laughing all the way.

We can have everything, only by loosing ourselves in everything.
Behold the alchemy when sun marries rain!
By what magnetism is that spectrum organized?
Oh Maestro! Your kettle drum rattles my spine!
and stuffs my head with cl-cl-clouds...

Walking Lines 12

2009-06-16T12:32:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!

I apprehended myself being unaware.

With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,

and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.

Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes

which twice tatooed my soul,

and whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.

Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.
Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...
we'll imitate the tall slender shafts of prairie grass heavy with seed--
a ballet to the beat of the breeze.

Around and through and under, laughing all the way.
We can have everything, only by loosing ourselves in everything.
Behold the alchemy when sun marries rain!
By what magnetism is that spectrum organized?
Oh Maestro! Your kettle drum rattles my soul!

Walking Lines 11

2009-06-15T18:48:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!
I apprehended myself being unaware.
With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,
and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.
Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes
which twice tatooed my soul,
whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.
Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.
Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...

we'll imitate the tall slender shafts of prairie grass heavy with seed--
a ballet to the beat of the breeze.
Around and through and under, laughing all the way.

We can have everything, only by loosing ourselves in everything.
Behold the alchemy when sun marries rain!
By what magnetism is that spectrum organized?

Walking Lines 10

2009-06-14T12:47:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!

I apprehended myself being unaware.

With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,

and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.

Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes

which twice tatooed my soul,

whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.

Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.

Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...
we'll imitate the tall slender shafts of prairie grass heavy with seed--
a ballet to the beat of the breeze.

Around and through and under, laughing all the way.
We can have everything, only by loosing ourselves in everything.

Behold the alchemy when sun marries rain!

Walking Lines 9

2009-06-13T18:46:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!
I apprehended myself being unaware.
With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,
and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.
Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes
which twice tatooed my soul,
whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.
Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.
Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...

we'll imitate the tall slender shafts of prairie grass heavy with seed--

a ballet to the beat of the breeze.
Around and through and under, laughing all the way.

We can have everything, only by loosing ourselves in everything

Walking Lines

2009-06-13T08:06:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!

I apprehended myself being unaware.

With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,

and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.

Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes

which twice tatooed my soul,

whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.

Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.

Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...
and imitate the tall slender shafts of prairie grass heavy with seed--
a ballet to the beat of the breeze.

Around and through and under, laughing all the way.

Walking Lines

2009-06-11T18:30:00.000-07:00

whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.
Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.
Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...

and imitate the tall slender shafts of prairie grass heavy with seed--

a ballet to the beat of the breeze.

COMMENTARY

I will now write the commentary here instead of posting in comments like I've been doing. I had started to write about today's line process in comments but one day in my walk I flashed on the idea to just do commentary here in the blog and not have to fit it in to multiple comments.

First of all, I didn't do yesterday commentary, except to say I was rushed and to describe the weather before my walk, so I'll add a little here about that first. Both yesterday's and today's lines from Ancestor Lu (actually day before yesterday and yesterday) were one thought:

in responding to people, it is essential not to get confused.

When you don't get confused, your nature is naturally stable;

You know the weird thing about those ancient Taoist texts is how the authors were wanting to use a little magic. The words don't mean exactly what they say, or what they say isn't understood by a casual reading. So I'm now just letting the lines be an appetizer before Emerson. Then I'm letting the meal sort of sit there and digest before my walk. Whatever comes as a line to me from the walk, I just come back and write it. The process is slow but the line is put down within minutes of me walking back in the house. It is complete and finished by the time I'm at my driveway, usually before I leave the countryside to return home.

Yesterday's reading of Emerson was in the last aspect of Beauty. It was about the intellect. I think there can be some confusion of terminology. You know, we throw words around pretty recklessly. Spirit, mind, intellect, thinking, meditation, reflection, consciousness. How do these things differ? Are there 7 distinct concepts there? I think there are, but they are very subtle. I'm not sure if Emerson and I mean exactly these same things when we use all those words. You know the old mind puzzle, how do you know his yellow is the same as your yellow? What words can you use to describe yellow except things which are yellow? We can agree about sunshine and bananas, but if he saw them as green and I saw them as red, but that red to me is what I call yellow and that green to him is what he calls yellow, we just bounce along always assuming we see the same thing, but we'll never know, will we?

Anyway, this aspect of beauty and intellect is difficult. I think what he's getting at is that in reflection, we interpret the outward beauty of Nature to fully understand all of truth. He had lead up to it with the first element being the scene itself in simple observation. Then the second aspect being the divine and then the third aspect is the digestion of the divine or integration of the divine into the individual. Something like that.

He says, "It is the herald of inward and eternal beauty, and is not alone a solid and satisfactory good. He whets our appetite with that because he is leading in to the next chapter, which is Language, which is what I spent my time on yesterday. And man, he spoke to me...

Really what he was talking about in this first section on Language is that there are words and there are concepts and images. The point of language is not to make sounds, but to impart feelings, at least when used as art.

At first he speaks about the symbolism of Nature in language. For instance this, "Who looks upon a river in a meditative hour, and is not reminded of the flux of all things?"

Here is a part which begs the question about Eme and me being on the exact same page with the use of certain words. "That which, intellectually considered, we call Reason, considered in relation to nature, we call Spirit. Spirit is the Creator. Spirit hath life in itself. And man in all ages and countries, embodies it in his language, as the FATHER. Whew.

I think he has a little Bible baggage going on. You have to remember that he was brought up to be a minister and went to seminary. He was a preacher for awhile and though he comes awful close to Taoism in my opinion, he still has some mixed stuff going on. I get where he's coming from about Spirit having life and that life being embodied in language. To me that is the main and important point. But about creator and language as father--I want to reserve opinion.

Here is something which I absolutely agree with:

"Hundreds of writers may be found in every long civilized nation, who for a short time believe, and make others believe, that they see and utter truths, who do not of themselves clothe one thought in its natural garment, but who feed unconsciously on the language created by the primary writers of the country, those, namely, who hold primarily on nature."

and like I posted yesterday on Facebook, this line is so powerful--"The moment our discourse rises above the ground line of familiar facts, and is inflamed with passion or exaled by thought, it clothes itself in images." There, that says what I mean about poetry as an art form. It isn't the words as much as the feeling which is created. Same for painting, and music and architecture.

Yesterday's Tao te Ching chapter was perfect to me for what lead up to it and for the poem. It is the one about Heaven and Earth lasting forever and that man attains fulfillment by being selfless.

I didn't pick just one trigram yesterday but am letting them be organic. I did spend quite a bit of time in the I Ching and what I've come to is that there is openness in the top trigrams (both days) and Yang in the bottom trigram. So there is a flow. I think it is like this. Yesterdays would be two Yin on top and then four Yang which is 34 and todays is three Yin on top and Yang below which is 11.

I'm tired now and will wrap this up. Maybe on today's line I can give you more. Later.

Walking Lines

2009-06-10T18:46:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!

I apprehended myself being unaware.

With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body,

and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.

Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes

which twice tatooed my soul,
whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.

Time to delete slippery slogans and witless witicisms.

Meet me at the merry-go-round in Dreampark for a moondance...

Walking Lines

2009-06-09T17:14:00.000-07:00

whose mistress is the mother of all womb-anity.

Walking Lines

2009-06-08T18:03:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!

I apprehended myself being unaware.

With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body, and whimpered

as duckweed welcomed.

Twas radiation from beyond the stars and reflection from my eyes

which twice tatooed my soul.

Walking Lines

2009-06-07T13:54:00.000-07:00

Unnamed and unnameable...boo!
I apprehended myself being unaware.
With the roar of a lion, I stormed out of my body, and whimpered as duckweed welcomed.

You got me number.

2009-06-04T05:46:00.000-07:00

Three days of June though it felt like a late fall mist.

Jean jacket--buttoned to neck, long pants, and cap.

The spray in the cool air felt good on my face.

My legs were strong.

So I walked past houses to the fields

where the birds nest safely.

The Beatles shouted directly through snug earplugs.

You got me number. You know my name.

And at that moment it was the field which was singing to me.

I know its name. It is here. I am welcome. The wild flowers were swaying.

It joked with me. You get it? It was laughing. Do you get it?

And I did. And all is fine. What a beautiful cold June day!

Is that what you mean?

2009-05-30T18:47:00.000-07:00

like the Cosmos? The Creation, Universe, "life", Being, Ultimate Consciousness, like that?

The man asked the boy.

And the rippling rings on the water's surface spread out

before they broke into song

when the broken hearted people living in the world agree

there will be an answer

sweet rhythm, underlying tenderness

a caress which can't be mistaken for anything but love

Yes father, like that. Something like that.

Doot-in' doo-doo. A feeling

2009-05-24T08:30:00.000-07:00

"Everyone gets to where they're going,"
is what the voice said to me.
"Really?" I questioned back
such a strange thought at the moment to be.

Then the logic offered an assist
"Where else will they get to?"
for surely you'll see
it is impossible for them to get to where they're not
where you are is where you are,
On that point wouldn't you agree?

What a relief. What sublime rest in
simplicity of that suchness
that I repose there now with total acceptance
that what awaits me too, will come, so I'll rush less

Will the fish be biting today?
or will the bike trail sing along
kicking down the cobble stones
looking for fun and feeling...
Like Paul Simon

Come Again

2009-05-23T06:28:00.001-07:00

(My mom showed me this, I had written in 86)

Looking out across the wind,

I smell you not hear me.

Reaching out beneath the breeze,

I taste you not feeling.

Come again, come again

A song that can't be sung

Cry no more, then be gone

or come again.

Having you having me

was better than times gone bad.

But missing you is gone time.

Good and gone this time.

Come again, come again.

A heart that can't be won

Cry no more, then be gone

or come again.

Just put a nickel in

for every nicket out.

I'm richer without you

But nickel out or nickel in

I'll come again.

Come again, come again.

A light that should be shown.

Cry no more, then be gone

or come again.

The Oath of Spoonship

2009-05-22T06:12:00.000-07:00

Besides you,
draped in my arms,

in this morning’s embrace,
I held the awareness

of our flowing architecture--symmetry of the Tao

The yin of you becoming the yang of me
and my yang defining your yin

A dance,

held in suspension,

like the pause between our breath

We woke as two almonds in one husk
without even a membrane between us
The elastic wrappers of our skin were just symbols
A reminder that until we return to this

delicious

sacred

spoonship,

we carry each other’s touch as a second halo of protection

Honeysuckle Days

2009-05-21T18:33:00.000-07:00

delicate bells and tassles of fresh honeysuckle

adorn the bush row

and bouncing grey-brown bunnies

nibble at fallen flowers

we celebrate with deep breaths

of sweet, fruit like nectar--yum

the sun has returned to the Eastern sky

and robins are fat with eggs

and a worm bonanza from

extended April showers, and showers, and showers

evening comes like a slow dance of pregnant memories

whispering, rest and wishing

for more of the same

You Don't Have to Decide

2009-05-19T14:05:00.000-07:00

I love them by a measure greater than a spoonful
those boys who asked, "Did you ever have to make up your mind?"
To say yes to one and let the other one ride,
wow, there are so many changes
and yes, tears to be hidden
in a decision of one choice to find

Joking aside,

no blond haired dates to consider
have you ever put one philosophy or religion to scale
one to another? Tit for a tat?

Muslims follow Mohamed, Christians like a Jew
Have they said yes to one and let the other one ride?
Judging by arms sales, yeah, that's the tale.

This is The Book of God, they both say,
no room for the rest, the copyright is fixed
hmmm, I wonder--have they met Whitman?
or does the music of either measure up to Mozart?
Who produced the movie QURAN, Truffeau, Fellini?
oops, they came later--darn!

Sing to me with the voice of Rumi
not on Sunday morning like some grotesque slob protesting from his stage
of why the world is so perverse, when it appears to me he has
no understanding of his own sacred internal biology!

For him I say--no Pearls!

Move me like Close Encounters
with an understanding that something flew over
and now Daddy is making mountains with his mashed potatoes
and it is scary because he KNOWS he shares a common vision
with a handful of fellow warriors

And let us leave the last chapters open for an evolving God
who forgot to talk about the divine feminine
but now is a cross dresser himself and a member of Greenpeace!

You Don't Have to Decide, fellow potato artist
love your God with all your heart but keep your dance card open

Anybody Home?

2009-05-18T01:54:00.000-07:00

For unless you are as the little children

you can not enter the kingdom of heaven...

Riley and Michael, my grand twins

they are my model to immitate

For Heaven's Sake? Nah, for theirs

Why? Because the sound of their laugh

is music as sweet as Mozart's refrain

and they're entertained by my surprise reverse

First I'm this. But then when I'm that. They laugh.

So I am as the little children

Knock Knock Knocking on Heaven's Door

Excess Baggage

2009-05-17T09:28:00.000-07:00

"Where shall I put this?" asks the porter.

Who is wise enough to advise that it be totally dispensed of?

Jeez, where do we get all this crap?

My home is so beautiful, and never will I forget to

praise the excellent taste of the Angel Anne

whom all the other Angels exult

but do I own it really? Like the mystic of Nazareth

"Can you add an inch to your heighth?"

and those titles and awards and any accomplishment

even your relationships with the most precious of loved ones,

do we own them?

certainly we can appreciate them, especially in the moment

but what lingers?

As far as things go, there is nothing we own as any real extension

to ourselves. And who can harm you? Caesar? What is the worst he can do?

Kill you? But are you harmed in that transaction. Have you been touched?

Only if you let yourself. Naturally your body has been changed. Duh,

"you're dead dude." But the you of you or the consciousness of you--

hmmm, the debate will be unending won't it?

I say no though. You are free of your body.

So what do we own? The decision to be affected by things.

You own that decision. The anger and grief and fear and worry--

those you own, until you release them.

It seems to me we only own one thing. Behavior.

In my case, which is most often misbehavior.

But what about that misbehavior as a memory?

Has it become guilt? Has it become worry? Does it create fear?

Is it real? In a sense yes.

Perhaps best to put it in its place.

Ah yes. Let it rest there and I will rest

here.

Gary

2009-05-16T12:47:00.000-07:00

we laughed a lot and then we were freaks

Jesus talked. We listened. Then? We went to different

Midlife crisis schools, but somehow lived in the same dorm.

DaVinci Code? You kidding, child's play compared to Gary's story

Ah, to have what he has, the magic pill. It will cost you. Literally.

There's a Donovan song

Happiness Runs...finally a rhyme! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cGWTAe3M6U

You can have EVERYTHING if you let yourself be.

He meant -GO. As in let go of self.

Oh yes, the work. But the roots have been transplanted. His flight is...

well, I gasp for air.

We're grandpa's. The Flying Grand Dads.

Wish us well.

Warm Compost

2009-05-16T09:38:00.000-07:00

I'll cusp this feeling like leaves and aged compost

in the bowl of my hands and swish, I'm away in a dream...

what is that vague contentment on the fringe of my existence?

it tingles

an ah or an mmmmm

things disappear

How did it work? The trumpets brought down the walls...

How? The vibration agitated the mortar

and like those electric football fields

the zzzzz finally slipped the discs?

this quiet is the only place I can connect my toes to my knees

There's that zzzz zzzz vibe, where am I in here

roughly in some area behind my eyes, but wait...

try as I will to be in my abdomen

the addiction to stay latched to the lens...

such determination!

Have you watched the skinny bending little blade of grass

push through the asphalt? That little fuck.

How did he do it?

so it isn't me but my awareness I move around inside the tissue,

like those Jules Verne explorers in some tricked out mini sub

but not through the lens of my eyes...then what?

so it wasn't me all that time playing with the telescope or the microscope, but who? You?

and the sensation is a feeling...a buzz

Luuuuuke, I'm your faaaaaather

nggggg mmmmm ahhhhh

now a song

How much is that doggy in the window

just be. There's nothing else to do.

The Beat Go's On

2009-05-14T07:59:00.000-07:00

No soggy blog, no lost salute, just me and you. Bon Jour.
No time to spare, no where to go, you say goodbye, I say for sure.
His gently weeping guitar gasped.
Released upon us as a gift like Emerson or Monet,

it is hard to see the Quarry for the men (boys).
They were there. But swallow them whole
without the math of division--Jean-Paul Harrison Ritchie.
Not a note has changed across the universe.

All you need is all you need is...
Your lungs. Release grief from your lungs. Did you know?
Breathe. Precious breath. Bated? Be careful. Breathe.
Have we found the uninterupted serpent swallowing its tail? Yes.
Do we remember? Sometimes. Does it matter. Yes.

Do we need to hurry?
Certainly. No.
Isn't it amazing, the playfulness of God? What a prankster.