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Monday, April 30, 2018

the egoless I 4/30/18


I sympathize with all empaths 
I understand understanding’s journey
I have compassion for the compassionate
I am kindhearted to the kind
I am considerate with those who have consideration
I have empathy for those who have deep feelings
I am in response to those who have responsiveness
for I do not exist
except in the hearts of the minds that do,
accept in their swim from within . . .

Sunday, April 29, 2018

the giving of receivership 4/29/18


habit is a behavioral addiction
this is an open secret
yet there is self-affection hiding inside it
movement gives adequate disguise
the mind rides shotgun along side
all of space provides a here-to-there staging
theatrics is what the mass of this occupies
but no one escapes potential audience appraisal
so social camouflage is constantly implored
what is freedom, is this morass?
momentary muddledom amassing retort potential
acting out has no specific source or cure
just the barn-door of this moment, opening
and the residence of release is formalized
every movement is a wellspring sneeze if done well
serenity is achieved without default or compromise
every near-death is that which approaches as experience
how madcap can one’s unconsciousness be?
habit could do the explaining but won’t
the irrational is rich with reward and self-reprimand
habit richly lives in that illogical foreign land
the truth of each of us is subterfuge routinely practiced
where wisdom is not the reward but the enterprise . . .




Saturday, April 28, 2018

how blame is an anthem 4/28/18


in the achievement of aftereffects as stand-alones,
how can blame be so mentally monumental?
as if it is the popularization of a wardrobe 
for interested bystanders to wear.
undisclosed venting is seen as its own reward.
seething is given an opportunity for display.
but how to address the topic-less real issues?
how to take ownership, 
not of the water itself, but the flow?
impedance is as the unnatural, but domineering.
the achievement of control without authentic reprisals
is to stir the boiling pot as if to let off steam.
blame is but subterfuge as the impotent offing.
that we should all gather to cut onions and cry
would be more in the order of correction and release.
blame is a patriotism, loyal to its seductive cause.
blame is a myopia of commonly held beliefs. 
for no depth will come from the presentation of blame.
insight is then living on fumes.
if people gather, topic –bound, 
then blame is in the audience looking for life-like accord.
that we gather in judgment is the disease.
not topic or issue that binds us,
but the positions we collectively take as next steps,
that is in the stir of unspeakable agreement. 
to live ceremoniously at affect
for description as outrage
is a negative complimentarianism at work.
blame can never address source 
but only evident outcomes.
what is the attention span of an audience atmosphere?
blame is a form of impotent entertainment justified.
it is putting out the fire with more fire,
ending the flood with more water,
grasping into the topic with more newsworthy rhetoric.
such is the blame-song sung with allegiance.
we are all well-trained reactionaries when topic bound.
blame is superficiality at its worst.
that I blame is grounds for a deeper truth to surface.
who has the resources to make it so?
every blame forthcoming is a knock at that door . . .
(what is that song of spirit, 
sung as allegiance, 
to beckon the honoring of soul?)






Friday, April 27, 2018

beyond the beyond 4/27/18


existence is not the compliment 
paid by experience.
more experience is the burden of proof.
none of which further applies.
why is my mind dressed up this way?
maybe I falsely asked as a child
please, tell me a story.
and so the ruse was on.
listen up became parental.
I felt obliged.
it made my feelings into an obligation,
a burden to be within reach by others.
they stubbornly demanded sense out of me
but their sense became so much superficial. 
I lived in a denial of self to belong.
for me, life is just a touching-down,
a quaint period of physical occupancy.
language is but a lather.
where I am from we have no speak.
there is no separation that is in need of say.
why put oneself through it at all
so that declaration of independence is to serve what,
a sense of self in isolation searching?
existence is but a metaphorical out-breath pause.
deep is only breaths in as unending,
yet breath, in the lower case, looks like life.
we are all spillage, 
in a journey, 
back to source.
essence never dies, 
no matter of it’s apparent composition.
belief is just an outpost.
love is but a currency.
oneness has no needs for answers . . .

Thursday, April 26, 2018

mentabolism 4/26/18


you are fat
with what your intelligence devours.
but you have a lean mind
for what your mentabolism does with it . . .

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

talk is a hustle 4/25/18


even by rebuking what they ask for,
you are still calling out by their means.
if you knew more of yourself, 
as you are
why would you be in the form of an answer?
what is this vacancy,
that by your occupancy,
you pretend to fill?
what has well-read gotten you,
that you wear 
as if in a foreigner’s land?
is that you travel on, 
a measure of yourself
that you know of yourself 
not to be whole.
do all ice-burgs of substance,
by their surrender, 
become whole?
oneness is a lot like this metaphorical surrender
to liquidity 
where quantum never speaks.
the choir sings with no words
and sound makes manifest 
beyond sensory means.
that there, has no here 
that is not everywhere.
give up on it 
as if you have audience genes.
that you do being,
is just the curse of mindfulness.
in order to embrace, 
you had to have boundaries to surrender.
for surrender 
is to take off all of your smallness,
and come back into void-as-whole.
where you channel from
as if of existence
be your source,
as if we are all one soul . . .

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

go there and be 4/24/18


look at what you name 
to depict you,
where you have a mind 
that does those tasks,
that voice from within you
that surfaces with words.
what belief do you have 
that the use of words proves?
where is it that you go within
that you come back with words?
how did you come to have 
such a staging area?
do you know 
what can’t be said?
if you know of that, 
go there,
and be, 
to all of us in need.
for we want to lip-read
from your silence.
forgive knowing 
for its shortcomings,
and just be . . .

Monday, April 23, 2018

what is understand 4/23/18


what do I get from meaning?
a moments rest
as if the length of my attention span?
then what?
the search is on again?
what fills an empty heart of yearning?
how did plead become so private a state of being?
the richness of earnestness 
goes out to all around
but the fall-through continues,
as if words offer sanctuary
and meaning takes me there . . .

Sunday, April 22, 2018

listen to where you hurl from 4/22/18


if I live in the world of answers
I accept the imprisonment of familiarity.
my constant prayer is the naming of everything.
from there, 
I am loved by my self-approval.
I only have questions as a way of flirting.
any conversation gives me the feeling I belong.
being alone is eventually a need for breathing air.
following rules is like my pledge of allegiance.
having manners and politeness is my wardrobe.
everything making sense from there,
is driving me crazy.
I am the same Christmas gift every day.
this is way worse than boredom.
I feel duped beyond repair.
I don’t know how to see beyond the ordinary.
yes, we are all in agreement but floating to where?
reality is like a dating service for profit by hustle.
certainty has become the unending pretend.
I wake up to a clutch and am reply as in override.
talking to myself clearly can not be trusted any more.
all I get is, shut the fuck up and keeping rowing.
some might call it a state of mind as it is passing.
think has turned into a repeated prayer without sense.
I am the Siamese twin of myself that is dying.
the other me can’t be bothered with details or chatter.
that me, maybe on the wrong planet
or here in the right place but at the wrong time.
maybe I asked for the embrace of the void
but instead I got the skills to gather riffraff unendingly.
I am not saying any of this as complaints.
I am sort of talking out loud to see if I have words.
I am eavesdropping on my own self-conversation.
the me who is listening lives closer to the truth.
this one of me fell for the whole reality package.
it has no return address and so I have to talk it out.
that, to me, is a form of deliverance.
my sanity is as a listener 
as well as my human predicament.
somehow, having said what I have said,
I am better in a coping way.
my spirit has a life somehow buried deep within.
being a person is a load to carry
but having spirit takes away the gravity of it all.
reality, as such a pretend, is duly noted.
I am okay with the cover up, for now.
if you are also out there in disguise,
when we meet, wink twice,
take a deep breath 
and share by presence,
more deeply, 
from where we come . . .








Saturday, April 21, 2018

breathing (haiku) 4/21/18


all of happiness
is but an out breath in pause
joyless joy breathes in

Friday, April 20, 2018

meditation 101 4/20/18


we are meditating all the time.
yet, time is only laughing stock.
meditation never leaves us.
we, as humans, get small in many ways.
experience is our veil of tears. 
of ecstatic or downhearted, neither reveals.
our ego is preoccupational, taking notes,
but ‘the meditation’ never ends.
that meditation is a ‘the’,
is a distance believed as ours, in suffering.
as if, in a mindful ways
meditation would ask,
does void have volume?
would speech ever articulate the whole?
is their ever presence without frame?
as if our awareness is a proposition.
just imagine whales, in the dark of night, 
surfacing from deep ocean dives 
for the blessing offered by a breath of air.
all out of the sky, 
from horizon line 
in a 360-degree-span,
is pleased to provide that oxygen, 
for that soul-searching whale of an in-breath.
lusty as that is, no audience is needed.
for in mindful ways, 
meditation offers each of us
a sip up from that metaphorical ocean
and ever providing sky 
that we know as whole.
where ‘know’ is tangentially celestial, 
for we are in constant meditation
as if, for the breath of now,
and memory, as if sky, 
serve us well . . .


Thursday, April 19, 2018

the journey (haiku) 4/19/18


journey never ends
some emotional presence 
always requested

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

seeing for my self 4/18/18


my eyes have come to flat-speak see
audience appraisal as governess
it is a prominence now 
to find name-ability immediately
to identify as a situational need
to sight as if from a safe distance
only invited to an eavesdrop premise
a preeminence to move towards appraisal
being in a summational mood,
make a gathering of particulars
that appear to render towards a full account
actual participation has migrated into viewership
the assumption of world-as-play is vanishing
fun is not a given, but propositional
one is needed to be tempted to participate
looking for cues to ask or request for review
this frame of sight has shifted 
from seeing to viewing
from being to watching
there is an air of surveillance 
hiding but inwardly mindset present
my eyes have taken up for-what-cause
ascertainment, assessment, 
the glee of considerations 
as for the gathering of concerns and regards
all of this as ever so sharply drawn
as now the leading edge of sightedness
is wondrously bound by all of this
esthetic appreciation fights back
for a front row seat
the immediacy of participation is more restrained
sight is now become keenly observational
maybe I need to close my eyes to feel safe
to be one without incessancy
sight is so nonstop
as a process of considerations to be made
I wanted sight as gaze, as contemplative
as the initial stages of embrace and immerse
as my inner me finding sanctuary
by sight bringing me the surround 
as now aware, expressing my inner me
but now I have to look deeply into your eyes
dismiss everything else as distraction
and find myself by your residence in me
that’s what I originally wanted from sight
from looking out and seeing . . .








Tuesday, April 17, 2018

water coloring 4/17/18


spending time staring, 
where water colors meet
blending on their own, 
so secretively sweet
maybe gravity is the ultimate brush
I am just here with pedestrian eyes
they show me about un-name-able colors 
genuinely meeting for the very first time
pigments embracing 
in the slow stir of the moment
I am quietly eavesdropping 
with lightheartedness bathing me
this is in high contrast 
to the windshield sighting from inside a car wash
not the same feel or depth or bearing
that is more of a show 
rather than an solicitous invitation
I wanted this as propinquity 
to be angelic in nature
I need for the turn on of the unexpected
no, the first turn ignition of a new car engine 
is not at all the same
the street sweeper, once a week, rolling by, no
but a plane disappearing into the clouds, slightly so
house plants growing rapidly, day by day, too scary 
maybe the pace of the unexpected is important
as if words by hand-written touch on my back, 
but more slowly
where a glance by my inner eyes
takes up the movement of a waltz 
where my composure professes an innocence 
as a stance that is slightly transcending
what am I asking for 
that another human can’t provide?
a connection beyond acknowledgment?
a continuum of oneness realized?
maybe more simply,
my mind is the brush
and thoughts drip down on their own
as experience is then
the canvass of me . . .

Monday, April 16, 2018

the bouquet of me 4/16/18


I made you a bouquet 
of all the high-points of my life
as if created of memories, 
remembered
but it is not.
I took all those highpoints 
and retrieved the lessons learned
and the blessing disguised, 
then received.
and from those, 
I wrapped each
in the spiritual awareness of my being gained
to enter into the deepest places within me.
from there, I anointed and consecrated
each blossom, 
thus arranged
so that when you received
you would come to know me differently
as by the esoteric scent, 
the mystical colors, 
the bold uniqueness of my inner display,
gathered both from the road 
I have impressionistically traveled 
to harvest and present these
and from the being who wondrously grew 
in response, 
yet present within them.
and although it is a quiet-flourish
of my etheric human nature,
it is my richness in ever-so secret a display.
just for you, 
who have the sightedness 
to see me from within.
hand held, in the heart of your heart,
as your tears given then 
provide for each bud of me
to be further nourished
as if by your consecrating gaze
at any future moment 
of your spiritual face to bouquet attending . . .

Sunday, April 15, 2018

love beyond any means 4/15/18


love beyond any means
so lucidly real but distance
a north star buried high 
in the sky of my heart
not from a gut wrenching life
do I look up that often
but it is a fixture of my love, 
given
but not readily returned
that is probably how it is
for there is no contract about it
the giving is the gift
in and of itself
the capacity to feel and give
is the miracle 
in the privacy of my being
that I inwardly grow 
so unexpectedly from giving
that we should all be blessed
to privately benefit 
deeply, in that way . . .


Saturday, April 14, 2018

that sense of self 4/14/18


I gave up my sense of self to get it.
I always ended the next chapter
of the ongoing story of my life 
in high contrast, 
as extremes of inference without nouns,
ending with a blank yet animated cognitive stare.
only to ask, what just happened to living in it?
the shock, as if in no self-audience of interest,
relinquished, removed, or redirected?
whoever was that self of the last chapter?
what of it?
who was that of me?
no dialogue, just echoes from yonder deep canyons.
pack out the refuse of self, the reusables
the remnants, the intuitives, yet undefined.
the terrain of self is still not hugely explored.
next chapter starts with more writing skills
richer vocabulary, sightedness beyond just seeing.
but then the honest self-discovery that I can’t go.
can’t be there for the text incentives.
want writer’s block as a new way of life.
do not agree to my audience-interpretation.
do not want for the read of it, or thereafter.
intrigue, in the sense of further self inquiry? 
yes.
sourcing output, from deeper places within me?
yes, 
I want what I don’t know to come through me.
to honor that call rather than live out the story.
expectations have been discovered 
as a bad daily habit,
as a cyst in the way of being.
whatever that book is and to become, 
it writes itself in passing.
I have taken away the keyboard of self-consciousness.
evocative is primarily of non-eventfuls, 
little beady nuances 
that richly bleed across my awareness plain.
my herb rack of natural heartfelt-responses is awaiting.
the colors of the world around are massaging as my optics.
all the language of worldliness does not express it.
I want to be off the page, 
out of context as we know it to be historically so.
next has to come out on its own and be yet unclaimed.
there is no next moment parade to be here, 
only now, oh so openly void and filling.
who of myself can be in receivership for that of me?
that is where it happens.
and I have to give up my sense of self to get it.
even though I had to accidentally discover,
it is entry into a world with no nouns.
even so, I give up my sense of self, 
to be . . .






Friday, April 13, 2018

we all dew 4/13/18


I have crayons in my heart,
we all do.
I don’t know how to handle them.
they seem to work their color magic
with invisible hands made of my emotions.
I never learned the actuals of coloring
but there are no lines by this heartfelt method.
all the colors seem to have spiritual fragrances.
the landscape of the day is a wander in this way.
the symphony plays as if smells’ entertaining.
light-hearted is a seemingly constant broadcast.
just the spread of these color is all around.
it is more than an invitation for me.
there is this calling as if a necessity, 
to see the colors of the world all around
whatever of this is, 
is the grip on me. 
it yields respectfully to the spread of these colors.
not so bothered with the shape of images per say.
but the exude, the blush, the embrace,
the smother of imbibed impressions,
donating the blood of attention to the cause,
the endurance of constant-flowing’s surrounds,
more colors than the wisdom-of-age offers,
as visual praise is the renderings as feedback.
I am on pages with no edges.
nothing is ever a sketch or decided.
the contact features the exquisite pressure of existence.
there is ever-flow pouring out.
images come and go 
but the colors soothe into my being,
as if this coloring of the day passes through me.
there is a sea of blends all around,
not living for images sighted.
these colors speak to me most directly 
in a spiritual dialogue 
that takes on melody.
there is the prism of lips saying the sounds, 
of hues, tints, tones, 
within the emotions of dew,
as we all dew.
liquidities of likeness are fluid into the swim.
all this is done hands-free.
I am pages where you are profound.
leave for me part of the surge of your passing. 
I breath in your fragrances to live. 
hot wax never lies.
I tremble inside the visuals 
of living the glide . . .





Thursday, April 12, 2018

zest beyond the burn 4/12/18


there is a zest from within for the unknowable.
our thrive is alive, deeply embedded with it.
we want to take off our minds
and swim in the beyond of it-all,
to be always wet and un-dryable.
a zeal always present here 
and also after any sense of comprehension.
want for a steely zen-of-focus
but beyond a state of mind.
next moments are not of it or by dosage, even enough.
to never the state of diamond
but ever the mysterious, reflected.
to be of the great whole 
that mass can never fully occupy
beyond in the sightless flame of yearning.
is this then the source of the call-out
but without the emptiness of listening?
no more just the reflected light
but seriously
the essence of flame-mystery coming forth. 
to fully exist one-candle-power beyond know.
is this the answer 
to the mindfulness as always contradictions?
the burn as ever isness and expansion?
having no residence but everywhere?
to disrobe from definite and finite?
having no functional organs but the one?
to feel like are a unified rigor, 
sweating out the fuming of truth
but lost in the tasks of self, 
as enterprise . . .


Wednesday, April 11, 2018

you and your business 4/11/18


you are before the phenomenon of you.
your experience is only the belated curator.
before you were a you, you were.
you are all of time,
but appearing now, as only in time.
before your invention 
of the inventory of your identity,
you were already a you.
the wardrobe of self 
is only for false-appearance sake.
the beauty of this displacement
is for referential discovery,
both in it and of itself.
you can’t know-and-be at the same time
in a linear mind way of being.
flashlight on, flashlight off,
is the definition of our darkness personified.
as long you are sensory dependent,
truth is confirmationally reliant
on first-person second-hand accounts.
thus the wardrobe of self
is reflected into the reality-mirror.
if all of this was profoundly demystified
you would not claim a you,
and yet still overwhelmingly be . . .



to give up the know 4/10/18


the universe cannot be understood 
by the means we use as understanding.
our think is not a constant answer as we claim.
our focus may only be a fixed lens of comprehension,
as long as we pursue linear thinking as reward.
we are image seeking as audience, as understanding.
some of the rules for this knowledge base
put us at a distinct distance from participation.
observation, as a technique, implies some of 
or similar undisclosed operational rules 
that align in function towards analysis by their usage.
but to know is not to be.
so the nature of self-consciousness 
is radically distant from the stream of pure consciousness.
the riddle of self only becomes 
the lens inherited by observation towards understanding
and then the assumptions generated by it.
yet understanding, as a medium of human participation, 
does not overcome this handicapping strategy.
understanding should not a telescope or a microscope 
but when really realized as only a mirror reflecting
the techniques used by us 
to fulfill our separate-from observational process.
until the mirror is genuinely multidimensional 
in its reflecting 
and not cast as strictly observational 
but be, more so, deep and dark penetrating, 
the riddle of intelligence 
is myopic, unrealized or under-dimentionally apprehending 
as if and of itself 
and the essential self of its only intelligent self-inquiry.
investigation by another process 
would yield direct immersion 
as a form of vibrational understanding. 
if that word, intelligence,  
still had functional usage and involvement.
at that point of discovery, 
beyond the use of intelligence, 
there are no relevant details necessary, 
account, if needed, is not linear, 
and understanding would be deeply immersive 
not yielding results 
but direct participation 
as a first-person dynamic member of the universe, 
respectful and participatory 
of the universe more directly 
for how we occupy it now
as to then would be quite differently. 
not that we would occupy mass, for then, in the same way 
or be content with spoken language 
in its usage stance of now
or even think for then as if to generate thought.
we seem to be cursed by these crutches we use 
and that we momentously honor 
with much continued usage, 
we call them our best qualities 
as if they individually exist as attributes,
each unto it self. 
experience, as it functions now, is painful. 
but that pain and sorrow occurs loudly 
only in other unheard of dimensions of our beings.
what is tragic, is our placement in time and space 
as if religious and respectfully for us to be perceive. 
at some point, flat-line observation and perspective 
will fade away, out of a lack of functional usage.
until then, we have know and not know, 
fighting this invisible battle 
within each of us 
for operational drawnness.
so, what will it take for any of us
to give up the know,
our positions of separateness from 
everything perceived as around us,
to more fully embrace, immerse, 
and be? . . .