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Tuesday, July 31, 2018

less is meaning-full 7/31/18


as if meaning was the ever so
of personalized adulation and applause.
meaning, as if it comes from audience
to bathe me 
in so much the specifics of ways.
that I have given meaning
the enterprise of loving me
by some sense of understanding as intimacy.
this inner dialogue, 
as if the French-kiss of the inner mind
where truth be told 
without the exterior of rules to follow.
meaning, as if the most undeniable friend,
such that it is of love expressed.
we have a language base like no other.
meaning reads me the story of my being
beyond my memory’s ability to embrace.
the trust is resolute as if to keep me as mine.
meaning, not the origin I come from,
but the seer of the landscape delivering me,
giving it tone and texture in mindful ways.
for without meaning, 
how do I stand to the breeze,
as vacant, beyond, beneath and behind?
what that gravity insists, 
mass demands, and sensory escorts?
baffled not to call it circumstance.
all this is on going,
but now is not telling me.
for the whispering has turned to pine.
yearn is now the resolute of void.
happening continues without interpretation’s tongue.
essence is without explanation’s expletives.
I drown into every single breath 
to live beyond meaning’s grasp,
where enormity is of everything
without any sense of place or containment.
oneness is embrace, 
as if emersion is finally a meaningless sea . . .

Monday, July 30, 2018

the more 7/30/18


the more 
that experience molds me 
into constant receivership
the more
that spirit wants me to be 
the enterprise of broadcast
the more
that linear reasoning wants me 
to make decisions
that choose one or the other
the more 
that dualistic thinking pits this 
one cognitive version 
against the soul of the other
what is more 
when all is one?

the more 
that self-consciousness 
gives me singular directives 
from a myopic point of view
the more 
that mindfulness has the upper hand 
with language
and then my emotionality suffers 
the subsequent stifling consequences
what is more?
when more 
is only the mindset of less 
personified . . .




Sunday, July 29, 2018

you’ve become (haiku) 7/29/18


walk very lightly 
on the new gentle snowfall 
of who you’ve become

Saturday, July 28, 2018

the myth of stimulation 7/28/18


stimulation is immediately sensorial 
territorial in viewship’s demand
yes beckoning, 
as if focus was its servant 
arming itself with a buoyancy of attention deeds 
stroking commotion 
as with these hands of locationality 
armed with the resilience of endeavoring
as if to sip consciousness without frame 
or the bothersomeness of lowdown content
or any sense of the momentums of habit
even the sip as this action
is to be
broken open, broken down, broken through
yet stimulation quite secretly,
is in its own self-loneliness 
on the outbreath, yet always reactive and revived
we all astutely climbing the mountain of this orientation 
as if it is all gallstones 
passing through one self
through many lifetimes 
going forward with them 
until all the stones, are back into dust
and yet using all of the cooking utensils 
of the cognitive mind
does not provide or serve or deliver 
the meal one needs to eat
for all of movement 
is digestion and replenishment in one
and then to come to realize
that the great stillness is all of everything
as one movement
well, observation, in that regard, 
has no presence as audience
as we all dance with what evolves us
until this wardrobe of evolution 
ceases to exist . . .





Friday, July 27, 2018

the wiser for it 7/27/18


come to treasure a worth 
that has no grasp for belief,
figure a thought 
that has no residence for landing,
a personal wealth 
without perspective or scale,
physical embrace 
without surface to feel for touch,
as if a sense that doesn’t register 
as evidence of proof.
find a series of words 
that have no vowels for it to sound,
a sense of containment 
that has no exterior in surround,
a particular essence that exists 
as resoundingly unidentified,
a streaming of sorts 
that defies any sense of motion as account,
a private testament 
that is mountainously steeped in silence,
know of a moniker 
that endures ridiculing itself, 
as a way of life,
have at an in-breath 
that circles the planet in its constancy,
be aware of a method of duly-noteds 
that have existence as a mockery,
where time is the after-thought 
of a flock of circling hesitancies, 
feed on the ridiculous 
in mountainous proportions ever-advancing.
see an adventure 
with steadfast as its working premise, 
where timid possums on psychedelics 
are facing off in stare-downs,
sloths, on speed, racing snails, jointly, 
in their shared minds’ eyes, 
breezes forged from the earnest effort 
of a multitude of leaves,
where crayons go, in their heart of hearts 
for their last main squeeze,
and how string or rope unwinds 
from their last tether or bind.
know what serration realizes 
beyond its last cutting action,
when dirt is finally resting, 
heavenly at home,
when all of fabric has no place else to layer 
as for show,
be before wheel 
had ever surrendered to purpose,
before dips and dodges 
had any sense of motion to their life,
where all of trees-diversity appears 
as the whisper-one root,
and speaking, is an ocean 
without the need of confessionals,
as with mirrors 
that never have faced redundancy,
or where blood has never experienced 
any inadvertent exposures
and tedium never needed 
a resting places of residence
as well as details that were never referred to 
as a bother.
go there, 
where no location has ever been visited before.
be the chrysalis of a fresh idea, 
is about to happen.
and then give it all away 
to be essence from the heart.
come to know of nothing 
as superlative
yet that no measure of this 
is ever concluded.
where to only wisdom 
is isness
and yet, 
no one is the wiser for it . . . 



Thursday, July 26, 2018

unwanted thoughts 7/26/18


the miraculous work of unwanted thoughts,
yapping away at the back of the brain-bus.
loud enough for the brain driver to hear.
so much distance between them to overcome.
please, drive me to where the unthinkable goes.
why do these thoughts come 
that are so unmanageable?
wait, no wait!
who is the driver of this brain-bus to start with?
and why do we all go where this bus takes us?
is this the free ride to sanity? 
or to the town of positive thinking?
or are these apparently unsolicited thoughts 
doing this work to express oppressed feelings?
how did I get on this bus to I-don’t-know-where?
and what did I take with me as my baggage?
how do I address the person of me
who calls out in judgment, 
against these so-called “unwanted thoughts”?
who are they to me as from deeply within me?
did I ask for self-righteousness 
to be self-dialogue?
I always thought of myself as self-inquiry.
but now I am internally sided,
looking for cause and means at the same time.
self-judgment is haunting. 
and who are they of me to me?
this is ridiculous, 
as interior dialogues go.
yet necessary 
to gain a witness that lives to ride inside.
“unwanted” is judgment in override.
just want to think the thoughts 
and sense where they are sourced.
know of the author, well.
mind-read the mind that engenders as my self.
be of a curious find to live by.
I have said these things to myself, 
many, many times.
unwanted has become an inquisitive’s doorway, 
a floodlight turned on
in the darken hallways of order assumed.
go ahead, break my heart of convention
and also of conviction.
test me into expandedness.
have me come to know beyond knowing’s production.
I want a humble servant of a brain,
in service to my spirit 
as ever awareness offers.
unwanted thoughts maybe the unborn emotional me,
struggling in the womb of my being.
growing beyond what my telling myself offers.
the miracle of compassion starts within me as me,
to embrace beyond what my current believes,
to advance beyond my conclusion’s wake.
I am held back from beyond what I perceive,
but the heart of my heart listens for enormity . . . 



Wednesday, July 25, 2018

water 7/25/18


water is gravity bound
only escapes to higher elevations
for short escapades 
and then returns gleeful
spends time telling all the others
about sojourns into the sky
so all of water lines up 
for the possible journey
long lines from sea deeps 
to the surface
in great hopes
to get an evaporative ticket to ride
so invisibly blessed when it happens
it seems like magic to us
then into the sky
by busloads, stampeding herds
long trainloads then crossing
delicates dancing to a waltz 
humming along, 
all on their own
please, when you come back
tell us all quite privately
sort of face to face
I’ll be there
and feel richly blessed
as a surrogate substitute 
for tears on my face 
but with the emotional composure
to thoroughly whimsy-listen . . .

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

way far from what 7/24/18


I so hold on to letting go.
way far from what,
as the passage of images to measure me?
as if surrender from within was the task at hand
and then embrace, is the secret to living?
awareness is such a fickle cause.
relating happens like this 
as if time is my teacher.
the sense for gravity has no audience appeal.
for me its acceptance is my leverage into motion.
the singularity of personal story is suffocating.
just want to scan what prompts me,
to then not have cursory as a form of attention.
self-consciousness is a form of personal indifference
but knowing that doesn’t help it dissolve.
it seems attention is a focal addiction
as life with a lit flashlight sense of crucial concern.
I just wanted ocean as conversation communally.
I would live to jump and sneeze at the same time
and call that flight of my being 
as the possible entry of spirit.
but I truly wanted was 
for the leap that has no landing,
then some sort of psychic surgery 
to remove expectation from mindfulness, 
a language of verbs that escaped from meaning
and a landscape of the heart, 
only as the soothing mud of contact as journey.
if then, a shower of tears for cleaning up,
to realize that hope was never meant to be a verb
and all of honesty, as brought to mind
is only a sense for conjecture, in passing,
where proof utterly has no shelf-life.
as I only live, to live on,
to be in the sense of using spellbound 
as being profoundly lost in this flow . . .


Monday, July 23, 2018

we believe as if we won god 7/23/18


we, as humans,
believe as if we won god
onto our side.
we live under the belief system 
of entitlement concepts:
race as a relevancy, 
species as a privileged status, 
countries as if the planet is a game-board
ownership of land, possessions, other humans
as if actuality doesn’t exists 
outside of closed-mindedness
dualistic thinking draws a line in the sand 
for right or wrong
moral-immoral
self as a success
capitalism as the end game
proposes war as for reason or profit
yes, race-ism 
as disguised self-loathing
yet personally unacknowledged 
further more, the projection of worth
the preoccupancy for the self story
where the self-life of judgment 
is ever extended 
by the ventilation of undisclosed eyesores 
from personal blind-spots
also what govern meant as its means
small-mindedness in personal but private overwhelm
the predicament of meaningful as burdensome
moreover the ever ongoing language war with positivism
that has the impetus of an underside negative driver
likewise where self-consciousness is 
a subtle form of plagiarism
and experience itself 
is an outright mitigating untruth
as short term self-enablement
whatever happened to (?)
the child is the parent of the adult
as the newborn is the vibrational intelligence 
of the ancient
as how we live to unlearn 
what we already know
as if unresponsive wakefulness 
is our most prominent means
live for the outing of now
where caring is a ritual 
for the manifest of oneness
even though crisis, in the first person,
is a frying pan for soul food 
to then be abundantly served . . .









Sunday, July 22, 2018

weathering 7/22/18


in the sky
thermals present a temperamental gravity
the load-bearing of ominous shapes
almost invisible to us in cloud-cover ways
freight trains of often-time moisture traveling
mystically before are very eyes
but we sense gravity under a different light
personalized as private weight-fullness
experienced as under the cover of skin
as that enterprise for the want of weightiness
but we are hypothesized by the sky 
as our sense of freedom from within
almost unaware of the turbulences 
that sky-bound dance
except for those times when we experience it
being under foot 
as we become the dance floor in receivership
so if cool is masculine and hot is feminine 
then the sky is the etheric dance-floor and stage
for them, as a couple, 
body to body, tight
in a tango flaring, almost out of our sight
we are often onlooker invited to their dances
and if we choose to go
we are generally dressed up, 
in very plain clothes
spending our time there,
so to speak, as wall flowers
never to really get up and fully partake 
for they can be an uproar
a down-pour, a deluge and a cloudburst,
linger as a monsoon, rage with thunder
in a brouhaha, or a mosh-pit all around you
and we are then all eyes and ears
and very little feet of dance–action
weathering, as we would call it
is hardly even a slow dance that we notice
it’s the rock and roll
that loudly gets our attention  
for they, as a couple,
can be somewhat boisterous
yet really who of us complains 
when they are the neighbors of us
that otherwise, politely live upstairs . . . 


Saturday, July 21, 2018

where for understanding 7/21/18


understanding is only impartial interest,
a bystander’s creed,
a crossword done in pencil,
the vacancy of affirmative nods,
communication having its cosmetic affect,
shoes then tied 
as if now properly dressed,
as in a sense of self balance 
quite privately regained.

there is want for the embodiment 
beyond meaning’s delivery,
for the mood-ring of invisible auras to blend,
for all the subtle facial muscle to get up and dance,
for the distance between us 
to not be measurable by stoic units of means
and to discover, without ever saying,
that we could never become placards, 
frontal in each other’s face,
that we have come to share flight  
up and within the same breeze,
that we pray under the same sun,
shoulder to shoulder,
and that mood, our canopy of mood,
can serve us the food of our oneness . . .



Friday, July 20, 2018

your worth (haiku) 7/20/18


proving your worth is 
a life-long young soul technique 
for living in doubt

Thursday, July 19, 2018

is . . . be . . . 7/19/18


shadow is the authentic light from the void
whispering unspeakable truth.

all of the bright of light 
is but the breadcrumbs
of our intoxicating journey.

emptiness is the fill of this wisdom
from beyond reason.

for if we ever go there,
then here 
was only a stall-point of existence.

each thought is but the breeze
against the feathers 
of the spirit of us 
in flight.

for we are only creatures of separateness 
by the identity that we keep 
sacred in our hearts.

if we ever leap off of the mountain of our mind,
looking back 
at the free-fall of thoughts in passing,
at the myths of gravity and frame,
to then wonder 
that recognition was ever the confident
as a safety net 
to keep us sane.

the dance is happening 
as the me-ness of me 
dissolves.

for elation from this state, 
has no gravity,
no sense of self 
to be resolved.

self-integrity gives way 
to isness in passing.

for there are octaves 
as if corridors of ascent
from the disrobing of personal experience 
in passing.

the match-heads of us as think 
are igniting,
burning through all of thought 
as refuse.

the oxygen of isness is laughing 
all the way through this burn.

we only get a here-to-there 
from this artful dance 
of disillusionment,
whereby the only sacred language of there, (?)
is . . . (into)
be . . .


Wednesday, July 18, 2018

service 7/18/18


service is an art-form of magic.
so by service
you already have a captive audience
attending with expectations.
and by the performance of real service-magic 
you are making that audience disappear
by each of them discovering
that they are also on stage from within
as part of the ongoing magic 
(of service) . . .

Tuesday, July 17, 2018

blood of now 7/17/18


daily, 
I take the edginess of mind
to the task
of rubbing up against
the stiff leather of living
for to sharpen it, of course,
for the cutting through 
of the thick
of time’s indulgence
only to ever so slightly sense 
the pulse of the blood of now
with its grandness for subtlety  
in passing . . .

Monday, July 16, 2018

the deeply within 7/16/18


there is a place within me
where tears have no justification to exist
but they do
as stand-alones of solemn presence
they are earnest and complete
without the need of cause 
I bathe in them from time to time
run breath by 
for approval of existence
have no explanation
for their whereabouts or means
they maybe my blood of soul
without the need of lifetimes 
to expand upon or explain
they are rock solid 
by liquidity’s ease
full of vastness 
embrace every chapter of my existence
but unwavering 
I go there to find
as if separate from self to start
only to realize 
that in all ways,
is,
and comes from 
the deeply within . . .

Sunday, July 15, 2018

as us all 7/15/18


I am a pyromaniac of soul
that will start a fire in you, 
of you, about you, 
and around you
your experience will be of that burn
and eventually you will discover
that you are the light of your being
I did not deceive you
I only conceived of you that way
I believed you into this existence
by soul recognition
in admiration of who you truly are
and you, likewise with and within me
oneness maybe our default imperative
that we so much needed 
for coming into existence
as us all . . .




Saturday, July 14, 2018

full emptiness 7/14/18


I am the solemnity of all albatross
looking to empathically fly 
in the constancy 
of an orgasmic wherewithal sky
to be then of the spirit 
beyond the compress and compromise
of wing against wind 
appeasement into flight
to seek out celestials 
as an ongoing operative
beyond the prayer of thermals
above the anointed sainthood 
of an oceanic view
where blue is the constancy 
of my soulful song
and the universe is its mouth 
melodically forthcoming
sacred murmur is in my bloodstream 
ever the streaming 
as freely is to flow
for then, 
I whisper into the void
feel for the body-heat of nothingness 
to arise,
for paradox has this poignancy
to give me a euphoric sense of horizon 
for flying into the full emptiness 
of its smile . . .


Friday, July 13, 2018

taken up 7/13/18


I have taken up the cause from within me
compelled to embrace the unknown
with openness from a deep interior
imaginary from there
into my motion 
the movement is the saying of it all
form and gestures fill 
with emotion coming forth
my mind, as first audience, 
following its lead
throwing petals of intention
as if forethought, 
into the security of it as deed
needs are then woven
tasks sing-back as if the chorus or refrain
don’t really know any of the words for this
but the melody, in my being, says it all
not a journey but my procession of spirit
brought out into the light 
behind but also part of the doing
the carriage of spirit coming forth
it is like falling up 
by following this invisible lead
there is a lit candle guiding 
a blaze of outpour
so secreted behind all of this as actions
for action is the prayer
soul intent be well disguised
only the light from within gives it all away
tell me there is an array of us out here
filling each and every day
belief is but a bystander
the welling continues 
without reason as its guide
drawnness is the oh so intoxicant
passion is but this spiritual pheromone  
in the slow but thorough constancy 
of the cool white-hot burning 
from the apparent invisibility 
of this yearn . . .



Thursday, July 12, 2018

training for life 712/18


reality is an invisible train-ride
the monotony of never ending motion revealed 
with very intrusive close self-quarters 
surrounding me, representing as me
in what feels like the emotional actuality of a caboose
and all the ever ongoing of the now 
is already out of sight
but ever so present 
living in the seeming aftermath
I notice also others on invisible train-rides 
going every which way are around me
and yet all I am left with 
is this one back-window fleeting view
of the recent now, 
out from this caboose view of the after-now
as an ever departing scene
disappearing into the distance
as a cloud of outcomes, memories and doubts
all of this as evidence 
in the constant slow burn churn pronouncing 
this rhythm generating my clickity-clack as aftermath
yet in my heart, as once said,
I do have a ticket to ride
it so seems like this current-ride is my forever life
while the tracks going forward
are sensory drawn
my mind is filled with journey 
as a sense of meaningful things
going every which way forward
but leaving a ‘was’ 
in the settling-behind-me dust
I do love when the train whistle blows
as the future becomes forthcoming excitement 
even the experience of curves 
is beholding to the moment
I feel that motion 
is always praying for me
ever in the arms of movement as caring
training for life
is coming your way . . .