error (haiku) 8/31/18

most critical minds 

only surface for error

else-wise swim the deeps 

just the facts 8/30/18

the stillborn nature of facts

is that they have no natural life,

just the virtuality of context.

a still-point of reference 

in the hot hands of humans as a viewpoint,

which is caught up in the simulation of meaning.

fact is certainly an accomplice 

to the torture of human perspectives,

while living in the secret life of a backstory.

haunting the inquisitives with inferring reflectives.

presented with the sudden acne of inadvertent questions.

providing almost a bad high-school-photo of unrelentings.

living the dehumanization into a prop-world,

puppets of the brain-game,

retentive minds’ version of gold coins

made wildly available for a thinker’s tinkering.

raised as intentional flags for opinion’s fury

yet just odes of the moment to be cognizes.

imagine the crustiness of a bare fact,

with the boldface intrusion of meaning

as a form of self-defense.

humans’ usage, in their justification,

as truly distant from oneness,

is lined up by way of a fact-feast 

as a condition of living.

it’s a way of being postured into relatedness

since true connectedness is a rarity.

human passion is a medium 

to get beyond fact in its rutted-ness

but fact, as it stands, lives in integrative denial.

fact into the hibernation of an inferred treatment, 

subsists on, with no more labor needed, 

once humans move onto a less cerebral existence

as fact either becomes a falsehood

or ventures into time-frame-irrelevance 

or in general, becomes artifact-assigned 

or lip service defusing with its vocal impact

and fact then has a fallback shelf-life

eventually into oblivion . . .

meeting of the minds (haiku) 8/29/18

so when thoughts are served

at self-consciousness parties

understanding dines

grief has a hidden passion 8/28/18

what is the full nature of grief

as if the fog of grief has set in?

yes, the fog has an impactful story

but how it comes into existence is in question.

the process of grief features expectations

memories, the momentary returns 

from recent worldly experience,

the self measures from these interactions,

the recoil that the stimulus is gone,

the trigger for such account is absent,

and all the framing in the world 

will not bring that animation back to life.

sight becomes the stare becomes the vacancy.

the personal conditioning now lacks that triggering.

whatever was the full frontal of account,

has revealed a disappearance of that central figure,

but not the method used for that framing,

or the self-animation from the interactive experiences.

the apparent surface and context are vastly altered.

the stir of spirit is now so superficially handled.

the big picture behind daily life

that rarely surfaces as deep perception

is now in demand to play.

the call-up, to see beyond immediate circumstance,

beyond lifetimes of connections and then transitions,

to know of spirit in another as strength of being in oneself,

that the format of reality is a contingency,

always and ever a false front to the bigger picture,

that daily life does adequately represent this embodiment,

the streaming of spirit is through lifetimes forward.

grief is the loss of the full frontal of immediacy.

grief requires the release of a gloom perspective

and the re-enkindlement to the depth of being

necessary to see beyond 

the apparency of the self in this predicament,

that we all get taken in by the big screen,

the onslaught of imaging in daily life,

the interactional nature of appearing to the eye of the mind,

yet moved by the spirit of the being behind the all of that,

only to short fuse towards the daily representation

and not the spiritual essence directing it from within.

grief lives as the here and now version.

in the bigger picture,

we are all dancing on,

whatever the mediums are crossed in doing so.

grief is an emotion from a short story version of that view.

each person, within their person, experiences grief.

spirit within consciousness 

experiences connectivity as ongoing.

in that perspective, grief has a short lifespan

as a reminder to re-embrace the depth of being

that the actual dynamics represent.

death as a transition is a shift of mediums.

but in the bigger picture,

the richness continues

as all beings are served 

as the consciousness expands.

grief is but a welcome mat to the door 

of a richer spiritual conscious existence

in the realm-travel that we all participate in.

grief is not a stall point.

grief has a hidden passion 

to reawakening to what essence of being 

is about all in of us

as from each other, in this life journey.

grief is a veiled springboard back to the essence

away from the mundane.

every moment of grief is a pregnancy 

to the birth of a spiritual richness

that realigns us all 

towards destiny, through ongoingness, 

into oneness . . .

bodhisattva addiction (haiku) 8/27/18

very steely caring

from the deep well of loving

self, just medium

objectification as meddlesome 8/26/18

objectification is a self-inflicted prison

yes, you get a cell with a view

the inadequate capacity to dream on

with profoundly limited access to act out

you have a trench coat of stills in your mind

you send post cards out as next thoughts

and you’ve asked of yourself 

to be in the next ‘where’s waldo’ poster

as a camouflage stand-in unknowingly

you’ve stacked the deck 

in a forgotten manner

and deal going forward as a card trick

worthy of self-watching

as if you are both the magician

and first row audience appreciation

this is how self-intrusive 

becomes a way of life . . .

creativity (haiku) 8/25/18

creativity 

in the dark of the night 

bleeds for light to come

being being 8/24/18

all of language is the kindling, 

for starting verbal topical fires

by the use of enablement, 

for what is not said

and preferentials for what is.

thus the distortion 

of the human living hologram occurs

by the use of these linear perspectives.

being, in the conscious mind,

is forever becoming the merge.

morality is murky syntactical.

strategic is a form of a clandestine embrace.

therefore the essence of love

can never be perusal. 

spirit is never nonfictional.

and being, the essence of being,

is never topically evident . . . 

task at hand (haiku) 8/23/18

only real topic

experience junkies have

one’s self interest

the makings of an up-roar 8/22/18

one horse running towards me

from a great distance away

its mane bobbing and aflame

turns into a wide-spread of many

in a collaborative rush of light

circling me from all sides, 

fast approaching 

as if to breathlessly engulf 

but this vision-field expands 

completely beyond a 360-frame

drowning, 

more from this rush of envelopment 

yet evocative becomes my overwhelm

whatever was grounding me, 

soon vanished 

for this gravity is boundless, 

no hints any more of up or down

small eddies of laugher 

are bubbling up from within me

blending the before, the during and the hereafter  

all of the sky, the far reaching sky

was my last in-breath taken

ready to greet the emphatic of everything 

yet now has no pronouncement

thick and warm and far-seeing 

meet in a blending liquid elixir state

all the intimate appendages of mine 

are just next thoughts reaching

yet experience features no particulars to grasp

bathing and basking are currently 

the same emotional affix to living 

for what is, sensorially sizzles 

as a vibratory stillness, 

a sound-loop so satisfying

as the tingling becomes levity sip-able 

my streaming-senses climb the walls 

towards nonexistence’s call

for there are buzzards of blessedness circling 

the banquet of becoming is forthright evident

roundabouts of supposed mentionables 

are all about to collide as if tongue-tied

dizzy, with what intrigue this offers

tizzy and sensate copulate within me 

their magnetics produce an offspring

its dimensions within me breath in life

while I am mopping the floors of existence 

with tears coming down from laughter 

I give up on naming any of it

for the giant redwoods of my mind 

whisper to me 

as my forever forest from within

for now I can feel 

how every two drops of water recompose 

for when they first meet,

for their sense of ocean-intimacy as embrace 

and the weather all around me

has become a one hair brush 

to the canvass 

that is the everywhere on me

for now, wholeness has no apparent boundaries

beginnings and endings are just 

mutually reactive mirror views

language is but chewed gum 

left-behinds, stuck under counters 

from several lifetimes ago

these are the well beyonds,

all of this, just the rumble of overwhelms, 

for I have found 

the sweet tone of an unending note,

as the makings of an uproar,

in a continuum beyond place and time

where all those governing rules of order

have become the justice of incense in the burning, 

steeped into exquisite singulars of fragrance

forgone are the daze 

from my self-accounts

this riddle of identity has been vanquished 

all thoughts for now?

are plains of welcome mats

that obliquely 

but secretly with wide-eyes say,

heart is hearth as whole.

knowledge had no moving parts 

and knowing, of the human-kind,

only has redemption 

for the ones 

who are the consciousness 

of their soul . . .

the big secret (haiku) 8/21/18

the softest tissues

your body will ever grow

govern your living

oneness overwhelms 8/20/18

I can’t leave 

where I never have been.

and I am everywhere else

intent on closing in.

space, what a concept.

get small,

to chase after large,

to be only, some where.

then know it 

by what surrounds.

have travel 

as time consumption.

get focused on particulars

as evidence 

for being there.

trust vision

as if in need.

feel gravity

as if earthbound.

have a sense of ‘I’

like that is relevant

as in, I’m talking to myself,

as if language authors

speech pronounces

and hearing verifies.

self-consciousness is the menu.

chew properly.

swallow whole.

self is buffet 

as a long line,

ever serving.

thought is soup of the day.

slurp if you can.

spill if you must.

cause tides.

ride earth rises.

laugh the death out. 

mid-brain gets it.

spine tingles

until oneness overwhelms . . .

residence of soul 8/19/18

self-consciousness communicates,

consciousness conveys.

communication is the embodiment of meaning 

as thoughtfully significant. 

conveyance broadcasts a radiance 

as an imminence of presence.

we are the endless practice towards communication

but we are the unceasing birthright of conveyance.

as much as speech fills the mind with activity,

presence of being calms the soul.

self-consciousness seeks to project of itself

while consciousness invisibly attends with silent dignity.

for communication purposes, we have the mind’s ‘I’,

for conveyance, we are the mind’s eye

for self-consciousness awareness,

it is not aware of itself.

in consciousness, 

one is selflessly sentient-aware.

self-consciousness has access to the behave-mind 

while consciousness participates in the hive-mind.

self-consciousness is where your projection leads you.

consciousness is where your presence exudes of you.

they both have strong ties to the spirit of being

but one has the deeper residence of soul . . .

personal wealth 8/18/18

realization, 

coming in to where you are, 

is personal wealth.

being the conscious flood of spirit,

filling in behind your life experience,

as if channeling the flow of your higher self

is an abundancy of wealth.

there are no rewards for being, 

only the presumption of rewards for doing.

wealth is not acquisitional.

wealth is conscious embrace of essence realized,

where actualizing becomes the consciousness of flow.

wealth is the conscious singularity of the hive-mind,

where oneness of being 

is the essence of all actions taken.

consciousness versus self-consciousness 8/17/18

first off, not a competition but an internal contention.

experience is the medium of self-consciousness

but plays a subjective role in consciousness.

self-consciousness is all about intake,

sensory ordained consumption.

consciousness is all about output, 

radiant presence forthcoming.

self-consciousness is shaped and molded

by conditioning, habits and circumstance.

consciousness is deeply present,

possibly resigned to a secondary role

until the self-realization occurs.

but in children, it is very sight-able

beyond their developing personality,

which can become a cross current to its broadcast.

self-consciousness negotiates as a self directive.

it has a narrative and a normative to live by.

consciousness, in a keepsake sense for our reality,

represents the soul clarity of the being.

for self-consciousness to become clear with that

is for many a life calling 

and a destiny yearn.

it is not that they have to fight each other.

but more so, that reality demands by circumstances

and method and means available to respond,

makes that evolution daunting for most people.

the calling truly exists for everyone

but the trek has illusion and confusion along the way

as if it is self-consciousness’s calling 

to determine how and when and what that might be

as of methods and means to get there,

and to realize the internal priority shifts necessary

to become self-consciously conscious is transcendent.

it is a surrender up,

the bleed through of higher purpose and means.

it is a wisdom of depth perception, on constantly.

at some point, it will appear almost as a channeling,

where one speaks through oneself from within.

at that point, it is not contentiously entertained.

there is mediumship and a soul presence,

as consciousness becomes self-consciously present . . .

injustice is the breeze 8/16/18

injustice lives in seething silence within.

not that justice occurs

but the cleaver of a mind’s conclusion

begs for it to truly exist.

yet justice is not a crowning

but more of a sense of tranquility’s besiege

in the self-sense of one’s surround.

injustice has created an unspoken occupancy,

an affect that has become noteworthy

to the point and the need of recognition 

or at least the minutiae of inner responses acknowledged.

repugnancy and affront are dancing inwardly,

front stage, as consciously as they can

to the audience of that mind.

pursed lips but unsaid happens.

self-space is felt as diminished.

the mind-grip of subtle compression 

is self applied

but the claim, outwardly intended,

is that injustice has occurred.

rules, taken for granted, have been abraded. 

the confluency of respect is denied.

the contract of right assumptions is broken,

broken into and broken down.

dignity has a stone in the shoe

for walking forward into the earnestness of the day.

the limp will have a tongue.

silence will have a callous.

venting will be in need of a target.

disarray has potential carriage into the next moment

and then some.

peeved is only made of froth.

gastric juice simmer undisclosed but burning.

a flare for the irrational broods. 

passivity may become a placative way of life.

a necessity for compartmentalization of the mind 

constantly beckons,

so that hidden agendas now have a residency 

yet undisclosed.

innocence has temporary substitute teachers.

the education of relevance is privately debated.

the heart of the matter is not in that room.

getting current is running an obstacle course.

when do issues become just dander?

where within oneself is buoyancy, out of balance, 

inwardly learned,

since innocence is not the teacher any more?

self-love invents a mirror to, in reflection, ponder.

persons of destiny, move on.

people of the oneness are aware 

but self-implore.

injustice comes from the mindsets of isolation.

people are calling out from their blind-spot of power.

their suffering is displaced by measures of control.

their gauge is self rising, in isolation above all else.

their journey, is a longer way around the mountain

with many more ups and downs.

but be the broadcast of self as wealth

and not the brooding inner billboard

of self-image absorbing a loss.

grow feathers of inner wisdom.

find injustice as a breeze to take flight upon.

sight, as from higher up and farther out in scope

sees injustice as just landfill. 

once you are in the flight-stream,

in full-flow, of this as an elevated view . . .  

in full experiential reprieve 8/15/18

self-consciousness is 

just the imminently inclusive recent past,

posing as our awareness of the now.

the most profound journey for humans

is to come into this fresh baked of the moment

of the now.

to leave the self-conscious version 

for the living state of consciousness,

to leave the pretend of the imminent yet previous 

posing as the now,

to give up on the report and the account,

the anecdotals and the journey of breadcrumbs

posed by conclusions,

to forgive and forget the survey,

even the notion of surprise 

against the backdrop of expectation’s view,

to be alive where language has no formal usage,

where everything speaks and listens 

simultaneously, as interactional,

where sensory input is not particularizing 

but is universalizing 

in every medium beyond presentation’s scene 

as vibratory interaction’s obtainables.

there are no more flashlight in a darken room 

pinhole views.

there is no involvement in the method of interest. 

observation and audience have dissolved.

thought has no need for confirmation or residence.

the void of think is full-blown and ever endowed

without hesitancy or any sense of vanity disclosed.

the now from energetics is timeless.

this, as a bottomless sound,

knows of itself by being.

void has become the fullness of everything.

know is non-operational, even antiquated as a means.

‘be' has no text.

‘being’ is boundary-less.

‘I’ is non-declarative.

verb has no source and noun has no time.

utterance has no audience.

enlightenment has no dimensions to comply.

in transition, that which was apparently closing in,

is ever-expanding, more rapidly.

spacial has octaves 

yet dimensions as distinctions have diminished.

glee sequences faster and faster 

until it is sightless beyond the capacity to sigh.

‘self’ has surrendered into expansion.

mind gave up, now is immersed into the cause.

all words became octaves absorbing.

I knocked on the door one last time

the ‘I’, the ‘knock’, the ‘door’, 

the ‘one’, and the ‘time’,

have all resolved, absolved then dissolved,

together, 

as the last laugh, 

completely exhaling 

as if exhilarating 

in full experiential reprieve . . .

not this content-bound 8/14/18

speech is already broken from before it is hurled

the mind over-grips crushing emotional fragrances

our sight is limited by the immediacy of recognition 

my selves are dualistic shoes walking an unfamiliar road

I am on a shopping spree for more unimportant details

I think that freedom is anywhere that I have not been 

I project from a very private place within me

reality is this religion without a personal confessional

but the penance persists as if guilt is ordained

I cannot see far enough forward to see myself clearly

we are all in symbolic phone booths calling out for help

I am on a shopping spree to hide from the purchase of spirit

the quicksand is that no thought penetrates this predicament

we are where a meaningful life is the pleasure of loiter

I always knew that enough was too much of neediness

what I envision, every metaphor endlessly denies

even the shelf-life of repetition is ongoing diminishment

every new thought is suffocated by thoughts from before

but know this

every lament is driven by something that is not limiting

I have a calling that is prominently unidentified

as an faceless drawnness, that is overwhelming me

it dismisses language as a downer position, personified

it has a feel that does not seek representation

I am buoyant in the heart beyond understanding’s premises

I would bleed out if truth was a conclusionary state 

even as bleak is pointed out, I rise behind those accounts

every paradox gives me reason to revive from within

every predicament is a crest to take off from, to the heavens

every statement is a vehicle of release, no matter its cause

the deep dark systemic is about everything

and self-consciousness is an enigma perspective

where solipsism exists as divination

in this reality hologram 

generated from the mechanics 

and dynamics of human isolation,

there are those who yearn to live for 

when consciousness is not this content-bound . . . 

money is CTE of the mind 8/13/18

money is a brain disease confessional,

an interrogator of the deepest reactives as self-truths,

the stimulator of inner dialogues 

with the grunt of curse words but privately voiced,

where separatism goes to be rejuvenated,

lives as a catharsis without emotional purification.

money gives trust a bad name, eventually,

a kind of selfish hypnosis realized as false purpose,

a way to get down like form junkies would,

a kind of alcohol given to a splurge-queen 

without any gender identification needed.

money is a form of suicide-notes, 

needing a final placement to be cost-effective.

if money were a video with sound,

the study of human psychology 

would advance way more rapidly.

reality T.V. is the money in your wallet, on your mind.

credit cards are just the pharmaceuticals of the same.

money is a statue to itself, we all honor in passing.

while the body is mostly composed of water

the mindset is mostly composed of money as metaphor.

if reality had its own tongue, 

money would be the waggling and the chatter.

if desire is in a flood zone

then money is the hundred year flash-flood.

if tens and twenties were truth tellers

then hundreds would be lawyers in a court of law.

in physics, money is the friction between opposing forces.

money is a false-crop of cause-worthiness.

it is a medium for act-outs 

when worth is disappointing.

money puts all details to bed

and creates our garden of conclusions to view . . .

in visioning 8/12/18

soul swallowed sight 

gave back a view from the other side

reflecting a heart rendering

where by everything is blessed

of itself and vibrationally affirming

why did I have to go to view 

to feel this connected?

soothed escaped to shower me

as if I now live for this appeasement

it seems 

I circumvent my mountain of being

just to get these blissful views

taken from the outside in

as if soul had dialog to say

and heart, my heart was then

all ears . . .

the lock, stock and barrel of you 8/11/18

you would rather ride shotgun

in an ego car.

kindly mouthing off 

from a ventilative hidden agenda.

driven by self-loathing disguised 

behind conversational intrigue.

and presented as a caring for others demeanor 

so as to distract yourself 

from real self-issue demands

that somehow you believe 

others should directly assist you with.

yet they have no source for where in you 

this essentially occurs.

or where this originally comes from

except for your need of false approval.

and by this attention, that is topically gained,

even though it does not essentially self-apply.

that others feel for you

is then falsely interpreted 

as a connect, a contract gained.

where others appear to authentically care

this is justifying your ever untold struggle.

only for you to eventually discover 

that if they buy in,

they really can’t fundamentally help.

then ego, accompanied once again with inner rage

and mental surround, continues on

as unresolved, stifled, confoundedly bitter

and spiritually suppressed . . .

kickbacks from time 8/10/18

time is a state of poverty awareness,

a confinement of conceptualization,

an animation of conclusions marching forward,

the tick and the tock 

but not the pre-cognitives in between.

time is permission for popup contexts to surface.

time features memories as billboards 

vividly brought on, but blurred in passing.

in time, hope and hopelessness, are in drive-by status.

time features thought–gravity, yet unrealizable.

time is a framing style with functional regularity.

time is a mentor to self-consciousness,

as a white-board to self for appraisal.

time prompts the reading of a book, 

with eyes falling down the pages, line by line,

exaggerating the written words towards topic worth.

time is a stairway, up or down, 

for using temporality as a handrail.

time is the hourglass of storytelling, vocalized.

it is the wallpaper of details indulgently observed,

the wardrobe of mind-occupancy for perusal’s display.

time is in the shadow of every thought cast.

pain steals time as if by incessant insistence. 

breathing rows across the surface tension of time,

pleading unconsciously for this viscosity to end,

for an evaporative means to free-up into consciousness.

time is hell-bent on avoidance of the ‘now’,

for we all are time-based pole-dancers 

but rarely free of the pole itself . . .