Resistance (haiku) * 1/31/12

when faced with false facts

resistance is insistence

for some deeper truths

Take thought beyond * 1/30/12

Take thought beyond

what results

recognition gives you.

Do not perceive

from the exhaust of thought.

Go forward,

penetrate beyond

the brain engine room’s

firing of thought.

Go before the vapor mix

and the production

of image emissions,

go towards the projection room

of thought.

Go to the cutting edge

of the initial eminence of thought.

Go to the precise hair splitting

first molecules

of electrical inclinations

towards the constructive initiation

of thought.

Get in front of the first sense

of electrical impulse embraced

towards that firing

that would yield a thought.

Go to an occupancy

of sentient space within you,

where this firing

would occur.

Go to the very elementals

of thought’s induction.

Go to the very phantom

seed essence

of that manifest

of the precipitousness for thought.

Go to that part of thought

so fundamental

that all of us,

rather all of thought in us,

is shared from this essentialness,

as foundation of consciousness,

as permission of being conscious,

as the grandeur

of source emanations.

Go to the causal-ness

of this issuance

where thought will rise.

Go there,

and from right there

right now,

take a deep thought . . .

potatoes (haiku) 1/29/12

testing potatoes

with a fork, soon for dinner

when will they be done?

the living seed lesson 1/28/12

Every action that I do

to another,

out of a place

of hardness and cruelty

affecting another,

is only a reflection

of a self-administered pain.

It is an act of blind cruelty

also unto myself,

being reinforced unconsciously

upon myself,

creating the stones

that crush myself

into my own deepened

un-sharable isolation,

into a deeper self-inflicted

permanence of darkness.

And as for the others,

who are receivers of my actions,

from these actions,

I have even less real feel for them,

less opportunity for grace

from them,

less intimacy

of a shared consciousness,

less togetherness

of our love in a conscious way.

Yet the spirit connection

as a dynamic,

is not weaken with that being.

Only the torment persists

of not being able

to consciously share in the light.

Appearing as an everlasting curse,

to be that remote

from ones so dynamically dear,

to be that far removed

from beings

so essentially in oneness,

and to eventually realize

that it is within myself

and that I have brought this

all upon me.

Only the divinity of myself,

surrendered and re-received,

will set me free,

and only the witness of all,

who are the dynamics

to my cause,

have to be in audience

and me for them,

for me to arrive again,

as whole and as one.

One with all I have damned,

all I have discouraged

and deceived,

all I have distanced

by my unconscious acts.

They are my oneness,

my soul revival,

for this hollowness to be filled,

for this wholeness to be fulfilled.

rain (haiku) 1/27/12

note rain‘s beginnings

then dancing to crescendo

atop roof above

Darkness part 2 of 2 1/26/12

(a suggestion is that

between each question,

take some time

to fully immerse/image

what is being asked,

for in depth enjoyment

before reading on.)

So then, to further ask,

how dark as if by shading,

from whence does

a darkness appear?

What internal sensitivity is evoked

to call it a darkness?

Is this sense of darkness

coming to you, by whelm,

or by a mood?

Is this sense of darkness

but yet, a featureless frame,

more occupancy as background,

nothing as stage front?

Is darkness reflective,

always as in response?

Or is darkness a projection,

working towards a resemblance?

What is this thing

in the mind

that lives as darkness?

epilogue:

Does darkness exist

and mutely not ever look back?

Does darkness ever really have

its own say?

Is there,

any essential character

to darkness when it is involved?

Or is darkness only taken to be,

a messenger,

an appraisal,

a judgment,

or a decree?

Is darkness the black hole

of all metaphors,

but yet unrealized?

Is darkness possibly majestic

by inference,

perhaps powerful

by being comprehensively unseen?

Is darkness a seizure

that we have given a name?

Or is darkness just like all words

as the props of persistent rumors,

nurturing reputations that do not die

and investments in self-expression

that live by their utility

in name only?

And lastly,

does darkness ever call out . . .

for more of itself?

parked car (haiku) 1/25/12

finding your parked car

amongst a sea of autos

upon your first glance

darkness part 1 of 2 1/24/12

(a suggestion is that

between each question,

take some time

to fully immerse/image

what is being asked

for in depth enjoyment

before reading on.)

Is darkness the lioness,

breathing hard after the chase

but before the kill is complete?

Is darkness a tall, looming large,

in an overshadowing way?

Is darkness our excuse

for literacy disguised as block print?

Is darkness another kind of logic

as our unclaimed part of the brain,

our reasoning for miracles,

our distance from genius,

our justifications,

for religion and war?

Is darkness a soul's smile

coming towards us

but yet fully unseen?

Is darkness any dimension

that has not succumb

to familiarity's greed?

Is darkness

the Stations of the Cross

as our inabilities towards change?

Is darkness like

the surround

of a lit flashlight spot

as what we use as frame?

Is darkness a self imposed leash

as leathery appointments

to keep us close

to apprehensions’ claims?

Is darkness

a pliable emotional means

for irrational oppositions

to almost anything?

Is darkness a state

of untapped refinement,

say, a rough cut of doom

until diamond is disclosure?

Is darkness a wardrobe

of the unknowables,

dancing in drag?

Is darkness the mother lode

of all futures withheld?

Is darkness the stage mother

behind the child prodigy

called “experiences' ”

ever ascent through life?

Is darkness a ground-figure solution

not yet surfaced-smoothed into mirror?

Is darkness a vacated place

of being,

not yet realized as whole?

Is darkness a unit

of evolutionary gain or loss?

Is darkness a cast,

like a spell?

Is darkness a permission

for any ritual’s formidability?

Is darkness an authorization

for any rebuke’s thoroughness?

Is darkness a sense,

like self-consciousness,

with a negation claim upon it,

based on unclear intent?

And lastly,

is darkness a state of mind,

as a set of skills,

a way of being,

maybe a location

and yet, in all ways,

part of our personal journey?

purring (haiku) 1/23/12

very near your touch

in low baritone vocals

a friendly cat purrs

the queuing of 'now' 1/22/12

One who keeps time,

dies first.

Our dualities style

is our perpetual motion machine.

Negative Zen,

(knowing what we don’t want)

as our mono-diet,

has no manners or utensils

beyond the trough for theory

and the consumption of nothing.

We are mistakenly

and repeatedly

the incident of perfection.

Upon the miracle

of our memory,

we record in the present

to recall as the past

to anticipate the future

with much expectation.

Time has embarrassed us

but also embraced us

with this temporal space

for naming it

and the sequential method

for then, remembering

and all of the consequences

we live into that follow.

But it is we,

who keep ourselves

in this a time bind,

who then,

die first . . .

guidance (haiku) 1/21/12

you ease my lessons

to feel for your light daily

giving me guidance

I go where it takes me * 1/20/12

It all starts with familiarity.

Things that use to have names to me

but now have

full blown functions in my life.

That process speeds up the doing.

It is all quasi declared

as identified to me.

I have skills with this

in mundane ways.

My entire life is methods for relating.

And so I start from there

going somewhere in thought.

It is a internal process

that I take up with.

It is slippery to think about that much,

as if I was watching myself do it.

It was nowhere and now it is here.

It comes out of the ethers to be sure.

I have done it,

shit, we all have done it

every day of our lives.

It’s how next things come.

It’s a doing

as these things come up.

It’s stuff to do and get attached to.

That’s what I first notice.

It’s the fill of most activity.

It’s a curiosity towards involvement,

a time spent, the fill of my story,

some inklings of attachment,

some habits of repeatable success,

a consensual of culture,

my m.o. and current predicament.

It’s slippery to notice

in any other ways.

It is a do and then a done,

an outfitting of it, experientially

towards memories

in much the same way as desires

or dreams remembered are.

There is an investment,

like an effort into saga,

now a sense of attachment,

a savvy of how to participate,

involvement into meaningful

and then possibly a necessity

to happen again and again.

Remember what I am saying to you,

is all fluid,

but without much awareness

as thought.

It exists as a given for now.

Hardly even a deconstruct

would reveal it.

There are difficult edges

to grasp it in any other way.

It is confounding unto itself.

How to entertain it

as a different point of view?

To yield a conscious inner dialogue

with possible language

to share with another,

not obvious or easy.

The more astute the awareness,

the less likely

words will come forth

to pronounce it.

It takes me away

and it does not come when called.

Whatever the medium

of this as process,

it does have an ongoing momentum,

but it is not apparent.

If dreams and desires were taken on

in much the same way,

as if like a wardrobe to be worn

for that period of time,

soon they would lead to the question,

who of me, is wearing them?

What is this fashion of my mind?

And how did this all take place

within me,

unobstructed and almost unobserved?

For me, I can’t put so much attention

into this question

so as the part of me to answer

has gone into a fade.

It is a delicate expansion

and then a balance.

Most of the normal tools of experience

are too gross or don’t really apply.

It is maybe a lot like fishing,

in that in that situation,

I have to be the fisherman, the boat,

the lake, the water and the fish,

sort of all at the same time

while giving credence to pole,

line, hook and worm,

yet doing it all together.

Somehow it is all in there,

I mean in me, like in you,

but it is not like normal living.

It is not like me just doing stuff.

It is somehow inside of normal stuff.

It is more like me doing and being

at the same time

and becoming aware of that

without messing up

the evidential process

as I know it to be.

It is richly revealing

and yet ongoing mysterious

in a self-secret sort of way.

And I go

where it takes me.

parallel lives (haiku) 1/19/12

our parallel lives

what could’ve and what should’ve

haunting from what did

floating my way 1/18/12

Every night, I dream.

And in my dreams,

I put my intentions

into the bottle of my being.

And I toss it

into the ocean of life.

Every day,

I go out into that ocean,

hoping to find

that bottle,

floating towards me.

So then, I might know

what I was meant to be . . .

perfect pleats (haiku) 1/17/12

suddenly the sight

of too many perfect pleats

repels attention

I come from 1/16/12

I come from a culture

that cannot rape.

We cannot know of ourselves

in those isolated ways.

We cannot desire from another

what we do not already possess.

We cannot stray so far

as to look back.

Sexuality of thought,

feelings or gesture

only exist as celebrative.

No act of consciousness

can be done in vain.

We are in deference beyond motive.

We cannot deceive

the collective of our self.

We cannot shock one another

with actions.

We are indifferent to results.

We have no philosophy

nor psychology.

We have the livingness

of a subtle physics

as it would appear to understand.

Even though understanding is,

as if to sit in the bleachers

and cheer for outcomes

and positions of judgment

and demonstrative results.

This is as if the world of symbols

would yield authentic representation

of our souls.

No one is gifted with approval

that would steal them from self-love.

We, as individuals,

are not the measure from others.

Unique is not a comparison.

We have no system of justification,

no behavioral alliances

of reinforcement,

no bed checks or quotas.

No one takes to the mind of analysis

to declare a sense of worth.

Nouns are never written in ink

and verbs never stay on the page.

Spoken language

has enormous worth

as intonement.

We are with you and of you

between your words

and before meaning leads to tears

at our sharing from core.

Where the world has suffering,

we have the sweetness of suffering

as a gate,

offering a deeper sense

of spirit as carriage forth.

When one dies,

the collective spirit

is inwardly enhanced.

If joy comes,

it is reflective from within.

Our heroes are

before thought occurs.

We do not have hope

as if it were fresh cut flowers,

promising a bountiful garden

of futures.

Touch redefines our notions of space.

We do not have faith

as if it were a photo i.d.,

promising that life will meet

our expectation and memories

because we are sincere

and caring members

of the human race.

We live in each other

as our wisdom.

Terms like annoyance

and bothersome

do not apply.

Everyone's actions

speak for the whole.

Our love

is before feelings concur.

I cannot hold you

nor you me.

Sacred is the means of breath.

Light is the medium of being.

We have never been

that separate,

even by the displays

of space, mass, or time . . .