the constant reoccurrence of new year resolutions * 3/31/14

 (concrete version)

17. develop an altar-in-the-mind with the props of simplicity       

5. converse with spirit even if there is no permission            

11. live the insights and atrophy the platitudes           

8. be creatively blessed by the unexpected 

9. find more warriors of the soft samurai

2. active silence in the presence of others    

1. notice love is not based on recognition            

6. withdraw into vibratory experiments

7. live more private acts of compassion       

13. deal from longer frames of trust                      

20. swim in the cathedral of others     

12. die completely in every breath      

16. practice creative endeavoring       

10. more dark side self-dialogues

25. meaningfulness as hired help

22. find the feeling of spent-ness

15. have veils and hidden smiles

18. more empty but less vacant           

19. experience less more fully              

21. do not believe in answers     

4. more divine sweat in play               

3. no such thing as practice        

23. there are no time outs  

24. only agree to nothing   

14. play with a full deck

26. more inner mischief     

27. rank nothing       

Buffalo (haiku) * 3/30/14

where buffalo roamed

is now a past life to me

sacred, coming home

she took her mind as her lover * 3/29/14

She has a life out there and gives appearances. She even forgets herself towards the fill of it all. But when the nights alone come, and now they do come often, who or what else is there that is the stuff of intimacy?  Easy with that whisper of dialogue but who else to the rescue for trust sake? It is that part of her that cannot leave. Anger at that inner voice, long ago abandoned. Sure, doubt about her sanity includes that voice but not in an accusitive manner. She never parts from its recollection, never to challenge its appointment, never to replace it with anything. Everything that is noticed, presumably joy’s final resting place, even frustration’s constant bond, comes back to her as that voice, to tell her what she needs to do. “I will always be telling you what you hear. Challenge me and your aloneness will be overwhelming. Separate from me and your confidence will fade. Take me truly into your arms and contentment may come your way. Together, we can philosophize your existence. Our conversation will always be on cruise. Only in the end, will you discover what a shill I have been. A wallpaper, for walls that never were your lessons, will go unsolved but your vanity will be served. Who of you is there to challenge my perusal? Will you take me as your lover? Our confinement deems it so. No matter how close you come to life, my common sense will first apply. Fate may play with you from time to time but you come home to me, no matter. When we are together, only rest will happen when we are finally one . . .” She took her mind as her lover. What else was there for her to do?

To trust (haiku) * 3/28/14

your every moment

is future you have to trust

in expressing soul

Reality as a jest * 3/27/14

All of reality is a medium for self-consciousness and posing. All of the doing in reality is venting of sorts, masking the subterfuge with top floating intent. Behavior is as the art-form of symbols christened by action as if movements were the trace. Our individuality, is as if this were all name tags and  shackles of acceptance in isolation as the reward. There is a prominence of sensory input to validate this gist of everything as separate but always coalescing in sorts. There is a claim of consciousness as orphaned from source but attentive to the formality family reality presents. There is the fracture of moments, in moments when the card house of reality falls fail-forward. Everything is all closet-fulls of wardrobes to wear. Working the hallways between closet to closet re-pose. What is this unclaimed fill, loss of lines, missed marks on the stage, helium that leaks out of self assigned balloons, waywardness behind attempts to focus? What is this empathy shape-shifting and emotion of drawnness, this fracture of sanity and excitation from yonder? Reality is the transit system that we ride awake daily. It takes us from here to there and thensome. We loose ourselves in the here to there to some where by some means of beneath, behind, and beyond. This is a baffle of travel with no report. It journeys in us even though we just present as all alike-travelers. We’re just parts of an unclaimable whole. We inadvertently and unintentionally search for that, that embrace of the whole, the energetic fabric of expandedness of being as a greater sense of oneness, though not to be fooled. But we are a damn fool enterprise without permission as self or finally once there, with reprise. No matter, and no matter gets in the way. We are bound beyond reason by quest. We are drawn beyond reality’s sting operation. We have come from and are going to, for this here is all in transit however it cares to jest and bequest. We are a oneness, in deliverance but not really in receivership as in any of all of the rest . . .