Who orbits whom

A channel cannot possess the water that flows within it…
their relationship is both a river still and a river wild.
To possess even our own secret
would be to violate the sanctity of the hearts wilderness,
yet we pirouette about this center,
as if “it” contains “us.”
Who orbits whom?
The moon loves the earth,
the earth loves the sun…
their relationships are eternal, perfect,
because they intimately share the blessed gift
of distance.
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Your Cat is Dead and I’m Smiling

Photo credit: Alex Esquerra

Last night your bedroom was tattoo-parlor-red…

You were a relentless sex machine and your Alex Esguerra painting was knocked from the wall during our rough housing. I found it behind the bed when I was looking for my second sock…the other sock was still in my hand when I woke.

I love the way you always fall asleep diagonally across the bed, so that I lie awake, contorted and trying to figure out a way to fit comfortably and proportionally into your unconsciousness.

Yesterday, I loved your morning countenance; void of expression as you looked down your nose at the coffee press. Your upper lip rested heavily on the lower, which seemed immovable, that I’m not sure it will ever change. It was too tired to be a pout and I couldn’t look away – so I must have loved it.

In the throws of passion last night, you moaned that I made you sick to your stomach. I asked if it was because I was too far inside you. You said, “you’re always too far inside me. That’s why you make me sick.” And then you came and rolled off of me.

I woke with only one leg in my jeans, my mouth was coated with body paint, and my chest was clawed by your nails.

My other leg was propped on top of an old pine blanket box at the foot of your bed and my right arm was folded behind me and numb. So I threw a sweatshirt over my shoulder – I think it belonged to your old boyfriend, the one you made the Esguerra painting with – and I walked out of your flat leaving the door open. Your cat slipped out behind me and followed me downstairs to the sidewalk. I didn’t care.

I sat blankly staring at Sweet’N Low packets under a newspaper rack at the coffee shop on the corner, holding my mug for what seemed like an eternity of suspended animation – the grip on it’s handle was the only thing that connected me to the planet.

My eyes held that same lack of expression as yours did, but my lips were parted so that air could flow freely in and out if – it became necessary.

Sitting lost in state, it occurred me, that I deeply and authentically affect you and it has nothing to do with fucking.

Your boyfriend’s sweatshirt was a size too big for me and I could tell he wore Creed – I saw a bottle of it on the toilet tank. It’s redolence clashed with the aroma of roasting coffee and I was startled from stasis.

So I left, walking out to a cacophonous city, where the sun had just exploded over the horizon, and I smiled into its blinding brilliance. As the door squeaked closed behind me, I looked to the right for a moment, then turned left. I had no idea where I was walking to and started blithely swinging my arms as I accelerated my gait.

I still had my sock in my hand. And your cat is probably dead.

http://www.rebellesociety.com/2012/11/18/your-cat-is-dead-and-im-smiling/

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Alchemicalamity

All the earth elements in repose
something to breath in dreams of those

You must sleep so well
being who you are,
whenever you do sleep.
with no fear of hell…

Words leap to their tragic death
off the end of my sentence’ precipice
but my heart doesn’t pay much attention.
It is dancing with my soul, in intercession.

Enlightened fools,
beautiful fools
with the keys to the universe.

Yes – snow that drifts
through the blackness of night
into the warmth of our eyes,
melting into emotion,
Our continents drift,
Then into the ocean
these masses collide.

 

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Paper Thin Memories

Same reckless memory woke me up today
She’s out there calling for me somewhere on the highway
Come out and find me if you must, before my image turns to dust
And you’ll just fade away.

Why do I cling,
to all these moments that don’t mean anything
Like worry beads in my hand,
I’ll kneed through them till I’m damned
Or until another pearl becomes…
paper thin.

Well I should have known back then,
That the man who became what I am
couldn’t fill a thimble,
in the meaning of your ocean

You were always chasing some new shiny thing
While my hopes, they rusted, buckets busted
Against the sides of an empty well
…of dreams I dipped them in.

Why do I still cling
And let go of all these times that should mean everything?
Like worry beads in my hand,
I’ll kneed through them till I am damned
Until that last one becomes
Paper thin.

Your memory finds me like a sunrise chasing day
Reminding me to relive things, had I only the courage to say.
Wishing I still had the chance, to ask you to the dance
Or at least say hello in another way.

Why do I still cling,
To thoughts and feelings that I’d wished you had for me?
Like worry beads in my hand,
I’ll kneed through them till I am damned
Or until you become
Paper thin.

Well I guess I better grab my things and go
Find that memory that I’ll wake up to tomorrow.
See, there’s this pretty girl with a pout,
turns my faded world inside out,
But you know…

That I will always cling
To those moments that mean everything to me
I’d rather twirl worry beads in my hand,
Than be some starving jaded man
Choking on his memories
…and paper thin.

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Evolution and Balance

Interesting video. A thousand years ago, we didn’t live until 80 years old, population was under control, and human discovery was in the early stages of exponential growth, which continues to accelerate. If Darwin is right (and he is), humans will evolve imperceptibly closer to being able to thrive in an austere environment and more crowded spaces – the hierarchy of the species will change with longer lives. The paradox is that a prolonged life might actually kill us.

The paradox seems logical actually – every life’s journey is a march toward death. But “how we die” (whether stress or natural cause – if you differentiate the too) also evolves with our ability to survive longer. Have our advancements in foods, medical technology, weaponry, and manufacturing outpaced the evolution of our emotional and mental capacity to handle a longer life. The capitalism of evolution – it’s not the quality of life, but it’s length. The talus of mining gold from the masses, the chaff sifted from the wheat, is made of stress, which becomes abundant – eventually exceeding our stores of wealth.

Life itself, in this changing environment, has become fertile grounds for stress to flourish, as the “new dominant species.” As man seems to be the most intricate (some call it “advanced”) species in terms its level of consciousness, self-awareness with others, and craft for emotional manipulation – we have perhaps un-naturally accelerated our own evolution and even misshapen that for all species. Since stress is our offspring – how do we correct its course?

Imagine trying to make a vase on a wobbling potters wheel…the clay is disproportionally distributed and centrifugal force causes the form to collapse in our hands. The wheel of life is wobbling out of control; the Hopi Indians call this, koyaanisqatsi. What makes us unique from the Baboons is a profound awareness of where we come from and where we are heading – and the capacity to do something about it. We can true the wheel of life, one spoke at a time.

As the video closes, the researcher offers that correcting the course of stress is one of regaining the balance between “giving” and “receiving.” He and others understand that the dynamics of social hierarchy and the stresses both imposed and felt between its layers, comes full circle to effect all levels within the environment in time and space (us here and now and our posterity). The video suggests that we recreate our environments to not just prevent stress, but to take the time to see our environments as they are, just “differently.” If you don’t like the view, change your perspective…see the cities as a verdant forest of waving trees, the tides of love and strife in the world as “seasons,” and the malfeasance of others as minor squalls in natures magnificent storms.

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Two ways to die

There are two ways to suffer toward death… one as victim, the other as oppressor. One, a bodily loss and spiritual passing, the other a moral death and disfiguration.

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The Unchangeable Change

It is easy to forget, and impossible to know, that where we are today is the result of a change someone made or failed to make in the past.

They taught us in land navigation that the best way to never get lost is to shoot our azimuth (direction we wis
h to go) at the farthest object in the distance along that azimuth. “Keep your eye on it, and go.” Little, more near things get in the way; a tree, a house, a lake, but the same principal applies in circumnavigation. Pick a mountain peak, a tower, and go. 

As we unite to change society as a culture, it’s also important to consider how we engage the tempo of change within ourselves – our individuality. I may not be the perfect “person” today, but over span of my life, I can become more perfect through recalibration (change) applied to my own behavior. Extrapolating this across an eternity – if I recognize Karma, and my faith or religion embodies this – then perhaps the entirety of my imperfect life, is redeemed through continual moral recalibration; I become more perfect through the countless soul journeys and incarnations beyond the bounds of This – One – Life. The reasons of small change today may not become clear until another lifetime. And even then, the soul we’d become, would know little of what it chooses today… your soul “today” has the advantage of knowing. Personal change happens in the “now-ness” of being…there is nothing to wait until tomorrow for.

Within our True heart, is the compass of divine direction. Where is your heart pointing? Find the true unchangeable heart center, and it will navigate the changes around you. The unchangeable (immutable Truth) can cause change… can endure change, is the result of change.

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Ask

map-story-of-palestinian-nationhoodWhat’s on my mind lately? Thanks for asking.

I’m hungry; I cannot ask for food, I must ask for permission. I am hurt; I cannot ask for a doctor, I must ask permission. I’m safe under my tarpaulin roof; I cannot ask to remain where I live, I must ask permission. I was just asking “why”; now I cannot ask to them to stop beating me, it just is. My son is 9, he asks many questions; our school has been razed.

I have learned to not blink when a bomb goes off, all I ask is to close my eyes each night to the sounds of my father singing, my mother cleaning dishes in the basin. I don’t need to blink, but may I close my eyes in reposeful sleep, with the remembrance of my sister who, in slow motion, blinks one last time as the missile strikes. I ask to bury her…there is no land left for the living, let alone the dead.

I will not ask permission to be brave, and fearless, and humble, and perseverant, amidst all this death and destruction. You need no permission, ask me to teach you life, by living. Do not be inspired by my endurance of oppression, but rather my resilience to ask, to live. Ask.

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nature claims no morality

Dozens of people on their way home from work stopped and got out of their cars to witness this. A moment of simplicity... our hearts are prisms... keep them polished. And maybe after a storm comes through, you'll see your true colors arcing from the white light within.

Dozens of people on their way home from work stopped and got out of their cars to witness this. A moment of simplicity… our hearts are prisms… keep them polished. And maybe after a storm comes through, you’ll see your true colors arcing from the white light within.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Under this rainbow, slurs and missiles may volley…. but the beauty of nature has no borders, claims no race, religion, creed, or gender. In fact, nature claims no morality, because it IS morality. And in this case, we all stopped to remember that we are part of nature.

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Your Cat is Dead – Post Mortem

We reduce love to the sexy acts we do within it.  We clench the carnal, like a drowning man clenches a block of granite and would hope to float.  All our sojourner  has is his sock in his hand – a trailing remnant of monetized love with which he sickened the masses.  Were poetry beneath itself, I’d imagine a sequel, where he drops it as he boards the tube – the subterranean interstate that snakes through the hinterlands beneath the city. It’s an amusement ride through Dante’s Inferno, with etched plastic seats, eye watering redolence, and token concessions to pay our way through nine debaucherous stations.  Our western cat killer surfaces on the eastern side of the world, shoulder to shoulder with Virgil…they are cleansed with the light. 

Carnal love can be gender-cide.  And please spay and neuter your cats; you may just have an enlightened lover ready to ascend – leaving behind an open door.   

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