the sound of her heart

some six degrees of freedom away
closer in the beat, the silence between
now I know what she meant

she was a musical 20 something;
she liked to walk her dog
gave recitals until the car crash

she wrote a violin concerto in B minor
a homage to Brahms
the harmonics of the heart

under water in my bath
while pulling at the ridge scar on my chest
I can hear her violin somewhere in the distance

the wind in sigh'd

lay down, may she row, sarshar-sharade
make current up-down the spinal tree
from Afghan deserts to the inside of me
sigh to all of our enemies who loved
lived and died by their windy tree
where they were blown out to a farther sea

let go, know, believe I am gone farther
where all the dead sing as Angels fall in fire
sleep so, watching o'er you

some come from beside your bed
when the wind seeks them out for tears
to shed, for the ocean needs them
don't believe me my tears
loose yourself in yours
the wind has come again

an arc ever recedes

whirling dance
each step realized as
the song of a Zykir

reflections in the mirror ( your eyes )
clear -- you hold the ISIS
attention on your heart

turning, turning toward
the infinite in
round about each other

now intensely here
interested in our circling
attractions that don't repel

falling for each other
longing to catch up

bent toward infinity

oh, child of lost innocence
steeped in unjust miseries
speak to us
call out from your tears
fallen from secret fears

darkly the plaint of wasted dreams
doubtful conflictions
dust and ashes
time to time to time
dire, unconnected, meaningless ...

where is your Mother now?
she cradles
the Moon
her orb undifferentiated
her light softly, clean:sing
an ancient cares:sing,
lullaby sweet child of Earth

... that you're sent away
while your light aspires fiery to far heights
far from home, fallen star
in agonies burned ...
fall further still, come crashing, spurned ...
while you shake in uncertainty ...

... wing up to that sky
that wondrous sky
into which you'll fly
oblivious of gravities pain
wing up again…

you're a natural mutation
an ever reaching biological organism
a self determining intelligence
a longing ancient ache
wild and creative
bent toward infinity

the way of this life
every tear a cleaning
laughter o'er fear!
sweet child of wonder
oblivious of gravities pain
wing up again
and again…

Fixed Stars and moving comets make no apologies

planets follow these larger truths
easily illumined by the piety of stars
carried on the stillness of impartial night

there is no punishment for cooperating
with administrations from on high
as they preside unawares that you seek their counsel

comets have to mean much more
ideally positioned to risk discordance
warning you about what you've attracted from within

obsession with various illnesses
and failed efforts contribute to the wars
you survive as a convenient vessel for guilt and anger

rigorous transits leave their scars
a man suffers from the passages of light
there are people in the Vatican who covet these Saints

we should celebrate them
as we watch their retrograde movements
against the flash of Celestial fires flowering into sudden infinity

aDjuncTs

a relative perception
this intimate dance of
adjuncts and quantum f l u c t u a t i o n s

poking and prodding
these open mouths, these tongues
these words, making light bend
these fires burning twice as bright
where stirs a glowing passion for me to burn again

death is a lover endlessly coming
thrumming the heart away
no need to fret, worry or muddle
cuddle her as I lay
fall into deep, infinite sleep
weep that I cannot stay

wells up

while only a dream rolling deep inside the sea
a ghostly fire startled me
I fled to fields where tall grass rolled in wind
fell upon the earth, look to the sky
I know not why, I know not why
but I must fly, wells deep inside of me

yearning

this thick air, these wings, lifting --
am i cloud, can i know the sky?
soar in darkest night, stars see me?

this hard earth, these feet, every footfall --
I walk in mud, press soft clay
to darkest loam, where worms have wept.

this water, these eyes, looking around --
I watch the wave, rolling with sea
into darkest blue, where whales dive deep.

ghost fire, ghost thoughts, they burn me --
yearning passion, can i sear as light?
rise in darkest smoke, where sparks are free?

9 8 9 sylabacate

this thick air, these wings, almost lift me --
can I touch soft clouds, know the sky?
soar in darkest night, where stars can see

this hard earth, these feet, each n'every step --
can I walk in mud, know I'm clay?
sink in darkest loam, where worms have wept

this deep water, these eyes, look'n all 'round --
can I watch the wave, feel the sea?
dive in darkest blue, where whales make sound

this ghost fire, these thoughts, burn inside me --
can I yearn passion, sear'd as light?
rise in darkest smoke, where sparks are free

elemental yearning

this thick air, these wings, almost lifting me --
can I touch soft clouds, know the sky?
soar in darkest night, where only stars can see

this heavy earth, these feet, each n'every step --
can I walk in mud, discovering I'm clay?
sinking into darkest loam, where only worms have wept

this deep water, these eyes, always looking around --
can I watch the wave, feeling the sea?
dive into darkest blue, where only whales make sound

this ghostly fire, these thoughts, burning inside me --
can I yearn with passion, searing into light?
rising into darkest smoke, where only sparks are free

a purplish glow around the horizon

a melodious resonance
ripples on a Japanese pond
adoring her naked approach

a red sky gathers around the mountain
sunlight breaks through cloud
a turquoise Dragonfly alights on her finger

shimmering the mystery of attraction

a metis' on read'in an write'in an rithymtak'in

-- so this is rapp'd as a solid lead on
getting us through what wounded reason calls the burden of proof --
writeous -- it's my first Meti's rap song -- the idea was to rap some
past where the Nun's beat us with their pointers in disgust and the
Math teacher held us on the board by the throat 'til we got the
numbers drill 'd down in to spit out agin -- the piece is a reflection
of the piece called the burden of proof after all --

so sung to a Rap beat -- a metis' on read'in an write'in an rithymtak'in

we got 'em smashed
in our face 'til my musical soul
hid in some uddar place --

runnin from chair to chair
while the smart chilren stare
made me feel disgrace --

innah my mind
countin' vowels and signs
to catch up with all dey said --

it got me mixed up
annah failed the grade
an dey ignor'd me like I was dead --

da music went away
den one day
while sitt'in by a stream --

bubbles came an go

an in dat babbling brook
da music started to play --

in a 'chunk of memory
a music weave'd annah numbers seem'd
to agree --

words an numbers bubble inna brook
annah music weaves lik da wind in trees
every where dat I look --

the burden of proof

the way of words
falls down unlearnt
tingling up my spine --

after words
inside this box inside the box
outside in speeding to your mind --

if heavens fuller brilliance
could reach your separate hell
in words worked out of wordless irony

within the sound without sound
which light makes bent before black eternity ~~~

the fool and eye

look better when shaped
as it trains the eYe to dance instead of crawl
for when eyes crawl they wither in their look

look here you've made them open wide
to what they've turned inside
to throw away the book --

the writer writes from his watery brain
which flows through his pen
and into your watery eye as water again --

so if by that write overflowed as tear
as glint in the watery eye
as pome the word is made clear --

so we are changing
and even this iconic who 'I AM' changes
and I am that I am again --

the Fool and I are one together
we travel around this world and whether
or not it is clear to you and me

the world is Love so blissfully
and see that dog pecking at my heel
and the cliff looming a footfall away



.


.


.

let's discover realms and realms of improbable verities -- let me wander in the realms of Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus while getting my skull cracked in the process learn to listen to the end of a space in the differences - so I'll have one two: between French and English while realizing that my Heart is a synonym for my Soul

the goatherd's crooked staff

Tuesday Lobsang Rampa made
tea so his Third Eye could open
to see dreams fortifying in aspiring hearts
as they reach for the next beat in their comings and goings

Socrates played the lyre by
banging on the strings while
humming and hawing about the trouble of
always stressing and straining against the chains
though he loved Phaedrus in the Symposium
it was Xanthippe that made him a muse

Hermann Hesse spoke in tongues
while translating the synapses of a goatherd
who arranged new ideas like glass beads
which almost always came undone
except when Siddartha played the lute
in exchange for his crooked staff

Nietzsche saw the cunning linguist
would never solve the puzzle of the dead body
which Zarathustra carried to his bed like a wolf
where he lay dying of syphilis wrapped
in the wool of many sleeping sheep

for many restless nights they looked up at the
stars in the same Elysian fields where
the goatherd lay asleep
dreaming

eyes crawl

in words
grace falls
falling from the page

falling down for quite some time
every soft silence is falling
every flying dream
falls swiftly down

every enjambment
every word
every note
falls down to
your feet

where the beat
lifts it up again
where the ache
begins again
where you dance
it up
and feel your Heart

again

where you lift your eyes
from the mud to the skies
looking like an Angel or a dirty Saint

seeing the words in the clouds and the rain
in the stars and galaxies filled with dust and fire
in the wars of men and the gathering of moths
in the sweetest honey mead and your broken guitar
in the sea and the wind and the shadows of the street
in the secret in your eyes

where you

see the space
where my pen aches

Zenses

these eyes which clearly see,
only see shadows, partial images, dust and ashes;
mere reflections ... I am blind!

these ears which soundly hear,
only hear echoes, random noise, modulated vibrations;
cacophonies ... I am deaf!

these lips that move to speak,
only mouth nonsense, utter prattle, articulate nothing;
spacious double-talk ... I am dumb!

these senses cannot grasp the ineffable nor embrace the infinite!
You are beyond the reason of mere understanding,
I am struck deaf, dumb and blind,
by Your beauty and mystery!

nevertheless, You are in this Heart caressed ...

edges as parting lips

sea the Moon
interlaced by waves
a tessellating path of light
trees, water and visions of whales bursting through

those edges where life
and death merge
the sea, the land,
you and me

abundant and wet
blow holes, anemones, starfish and mussels
a fish wriggles longingly to the shore gasping in the Sun
an evolutionary urge; that Sun sets in the Sea,
your tongue in me --

it doesn't mean a lot, the fish edging to that last gasp:
it is everything to kiss you
it is ...

a hurried sentence came over me

while my hand gently grazed over the paper
my pen began to tremble

outside an empty car stole the silence
shooting lamps of red and white
the horn bleating of theft when no one was there
to hear it

in my unfolding book
of poems it is like that

jellyfish back strophe

sHe disturbs meaning
~ in rhythmic pulsation ~
exciting to fluorescence a deeply subtext'd verse;
'but don't mistake a stinging strophe for arrogance.'

'that's just fierce presence,'
moved by waves of astonishment
cascading through a nervous and vascular system
spontaneously overflow'd {sea through}

with a reaching iridescent tentacle
sHe simply, elegantly, fluoresces a gleam in your eyes ~~~

~~~ sinusoidally embraced ~~~

dreaming
formless
as foam touches wave
rolling, reaching, merging ~~~

connecting, feeling, giving way
to hungers ache, hips that sway
a guttural, panting, licking bite
a kissing, clawing, ravishing fight

we sigh, mad in gyration
our fluids mingle, in tessellation
eyes reflect that hunting look
the giver, the taker and the forsook
intercourse of sweat and moan
a yogic yoni and magic bone
together inhaled, a bated breath
we linger spent, in ego death

so we reap an acquiescence
a repast, over-flowed by senses
to sleep, perhaps to fondly dream
of each, our taste, and all we seem
to think no more of things we miss
to linger long, in this, deep kiss

dreaming
spinning
under the Moon
in waves of ocean, sound and light ~~~

Dada Taoist reads the I Ching

throwing the yarrow sticks, Chinese coins,
bones left after ceaseless wars --
Lao Tzu told us

destruction makes way for the new --
the old ones fingered hexagram'd solutions
with the meaning of motion sickness --

darkness births light
made of prophecies
read from tortoise shells and entrails --

war and DNA dances
the eternal turning of change where
high has fallen low and low is beholden

to everything coming and going --
ancient Chinese sages and generals
blew open the doors and shut the windows

to keep out the foreign invaders
with their great wall a line in the sand --
now the walls are shaken and the rivers gorged

drop

reflecting all the world,
risen to the sky, merged in a cloud,
dancing electric, rolling around with the sound of reverberating thunder,
whirled in wetted winds to lay upon the green leaf,
dripping on down,

d
r
i
p

d
o
w
n

to a brook meandered
into a rushing stream raging a river,

f
a
l
l
i
n
g,
crashing toward a roiling sea --

the sea, that ancient deep restless sea
... aching for the sky ...

jeff's foot or mis-Step dad

Carried by your wrath
you cared in the angry
bone-crunching perspectives
you pressed upon me,
leaving the taste of metal and salt
from the wound in my mouth.

Looks were either liked or disliked
by your wary animalisms
arrogantly frowned.

There for the breaking
you beat my wild cleverness
into a secret fragile dream.

You were never
consoling and laughed as
you won me over and over again.

You called me one day
aching for a connection,
your sad story about an infection
in the foot you kicked me with;
losing it to diabetes.

Somehow that mattered
in a cliche that rolled around inside my head:
'you've one foot in the grave.'

inWORDs flow, er and hop eh --

meaning is a kludge --
get a clue, doh!
where's your verbal toes?

not one but many
any where you dream
catching the flow, er

and hop, eh
like a frog or
butterfly winging

listening to the critiques
of croaks and songs
of Crickets and Katydids

when I am Truth I am Beauty
unless you lied
about me being ugly --

a bridge'd

Inwards murmur'd,
ungrip'd by study'd meaning --
oh loose'd Heart

-- in between'd --

Starry eye'd,
intention'd the space,
potential'd --

Speak silence'd,
power'd by the pause'd --
out Words

reason'd,
syntax'd,
sentence'd,

a bridge'd,
meander'd,
reflect'd --

In sigh'd,
high'd 'fluttering Heart',
a fragile'd perception

then dream'd
outwardly empty'd
with unmeanig'd Peace.

invertendo man inside out

death looks from within my eyes -
neither attracted nor repelled -
a life lived and all things come and go,
but this I know, that death looks through my eyes,
isn't it so - I shall pass by

deep calls to deep -
that is the longing song of
as above so in you and we are

always going and never arrive,
a surging urge,
a wavelet amongst waves
that come and in restlessness ever go -

blood makes noise and bones rattle -
I will play the bones to make my blood sing
Poetic mysteries and my tears will write earthen histories
and wash the ink of this pen with
a fluid flowing heart all over again:
an ancient echo, a longing ache in etched bones that lay awake --

as an idiot staring at forever, profoundly dumb,
without but within, neither compelled by mediocrity
nor attracted by individuality --

awash in an ocean and ever blowing
in a veritable wind; inscrutably peregrinated then --

inWORDS Spring out

wallowing in recycled soil
spreading it amongst the
gardens imminent growth --

a big black beetle bumbled
along the boulders of mud
carrying rainbows on its back

ambling amongst the spear
spires of new growth
reaching for the Sol of the sky --

spring sprouts out -
spring out - spring out
without a doubt

where earth meets air
the edges there --
where water meets beach

we are all facing time
as a wave against
formidable eternity --

Springing forward carrying
rainbows on our backs
reaching for the Soul

in the sky --

The Green Man

As above, so in you
the light, the warmth, the sky of blue
and in the darkest of the nights
the Stars that sparkle as they do...

the language of the Birds his secular tongue,
while silence is his noble one,
arises from a living soul within his Heart,
and washes simple throughout his Art...

This then is what we can say of Art,
that it is born of the Heart of Wonder,
which blooms as leaf in where we ponder,
and bears the fruit for all to eat,
-- ambrosia, Divinely sweet...

... this Alchemy of Awe, that sweetest sap,
that runs from roots within my chest,
and seeps to branch and leaves of Wonder,
to where it is that I still ponder ... is let
to this pen and writes with words of Love
on wings of letters to your eyes reflecting all the world ...

the state of the nation: a mystical biography

1 - gaining a sense of the divine or birth (taste)

birds twitter
as the Ravens caw
amidst the city din --

2 - the emptying of self or hardship (smell)

I'm not sure of
where I find myself
the room that I am in --

there is many a way that I can say
'distrust in these words with ease'

I'm not sure of the place I'm in
because of you, black eternity --

a tale told of mystery
a sea of mystic fire
and all the world that I am in
it is a bleak quagmire

reminiscent
of the sea --

I'm not so sure of all
the things you've been telling me
of this and that and all and sundry --

I'm not so sure of reality
though places come
and places go
and in between am I
and that is changing as I go
from here to there and why

3 - return to the divine or maturity (sight)

because of change and change rearranged
as change of change and change
deranged arranged as reigning change of love --

4 - the dark night of the soul or decadence (hearing)

As thick, as dark, as night to light
as to the why of we
and there we go as in a flight
of angels partingly

5 - the total identification with the All that is or transformation (touch)

We come and this is what we see
of all that is around
that what we are and what we hear
is all a momentous sound

no words can take what you muddle in your befuddled brain

No words can say what I am hearing
the birds a twitter or the bleakly
caw of the black raven
the carrion of black liberty --

the birds a twitter and the
Raven caws in the sin of city din
insisting on a deranged liberty -- a noble erasure

therefore timeless -

sHe is a Daemon

flickering in a glance
and the shimmer on a flowers petals
like diamonds of light -

sHe is an Angel

beating wings tipped in tears and laughter
between a heart beat
and intense disinterest
always flirting with Dreams -

sHe stumbles

upon whimpered words
but has a didactic memory when unspoken

sHe sings

often and sHe enthuses
as much as I am aMused by sHe -

sHe speaks

~ in tongues in my inner ear
while smiling at me for losing my train of thought -

the language of the Birds, her secular tongue,
while silence is her noble one,

sHe is fickle

and measures the shape of my heart
with how much awe I've beat it with today -

the final hate

will look for the last reason
to break your face all over the place
will flush with vengeance--

lies
and fears will fiercely be held
in clenched teeth

thereafter the sting of retribution
will come down hard

righteously driven desperate despot
in a truculent way

                damn slow pokes
                get off the road
                ufucking jerk off !

screeching smokescreen
screaming, shiny
jagged pieces
dripping red

               HAH--
               the sucker never knew what hit 'em --



B.C. road rage victim
http://www.cbc.ca/canada/british-columbia/story/2008/03/13/bc-roadrage.html

No limit: A Rondel

There is no limit to vast Space or Time --
Nor of living in happiness and Love.
These prisons do not come from up above,
Come, take heart with this feeling sublime.
Come, climb with me out of this holy slime.
Where can we go, to rise, the undreamed of!
There is no limit to vast Space or Time --
Nor of living in happiness and Love.

My love, a song a singing for you, I'm
Wandering too, round about, in want of
A way through this intricate web we wove!
There is no limit to vast Space or Time --
Nor of living in happiness and Love.

A rondel is a variation of the rondeau in which the first two lines of the first stanza are repeated as the last two lines of the second and third stanzas, thus a rhyme scheme of ABba abAB abbaA(B). (Sometimes only the first line of the poem is repeated at the end.)

I like to meet in tongues

I like to meet in tongues


I like to meet in tongues
so I dedicated my skull to learning about taste
feeling around for a pretty one
who gets with speaking in tongues and
licking soliloquies in my inner ear
and tastes like apples and sweet discoveries

looping and rolling tongues
licking and learning --
drinking the waters of each other
where we can taste friend or enemy
and explore what each other has
forgotten
on the
tip of the tongue

I tasted your lost keys once
and found them where you said you had looked
maybe if I lick your boots I'll know where you've been
maybe my tongue is better at tasting the future than the past

Somehow I knew we were coming to an end
I tasted your dry lips and your tongue
hid behind that uneven wall

You tasted like the metal coldness of keys forgotten
I began to feel this nauseous exasperation
I can taste it even now

It is bitter --

Dreams of Mountains

Did you watch the blood Moon total Lunar Eclipse last night? It was wondrous -- Feb 21 2008

I watched the blood red Lunar eclipse last night
until the face of Goddess Luna turned white

Then I meditated on this celestial event
looking to the meaning of what this meant

Upon reflection about this I have to say
that this is the meaning I found today

I rode my bike up the mountain to the sky
and flew back down and wondered why

the mountain dreams in streams rushing to the sea
where the waves are gathering but all disagree

about the many splendoured suns glittering around
and whether they are jewels the mountain found

a dance of words to a music only the heart can hear

the heart of language
is words with wonder
revealing the Lover
as translator of Dreams

as translators of
the wonderful Dream
we Love language
with words of heart

in our hearts, words
are Dreams of a language
in Loving translations
full of wonders

this wonderful Dream
of translating hearts
into words as
the language of Love

this language of Love
is what our Hearts
wonder, translating
Dreams into words

as Dream Lovers
we are wondering about
translations of words from
the language of the heart

as language Dreamers
we write the words on
our hearts translating
the wonder of Love

as Lovers of wonder
we Dream of translating
words from a language
only the heart can hear -

bedroom window

sleepy
looking at the sky –
before the fire

the crescent moon
fell into the ocean
to the windy howls of night -

a hopeless lantern
a wandering orb
longitudinally waned

transiting with gravity -
warning bells burdened
our surrounding faces

to lost and unbelonging -
so peregrinated
by the reaching sea -

black smoke
blots out the sky
where once we dreamed -

Oh, our Hearts

There are moments when rhapsody
expands the heart to bursting in song
like the rays of the morning Sun.

Lovers are by night and day,
they travel in silken weaves,
teardrops when they cannot stay,
dreams of future meetings on sandy beaches
and not once do they doubt their loving
as there is no thought of this,
yeah, they are lost in the kiss -

– To kiss the beloved with the same
kiss the beloved kisses me
and in that kiss live an eternity –
Oh, our Hearts know this,
Love attracts Love,
the secret of the kiss –

in the Garden of Hearts where Love grows,
you and I and we are unnecessary distinctions -
let us be this empty yearning together,
with this ancient ache of longing,
the heart a compass, taking us where,
Love is the goal, I'll meet you there –

- there are ecstasies lingering between these words,
feelings of connectivity rhapsodizes the spaces and longing,
that intimate language of the Heart, permeates therein -

You feel the words like the warmth of the Sun
making you pause --
a remembrance in the light
the silent song in the particle
hurtling through space to your face -

to look and look and dare to see
from in the Heart so wonderfully,
that all the beauty we can embrace
comes from inside your original face -

A Heart of Love knows not to compare
'nor differentiates in any way,
as Love is as Love does
making only Love every day.

As above and so in you
the light, the warmth, the sky of blue
and in the darkest of the nights
the Stars that sparkle as they do...

I see the glint of light in your eye,
– it shows how bright shines your flame,
and by this enamoured fire gives the light again and again -

this heartful prayer flashing in a Loving look
- bursting with the light of the Sun.

the first man

Maman sat in the dark
waiting for the end -
Papa the ‘pied-noir’
wouldn’t be returning
from the dead – those silent ones

It makes no difference –

The scent of a flower
or a Woman watching
the crescent moon falling into the ocean
to the windy howls of night –
‘Le vent a Djemila’

we are all strangers in eternity –

An uneasy alliance
between contradiction
and the monkey mind:
the absurdity of meaning –
We make our Gods from
peccadilloes and revenge
to assuage our unbelonging –

The Stars stare mute
at our irreversible mutation –
We each arise from that same solitude
to despair or righteous indignation
to the worlds horrible suffering –

Near Montereau driven
with intense indifference
between misery and the Sun -
a lone tree halts my pain
I, alone, extinguished
Never to return again –

Happy to have been!

‘Do not wait for the last judgement. It takes place every day.’ -- Albert Camus

in the future you are becoming --

-- laughter raises the vibration such that the Corpus Colosseum amplifies the hemispherical connections so you see brighter and clearer and more funny connections -- I look in the mirror and often end up laughing hysterically -- it's my undoing I'm really laughing about -- well I laugh about every small thing these days -- or i cry -- sometimes I just look and see the beloved in me and she smiles back -- how did Rumi put it, "You can not see yourself without a mirror, Look at the Beloved, sHe is the brightest mirror."

All thy wrath was thy mercy
Thy poison, sweet clemency
Like dark clouds' sweet potency
And so we say, may it be so

Mevlana Jalal-e-Din Mevlavi Rumi

-- the perspective here is that in any dire situation you find your self in shows you the clarity you can have in all situations -- eyes always on is the writer's way they say -- misery is often the process of undoing so we can recreate ourselves anew -- like we do when we write -- the impassioned writer -- we do disassemble ourselves from time to time to recreate ourselves anew

-- reduction and regeneration is where you rewrite the old into the new, thats what we as writers do

-- they are our little darlings these writes we write and we send them out on binary seas to watch them as they float or sink or in a blink a click of the mouse a flick of the finger are lost and gone but we are grown to more writes that move our hand along -- we write ourselves into the story of existence --

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-- the Rhubyiat of Omar Khayyam

It is this like a Quantum Field experiment with the option to look inside and see if the cat is dead or not -- God does not play dice with the Universe and the dice are loaded!

I'm reminded of the Mythologies of the Nile Kings. On their journey to forever, through to the other side they must stop and be questioned and their Hearts weighed against a feather. They are asked two questions which assure their journey to a Heaven or a Hell world. The first question is, 'Have you ever experienced JOY?' The second and more profound with relevance to Poetic realization is, ' Have you ever brought JOY to others?' -- there it is, the Secret to Immortality! Raising the vibration. Alchemy at the quantum level.

Interesting -- the Nile Kings had this thing for Gold -- you know Gold this and that -- even had the humble bumble bee with them in their vessels to forever made of Gold -- they spoke of numinous valences that Gold has which assisted them in their light body transfigurations -- Quantum tunnels at the DNA level acting as transmission vortices of light gathering them to extra-dimensional flight so they had no fear of falling -- when 3 dimensionally bound and fixated the only two laws of note are the law of falling and the law of getting up -- at 11 dimensions where string theory is concerned it's all about things that go bump in the night -- there you need to see with kali's eyes

-- dead forms and rituals like labels or hierarchies or economies cannot keep pace with Truth as its revelations are always roiling and writhing Beauties for eyes that see and change for Hearts with wings of why that fly in rhythms rising on thermals of Wonder to a farther sky -- it's that convergence of Space and Time thing that happens when you get into the write -- like when you put together Now and Here you are nowhere -- it happens after the illumination that a poet is like a sphere with his centre everywhere and her circumference nowhere -- it is becoming unknown

In Q theories it's kinda like they fit ideas and speculations to mathematical algorithms like looking for a way through the senses for that which cannot be described by sense based metaphor -- like how do you describe the theory of something coming from nothing? It is a sense based limitation that Mystic's and Poets (same thing) have been trying to approach within the sense based limitations of language. Thus the need to see with kalisEyes and break up the forms and rituals of tunnel vision dualities implicit in language symbol and metaphor. The Higgs/Boson construct which they are trying to prove is the Scientific equivalent of that nothing that is the Mother of God even. The amorphousness of what is you and I at the level of Poetic expression comes close to this implicit realization -- -- a Poem becomes a Garden of Hearts where you and I are distinctions that no longer apply -- like Lovers wrestling as one under the Moon and under the Sun -- like that kiss -- to kiss the beloved with the same kiss the beloved kisses me and in that kiss is an eternity -- that convergence of Time and Space as Now and Here brought together: nowhere -- A Poem can be like that -- the Poet is an 11 dimensional channel painting a picture in words of the greater realities all around.

It is a dire situation to find ourselves at the end of our self-made ropes -- radical forgiveness removes the bonds that fear makes and let's the juicy Heart to rise like a bursting Sun shining its loving light on everyone -- shame is the guilty fear of I am not good enough where humility is the realization come of a courageous juicy Heart that we are synergistcally connected to all that is -- neither attracted nor compelled but in that Wondrous Now dancing on shifting ground Beautifully unbound --

The "I'm Special" slippery slope is a common ailment of fears and worries and even Wars are a result of this fallacy. It is the Fear of being found out lacking in some way when actually the opposite is the Truth: you are the Light and and the Truth learning to shine on -- it only feels like criticism when your ego is at stake -- that incipient fear of not being good enough.

The DarWINian DNA Dream of every sperm and every egg,
I am special they cry, look at me,
I'm the best you could ever be!
Desire monkey dreams
and I'm special ya' know 'cause I got through darWINian schemes
as the fastest lil' guy in these binary streams ...
so said the Monkey on the hierarchical tree
as he was falling unwittingly!

The New Age rigmarole is a propaganda campaign for recycling dead forms and rituals in pretty bows and ribbons -- it was the back lash to the doubt based religion of reason, i.e., Conspiracy theories -- using odiousness as a prop to wit is a wound that reason makes -- intellectually arrogant mantrums of skewed ego fears and worries combating for some hierarchical place in the tree so you can say, oh gee look at me -- tiresome desire Monkey chest thumping and head scratching antics -- friends don't let friends levitate their ego and drive at the speed of light -- the problem is the ground breaking fall -- Levitating is an 'I'm Special' slippery slope where the ego sees itself as better -- you are the Light -- shine on -- its plain and simple being real.

on the need to see with Kali's eyes

on the need to see with kali's eyes--

dead forms and rituals like labels or hierarchies or economies cannot keep pace with Truth as its revelations are always roiling and writhing Beauties for eyes that see and change for Hearts with wings of why that fly in rhythms rising on thermals of Wonder to a farther sky --

it's that convergence of Space and Time thing that happens when you get into the write --

like when you put together Now and Here you are nowhere --

it happens after the illumination that a poet is like a sphere with his centre everywhere and her circumference nowhere --

in the future you are becoming

-- the Nile Kings had this thing for Gold -- you know Gold this and that -- even had the humble bumble bee with them in their vessels to forever made of Gold -- they spoke of numinous valences that Gold has which assisted them in their light body transfigurations -- Quantum tunnels at the DNA level acting as transmission vortices of light gathering them to extra-dimensional flight so they had no fear of falling either -- when 3 dimensionally bound and fixated the only two laws of note are the law of falling and the law of getting up -- at 11 dimensions where string theory is concerned it's all about things that go bump in the night -- there you need to see with kali's eyes -- it's about becoming quantifiably unknown -- Mysticism.

-- in the future you are becoming -- laughter raises the vibration such that the Corpus Colosseum amplifies the hemispherical connections so you see brighter and clearer and more funny connections -- I look in the mirror and often end up laughing hysterically -- it's my undoing I'm really laughing about -- well I laugh about every small thing these days -- or i cry -- sometimes I just look and see the beloved in me and she smiles back -- how did Rumi put it, "You can not see yourself without a mirror, Look at the Beloved, sHe is the brightest mirror."

seeing kali

casting
the backward glance
where perspective

feels for infinity --
death looks out
unbelongingly

at swollen men
all passing by
restless to be

extinguished in eternity...

Enamouring Fire

To kiss the beloved with the same
kiss the beloved kisses me
and within that kiss live in eternity --

The Soul speaks in silences
only a willing Heart can hear,
an ancient ache of longing,
this heart, a compass, taking me where,
Love is the goal, I'll meet you there ...

The voice which talks cannot have your heart
nor can you hear that uncommonest of tongues
-- as the language of the Soul is silence --
yet you shall know when you're unspoken
you shall feel it divine
Peace is that wordless cry --

kill the poet

a poet is like a sphere
with his centre everywhere
and her circumference nowhere

her pen bursts
with tachyon trails
revealing timelessness

a formless undiscovery
of territories without maps
realizing unknowns

he writes with stillness
and soundless rhythms
only the Heart can hear

the play of invertendo
innuendo and rhyme
as ripples on a dream

unraveling eyes
dismember the dead
forms and rituals

read --
then the poet is
reborn, numinous

touching Poet

-- a Poet looks like a sphere which has his centre everywhere and her circumference nowhere...

like the circumzenithal arc which is the most beautiful of all the halos and like all 22 degree halos depends upon your perspective, where your feet are and the crystals of water and dance of light in the sky which caress your eyes and initiates a synchronous synergy of synaptic firing sequences that coalesce in Wonder...

Blown away

a Mystic candle
enamouring Fire
is so light --

shimmering tenuously
lurching shadows
and listening

to a silent language
unspoken from within;
a wordless cry --

while
all around
storms are gathering!

et expecto resurrectionem mortuorum

an open invitation to a Heart enraptured
riding the glimmering shimmering wave
of ecstasies to the Goal divine;
the longing song to Love sublime

a writer writes and writes
and a pianist plays piano over and over
and a photographer takes many pictures --
engage in the Dream and allow it to happen

-- the giver is the real Lover --

and that lowly worm that slimmered within
as a curious catalyst did begin to metamorphosise
as a nymph of dreams emerged
and a Yellow-winged Darter DragonFly
did glitter by with the sound of Why?

The shimmered wing did fling
the particle and synapses fired a neuronal light
and the Dream became realized.
GlimmeRings and SpHericals as waves of sound and sight 

on the pond of the Dreaming mind where not was wrong nor right!

a Heart enraptured riding the glimmering
shimmering wave of ecstasies to the Goal divine;
the longing song to Love sublime --

I want to become a Poet like a sphere 

which has his centre everywhere
and her circumference nowhere, 

without but within, no beginning nor end...

wreck

no! forgiving
slams doors

speeds away
furious grinding
raging gears

tires squealing
smoking resistance--
a combustive

violence,
roaring metal
teeth clutched

shifting knuckles
eyes wide jammed
aching heaving

faster faster foot
to the pedal
ramming night

screaming, shiny
jagged pieces.
dripping red

d
e
a
d /end\

the scholiast

~            wending ways
a recipro-story
              in meaning lies

              stony wit falls
down empty wells
             disappeared drops

eventually recalls
                     retro-active
receding halls

      omen nomenclature
winding down
            ghostly gutturals

after words
                   denoumeant
and drinks

Homunculus

In unendurable agonies,
eyes burning tears,
he disgorges his own flesh,
and is captive to inviscerated sins,
a mutilated anthroparion,
eating himself and falling into despair,
he sinks like a stone into an empty well!

His silent anguishes of tortured lament,
a tormenting dark his raiment,
cast in stone, he is unborn
of homunuclus descent...

His darkness the progenitor of Light!

Maps and Treasures: a denouement.

The Alchemical Triptych: allusions as I aestivate --


To appreciate the allusions in these writes you ought to see that this transfiguration of Man into an Angelic Being is part of what is going on here -- that it is definitely one layer of this. The Poetic allusions do have other layers or vibrations which can be found hinted at within the Alchemical Triptych of Poems. The Alchemy of Light and The Alchemist are the other two members of this Triptych with The Calcinator. The ICONIC Black Madonna with Christ Child is another hint for this piece. Although I'm not a religious man per se, I find the allusions of religious mythologies to contain various verities concerning the evolutionary possibilities of Man to Divinity; in this case the Alchemical transformation of Man into an Angelic Being.

The Calcinator is a tad abstruse -- the idea is simply that transmutating the baser elements to gold through Alchemical Fire which is shifting atomic valences and even the mass and spin of particles at the Quantum layer of reality -- this is reflected in the Holy Fire of the Heart, a process which changes a Man into something akin to Angelic!

I liked the slipperiness of the words -- and their Magical qualities. Poetry as AbraCadabra.

The 'numinous valences' of the Atoms and Quantum tunneling of Divine Light changing the Quantum mass and spin of the particles can be best imagined as what went on when the Christ Being Transmuted into Divinity over the course of three days in a cave, then resurrected leaving a portrait of the Transfiguration on a shroud. He was only visible in this Light Body stage for a short time according to the stories.

Alchemical principles are in accord with the stages of evolution and are somewhat hidden in plain sight. Nature is plain and simple and aching, longing to evolve into it's own light body. My previous allusions in the story of 'Every Planet longs to become a Star', are also of this Light Body Mythology.

Stars and Galaxies are like the Angels, you see! From Stars we come to Stars we shall return -- a scientifically verified verity. Lucifer was a Star before his fall. Galaxies even have wings. I imagine that the Rhapsody of Divine transmutation is being triggered wherein this Divine Light in us and our beloved planet transfigure into a Star! Oh, how glorious we are!

This is playing with Mythology which may be stories of our own coming Raptures!

It's ironic and a well made Poetic plaint. The impermanence of relationship as being a touch stone, a reminder that our lives are often clad in wearisome miseries making the 'every beautiful day' an empty statement. Yet, it is not so, at least not always so; the dust and ashes of the wastelands is also a temporary trip. A verity of Human struggle wending a way to some surety, some safe haven, a paradise.

Triplicities abound, Blessed be! Poetry often plumbs the plight of the dispossessed and the marginalized. Whether the forces are without or within it's time to begin -- As the mysteries of our own Hearts unfold, showing us how connected we are to all that is, that we are never 'alone' but always growing, becoming, being!

... and we are a miracle ... a song of Love, where sorrow and Joy, laughter and tears, are each a note in it ...

Beauty echoes through all things, like Natures laughter in a flower... and a communion of the 'Eternal Present' exists, as if no past ever compelled, nor future beckoned.

I'm reminded of the Mythologies of the Nile Kings. On their journey to forever, through to the other side they must stop and be questioned and their Hearts weighed against a feather. They are asked two questions which assure their journey to a Heaven or a Hell world. The first question is, 'Have you ever experienced JOY?' The second and more profound with relevance to Poetic realization is, ' Have you ever brought JOY to others?' -- there it is, the Secret to Immortality! Raising the vibration. Alchemy at the quantum level.

The Sufi system of exercises in raising oneself in vibration consists of utilizing a threefold path to awareness. They combine the Mental, Emotional and Instinctual in a harmonious way to attain Light Emitting capacities. Whirling feet realized they use a Zykir which is a mantra in the Heart center and the Mind is constantly marking time and memorizing meter while the body is whirling; ecstasies are reached as the Alchemical Fire burns within; the being body is raised to Light Body! Quantum changes are made this way -- all Religions echo these Cosmic Truths but often falter to fundamentalism which is the last refuge of the ignorant and fearful.

The allusion of the Fig Tree is wondrous. It was the first Tree to be intentionally Farmed by Man and is coveted for the wholesomely nutritious Fig. As the symbol of Life it also escalates to the present condition of our World; the World Tree is broken too.

Nature is plain and simple and She cannot be killed by the discriminatory ignorance's of Mankind. Rather Mankind is in for a tempestuous transfiguration as part of Her birthing to something heretofore unseen on this Planet. She transmutes and roils in change and Her many Love children to come are imminent!

Woman has taken the brunt of the ignorance's of Hierarchical Monkey Male dominated tyrannies. Many have fallen to the Economic wars assailing our Planet even now. Women, Children, Animals and Trees have all fallen row on row to the unquenchable appetites of Fear. Mans arrogance of ignorance has lead us all down the present path; we can do nothing about it now. The time is nigh -- Love over Fear through radical forgiveness will further our personal evolution, however.

This shows that arranged marriages may be the better way, after all. Man has a myopic flaw; He's a Fool for Love! So are we all with Hearts ever innocent to begin again! The Poet is a Romantic and the vision of Romanticism echoes the Devotional Bhakti Yoga of the East. The alluring longing song a mantra to the remembrance of the beloved one. In Constant Remembrance of the Beloved a longing ache to awake! Oh, to kiss the beloved with the same kiss the beloved kisses me and by that surrender live in eternity! That kiss!

Love has very little to do with most forms of marriage. It is usually DarWINian yet may have Human affection as its basis. A training ground to surrender often failed to mutinies of selfish, I wanna be me, I’m special misconsiderations.

As a Native American I am aware of the Moon Time and the belief that Woman is closer to the Earth. I believe that is the case most of the Time, actually! Other cultures like the Greeks knew that a Woman's Power was great during Her Moon and a special Temple was built for them to be in during the three days of Moon time. When doing the various ceremonies in our Sweat Lodges the Moon Time woman are given their own Moon Sweat Lodge. The cycle of Nature as reflected in Woman as the Power to Birth and the cycles that even the Great Oceans are moved by is a wondrous reminder of the gift that Womb:Man is.

A point of note is that in forensically foot printing the DNA histories of the Native Americans here it was found that the nearest racial connection is with the Greeks after all! Our Great Mother started in Africa so the science has unfolded.

That Woman also seems to be the one suffering the ignorance's of Mankind the most with Cancers and other diseases of Pollution. She is so in tune with Nature that she also sympathetically feels the malaise of Nature. Now it is being reacted to by a healing crises and Earth changes.

There are no maps for the territories of the Heart ... and neither are there numerical gauges nor graphs! Spreadsheets don't mean a thing when your Heart does sing!

Man is doomed by his own hand. He is ruled by his own Monsters. Economies of War!

I concur with the plaint albeit with the caveat that Nature has not played out Her last. She cannot be killed by Man. She is plain and simple after all and the Man made holocausts that She will overcome are now and forthcoming after all. A healing crisis and we the viral mutant to be exorcised. Change is imminent!


These Hierarchy Desire Monkey games are behind the arrogance of ignorance of DarWINian imbued Economies. It is tedious playing the theatrical games of the old paradigm; Monkey Math, so I've transfigured and -- -- if you want to get anything done in this Universe you've got to become a force of Nature and follow transfigurations and ache your longing to the edge of forever and get ready for the ecstasy...

The Calcinator

I’m fire enamored,
a thousand prayers decomposed;
radiant in my reduction.

Light gathered, bent
revealing my lustrous
and numinous valences.

Quantum cool, tunneled
quickened with intentional
mass and spin until within --

Without transubstantiation,
I can do nothing in this Universe!

The Alchemist

As a child she watched the sky
and saw the dreams of wind.
She listens now to the trees.

While reading the sea
She heard the songs of
waves gathering there.

She is enamoured by
the dance that fire makes
returning light from ash.

She lay on the ground
and embraced the deep
longing ache to become.

She is imminence, she
made this place under
Moon and under Sun.

Bracing, she is
ready for the anguishes,
the blood and the Holy transfiguration!

Where I am ... "Micro-Fiction"

Every step I've taken on the road of my life has lead me to where my feet are now. If I know where my feet are, I have the beginning of where I am going and the end of where I've been.

Hey, watch where you’re going, I'm walking here ...

Music

She is moving
formless as
foam touched wave

She is winged
as feathers
caress silence

She is dreaming
ancient rhythms
in sea to sky



Listen ...


NB: The Soul speaks in silences
only a willing Heart can hear,
an ancient ache of longing,
a compass, the heart taking you where,
Love is the goal, I'll meet you there ...

Dirt: the dirt on dirt

WORMS desire,
the little peccadilloes,
inside the flirt you flaunt.

Lilting, the way you say
oh, Baby come on
I need my BONE today!

d
o
w
n
with the DIRT
WORMs will have their way ~~~

a BONE of truth
is stuck inside;
the DIRT of your denial

WORMs within;
as dark muddies
the refuge of desire.

BONE up to destiny.
the DIRTs on you!
say it isn’t so --

I'm abstracting because I'm digging the dirt metaphor for first principles of Linguistic creation: why is DIRT used as a metaphor for lowliness and lowliness as a derogatory assignation? Dirt is full of life and all manner of creatures inside that make up you and me. You are DIRTY they say scrunching their faces as if you smell of rot and doo doo and all things dirty are better off dead! I'm a heathen it was said, an assignation of dirt you see, all over me, I'm mud and clay and so much more, shall I be. All dirt is made from Mountains and Mountains are made from Fire and a Star exploded in ancient space for all this to transpire. So I am DIRT you know, so my writing does show! From dirt I come to Stars I shall return but first through the lowly worm!

minimalism at play: the hole is filled by the dirt you dig up and the worm cleaned bones of your inferences

Quis custodit ipsos custodis?

The title echoes the plaint of all who cry for change in this world, that we in miseries moan and stare at saccharine words which cause us to sleep in lethargies, for if words be empty, Soulless, without wings, they ought be burned in effigies.

I'm grateful for the verities of Poetic experience and Poetry often shows this lyrically without the lucubrations of pedantry or the fundamentalism of bigotry. It sings the ecstasies of realization so lightly in these darkened days, lifting our eyes to the nobler quest in Loving ways ... or better yet, it plays with Language and creates anew, as a Poet ought to do?

If words are imbued with silences only the heart can hear, in that Peace the longing Soul whispers with verity, the Logos is thus Theos , and so my dear, we dance in ecstasies merrily.

Yet if the telling is the lure and words are as powers to sway and preach then they neither fly nor teach!

A Poem beseeches us to look and look and see with eyes wide open, for who does not watch the watchers vigilantly, looses Love, Life and Liberty ...

The Tibetans have a name for Sky Dancers. Dakini ... Angels perhaps, Faeries mayhaps; WindWalker echoes these in Aboriginal stories. My avatar is the simple DragonFly which is a creature of water and air, like the Poet who feels deep stirrings and rises with glittering wings so fine, to sing Love songs Divine!

As I read this I chuckled in my Beard ... often children speak and sing of what we assumed takes ages to know, that in our Hearts and wondering minds, the Joys of Loving grow. It's not in knowing words to say, but the dance of realizations play.

I'm happily miserable and of middle age and thankfully relieved of desires cage, though not a Saint but a CyberMonk playing at Poetry as a wonderful way to create Love songs, verily ...

The idea Saint Augustine posited is that we become what we in Joy, Love, so Love up as he so wisely said ...

Man is what he loves.

If he loves a stone he is a stone;

If he loves a man he is a man;

If he loves God--I dare not say more,

for if I said that he would then be God,

ye might stone me!

-- St. Augustine (the Secret)

Alchemy of Light

Seeing, staring at forever,
looking out from inside,
listening to the silences there.

That uncommon tongue
speaking the language
only the heart can hear.

A fractal crystal of watery light
holding the presence of a Star;
as above and so in you,

in remembrance of the night
the longing song in radiation
hurtling through space; infinite.

A tale told with stillnesses
is either a particle or a wave.

In verity veritas verily

Not only shall the Truth set you free but you will Dance in verity ...

Oh yes, may this Love be our very Goal,
by which our meandered lives in restlessness go,
so by the compass of our Heart
we strive to Love in each and every way,
to Love I go again today ...

A lyrical ode and one we sing,
with all our Heart does bring
and then we swell as Lovers do,
cherishing each moment so ...

To see with eyes glittering
looking from the Soul of it,
in verity veritas and so compassionate,
and I've 'oft heard it said in wit, verily,
that if you spot it you've got it, merrily!

Yeah, that lively Dance, where,
I'm neither compelled by the past
nor future beckoned,
but whirling feet realized on the path of infinite now,
verity glittering in my eyes,
listening to the language only the Heart can hear;
where there is Love there is no fear.

It transforms the day when we say, hey,
today I'm going to rise above my social disguise
and wear my Heart for all to see,
that's the way I'm going to be ...
In verity veritas verily ...

Cliché, it's getting old!

How Cliché can be Master of the Seeming ...

Old, alone, done for,
It’s as clear as mud,
Time is a one way street!

It’s a grey area
In black and white
You’re born, you live, you die!

You’re always right.
It was inevitable.
Like Death and taxes!

The grass is greener on the other side!
A rolling stone gathers no moss.
Wherever you go, there you are!

Careful what you wish for!
The time of your life,
Tongue-in-cheek,

Short and sweet...

bursting with the light of the Sun

... As above, so below, is the cross of change, as above, so in you, isn't truth oft' strange ...

There are moments when rhapsody
expands the heArt to bursting in a longing song
like the rays of the morning Sun.

... there are ecstasies lingering between these words,
feelings of connectivity rhapsodizes the spaces and longing,
that intimate language of the Heart, permeates therein ...

You feel the words like the warmth of the Sun
on your face making you pause --
a remembrance in the light
the longing song in the particle
hurtling through space to your face.

to look and look and look, and dare to see
from in the Heart so wonderfully,
that all the beauty we can embrace
comes from inside your original face ...

and if you let the Heart through
'tis only the good you'll do
and while looking up at the face of the sky
smile and you'll know why!

As above and so in you
the light, the warmth, the sky of blue
and in the darkest of the nights
the Stars that sparkle as they do...

I see the glint of light in your eye,
the spark come from the Heart of flame behind it,
this mindful prayer flashing in a Loving look
... bursting with the light of the Sun.

the Dream of every Planet is to become a Star

the Dream of every Planet is to become a Star

A Story by jeRRy

'from stars we come, to stars we shall return' ...

My take on the essence of creation is that you are a fragment of Nature's urge in the Land you are born to. That you reflect the land you were grown from and moreso you are a fractally flawed yet perfect vehicle of all that is.

Somewhere, an ancient voice sounded, in this land. From times when this land was peopled by the various red nations. A time when the white nations first gathered on her shores. That voice told of how it would take several generations for the land to change these new people. That the land would mould them for whatever evolutionary urges the land would require. That time is now ... these new caretakers come from all the colours of the Medicine wheel. It is you and me ...

I was musing about the 'cultural hybrids' that make up the melting pot of peoples here. Watching all the differences with my mind, following the threads of history each 'hybrid' carries in their DNA and level of consciousness. Each a bridge, from a place, a people and a past.

Then, I watched them with my Heart, with eyes Divine. As the Heart does not 'differentiate', I was able to see how each and everyone, fulfills Natures purposes, whether or not they are aware of it.

Natures garment is a pliant organic layer of roiling change like a gossamer web of interlaced lights of Love and Joy; that is you and me ...

Change is the primary motivation of Nature, roiling with incessant urges to sparkle in a new way and for a brief instant become amazed at this Beautiful moment; yet She lingers not as She is vast and pregnant with Loves many children to come.

Nature does not differentiate, She proliferates diversity in a multifarious spontaneous Joy. Distinctions like race will always become revised and experimented with by Her, with Her goal and not ours, as the longing pressure to evolve. She sees Stars!

Monoculture and homogeneity are dead ends and Nature is fractal in her motivations and experiments of which we as Human kind are only a part. She will design with various intelligent evolutionary perspectives as Her basis and the decision tree is always interconnected with ‘all that is'.

The ‘goal’ is part Art and Part Science and part Spirituality. Sometimes she produces amazing creatures whose only part to play is a brief flowering of Beauty, a temporary bliss like a sigh exhaled in proclamation of awe. At other times she creates Monsters to ravage complacent aspects to be recycled for future births.

She is plain and simple and in plain sight yet we do not see Her ‘nor revere her wondrous dance enough. She Loves when we respond in change with her organic symphony. Dancing in sympathetic vibration to Her Loving song of longing.

Nature chose us as the mediums of change it wants to become. We are a thin organic layer upon the face of the earth. As the Earth's consciousness evolves and changes, so does our own.

Each of us is a synaptic impulse transmuting cosmic energies, into the stuff the Earth can use. Each, a bridge of energy transforms, dancing in ways the Land realizes, in its march towards the goal; evolution towards a Star!

What does not Dance in change withers and rots, recycled, to feed all of Her newborn; it is a Loving spontaneously beautiful Dance like when the Heart and Mind are passionately fired in creative synchrony bursting with ideas and the joy to express them in Artistic majesties; this is you and I.

As we are the Lands Agents of Change, we all have purpose and are connected to her. Even in death, we are utilized for the stuff we transmuted while living; recycled and born again. Then, as the Land Aspires to become a Star, (the Dream of every Planet is to become a Star), we shall all transcend in that blissful transmutation ... dust to dust, each mineral born of Cosmic forces, the furnace of Stars; from Stars we come, to Stars we shall return ...

"In the light of Cosmic time, both great and small are extinguished by that infinity, yet it remains important that we create, explore and evolve with the courage of a Loving Heart." Pema Dorje

Welcomer

The welcomer with

a fish on his back.

Arms raised in

fullness of heart

wide apart.

Stands so with

eyes on the sea

from which he is

grateful of this home.

Without a smile

with sacred means

welcomes your dreams!