aHa - flash of insight

rushing inference, imminent insight
suddenly its clear, a gut feeling
swooning, reeling,
cross-connected hemi-sphere
syncopated, reverberated, totally aware

open bi-ways, ahh blue-sky days, making up my mind
synapses shiver, axons quiver, dendrites deliver
'lectrik-neurons fire suddenly in time

aha! aha! oh gawd I see, I ran around 'n cried
a fool I've been, all along its there, right in front of me

with a grin 'n a nod 'n twinkly-looking 'round
raised my arms 'n slapped my thighs
'n made a ruckus sound --

donned my hat 'n set it skewed
upon my big bright head
set off to town in an uplifted mood
while whistling a sweet sound
forgot what I had found



there is a hole in my head
where the wounds of reason seep
all words are dead inside my head
what's left is dark 'n deep



I'll always live
and always die
on the event horizon
of my mind's eye
where the flash
of neuron fires
flower into
sudden infinity ~

Yatra or the art of distraction

before you forgot me
I forgot you
stopping for 'STOP LOSS'
on this stage to stand alone

persistent anonymous
we're almost there
- ground zero -
never out of position when so often
there isn't one

we imagined we were at John 'n Yoko's Montreal
BED-IN ~ "giving peace a chance"
you could live your whole life lost like that
IN-BED

we sought beaches, white water
'n hummingbirds galore
a cerulean blue morpho at the butterfly gardens
of Costa Rica

adventure therapy from sea to bed: a slippery
place where the faithful prey for abundance 'n grace
in the shadow of depression

the race to the finish-line was often
an obstacle course: collectible 'n historical
forever blue, remembering I'd forgotten you

but found you a hundred, a thousand times
beyond the ability to remember or express
my love

turns 'n returns

the concept of 'turn' 'n 'returns' as in circadian rhythms 'n habit patterns 'n labyrinthine passages like frontal lobes curling in the brain where you end up returning to where you started again -- Solar Returns are a tool of Astrology, a map but not the territory of your propensity to choose the rut you're in instead of the life of courage following your dream, your Heart where Love 'n Joy begin -- nevertheless the dream is enCouraged every round of the Sun 'cause on your Birthday, you're the chosen one


~~> Many Happy Returns 'n many new turns too ...

every definition is full of holes

I'm a God loving Social-Darwinist that believes in path-dependence 'n radical forgetfullness 'n rigorous inward-out realEYESations, i.e., we make it all up with a lotta help from those Quanta in the deep-dark of empty space, you know, Higgy dust sprinkled all over the place --

Science is not the Truth and Truth has no Science -- God has no Religion and Religions have no God.

... we all strive to Love, yet stray only to affection;
perhaps to falter lesser still, to whimper in some fretful closeness,
instead of sorrow in the longing Dream.

Science like Religion is a language which attempts to encapsulate and explain Nature -- we are Nature urged to Human metaphors and verisimilitudes -- the Dream of every Planet is to become a Star -- from stars we come, to stars we'll return, but first through the lowly worm --

every definition is full of holes -- there's a hole in your head where the wounds of reason seep, all truth is dead inside your head, what's left is dark 'n deep

observations on the edge of eternity

those dead-ends are just around the corner
where deep calls to deep,
that infinite-in just beyond where we sleep,
in that dream we don't have any names,
no games, no blames, neither waxes nor wanes,
no hell of flames, no self-deprecating shames,
a place where we'll all happily greet,
in a tunnel vision where all dead-ends meet

the hieroglyph of dread

the streets begin to fill
from an emptiness raging inside
like a pendulum still swinging
in this season meant for dust

swept up with news of dread
the brightest weren't the best
they learnt to leave in a hurry
with New York a lot colder
closer than unforgiving

the troubles infected all
in writes upon the wall street
in the hieroglyph of money
in a God they'd trust as hidden
in rivers without fish

from the cradle to a slave
from the lust of torrent wishes
from the burning fire of living
from the meaning of making it
from the individual sneaking
from the backslapping inside
from the way we've all tried
making dreams out of this rust

surrounded bleakly by this city
-- oh how I feel for you and you --
tearing us from daring day light
to walk numb into dark night