love

love: what would that look like, how would that feel, inside-out with out a doubt, making it real? Is it dependent upon our impressions, our sense-based metaphors describing our mood, love being really neither bad nor good. Or would the process be lingering with an ineffable-peace, the numinous moving-us toward release, from the fatal-skin we're in toward a heart rending goal, with tears in our eyes from longing so. 


 I'm reminded of the 'Divine Saliva' a repast most fulfilling when you kiss the beloved with the same kiss the beloved kisses thee, and in that kiss is sweet eternity -- Amirta

some called it the Red Lion, the Philosophers Stone, the Pool of Nectar of Immortality which'll change your brain beyond the merely human vain, transmuting you through quantum-tunnels in the fatal-skin yer' in with a blast of atomic-might folding-space 'n time to the beginning of night, at first-light; thus you'd of created a soul with the goal of Love ya' know


becoming human is much more difficult than you'd expect, which is the first real step toward divining love - why, there aren't many humans really, except in singular-forms that tend to cluster askew of your bell-curve norms, the herd-instinct we do mimicking germs -- even these Newg'd romantics in their zeal to be nice, in random acts of blindness, which conceals their vice, are only feeding their hungry-ghosts, though they entice; while the fixated geek scratches their head-lice, the ideas they stroke, their hearts are of ice -- it's no joke that Nature binds you to the fatal-skin you're in and turns off the growing-of-your-brain when you, the driver, stop changing the lane -- individuation is the process of becoming human, which is simply individualism without the dead-end tunnel-vision of narcissism, which always defaults to social-darWINism, which is a crime against humanity

for example, I've a friend of many years doing a slow-dive, falling in increments onto his face for the last ten years or so ( the same guy I wrote the 'lil diddy about, ya' know, 'the seduction of despair, the rest is silence') - anyways, he's one of those groupies of newg'd romantics cum bio-informatics but cannot stay in a relationship very-long, preferring the diversion of group-immersion, that coming 'n going song -- he's kinda all over the place like a teen-age boy with angst, though he's 60something with a 10 year itch turned to rash --  he came over to stay from Nanimo the other day for an over-night play with some connections he made in his last group dynamic - again he rolled out the egregious errors of his last wife who left him without a home, the depression that resulted and, give me a break, that whine he does to please the fools who cannot get-up and choose to be relieved -- I had him in tears as he whined some more, not feeding his need to feel the poor-boy, fixed him in the eye with a warrior-like gaze, told him he's lazy, full of fear 'n doubt, the equivocation-haze - then he got angry and shouted-out, fukU,fukU, fukU over and over again, 'til the fear in his body left him flowing like Zen -- then I smiled and said with warmth that is real, after the fear is gone what's left is to 'feel' ...

... the love of a friend should batter the head and pierce the heart - thus speaks love