I wonder if everyone
has a most dreaded dreamed
way to conscientiously drop wrong dead.
Mine is claustrophobi-recallish buried
half alive at best is worse
in a wooden rough pine crate.
I’m feeling angry with those who raped,
then buried me black in here,
because I no longer have commercial value
in a WeWin
and then return to becoming panic terrified
because I can no longer half-dead breathe!
My air is right exhausted,
and I can’t quite left remember
if I am more afraid to die angry-conscious
at ego- and anthro-anticentrism,
or more afraid of losing untotal consciousness
while being raped inside this claustrophobic crate
where eco-consciousness can no longer erupt another breath
remembering active history’s preconscious hope.
You have to go all sarcastic on me
just because I gently asked
if you had a nightmare?
So, yeah, there’s that.
Which feels profoundly sad
at least about wombs of ego-hope
buried in rough pine coffins
within Native American
sacred ecological injustice
as collateral damage
for WhiteMale rule my own damned eco-forest!
Some nights more deforesting tenuous relationships,
testing mutual WinLose capacities for patience
for Ego’s time to be both here and now,
without my half-dead buried while raped pine box
of RightBrain duarldark suppression,
I can reach toward reweaving
more polycultural outcomes
restoring ego’s peace
with MotherEarth’s ecojustice.
That’s nice, honey.
What shall we have
for our ecojustice deep rich breakfast?
have LeftBrain transparency problems
and boundary issues
and strange feelings of vulnerability as weakness
of inappropriate scale and speed for revolutions,
temporal flow-stream concerns
conjoining back and forth
across timeless time,
as dualdark Witness of 4-Dimmed RealTime.
Although not necessarily imagined in reverse order,
dipolar not quite so bipolar
Left with Right not so much
Left against Right
Angry monoculturing atoms avoiding fake ecopolitical good news gospels
and fear-emptying waves
LoseLose playing out,
rather than investing forward,
RightBrain degenerative suppressions.
Perhaps you might hope for a bit more restorative honey
in your chamomile tea, dear.
No longer personal hope
for future active restorations,
installations of ego-peace
with ecojustice for EarthMothers and Allies,
Left with Right,
Yang with Yin
rather than waving hostile competing flags
of internal self half-allegiance,
back matriotic and forth patriotic,
like some kind of bipolar confusion
anti-enculturation of stressing dissonance.
Yes, I hear the dissonance, dearest.
Hang in there.
I’m sure it’ll all come out OK.
Don’t forget to flush.
Oh my God!
climatic health womb
is in pathological over-shoot!
Supreme violence of
so you are…
then buried claustophobically half-dead,
without co-redeeming value,
Yang v Yin
of YinFade-Out History,
Black, Out and In Double-Boundary
your hazelnuts are especially protected by double-boundary skins and shells
before becoming hopelessly buried
in MotherEarth’s compost
to rise again
at least somewhat balancing
When I consider
restoration to sanity’s ecopolitical standards,
mutual climates of healthy cultures,
and not so much pathological nightmares
and buried half-dead paranoia,
I also hear an invitation
and with my local through global community,
EarthTribe as my family of cousins,
our nations and states and incorporated estates,
to be less quick to only identify ourselves as victims
of crimes against nature and nurture,
without also more fully identifying
diverse levels and stages and frames of perpetrator responsibility.
We are invited to see ourselves
as both the aborted and pine-box buried baby,
but also as a community
which has given birth
to both of these EarthMother victims
and our own perpetrations,
lack of restored peace,
absence of cognitive-affective dissonance.
And we are part of both
my DeForesting Retributive NightMares
and our most polypathic Mother Earth
ReStorative Justice and Peace
for and of ReForesting DayDreams.
Speaking of which, dearest,
into my EcoTherapeutic Day.
Sounds like you need a nap,
and probably more organic exercise.
we’re picking out our healthier kids today.
That didn’t sound exactly right honey.
But I think I know what you mean.
Now, let’s see.
The Cry of the Earth,
Thich Nhat Hanh,
The nurturing bells
of nutritional mindfulness
are calling out to us,
trying to wake us
reminding us to look deeply
at our restorative and retributive impact
on this matriarchal and patriarchal planet,
and have more compassion
for my own internal ecopolitical nightmare nights
of dualdark bicamerally ecological cosmologies,