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Story Lessons

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

The apparent insanity of inmates
and prisoners
and addicts, conspiracy theorists and paranoids,
does not prove,
nor necessarily even suggest,
the keepers are not also self-entitled nuts
with unhealthy powers,
authorities,
delegated detached responsibilities
loyal to ratchet race competitions.
Passion Story

When you are crucified, naked, poor
and occupied by Roman yangish powerful voices
and Win/Lose commodity values,
unhealthy fought and sold colonizing authorities,
irresponsible power occupiers,
violators of healthy green peace objectives
applicable to any sanctuary and asylum
with humane organic embodied rituals and behaviors
yet still Win/Lose divine punishing evolution machine minded,
we have been historic asylum invited
to purge messianic homeless egos
on HolonicSpirit’s centering Earth-cross,
rather than remain comparatively imprisoned by traumas
to the disassociating left or right.

Health History Story

A. Earth was born, still, flat, without form and ZeroCentric void.
B. S/he remains newborn and young,
springing organic life
WinWin preferential solidarity with all EarthTribe.
C. S/he still grows mature healthy Heavenly summer sun
over nurturing MotherEarth,
sacred/secular conjoined.
D. S/he co-emerges Northern revolutionary Yang/Yin bicameral,
bilateral healthstream co-arising poly-paths,
-phonics,
-cultures,
-nomial maps,
-meme messages,
-frames of secular/sacred nutrition.

One Flew Into the Communion NestEgg

See “Health History Story” above
The apparent stillborn insanity of original patriarchal residents
need not predict
Yang/Yin co-redeeming caregivers
are not also ego- v eco-logical sanctuary sociopaths
sabotaging our own potential opportunities
for polypathic communion asylums.

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Terror Asylum

On another Thames River,
with steady rural New England flow
toward Long Island’s warming Sound
then on and out toward whispering drowned memories
of Atlantis,
slumbering on eastern bank,
surrounded by Pequot Elder spirit grounds,
ruined medicine’s monolithic altars
worshiping insanely labyrinthine proportion,
crumbling mental-physical stately asylum carcasses,
sagging with trembling memories
of cultural inability
to remember empathic presence,
basic nature’s noticing of potentially present voices
speaking through cracked window and door frames,
peeling exterior landscapes,
collapsed roofs with rotten root foundations,
mumbly murmuring memories
of past river fogged-in days
and nights of terrorism,
ruled by despots of exegetical sanity
applauding wild bacchanal voices
jumping into tidal swollen,
then shrunken,
yet steady and wise-stately,
reasonable flow away out
toward wilder presence downstream
outstraining severed screams
of inpolitic madness.

Intended to grow up a school for sanity,
collaterally invested dust and decay emerged a prison
of abuse and neglect,
oppressively irrational exculturation.

Wild voices dismembering
loving presence of person,
too entrapped by past terrors,
chronic, climatic, psychotic prison
for muttering conversations between Ego’s Anger voice
berating left-handed fear of Fear ambivalence,
quivering recrimination reiterating through dungeon drugged nights,
layering medicated mindless attendance
over basic neural noticing,
thereby inducting rot
briefly intuiting tender absence of co-mentored narrow path
toward polypathic enculturation,
hiding in a forest
of cracked and crumbling drives and walkways,
seductive viral toxic infestation
of history weeded over.

On this other Thames
visitors violate serene gloom of despair,
turning our backs to return to safer grounds,
no less trespassing wilderness
but more profane,
slinking down an overcrowded river
of ubiquitous investment
in tumble-down sane urbanity.

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Polyculture Asylum

She still flinches

when a hand from on high

heads too close to her head,

like an abused undomesticated bitch

with too much oppositionally heated

bipolarity for safe freedom

outside silent medicated silos,

well intended asylums

without her sense of humor.

 

How would I live without her gift

of oppositional comedy?

Where yes means no, or maybe yes

or I’m not sure I grok what you say,

but I see smiling,

gratitude for time, life

mentoring me how we look to Other,

playing oppositional synergetic noticing,

then trusting functional potential

rather than swinging hand

from up,

and back at pain,

lost hope.

 

How would I trust without total faith in her

utterly sociopathic guilelessness?

She could tell a lie,

but why would she care enough

about what you think,

about what you smell,

about what you see, or don’t see, for that matter,

or even feel,

to bother to lie to you!?

 

So, when I ask her,

“Are you more happy now,

or more sad?”

and she opens her full radiant beams

up toward my hands

and lispily adds,

“More happy…what’s that smell?”

I know she would have said the same

even without this smell

I cannot quite sense,

and hope so much is not me.

 

To grow capacity for happiness

and brief glimpses of saner kindness,

like “Make me breakfast, please!”

without even a prompt,

and then the quiet “Thank you” gravy

as I turn my back

to wash her filthy dishes,

regenerates our polyculturing

lives of solidarity,

dancing eye-to-eye.

 

He, Yin son,

without capacity to language,

throws dimples on this dancing song

telling stories he learned by heart,

in shrieks and gales and waves of

rich composting laughter,

spinning wild saliva strings,

radiant Angelman joy.

 

Old Right hemispheric dominant

icon of ecological myth,

ego zero-balanced centric identity,

son of Universal Mediums,

breathes and beats his

well-indented teething ring,

hypnotic alchemistirring wand

drenched with passionate mindfulness.

 

 

 

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