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Theological Mediation

I asked our local Unitarian-Universalist minister
if she could see God
as Original Creative Source of Earth (OCSE).

Eventually,
after a rather long pause,
peaceful, not anxiety producing,
she said Yes.

I asked the Shiloh Baptist Bishop
if he could know God
as Abba,
as did Jesus of Nazareth.

He thought about this,
a rather odd yet warm paternal question,
perhaps a trick?
a test?
But, eventually, trusted us enough
to add his Yes.

I asked the All Souls U-U minister,
Would she be willing to imagine,
to heuristically assume,
for the next hour,
that what she feels inside
and believes outside,
what she hopes and faiths,
compassions as OCSE
might be, or at least slowly become,
synonymous with the more patriarchal sounding Abba,
perhaps yangish Abba
to her OCSE yintegral felt intelligence.

She found this a lot to take in
hold
juggle
and yet listen and speak with integrity
all in this unsafe time of confrontation.
But, Why not?
she asked, rhetorically,
I assumed.

Then I asked the Shiloh Baptist Bishop
the same question,
in reverse,
with Abba still as yang
and OCSE as yin

This felt appropriate,
and not really unorthodox
and therefore theologically safe,
to AfricanAmerican him,
so he said Yes, of course,
history supports an AfroCentric
Original Creative Source
for all human natures.

From there
They seemed to enjoy co-discovering
ecological analogies
for theological regeneration
and degeneration
And theological metaphors
for ecological healing
and wounding.

With nothing much more for me to do
as multicultural mediator of eco/theo-logical peace
restoring win/win justice,
I began outlining
how we might join our choirs
in con-celebration,
singing gospel anthems
while engaging our combined sacred Body
in tai-chi stretches
into and back out of
fluid mindbody positions.

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Uncategorized

Reverberating Synergy

When we look at life,
contingently standing out from death,
historically and futuristically absent,
co-passionately present,
we can see death and dying
as a logical default,
a statistical reality,
almost a necessity
so likely that life emerges
as a reverse default,
experienced only by vulnerably mortal living beings
mutually becoming

Whom each day awakens to another miracle
of living
unfolding further Earth history
and to ego-identified internal life process,
a holonic gift,
an inheritance
borrowed from past generations
to invest in present and future regenerations
of life
emerging from past death and dying
fueling fertile soil,
cleansing water,
stirring clear air
and incensed warm-lit flames
of reverberating annunciation.

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Uncategorized

Invoking Unfinished GodEssences

My autonomous ego’s life
feels unfinishable,
unthinkably mortal in future disconnection;
an unfinished compassion life,
unfinishable love,
an unpolished divine icon
of Earth’s self-promulgating creation,
recreation
becoming more articulately interdependent folks,
intersectional resacralizing populations,
self and other co-empowering creolization processors,
ego/eco-transubstantiating
north-western left hemisphere’s historic win/lose secularization.

Meanwhile,
our Gaian EarthMothers,
south past and eastern-future angelically co-present
Great Transition Troubadours
forever deepening sacred icons,
intersectional emissaries,
polypathic and polyphonic,
sacred MotherEarth becoming metaphorically global webbed,
rewoven away from left-hemisphere fashioned dualisms
of secularizing sacred both/and unity,
humanizing divine communion,
every day sanctuaried love-life,

Where pathological egocentric death
reconnects with healthy long-term compassionate communication
co-empathic communal deep listening
to learn nondualistic grief/gratitude re-education trends
bilaterally co-arising
unfinished articulation
still dynamically emanating
from unfinishable life
within Mother/Father EarthTribal His/HerStory.

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Uncategorized

Eden Garden Dreams

Gardens,
like dreams
and other multiculturing complexities,
process
and sometimes progress into becoming ripe,
then unbecoming dormancy,
advent of and for regardening
redreaming seeds
preparing to further process

Perennial primal roots deepening into
new spring’s progressive attachment
network of polycultural dream garden nutrition,
aesthetic nurture,
ethical nature,
animating spirit of Earth’s co-arising life.

Eden’s original rising
and subsequent falling Garden
surrounds our GreenTribal Tree
of Ego/Eco-centering Life and WinterDeath.

The Creator’s forbidden foreshadow Tree
of Good and Evil
is a secondary,
yet divinely co-inspired, Tree
on our LeftBrain monocultural way
toward reducing Life to Good
and seducing Death through Evil–

Dreaming up and down
Win to Lose evolutionary models
and capitalism’s mono-atheistic further investments
in secularizing-commodifying Life
while spiritualizing accommodating Death;
praising win-win peace
while raising lose-lose Falls
re-enacting retributive divine greed,
detached disdaining injustice,
childish, perhaps adolescent at best, pettiness.

Evil, like Death,
is no more original
than the Great Fall and Eternal Winter,
whether we see and hear,
taste and touch
as divine Gardeners
or merely regenesis EarthTribal dreamers
of generic Spring uprisings
and Summer sensory climaxes
for Eden’s Tree of cooperatively original EcoLife,
and secondarily hibernating foreshadows of Ego-Death

Waiting
like an original Falling spring
for our ecofeminist deep green learning RightBrain

Rising Up
like a new spring garden,
like a dreaming root-systemic Tree
of GoodLife win-win cooperative processes
and EvilDeath lose-lose competitive climate pathology
of and for further revolutionary
divinely inspired creations,
re-creations,
evolutions and devolutions
in Eden Gardens,
regenerative and degenerative dreams
co-arising good and evil fruit
absorbed by ecofeminists
and devoured by patriarchs

Together
equally interdependent
in good life
through evil death
EarthTribal loyalty,
interdependent patriotism,
universal solidarity,
compassion,
love

Original humane/divine attachment
and secondary wealth detachment
and tertiary health regenesis.

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Uncategorized

Mr. and Mrs. Spratt

My father,
who tolerated no fat,
predicted I would do nothing right
or good,
much less healthy,
in my lifetime.

My mother,
absorbing nothing too mean or lean,
felt I could do nothing wrong
now,
so probably later as well,
welfare wellness.

Neither my father,
mother,
or I
seemed particularly surprised
when I rose and fell
somewhere in-between
these two extremes,
as do we all
I suppose.

And yet I wonder
about my father’s hierarchical value structure,
placing perfection on Earth’s highest
biggest
thickest welfare state.

And remain silently awed
by my mother’s reverse-hierarchical terms
endearing depths of greatest compassion
for who is deeper
and thereby more robust
than whom.

I suppose this means something
about where sexuality conjoins
sensuality,

About triangular cognitive structures
amid diamond infolding co-relationships,
about 1’s
intersecting 0-Zones,
about light
foreshadowing dualdark reminders
of perfection,
about fullness of time
within timeless absence,
eternally co-arising.

Although,
neither Yang’s ominous
hierarchical value predictions
nor Yin’s generously interdependent
deep learning hopes,
sexual and sensual,
were all that helpful
for adolescent me,
struggling with spectral we.

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Uncategorized

Queer Music

They lived across from each other
on and off the center floor dorm hall,
both on the much discussed
controversial LeftWing side.

Yang perused Yin’s CDs,
“I see you like that queer music,
Elton John
and Luther VanDross
and George Michael.
I didn’t notice that before.”

Yin responds quietly
calmly
amused:

First,
I don’t believe music is gay or straight,
but most everything related in-between
harmonic and dissonant,
diminished and replenished.

Lyrics may be queer or predictable
but usually flow well
either way
telling co-relating creation stories
of nature’s neural positives
and negatives
surfing back and forth
in and out
before and after
here and there
now and then
and yet to climax
polypathic health
as polyphonic wealth.

But, Second,
Feels to me all music,
maybe all muses,
are queer
when I think holistically about it,
us,
them,
verbally thought and non-verbally felt,
internally touched

By a rhetorical moment
we curiously know as music
without noticing how radically unlikely
regenerative processes
compassionate evolutions
could ever reproduce such homo-ingenious sounds,
rhythms,
patterns,
colors,
textures,
stories,
epic original empathic creations
and co-empathic octaved recreations
within such a LeftBrain heterosexual white privileged
RightWing capitalistic
narcissistically greedy
UnQueer Marching Against
the Great Historic/Futuristic muse and prophets
of harmony,
despite dissonance,
resonance,
despite fading resilience of Baby Xers,
polyphonic yin-mused light,
despite polynomial not not
climate of touch and feel dualdarkness.

Meanwhile Yang
couldn’t hear too well
since opening the window
facing spring
listening
to a cranked up RocketMan,
while athletically dancing to hot not unqueer music,
and Yin’s ears swayed tenderly after and before
queer musing
straight talk.

 

 

 

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Uncategorized

Timely Death of a Muse

My muse died today.
Although how could I lose
abuse
or amuse
what was never mine to use
as I see fit,
hear fitness,
feel fitfully?

This muse dies tonight
not from old age
as I had long predicted
must be my sad and unread case,
but for a new voice
or vice,
for deeper lyrics
and wider melodies
and globally local choreography
perhaps a ridiculous younger person’s game.

They say
not to write, unless you must;
Not to paint
or sing
or dance
or become a prostitute
unless you would otherwise eco-bust
ego-lust away this lifeline.

If you can live with something,
most anything, else
to occupy your time
and pay the rent,
then do
and be those more civil relationships instead.

It never occurred to me
perhaps because They didn’t say so,
I might do most everything else
so I could retire into writing
and reading
and singing
and dancing

But not prostitution
because no one would pay
for what I can not give away
with integrity intact.

I miss this muse already
but doubt she even remembers me,
a right hand
useful
responding to her labored demands
too ponderously telling,
psychic yelling,
when I longed to show in grace
integrity’s newest face
rhythm pattern pace
divinely humane race
robustly timeless space
without dissonant disgrace

Showing
not telling,
Belonging
not longing,
Dancing
not marching,
Singing
not shouting
to and with and for
tomorrow’s mute muses,
today’s deaf listeners,
amusing to move on
with overflowing emotions
not mere museless motions.

Now I have broken
my only two rules of unself-conscious writing.

1. Never mention the muse aloud
or dead
for She abhors a nonvacuum
of light,
and

2. Never write
about writing,
For the same non-reason
that optimal sexual
sensual
neural experience
cannot happen
if my sole
and sold-out purpose
is this Great Orgasm.
of we-consciousness.

My more retiring amusement died today.
Although how could I lose
abuse
or ever timelessly muse
what was never mine to use?

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