Uncategorized

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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Broken Family Pilgrimage

Broken hearts
bodies
neural systems
minds
heal in a profoundly broken,
sometimes revolutionary,
way.

Almost 18 now,
youngest son Yin speaks no domesticated,
commodifiable
marketable language,
only primal syntax of saintly glory,
heroic internal/external story
without distinction between “life” and “love;”
he can only know life/love as co-arising NOW,
inviting his perfect insight,
eco-self thru interdependent-other consciousness
flowing through DNA-engorged neural norms
of autonomic karmic grace
and Presence-Centered beauty,
ZeroCentric YinYin polydextrous
mind-body flow
primally rooted in
“love-as-happy” snaptic
dipolar correlated with
“loss-as-absence” aptic
polycultural faith
in Time’s unfolding harmonic abundance.

Teacher of Mystic
full-bodied mind-dreams
in sea of child naivete
of Win-Lose evolutionary revisionism
of his Earth Host’s
rainbow revolutionary evolutionary re-membering
of what only human language has exegetically severed.

Sainted SunSon
with primal gifts
to smile with intelligence of good-reiterative humor
to dance with feet and hands
with skin and ears and bones,
to sing bicameral balance in neural-cranial vibrating septum,
dia-hemispheric vision
sound
voice of all Earth’s bicameral livings
and minds
and hearts
and legs
and arms
especially stereophonic ears,
echoing eco-resonant deep sound,
co-gravitational nondual voice.

Mystic Son
resounding fractal-octaved crystal memories
of primal forested seasons
with reasons for Heaven Dawning
Golden Rules Upon Earth’s
Bilateral In-Formation,
I is You is Me.

Zero-Zen
ego/eco double-binding
co-arising
buddha body consciousness
rich in healthy wealth nutrition.

Perfect son.
Perfect co-mentor.
Perfect neighbor and family member,
sometimes rather verbal family contract renegotiator,
bus always right and true,
noble and good and just,
good-humored contentiousness
about our collective cognitive dissonance,
thinking we are healthy and he is not,
as usual,
half-ass backward.

Perfect co-messiah
of regeneratively full life.

Perfect icon
of low anxiety
grows low neural synaptic activity
emerges (0)-centric ego/eco Angel-not-so-manic Syndrome,
silent siloed saints
of cooperative ecoconscious conscience
regenerativity as beauty with good humor.

Excellent zen-guru,
tao transducer,
in our dipolar incubator,
regenerative nest
floating in our polycultural timeless sea
where seasonal syntax
speaks bicameral reality.

Yin-sun knows “family”
only as ballast
toward regenerative kinship
“we cooperatively
intergenerationally,
tribally,
eco-culturally are
and ionically share”;
without shadow of
ballistic weaponed
“you’re not family”
eisegetical creed
deductive reductive dominating
exegetical greed
to cooperatively feed each other
nutrients of healthiest wealth
regenerative open-optimizing
Win-Win
reverse hierarchializing
in-formating full-health function.

Yin-son’s family
means you are loved
with dignity and co-respect,
co-investors in Earth’s tribal gifts,
grace,
karma,
information
and cellular intelligence,
cooperative,
co-arising,
octave-harmonic frequency
Midway balancing
between hopeless tumor
and faithful humor.

Our Yin-Sun
who teaches me everything
I need and want to know
to love and care for him
is to learn love and care for self.

Broken hearts
bodies
neural systems
minds
heal in a profoundly broken,
sometimes revolutionary,
world turned rightside down
deeply transitional and climatic,
even clinically chronically decommodifying
degentrifying, decompositional
yet still-inceptual
enthymematic
wavey wu-wei way.

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Uncategorized

Love’s Last Litany

I have never known alone
as when I lie next to you.

I have never felt orphaned,
unknown,
alien,
as when cramped within our zoo.

I have only become this dark
when missing not missing you.

I am breathing in
hoping to exhale, all through.
I don’t want to want to hear you
when I look past our sad dark eyes.

I can’t bear to sing this song
slow dancing echoed sighs.

I don’t want to be this anymore
becoming drawn to close my door.

If you can love me as I am
please help me find breath’s floor.

I don’t want to play house anymore,
my soul wilts in air this poor.

I don’t want to want to breathe us anymore.

I can’t want to breathe this evermore.

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Struggling Love

I know
you know
you stole our property,
our mutual possession,
our sense of co-ownership,
of belonging together
to grow our health forever.

I know
you took it for your sole ungrateful possession,
to use for your co-dependent purposes,
not a subject for open communication,
further evolution of whom we were becoming
together.

You know
I know
you stole our mutually co-arising trust
in cooperative objectives and views and color-filled perceptions,
you removed our room for cooperative gratitude,
replaced with anger and fear of future isolation,
divorce.

We both know
with deeply resonant intuitive integrity,
this critical event in our relationship cannot redeem,
re-direct,
re-connect,
our co-arising healthy trajectory
without mutually acknowledging
our sense of excommunicating loss and suffering
to have stolen
and to have been thereby co-laterally severed
from co-expansive gratitude,
replaced by co-condensing anger burning entropy,
absence of healthy wealth
through love’s reiterating Commons of communication.

We both know
If I am generous toward you,
if I “gift it forward” in your direction,
and you feel gratitude in response,
and express that gratitude through your deeds
and words
then you redeem and co-arise further generosity of love;
While not feeling and/or not expressing gratitude
in non-response
absorbs and dampens and depresses love
into our co-dependent toxicity of habit
where new creative loving life once grew.

We both are sane
as love will grow in our time
and organically chosen,
integratively intended, places,
relationships,
transactions.

We both are crazed
as other competing loves
still hunt and gather to fill in our gaps
and fracturing losses.

We all trust
our cosmological economy of synergy
evolves cooperatively reiterating gratitude,
human naturally reflected in love’s economy
co-arising generosity.

We mistrust
unilateral love, like lust,
so discontenting,
raises encrusted mountains of anger
deep flowing lava rivers of fear.

We respond
with trust and respect and care,
with practice and intent of generosity
until we no longer understand response as gratitude,
until chronic patterns feel empty of generosity returned,
redeemed,
replaced with judgment or apathy
too often swelling into anger and fear,
hunting and gathering and stealing
standing in for trust and respect and care.

I react
unwilling to continue this generous intent
because you steal my trust in our future
as co-arising health.

Struggling but still vigorously healthy love
evolves and sustains co-arising generosity
and mutually reiterative gratitude,
which would be no exception to our daily norm,
our default expectation of nature’s rich abundance,
if not for our mutual lack of gratitude,
iconically captured in Win-Lose economics
and anti-evolutionary cultural assumptions.

Love evolves
mutual economic generosity
as synergy revolves co-arising ecological paradigms,
systems and species,
cooperativity creation,
or love falls unrequited,
unredeemed,
stolen and absorbed into competitive mutual immunity,
heading toward entropically co-condensing selves,
cells of apathy and anger,
cancerous hurt and swollen suffering.

Love is risk
which often pays generous returns,
opportunities to invest further in healthy directions,
in relationships of evolving wealth.

We are free
to choose to stop loving
in response to suffering and ignorance and apathy,
anger and fear and hatred,
aimed at us by those we have invited into our trust;
free to stop responding to loss as mutual theft
with further generosity defusing integrity,
honesty,
because we feel too exhausted to survive
feeding toxic co-dependency
where we would nurture healthy co-redemption
of mutual investment in trust, caring,
this grace of cooperatively co-arising generosity.

I do not know
your quantities and qualities of need
for nurturing your healthy life.
If I have not offered generously
in response to your needs and wants and hopes,
don’t steal from me what was ours to mutually benefit
and then grow angry and fearful of how I may respond;
extend your generosity with me
just enough to help me understand
what you want
that I might have to give with gratitude.

Love is like a mountain,
majestic and beautiful to contemplate,
difficult to climb to the apex,
and harder still to survive there
to accomplish long-term healthy outcomes,
especially through cold winter nights.

Love presents life’s high stakes,
high risks for some nightmares,
high opportunities for some Great Day dreams.

 

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Hunting Love

On life’s easyrider days and nights
love plays a romping game.

On those more oppositionally challenging days,
and long anxious nights,
love is a hunt,
sometimes a passionate hunt,
special occasionally a compassionate hunt,
a mutual hunt
for truth about who is hunter
and who is hunted
and why
and when
and how do these coincident functions transcend “or”
to gracefully meet in “and.”

This primal function of love’s synergetic force
is “hunt.”
Both parties,
all living entities,
hunt,
even those feeling hunted
haunted
stalked
fearful and anxious
competitively and unilaterally,
often in silos of despair.

We all search frantically for safe havens,
hidden from those hunting for our very self-identity,
our life,
or at least so it feels during those dissonant times.

What is the redemptive optimization strategy
for those hunting safe havens from death,
pursued by tyrannical lovers,
ego-identified life hunters?

When is it not an appropriate moment
to love the hunter,
the hunted,
and the hunt?

Is there a significant difference
between the romping love of easyrider days and nights
and the more strategic
logistical
personal
intimately coincidental
hunt for love transcending Ego-incarnate death?

What happens to haunted hunted entities
primally assuming cooperative investment in this challenging romping race
and pace of EarthTribal systems,
but, when a passionate challenge exhausts this smooth-skinned body,
and/or brain,
the hunted redemptively conjoins with other hunters,
gratefully and mindfully invites a wrestling-with match,
avoids a wrestling-against death and fear match,
comprehending that compassioning our hunting love
always optimizes EarthTribe’s regenerational future?

In love,
sometimes,
at least once,
it is my time to love loss,
to forgive away,
to redeem this future spacetime
equivalently
Taoistically invested in me
birthing my original praxis of conception
as mutual reception.

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Sacred Pause

What have our children become

that we stand by to not watch them burn

then bury still screaming

shredding skin?

 

What have we become

that commerce doesn’t even pause

no unholy terror of awed silence

horrific wonder.

Voices continue shrilling

keyboards continue pounding

parents continue screaming

corporate minds still beat

industrious rhythms

streaming enculturing strings

of power without

sufficient wisdom to simply stop….

 

 

Silent full breaths of sorrow,

crucifying innocent redeemers

into deaths of ignorant anguish

self-hatred

raging fate

too dissonant to hear

too desperate to bear.

 

 

 

 

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Summer’s Stormy Move

It started the 8th of June

moving away from too familiar

into too alien,

finding no sane oasis between.

 

Vibrant greens relentlessly fade

to wilting monochromatic drought.

Brown patches emerge with dulled loss

of what might have been a family

an ecological home

a pasture for aging bones,

hinky synapses flaring tornadoes

of heated defeat.

 

Boxes realign themselves

incomprehensibly hiding any value

in their move

from what could have been here

if not left there

where fading memories survive

my loss of presence.

 

Bags batter

bursting malignant neglect.

Chairs no longer fit

for seating hot tempers

of displaced despair.

Dust defecates destiny.

 

A house that should be home

to those grateful for its care;

downsizes redemptive purgation

into shrinking violence,

invisible,

screaming silent strangling sensory strings

slipping

sparkling vents glaring

glacially through stagnant July.

 

Then,

early evening spills thick black.

Tall elder treetops sway

with hope of cathartic wildness,

drama of release

from petulant

radiant

hot.

 

Lightning rolls in thunderous waving walls

and back again in falling grace drops.

Transition storms

through pilgrim soul’s discontented purgatory

in space without place

house without home

faith without hope

place with cavernous time,

mindful without passion.

 

Earth’s sky roars dark wet flashy passion.

Wild yeast superlatively shredding domesticated culture’s skin,

bleaching dark passions from dry-cracked crevices.

 

“Abatement is not removal!”

wild Wicked cackles demented delight.

“If transitions were regenetic

then nomads would rule,

pilgrims would land in paradise estates

with coincidental karmic confidence.”

 

The storm abates,

drought removed.

Thunder claps farewell.

Brief time

now

search evening’s rainbow

before hazing horizon

rolls over light’s last gasp.

As night promises peace,

Thunder cracks and shakes one last reminder.

Serenity is not always sanity.

 

Promise smiles teardrops

on hot tin roofs.

 

 

 

 

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