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Princess Goldie’s Thanksgiving Dream

Princess Goldie was homeless
somewhere within her Gaian ruling reign.
She walked lost
through this morning’s reforesting project,
learning to spring back together
what had fallen into last night’s cold morbidity.

Princess Golden was hungry
for WinWin rules of nutritional global play.
Her tummy rumbled
as she saw a WhiteHouse
next to a swamp of punishing nettles
not quite distant enough
for peaceful conservation.

She knocked on the WhiteHouse forest floor
but no answer
so she tried the closed door
winning wealthy place
yet losing future healthy space
for hibernating bears and bulls.

Princess Gaia opened what no one had denied.
Then tried to break her fast,
but the first red bowl was too fundamentally hot,
the second, blue, too terrifyingly secular
academic
theoretical
abstractly cold,
while the green third, though smaller heard,
was ideally cooperative communing
just right for immigration.

She tried YangBear’s hard seat of authority
then YinBear’s heart seat of extended family responsibilities
before breaking BabyBear’s imprisonment
in loser retributions
attributions of autonomous sin,
too small for growing winner optimizations
restorations of wealthy health.

Princess Golden
ruled with great nightmarish nappy time
chaotic lack of ecotherapeutic resting school,
then bilaterally governed within matriarchal complex forest
networks of too-soft nurture,
then fell asleep just right
in beds for polypathic dreams
tricameral

BabyBear in-between
PapaBear and MamaBear
speaks within her hibernating open cave
harboring WinWin resolutions
too hot v cold
too hard authority v soft family responsibility
too highly egocentric v holonic ecocentric diversity,
reversity of reforesting reclimating times,
perversity of lack of LeftBrain sleepy time,
university of RightBrain healthy story rhyme,

Princess Goldie’s ego homelessness
reforesting Earth-centering nest.

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Three Colored Pigs

Once upon a ZeroTime
we suffered great terror and loss.

People,
animals,
and plants
refused to speak kindly with each other
because of a Big Bad Wolf
named Ms. Climatic Change
by her delightfully demented transparents.

Most all credible scientists in that day
were prophets of falling timeless skies,
flaming forests,
failing aquifers,
fowl winds from Big Bad SheWolf’s breath,
both bad
and way too Yangishly big.

Meanwhile, most bad faith people could not believe
in this SheWolf blowing Ms. Change
until on their own doorsteps
they saw and heard Her
violently colonizing threats
to feed and birth more rabid cubs
with ravenously monotheistic intentions,
confrontations,
engagement in violence
on behalf of past and future peace.

The first little pig Blue
is a democratic optimist
especially about scientific law and hopeful order.
Her pen is made of goddess straw
and entertaining tinsel tin
because that’s all her Sacred Owner could afford
while shopping for better whips
at the repurposing station.

She had the supremely democratic displeasure
of attracting predator Wolf’s initial advances
of a most unfortunate climate event.

Her house blew Blue away
before bad WiseElder wolf covens deciphered
We’re all feeding this Big Bad SheWolf together!

So little pig Blue, reborn baptized plutocratic
by recycling fear and terror,
ran all the way to her new climate grieving home,
penned up to couch surf
with or against prickly republican fundamentalist pig Red.

Red pig called out to the Big Bad SheWolf,
Declaiming God’s punishment
for sharing too much herbal tea
and probably THC,
with eastern and southern idolators;
Calling down God’s own retribution for hugging,
and otherwise worshiping,
sacredly creative MotherTrees,
rather than begging Owner Patriarchal Sun
for next Paradise
promising a better nutritious life.

A better Red wealthy life
through normal stick-built single family
Great Economic McMansions
fenced and moated sanctuaries
from Big Bad SheWolf’s growing blowing threat
and bitter bite.

Shutting out ultra-violet nightmare rabble,
if not Big Bad SheWolf problems
of Earth’s discomforting demise
while all God’s true orthodox children
move on up to timeless Red
BusinessAsUsual Capital Paradise.

But stick-built autonomy
and boot-strap conservative sanctuaries,
for monoculturally superior pigs, metaphysicians
of intelligently systematic sacred story
and orthodox fundamental theology,
did not save Red nor Blue pigs
from Gaian love for ClimateHealth
even more powerful than God’s just punishment
through SheWolf miseries
named Ms. ClimateChange.

Even gated stick-built McMansions,
and missionary fishing boats,
and carts for shipping and shooting people
and blowing other species up
and off to dungeons
burn or flee
as Big Bad Wolf
defeats quickly fading second chances
for restoring happier make-love endings
restoring ego’s wanton piggish longing
for healthy eco-justice.

Third little pig Green
built her home of natural clay bricks and stone,
with front and back yard gardens
filled with organic edibles
and chickens
to share with Big Bad SheWolf
and all her hungry cubs,
Neighbors longing for healthier water
and soil
and divine Blue secular
and Red sacred cooperative air
for breathing in climates of matriarchal courage.

Curious SheWolf extended family courage
invited outward cooperative climates
of nonjudgmental inquiry,
spoken and non-violently mentored in WinWin organic strategies,
freedom from colonizing WinLose motivations,
filling gracefully in
as active organic creolizing vocations
to retire pandemic ClimateChange tsunamis
in favor of green international ClimateHealth
for wolf and pig,
people and planet
cooperatively self-owned EarthTribal Future Investors
in ham
and bacon
and other porky products
suitable for great-grand cubs and piglets
to never think of eating their young
and old.

All these self-producing piggy products
lived with their restoring projects together
with SheWolf and Cubs
happily ever timeless after
climate acceptance
of interdependent risks
through WinWin opportunity,
scientific ZeroSoul revolutions,
humanity metaphysical evolution,
theological non-racist systemic experiential volution,
gently knocking on open doors
for ecological solutions
and resolutions
and better organic SheWolf endings.

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The DisIncorporating Client

My most troubling client
told me he died last night.

While this did not appear to be his somber case,
nor, sadly,
did my home office silently resound
like this was his actual historical peace,
I did conjure up sufficient energy
to ask why he thought so
or felt so
or hoped so
or feared so
and probably all of the above.

Why not invite
this spectral tsunami
overshadowing life’s reverberating days
and nightmare nights?
I have no prior experience,
no words
for comparison or explanation,
he replied,
I realize I am not naturally dead
but feel spiritually disassociated,
withdrawn diverse inside
And not entirely out enough
as if
in my nocturnal half-life
I wandered lost last night
and failed to fully reassemble.

So this feels like spiritual and unnatural failure?

Failed to fully return
to business as daytime usual,
to orthodox reasonable integrity,
to all insanity of inhumane nature
out of interdependent touch
with outdoor Earth kin,
nature-spirit Elders,
ancient ring-wrinkling trees
witnessing history
already before Nina
Pinta
and Santa Maria,
cut and bound European cousins
arrived on Eastern Atlas shores…

You talk a lot
for one so dead.
Is there a difference
between Eastern Atlas space
and Eastern U.S. Atlantic bounded place?

Maybe this is a failure,
pacific weakness;
certainly a loss.
Each natural species opportunistically suspects
yet cannot risk imagining
what spiritual difference could remain
within what is left of natural Us.

Perhaps we feel drained
strained
de-brained
maimed
blamed
shamed
reamed by Herculean angst,
absence of health developed spiritual curiosity
and courage…

to pull all my self chosen gods and improper goddesses
together again
each morning resurfacing
into yet another cooperatively longing day.

Perhaps.
Although gods and goddesses do not sound sufficiently accurate,
nor historically courageous
resurfacing this discontinuity
before and after my regathering alarm,
bugled and bungled into each foggy day…

I feel, still, my sacred loss of outside presence.

To die our sacred disempowering death
To competing devilish inside challenges,
To belong cooperative EarthGarden awakened
gripped by supreme ego lost
shadow of light’s Source,
outdoor business time’s nature/spirit boundary
threshold of ZeroSum heart
playing organic EarthGame’s finest
green commons Paradise–
outdoor courageous success
behind indoor curious failure
to awaken quite wrongly dead again.

Natural secularizing life,
falling and failing through bilateral integrity
as Earth allied

All over again
this personal
and contractual
and constitutional well-born morning,
not quite competitively reassembled.
What remains
paid less to keep consuming
but more properly reimbursed to keep bothering to breathe
bad inside air.

As they say,
Shop till dead Time drops

dispersed
depersonalized
dissonant
desacramented
autonomous ego
ReAcclimating toward more cooperative eco-resilient
interdependent integrity…
As he continued disassembling
Ancient branched witnesses turned to enter deeper rooted notes,
Our most troubling spiritual student
dismissed us from domestic servitude
as s/he died last night
As if one human had exclusive rights
of nutrition empowering sovereignty.

We winked back
and said ThankYou
And don’t let that over-lumbered door
slap you down
on our way outside and in,
more competitively cooperating again.

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The Admirable Admirer

I did not understand his visit,
it’s timing
or purpose
nor he mine, I suppose.

I would have asked
but Why?
felt better as a mystery
or magic
or in-between
explored by mythic listening
and passionate watching.

He was tall
slender
muscular without too much diesel Yang,
Graceful
and ecstatic
to see me again
after all these in-between years.

I was on an urgent mission
to rescue two wounded children
from uncertain surgical government
absence of healing care
but had to stop
as he approached
as if I were the only person
in all of Sacred EarthTribe
he had ever loved,
could love,
would love

But “should love”
that was my question
about why this visit
now
when I was so otherwise committed,
exhausted really.

Before I could explain
about my perennial rescue mission
he wanted to share with me
how remarkable his friend
who adopted
two complexly hurt children.

His enthusiasm was contagious
and comforting
What I needed to hear
to feel I merited his handsome smile
happy eyes
his intimately frank appraisal
of having been found good,
worthy in more ways than one
if I know what he means.

If he is this excited
about his friend
on a new rescue mission
for climate health of innocence
how enthused might he become
when I tell him
I am a struggling therapeutic parent
of four complex and discarded post-millennials,
inching toward our peaceful revolution,
restoring self with other love
integrity.

But he was gone
with the morning alarm
before we had time
to consummate this fabulous exchange
of mutual admiration.

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Einstein’s Sacred EcoMetrics

The younger Albert Einstein
was more intrigued by geometry of experience
than mere metaphysical abstractions.

During this younger time,
he wrote about bi-optical illusions
of Ego against Eco consciousness:

“This delusion is a kind of prison for us,
restricting us to our personal desires
and affection
for a few persons
nearest to us.
Our task must be
to free
ourselves from this prison…”

Einsteinian Elders
may remember dreams
Once upon time’s bi-optical illusions
of all Sacred Species
uniting for cooperation
rather than unifying polarities
furthering competitions.

Cooperatively invested children
within Elder Paradise Dreams
grow personally then politically,
ecologically nutritious then economically healthy,
sacred as Matriarchal ElderWombs before.

Gaian Einsteinians
told campfire creation stories
of organic healthy purpose.
Sacred Teachers
assisting EarthSoul’s cooperative process
of realigning harmonies
resonantly resolving
Reforesting Agrarian Paradise.

Elder Einstein
suffered an enormously disempowering
depressive sense of loss
after his uniting nuclear fusion Though Experiment
turned into society’s atomic militarized-ballistics.

Genocide of sacredly uniting Earth,
the anti-ecological conclusion
of Yang LeftBrain supremacy,
raping and blasting
secularizing patriarchal powers
of AnthroCompetitiveness
out of systemic balance
with Elder RightBrain
Matriarchal MemoryWomb
of CoOperative CreationStory Paradise.

Elder Einstein
grew toward dementia,
but high functioning.
Perhaps he joined the oncoming spectrum
at the top of awesome wonder
inhabiting manic dreams of nightmare blasts
sensing insatiable overpopulating risks
of rabidly competing human expansion
toward cancerous monoculturalism
and concomitant territorial risks
of ever more war-mongering
in a post-nuclear
fission-dominant Age.

A time of Great Transition
toward post-millennial death of a HomePlanet
through nuclear and nationalistic fissions,
losing solidarity with Sacred Earth
as mere collateral damage
for LeftBrain Reign of stubborn WinLose ego-empowerment
and bigotry
and sexism
against RightBrain cooperative matriarchal health care restoration
and regenerative spirit-nature receiving,
preferring consciousness of fusion’s deep rich nondualistic opportunities

EcoTherapeutic Fusion Dreams
frightened away by fission’s growing Great Walls
rather than slowly revolving blue-green orbiting revisions,
as curiously slow as watching paint undry,
restoring justice Paradise.

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Precocious Liturgies

I’m going through my morning routine
still at least half asleep,
pondering what was I pondering?
while preparing morning meds
and showering my daughter,
helping her dress,
filling her snack pail
for her long school bus ride,
changing my son’s overnight diaper,
lotioning ashy skin,
tying shoe laces,
hers, mine, ours,
feet walking onto the bus,
hooking all four corners of her safety harness
and walking back toward our house
thinking
I’ve been up for an hour
and now I’m ready to begin my day.

What was that first hour?
Its quality of dream
heading toward future investments
in life as more full consciousness.
Consciousness of a different dream?
A different sense of identity?
A different quality of life fullness
in contrast to dreamy half-consciousness,
on back to less than half,
and then the alarm clock
too quickly buzzing louder
to interrupt
whatever it was that had felt so ponderous
pondering what I had been pondering
before I drifted back into sleep.

Self awareness,
self and sometimes also other consciousness,
has this liquid flowing quality
of investment in life
and disinvestment through dreaming,
loss of self-embodied awareness.

I wonder if life could feel richer
if cash followed this same investment in conscious flow preference
over disinvesting in interest paid for over-dreaming
together in WinLose (0)Sum assuming societies,
Eden economies of Paradise Lost,
Bodhisattva Warriors
tying each other’s shoes
as necessary co-investment
and physically possible
and ecologically optimal
to get to that part of our conscious warrior day
we can re-invest in deeper consciousness
loving together,
investing in our cooperatively-held healthy water,
and nurturing air for the grandkids
and the back yard chorus of birds
and their grandkids
to breathe,
and fire for cooking and heating, but not hating,
and retelling family and tribal recreation stories,
Earth’s continuing liturgical investments
in self with other nutritional flowing consciousness.

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Traveling Death Salesman

I can’t sleep.
Or, I can
and did
for three hours
but I continue waking
into a Stephen King nightmare
too real to ignore
because I feel isolated
in this quagmire
of hopeless history.

In this my collective nightmare,
President Trump goes to Saudi Arabia
like Mr. Smith goes to Washington,
bold as an August justice day,
to sell 110 billion dollars of U.S. manufactured ballistics
in this heart of Middle East thirst
for violence–
like selling dope to jonesing crack addicts.

This deal is signed in the blood of our children
then celebrated in full glare of multi media spotlights
with blood dripping off our chins
and hands.
This is a really sweet success
for climate health and freedom fighters
and, oh yes,
our wealthy industrious friends
who rake in their riches
on the strong back
of capitalism’s vaguely cannibalistic WinLose addictions.

This nightmare continues on to Israel
where Jewish leaders wait
until our blood-stained ambassador
of international arm-sales corruption
turns his back
before at last declaring their alarm,
echoed at his next stop
in the Vatican
where even this home of history’s Crusades
finds such dark triumphalism
a bit too treacherously much.

Yet, as often as I awake within this bloodshed bacchanal
blaring with unseemly deep night trumpets
I also wake to total BusinessAsUsual silence
here in this U.S. home.

Here it feels alien accepted
that this is whom we have near bloodlessly become,
crack and frack and oil addicts
selling our preferred markets of death
in exchange for oil
or cash,
our democratically held self-esteem so low
we cannot remember our lowest common denominator
used to be a shared multiculturing Golden Rule.

We have better stuff to sell
for hope of light
not deadly despair.

So here I sit
in the middle of this night’s terrifying domestic silence,
wide awake with guilt
about such dark leadership
we have loosed in a troubling Earth
longing for even just one drop of climate sanity.

110 billion dollars re-invested.
Ours
to grease these well oiled wheels
of military industrializing tycoons
even General President Eisenhower
warned us against.

I guess healing our planet
and our extending brother-sister relationships
will have to wait
until all our guns
and oil,
bombs
and hate,
soldiers
and their innocent children
are gracelessly gone.

I doubt that dawn will ever come again,
yet worry what new macabre celebrations
in vampire cannibalistic capitalism
may appear across our morning screens,
knocking on and out and through our back doors
while our children sleep
in too short innocence.

110 billion for nihilistic death and terror sales
and not one entrepreneurial peep in protest
of sacrilegious prancing.
It is this screaming silence of abject immoral despair
that continues awaking me,
hoping I might see midnight lights
of kindred nightmare souls
haunted by such dark blood business
baldly broadcast as if to help us better sleep.

I toss and turn alone
while other childlike immigrants on Earth
sleep through 110 billion bloody nightmares.

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