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Same Old Song and Dance: Taoist ReMix

Ta(0) Climate

Songs,
spiritually sung,
express internal ego-expanding Dance.

Dance,
Natural healthy healing grace
articulates inside resonant music,
spirit-natured,
mind embodied
muses.

If strong dance of ego/eco nature’s grace
ReForms Yang
ReFlows weaving grace abundant songs
ReFunction YinSquared spirit light

EnLightening TaoTime,
of inside resonant song
speaking outside resilient dance
WinWin amusing, sometimes WinLose terrifying,
her/historical
dipolar co-arising muses.

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The 2020 Coop

The People’s Coop
is a warm inviting place,
for some
a reading and meditation
and arts practice and performance space,
for others
a place to ride sleek bicycles
with self-and-other improvement book racks
while peddling energy into the cooperative Grid,
sheltered by solar panel roof
and natural wood graffiti walls
spun and sung
with Mohammad’s Sufi Wind Turbinators.

Original coop founders
had been mural painters
and finger and toenail designers,
hair braiders
and community garden canners
and preservers,
soup and smoothie makers
and child-care cooperative providers
and home school teachers,
as well as the original upstairs apartment residents,
and those living next door,
working in the kitchen,
serving organic soup and bread
in winter,
juice smoothies
and fair-trade mocha freezes
to readers and talkers with listeners
during warmer sun-drenched months
relaxing on teak chairs
surrounding umbrella tables
in our outdoor street cafe.

The guy with a hot dog and bagel cart
joined The Coop
and invested each lunch hour
outside
then went inside to offer yoga
and chi gong classes
in the reading and quiet arts room.

Meanwhile,
more robust and rhythmic,
the kitchen and juice bar
shares open space
with a performance stage
bearing diverse drums,
a grand piano,
an accordion,
rather strangely popular,
and a karaoke machine,
lights and sound,
open mic days and nights
for comedy
and poetry,
story-telling
and rapping,
tapping and beating
and full gospel choir singing,
depending on who shows cooperatively up
to turn out
rather than in
over on the quiet side
of the all bells, but no disdaining whistles, Coop.

Coop peak periods
include rainy and cold afternoons
when street performers
come inside,
finish their soup,
put out their hats
and share a set,
then join juice and coffee and tea bar tables
and sometimes even take a turn
on hooked-up bikes and rowing machines
to operate the lights and mics
and blenders,
but not the mud and straw pizza oven out back,
fired with cedar and mesquite
producing organic vege and goat cheese
on whole wheat crust
for a light supper,
or multigrain scones with herbal high tea,
depending on where you came from
before you found The Coop.

If you remember
the incense and hope of 1960s Head Shops,
the heady roar and multi-racing of 1920s historic stops,
then you may come to see
The Coop is a further evolution
co-founded with 2020 PolyCultural ReVision,
exclusively of and for
those who are gay and straight
and especially everyone in-between
dead and new-born friendly,
cooperatively owning and organizing allies
for renewable multigenerational futures.

The Coop coinvestors
of and for reforesting
each coop business and community
as organically WinWin county and province solidarity
for healthy game strategics
and nutritional performance
and cooperative outcome producing places
where poverty of spirit
and vulnerability of nature’s self-organizing politics
is The Coop’s greatest strength of faith,
gratitude for Earth’s multiculturally abundant
natural-spiritual nondual
healthy
grace
place
space,
faces of polypathic
Planet Earth Cooperative.

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Domestic Entertainments

I find my entertainments close to home
as nothing could be more wildly hilarious
and downright curious
than my own complex teenagers
who sometimes speak
and do their math
about what adds up toward our shared
and independent
futures.

Then there are cacophonous birds
mourning doves and sparrows
blue jays and robins
yellow finches and ravens
greeting dawning light
as if some unprecedented miracle were unfolding
about which they will chatter and chirp amongst themselves
for many generations to come,
like climate marchers
just happy to be here
for this climaxing stellar event.

Then too I have neighbor watching and listening
which picks up more during afternoons,
after school buses drop off
wounded and yet still wondering kids,
with dogs and cats and even grandparents
to greet them,
while moms and dads slave away
at their own employee entertainments.

Meanwhile squirrels and chipmunks
scold and scamper
with playful industry,
or playing at industry,
who could say?

Worms are burrowing in the garden,
hopefully,
although I hate to interrupt them
solely for my frivolous fancies
regarding appropriate adult entertainment.

They often respond, upon my thunderous devastation
of enlightening presence,
as if they were having some intimate moment
that I have immodestly exposed to light.
I apologize
and move on.

The bumble bees have posted flying sentries
around my front porch,
each flying in place all day long
tiny yellow and black helicopters
engaged in serious military intelligence gathering
over my scandalously erratic comings and goings,
importations and exportations,
exhortations,
and, even worse,
often actually sitting down on their porch’s swing,
rocking back and forth,
and staring back,
just as if I were not least bit intimidated.
Merely curious
about what’s so valuable at home
up under their roof
that they find me such a suspicious alien threat.

But really,
for me,
these bumbling buzzing sentries are merely entertainment.
I especially love to watch
when they occasionally dive-bomb each other
for some inscrutable random whimsy
in which it occurs to me
their placement may be a pageant
having nothing to do with me,
other than my enjoyment
of their benign entertainments
here in this home we share.

While star gazing
and looking for the moon’s rise and fall,
wax and wane,
sailing behind and between diaphanous clouds,
stretch my focus further out at night,
this seems to suit my at home dreams
as do these raucous insects
selling nocturnal sex and happiness
as if my backyard
on down toward the river
were their red light flowing district.

It amuses me,
hearing their combined intensity of purpose,
to continue my entertainments
on through each warm month night
until its time for those gospel choiring birds
to squawk and chirp
whistle and cheep
another at home climate marching dawn.

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Did You Notice?

Did you notice:

What you have for breakfast,
despite what Mom said,
is probably less important than who you do
and do not
have breakfast with,
and why?

The brand and make and year of your car
are less significant to your well-being
than the costs to you,
your family,
and their future?

The quality of your time
is less about how much you earn
and more about what you do,
and what you are unwilling to do,
to earn it?

You probably never respond to questions about how much you care for someone with the amount of time you spend with them,
“about 8.5 hours per week,”
while you might discuss how often,
and for how long,
you miss them in a week,
if at all?

When the quality of your well-intended humor
is measured in the number of smiles responding,
rather than the number of non-responses,
then you are in some serious trouble?

“Living” nature is not distinguished from “dead” nature,
by calculating quantities of difference,
but by noticing differences in quality of relationships.

You might define your love life as any hours without fear or anger,
or you might find that absence of fear and anger is necessary,
but not sufficient, for loving awareness?
If you have a higher bar,
faces of apathy and despair
are companions not possible to embrace
with love’s sufficiently empathic resonance.

DNA is a newer anthro-cultural language of intelligence
compared to older RNA regenerative non-self-consciousness?
Wouldn’t we be foolish
to disrespect our ecological Elder’s mental-environ conscience
to listen monopolistically enslaved to Left-brain’s competing dominance,
with comparatively adolescent language choices?
What good is deductive reasoning
attenuated from it’s natural,
and most nutritious,
source of fuel fertility?

Throwing out RNA’s primal
and ubiquitous regenerative intelligence
to value only DNA’s more recent humane reiteration,
reflecting on this (0)-Core prime consciousness,
throws out a cooperatively healthy baby
to hoard the bathwater?
Better outcomes could ensue
for the baby,
the water,
and you,
by bathing together in this nuclear stew.

You fall asleep in front of the TV
trying to stay awake
to watch something that apparently is much less entertaining
and healthy
than pursuing your own nightly dreams?

Living and dying are opposites,
but “living” comes in a spectrum
from “full” through “suffering dissonance”;
yet “dying” never comes in a correlated spectrum
from “purgative alacrity” through “contented confluence”?

When you stop using your mind
for anything resembling socially constructive purposes
it continues rattling on day after day
as if anyone were still attending;
but when you stop using your body
it almost immediately begins shutting down
as if no one needed tending?

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