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An Anxiously Anticipated Event

Dear John,

All day
yesterday
I loaded up with a cascading river
of mixed anxiety and anticipation
about what to safely and kindly,
transparently and vulnerably
compassionately, so non-violently, share
communicate;

Which narrative tributaries to choose
within this vast spacetime stream
of choices
directions
felt depressions and erections.

Do you remember
communication theory
framed as Rhetorical Events?

Our initial walk and talk,
eating together,
rather than my refrigerator foraging
brunchtime usual rawfood practice,
is a graced green,
rain giving way to blue, memory for me,
and, I hope, for we
these sacred walking
secular talking
people.

Successful rhetorical events,
as I recall,
and have co-passionately experienced
with ecstatic thrills
and mysterious chills of anticipation,
wanting more and more
cascading throughout my too isolated life,

Are cooperatively held spaces
resonant and verbal and non-verbal places
longing to become resilient
as ultra-violet light
in phosphorescent mystical night,
bright
and warm
without ballistic fright,
inviting sounds of sight.

So I drove home
basking in such rich
potentially resilient
transparent and vulnerable
articulate yet impassioned
felt experience
confirming all my own ego’s grand theories
about win/win non-violent
Rhetorical compassioning
Events.

My anxieties spoke later
about mutual physical
natural, yet also spiritual,
attraction–
this smell and taste neurological chemistry
of touch exhaling
to co-empathically predict
our romantically felt quality
inhaling integrity’s great resilient passions,
shared loves
communal,
deeply green cooperative,
that rhetorical day
as true and beautiful for us.

It has been thirty years
since my last first date,
with a man who became my unanticipated husband,
partner
spouse
lover
quarreler
critic
listener
emotive voice
co-investor
political ally
communicator
miscommunicator
long-term rhetorical event
cooperative space-holder,
mediator
not really quite green enough
for resonant felt
and thought co-passionate experience
near our end
of cohabitation.

Nearly half my lifetime,
thirty years,
and I feel anxious
I have not yet learned
appropriate new old person rules
of transparency
and vulnerability
to be clear
and kind,
compassionately clear
about my natural/spiritual
physical/metaphysical attractions,
anticipations,
anxieties.

When I last dated
a gay encounter of the first kind
either ended nakedly together
or with a scheduled second date
with a bed
or a sling
or a deserted moonlit beach
front and center on our anticipated menu

Or ended in disaster,
no connection,
no further warm and resonant communication,
no passing green light Go!

I did not “date”
men who lived so very far away,
out of state,
unless one of us was planning to relocate
or both of us were anticipating
an extremely resonant
one hot night stand
lying down together,
exploring all the vertical
and horizontal dances
we could imagine ever wishing we had done
to further gather
future’s warm anticipations.

I am anxious
because I do not want to disappoint you
or me
about our embodied
non-verbal communication
and passion together.

My own nakedness
lies nowhere near my vulnerable
and transparent self-esteem
as was the case
when I last dated
and I do not know
what to do
and not do
with that.

I have no mentors,
no wise teachers,
no therapeutic facilitators,
no sex therapist
to talk and touch me through
this anxiety.

But, I do anticipate
an unfortunate comparison
I met on our silvered dating site
the same day I first heard you
connect climate pathological effects
with capitalistic causes,
which immediately won my curiosity
to know
just how deeply knowing
we might go
together,
and not apart.

I met another singer
another meditator
another deeply
physically connected
to Taoist sensory communication
yangly verbal and yin non-verbal,

More physically incarnated
and less metaphysically abstract
less theoretical
merely rhetorical
more mature
aged
connected like wine with cheese
and re-connected
than my own experience
in how to mutually
yet maturely
please.

Last evening we talked.
His voice sings and rings,
warmly chills and quietly thrills.

And, he is closer.
Teaches dance.
We anticipate learning together
how to tango horizontally
without creating an entangled mess
at our ripe old average age
of 69

Which,
when I last dated
was a cooperatively rhetorical
erotic position
and not an age
which we sensually anticipated
without great anxiety
about resilience
of sensual resonance.

For me,
this need not be a win or lose,
either-or situation.
Even less so
if I thought the two of you
would appreciate each other
in this partner searching
lifeline rivered
shivered way,
but that is not what I would anticipate
either of you would say.

So, that is what is on my mind
and heart
and root chakras
this another deep green
ego-centering
and ecosystemic rhetorical day.

Said my vertical horizontal way,
physical and metaphysical
natural and spiritual
secular and sacred
love with you
and hell to pay,
anxiously anticipating
your kind
non-maligned
response.

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Summer Saturday

On a Michigan farmer Saturday
in August,
anticipating tomorrow’s evangelical Sabbath,

When late summer vacations
invoked pre-sacred house cleanings
more unusually light,

Heading outside after lunch
into this spectacularly breezy
blue billowing
discontinuously cumulus cloudy
in-between radiant sky blue
infinite wonder

Into this awesomely long leisurely afternoon
becoming one of those special kids
sent out to rediscover solitary play
while Mom clears HER kitchen
to fill our kitchen
with impossible fragrance
of Sunday dinner rhubarb pie
or fresh strawberry shortcake,
whipping vanilla or banana cream
while boiling sweet yellow corn,
baking mac and ancient cheddar cheese
for this evening’s pre-dusk compline dinner.

On this first summer celebrating Saturday
of low humidity
and temperatures predicting September 70s

Out past our red barn
and past its barnyard lily pond
and into golden stubbled hay fields,
sheared sexy contoured face
of my temporarily uncloseted gay imaginings
hoping for YangGod’s sexiest face
smiling in sabbath of return

Continuing on
to private green cool woodland
to nakedly climb a favorite tree
skin to naked bark,
full-bodied embrace
of this fabulous shared EarthLife
transparent
and open
and breezy free with God’s inclusive hope.

Out to play
and pray
this day
and month
and vacation
and re-creation
will never end

Or end,
if time must continue,
in moonlit radiant peace,
night dreams
of asking into perfect Sabbath.

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Slow-Cooked Conversion Stories

I was raised in one of those white nationalist churches,
passing itself off as a Christian evangelical Bible church,
where “evangelical” meant fundamental
and “fundamental” meant we did not interpret scripture
but accepted it as God’s literal trans-historical Word
of universal white male dominant
Bible thumping supremacy,
transcendently un-changing like…
like…
like nothing I’ve ever seen or heard
or smelled or tasted

Which is why we call not-Him-or-Her “God”
and not “SuperEgo”
or multicultural “Gaia”

Or anything else.
It turns out “God”
is a bit like not saying Valdemore’s name;
As Yahweh
is more about the ambiguously missing vowels
than their YHWH
YYXY
Either/Or-Both/And
bicameral structure.

Anyway, enough about sacred bisensory ecology.
While at People’s Bible Church
I was told, by all the white heterosexual adults
supporting and educating me
that being born again is not a gradual thing,
like growing into a pubescent body,
but instant,
like convenient oatmeal
or inferior mashed potatoes.

If I could not say,
with one hundred percent persuasion,
that I was reborn in Christ
on May 8, 1964
at 2:53 PM
Eastern Savings Time,
Just as I was originally born
on May 8, 1952
at 2:53 A.M.,
much to my mother’s inconvenience–
finished just in time to get home
to our dairy farm
for an unleisurely visit with “The Girls”
during her morning milking parlor gig–
Then the deviant
devilish mark of Satan
still clouds my not so milky white
not straight enough
not truly pure soul.

Such instant and yet resilient grace
felt unlikely to me.

I did not instantly lose hope
for a hot SantaDaddy
sliding down our family chimney
emerging from the family wood-burning furnace,
scorched of unnecessary
and superfluous clothes
to give me all the fruited manly gifts
I have felt so empty without
warm and wet accompaniment,
accomplishment.

Gradually,
over several years of neglecting this Santa myth
as cultural fantasy,
I did not wake up on May 8, 1956,
at 2:53 A.M.
and announce to all those not listening,
“I no longer believe in Santa Claus.”

De-mythification progress
seems to take me
about as long as my left-brain
dominating commodification process
took to grow into queer adolescence,
feeling unsafe,
unwanted,
with a best case possible future
of invisible insignificance,
hidden deeply beneath healthy humility.

Just as it took awhile to comfortably acclimate
to the toothlessness of myth,
It took me all my development years
on into late adolescence
to be sure that I would never safely
or resiliently convert
into a heterosexual.

When we were mutually experimenting grade school boys
during not much sleep overs
I was sure we shared the same destiny–
future heterosexuals,
Mr. Cleavers,
Mr. Smiths
not all too fascinated with Mr. Johnsons.

I didn’t suddenly realize,
“Oops. I failed to convert.”
Maybe I was a late bloomer,
just as some girls get pubes
and teats
and mensies later on
which seemed like more unfair girl pressure
than just sprouting new hair in old moist places
and growing at least somewhat less girlish voices.

Just as there was no May 8, 2:53 P.M.
of any year
when I knew,
“OK, that’s it.
It’s done growing
in both length and width.”
I had no day or night
when I said,
“OK, that’s it.
I choose to be queer”
so I can be the target of hate crimes,
bad jokes,
white Christian heterosexual predators,
bigoted employers,
homophobic police
and teachers
and parents
and siblings,
and preachers

Fully capable of witnessing against me
the exact date, time, and year
they began their life long love affair
with white male Jesus Christ,
straight (presumably) Jewish carpenter’s apprentice,
Son of God and…
and…
God,
who finished creating Earth,
and at least our entire Solar System,
exactly seven days
after He started, on May 8th
at 2:53 A.M.,
year 0000.

I have developed health-considered faith
in win/win progressive processes.
I accept that faith actively hopes in unseen relationships,
unheard communications,
unnoticed actions and reactions.

Still,
I find an always changing
transparent
vulnerable,
courageously curious difference
between left-brain statements of verbal instant faith,
and right/left-brain emerging lifeskill learnings
conversions
healings
redemptively felt economies,
salvific co-relational powers,

And I have trouble believing
that such ubiquitous differences
between slow-grown processive maturation
and imitative instant role-playing
is only accessible to queers,
white, black, brown, red, purple, green, or ultra-violet,
born on May 8, 1952
at 2:53 A.M.
much to the inconvenience
of busy heterosexual
pre-millennial dairy farmers.

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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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Feather Pillowed Fighting Stalk

My handsome brown-skinned husband
was once again velvet-voiced complaining
just this morning
while I was staring
glaring at my overstuffed sock drawer,

“You are so consistently ambivalent
and reliably inconsistent
I have no idea what’s coming next
from your lack of erection direction.

You ‘both-and’ everything
hopelessly,
yet tirelessly,
looking for the perfectly balanced win-win
in a win-lose
eat or be eaten world.
I have no idea
what you would do without me.”

Although I somewhat more hopefully resemble this remark
and I can see he is not not wrong,
or right,
totally dark or totally bright,
all his “either black or white”
left-brain dominance
does sound impatiently judgmental.

So, in an impulsive moment of ginger anger,
I respond

“You are so poor
you’ve never had two co-incidental thoughts
to rub together.”

“Is that like a mixed metaphor
or something sinister
unpulled together?
Anyway, that sounds shockingly ungenerous
from win-win you.”

“Sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

“What feelings?”

“I think my question is
Which feelings did I hurt?”

“My feelings about personal wealth
and left-embodied with right-mind cooperative
win-win political health
to handle your dipolar co-arising appositions.”

Maybe I’ll go with one old dark sock
and one white privileged.

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Love Hate Comparisons

I want to live in a healthy place,
at least as mature as junior high school,
where who I reciprocally love,
gay or straight or span-sexually in-between,
is not a political and economic football,
a wildly bouncing and rebounding issue
full of hot air
for others to kick around
and divest of
as they lose punishing interest.

Yet who we choose to hate,
deviantly or not,
is a BusinessAsUsual privatized non-issue
for an unhealthy society
to publicly notice
before quickly fading
into private fields
of NO TRESPASSING apartheid.

I would strongly prefer
to never apologize
for who I healthy love,
than unhealthy hate.

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Green Gay Advocate

When I was about twelve
I began to see my future
as a ruthlessly effective
overpoweringly sublime advocate for justice
as global peace outcomed and measured,
As a courtroom drama officer
of the U.S. multicultural Court EcoSystem,
A flaring hot attorney
of the U.S.
and global green
legal testosterone-preferred system.

When I was about sixteen,
I began to question the resilience
of Win/Lose ecological and theological partial-rapture Dreams.
I wanted to belong
in a more resilient WinWin restoration
of local through global peace through ecojustice
and how could I do that
in a Win/Lose punishment egosystem
designed to avoid
or at least ignore
Loser predator and Loser prey’s ultimate EarthTribe outcomes,
pathological death and dying degeneration?

When I was about twenty
I began to see myself
as a great preacher and teacher
of WinWin co-redemptive multicultural
and permaculturally perennial religion
evolving straight through reincarnate cultures
ourselves.

But, how could I become that sainted preacher
of rainbow natural and spiritually timeless integrity
as an uncommitted agnostic,
a mere investigative journalist
rather than an active subject of history’s grand full-voiced stage,
or passive object of Win/Lose greed and lusting culture?

I lack sufficient articulation
within any one integrity path,
one Paradise garden polypathic,
one walk within God’s harmonic matriarchal newborn voices,
speaking creation
through naturally diversifying generations,
Advocating spiritual renewal
restoring WinWin revolutions
across every overt and pervert and divert system
in every sacred land?

When I was about twenty-four
I felt sufficiently redeemed
as a green gay prophet
of sensory revolutionary WinWin experience,
with some Win/Lose rapacious and tragic defeating compromises
with Truth
acidically associated WinWin kinships
with Earth’s diversely sheltering lights
and rhythmic patterns
of 4Dimensioned dynamic habitats
developed through cooperatively systemic relationships.

I lacked sufficient WinWin theory
to prophetically explain
how to cooperatively recapture such profoundly prescient passion
without psychotripic supports,
not physically sustainable–
yet another Win/Lose compromised dead-end.

Then there was my forty years
of vocational wilderness wanderings,
dark night of inside winter
outside desert walks,
inside confusion,
outside complaint
inside dissonance
to tolerate Win/Lose partially recycled monoculturing compromises
inhabiting LeftBrain deductive
Either good
Or bad
dominating dualist dueling AnthroTribe,

Not worshiping
or even listening to
natural/spiritual hybrids,
like lovely lilies in green gay meadow memories,
indigenous DNA enraptured
Right/LeftBrain Win/Win outside/inside
experience of polypathic rapture,
sacred enchantments.

When I was about 64
I began to understand
how miserable I would have been
as a Win/Lose advocate
of U.S. violently punishing elite entitlements
for an anthrocentric legal system
with no orthodox health v pathology insight,
little cooperative ecological hope,
bad mono-elitist inaccessible entitlement toward MisTrust
that once we enter God’s Great Patriarchal CourtRoom
anyone could possibly become integrally healed
for and by and of and with profoundly accessible
Win/Win experiential love
for Ego co-arising therapeutic Eco-justice
inside as outside habitat
of sainted green advocates.

Now I continue
as yet another Win/Win health non-officer
of Earth’s non-patriarchal CourtSystem,
A green gay outdoor student
increasingly without indoor Win/Lose over-invested portfolio.

This green gay preacher
is happy to Green Proclaim

It does not matter,
the Source of
current climate pathology,
health-trend portfolios,
robust v mistrusted health paradigms

Whether act of Western and LeftBrain dominant
over-extraction EitherUsNow-OrThemLater culture,
or religion of overt ego-distraction,
or whether illegal Act of God v. Future Resilient Healthy Creation
This climate pathology
cries through Win/Win ecosystemic hearts
of patriarchs and matriarchs alike,
and all creatures in-between
dipolar tipping points

To remember
To restore, inside and out,
Our sacred RedSky warnings and defenses
and secular open GreenSeas
timeless landed vocational ground
soil
soul to resonate Paradise green ecojustice,
cooperatively owned
and DNA healthy polypathic
wilderness peace within
without
Time our regenerately reverberating
GreenSoul advocating Selves.

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Jonathon Without David

Yin is my Taoist contemplative
named Jonathon.

He still longs for his King David intimacy
unblemished transparency.

Middle Eastern King,
a yang CEO
who also writes
and plays
and sings, maybe even harps,
ecofeminist anthems,
psalms of sacred gratitude.

Anthems raving organic purity
humane eco-care
filling nurture meetings
greetings
encounters of my most vulnerable
and best public-health transparent
love.

Grace as wealthy beloved days
through Global Climates,
cups running clear healthy water
divinely ecofeminist,
resonantly First Nation,
polypathically Taoist Yang over…

Yin, an ecofeminist monk
dreaming Jonathon.

 

 

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Predators

My older sister,
now in her early seventies,
which was about the last time
she enjoyed a new idea,
in the early 70s, possibly earlier,
I would guess…

She moved to white middle-class
Republican Texas,
with aging Texas sized unresolved adolescent issues,
not too long
after dropping out of Bob Jones University,
southern capital of all-white evangelical anti-Christian racism,
which had fallen prey to unfiltered privilege
of Republican Pharisees,
BadNews for all non-white
non-straight
polycultural ecofeminist Aliens,
therefore not authentically heterosexual white Jesus lovers,
or something patriarchal like that.

Anyway,
a few years ago
I let her know
I had recently been invaded,
not by a goodnews Hetero-Revival,
but by HIVirus.

HI!
I’m Positive.
Don’t pass it on.
Keep me to your loser self.

She emailed me back:
How do you feel about your choices
now?

A few years later
a hurricane went through Texas
and her gated community flooded
resulting in new front porch vistas
of alligators or crocodiles
or whatever Texans have down there,

besides angry straight white privileged Republicans
and Johnson Democrats of suspicious color
and green ecopolitical WinWin persuasions,

swimming upstream
hunting for white-meat prey.

I emailed my sister back,
How do you feel
about your choices
now?

Have not yet heard back.

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GLTY Anawim

A Taoist’s View of Bill Plotkin’s
Wounded Southern Orphan.

Really, dear,
that’s too long for a co-inviting title,
How about just-us for
Wounded Taoist Anawim?

Oh
I don’t think we want to go
grieving back there,
Those early teenage years
of viral WinLose hurts
and monocultural bullying.

Wounds of WesternYang against EasternYin anger
and fear of never regaining newborn WinWin
sacred childhood innocence
resonance
resilience.

Depressions and repressions
and lack of WinWin integrity guilt,
and abundance of LoseLose punishing jealousy,
and Loser victim shame
and NegativEnergy dark-yin karma.

Wounds of WinLose adolescent orphans
now compulsive
impulsive bipolar wounded ways
acting out WinLose internal-external retributions

And WinWin polypathic restorations
of innocent childhood
co-relationally free of LoseLose monoculturing
Yang against Yin
Outside against matriarchal Inside
LoseLose quarrels
yang bullying,
raping
and retributively shaming and guilting
terror
and cognitive dissonance
and chronic stress
and RightBrain nutritional sleep deprivation
and polyphonic polypathic polycultural outcome withdrawal
of innocent childhood healthy wealth
WinWin ZeroZones.

Wounded Sacred Orphans within
and without,
perennially planting
and harvesting
Immature Win-Yang
co-defined as
Lose MatriarchalYin
RightBrain sacred nutritional induction
cooperative invitations,
organic
as not so very much strategic nutritional tactics
for Future Search
cooperative outdoor-organic meetings
plannings
installations in Green ReForesting HealthSpace.

Resounding cooperatives
of and for DNA-RNA ZeroZone coinvestment
in cooperative research,
neither WinLose against
nor WinWin for WinLose
intuited adolescent
confusingly chaotic
assumptions,

LeftBrain-NorthWestBrain historically encultured
by WiseElder RightBrain-SouthEastBrain’s
sacred RNA-Green CoOperative EcoHealth
ecologically, and yet also theologically,
articulating
languaged polynomials
of ZeroZone identities
cooperative bilaterals
dipolar co-arisings WinWin secular health
bipolar co-gravitations LoseLose sacred wealth.

I was thinking of something
a bit less complex
and more Plotkin dynamically flowing.

South Wounded Orphans
complement WinNorthWest-WinSouthEast strengths
of reintegrating WiseElder North
by holding an essential cooperative southeastern GLBTQ leadership key
to sacred ego-ecological climate healing
of our fractal Adolescent Identity Wounds
for SpringTime Orphans,
unchosen
unsung
undanced seeds of adolescence

Adolescent MotherTrees can yin-sing, dear
but it’s harder to hear
they can dance through nurturing roots
long before those festive swaying branches.

MotherTrees
and smaller plants
and their WinWin pollinators too,
And their WinLose voracious predators
all becoming climate uninvited,
especially wherever we overpopulate
turning from WinWin EarthTribe thriving
back toward WinLose Wounded Adolescent Orphans
doing our innocent best
to survive such LoseLose TLGB
Lose-matriarchal to Lose-patriarchal
yin/yang-trending grief

Without YinSquared
WinWin EnLightening
DeepLearning Green Plotkin Fractal-CoOperatives
inside both outside and
Left with ElderRight
secular-sacred bicameral
dipolar co-arising
Solidarity with PolyPathically Wounded.

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