Uncategorized

Hate-Love Relationship

Where we embrace love,
Grief is as strong as death;
love lost.

Where we are afflicted with hate,
Gratitude is as strong as death;
loss wished for.

Grief rages against loss,
Yet gratitude lost
can become violently angered,
terrorist frightened
of present and future
as past’s reincarnate vulnerable pain.

Grief begins
felt in solitary vulnerability.
Gratitude eventually heals
through transparently shared solidarity.

Love is as strong as
mortality’s vulnerable weakness.
No more,
no less,
as these merge into one healing face
of gratitude for co-relational gain
more than mere absence of pain.

Habitual love,
Earth-inhabiting resonant life,
Eco-regenerativity
as strong as
Ego-relationality.

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Uncategorized

Fear InBetween Faith

Gratitude’s past grief
brief repast

When re-articulating grief
becomes transparently warm passion,
yet without terrifying overheated anger,
we are together filled with resonantly vulnerable sound
and traumatic sight,

Therein opens new possibilities,
avenues,
tides,
streams,
neurological highways
surfing for resiliently polypathic gratitude,

An experiential reminder,
a virtuous feedback loop,
in which daily reborn life intends love
extends above
down beyond,
deeply rooted within
all Other
awareness;

Grief of anciently fore-shadowed separation
to repair EarthTribe’s loyal gratitude.

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Uncategorized

A Last Beautiful Day

It’s a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
to go out and play.

If your name is D,
D D D D D
It’s a beautiful day
for a D through an A
on back to awesome other
DD da-days
to go out and play.

It’s a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
to go out and play.

If ya wanna avoid some trouble
and your Trumps are marching double
time, and climates start to rumble
Inside voices in full tumble

It s a great day
to take your butt outside and play
Go on ahead and freely stray
Come back when you’re ready to active pray
we learn to cooperate our play
before this last green outside day
was safely felt just yesterday

It’s a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
to go outside
this one last tide
to pray and play
a cooperating day.

D D D D day
go on out and play
it’s your last beautiful day
to have a fresh breath play.

It’s a beautiful night
It’s a beautiful night
It’s a beautiful night
to spin out of sight.

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Uncategorized

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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Uncategorized

Death Sentences

Death leaves a sacred hole
where once lived a whole relationship
with both potential future
and a now more cherished past

Still seen
and heard
and smelled,
tasted and felt, sensed
and incensed
through an echoing hole of darkly bitter loss.

I would be a hypocrite
and a liar
if I were to condemn
our sons and their cherished friends
for cowardice
or craziness
for choosing to end their lives.

When government sanctioned taking of life
goes on and on and on
we call this the cost of just wars
or a death penalty
rather than a life forfeit.
Yet it is the living
who repay this price.

It could be more honest
to call these deliberate extractions
a death investment
and perpetual re-investment
of a culture not yet sure of how radically vulnerable
compassionate life could
and should
become.

Death investment repeated as long as politically expedient,
and also personally poignant
whether self or other inflicted
or something in-between.

I do not grieve his loss of future
but my own

For to grieve my own lost future,
all we might have yet become together,
is honest,
and holy

While to grieve his lost future
is to dishonor his choice
and his compulsion
to part ways
when life felt too dishonest
to bear another traumatic day.

To be born
before or after
or beside and aside one’s right-felt time
and nurturing place
is already loss of future
sent through messages past
as love grows too thin and faded
lust for life descends too jaded,
loss of faith
for hope
arising futures now lost.

I would not dishonor,
too easily dismiss,
suicidal loss of life
as complete insanity
as if I could claim,
with full integrity,
that inhumane and too-patriarchal living losses
are not shy of full-grown sanity.

As this day closes,
this time and place
in tears of loss
without fanfare,
without deadly sentences
much less farewells,
I yet lack courage
of my own despair
about our future of continuing death investment
as measured by my own limits
for tolerating inane insanity,
vitriolic violence,
absurd abuse
of calling deliberate death investments a penalty
as if any life were something reasonably erased
through ultimatum fines
for having had an unfortunate birth day.

This death leaves a sacred hole
where once lived a whole relationship
of futures cast together
now gently placed
apart.

What did he see
that I have not yet felt
strongly enough
to choose to never see again?

This question changes those left behind
for the rest of our haunted days and nights.

Why him,
and not yet me,
not yet us?

 

In honored memory of Greg, lived Large, yet much too short, measures of suicide and other death investments.

 

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Uncategorized

Untimely Silence

Most folks I loved
died when I was in my thirties.
Not just people,
but our San Francisco bohemian mecca lifestyle,
our 365 days and nights celebration
turned into an epidemic of waiting
and watching
and mourning our losses,
wondering about possibilities of survival.

What could remain for us,
for me,
for this place?
What could become my purpose
our purpose
for any lonely future of diaspora survivors?

My closest friend,
a happily married matriarch
with two adolescent children,
died of breast cancer
when I was in my early forties.

Perhaps this was my final straw.
I have not reconstructed any friendships since.

This reminds me of my maternal grandfather,
who lived into his eighties
but as his quantity of years continued
his quality of celebrated convivial life shrank
through loss of two wives
and all their friends,
his generation of neighbors,
and then his hearing.

He told me
not long before he passed
he was not sure
if his loss of hearing was a curse
or a blessing,
prohibiting him from cultivating renewing friendships
only to be lost yet again.

My own hearing is not perfect
yet I seem unwilling to listen
for any more friends,
loved ones I could no better afford to lose
than those already gone.

Yet still I wonder
about therapeutic reasons for my survival.
As fertile celebrations fade to dusty memory,
my capacity to comprehend why I still breathe,
yet my generation of intentional families has long passed,
shrunk to incomprehensible mystery
as did my revered grandfather’s hearing.

The best I can hear,
through this epidemic distance,
I rescued by adoption
then by love
four hurt children
no one else wanted,
and each continues teaching me how to love hims and her,
when I listen well,
in their distinctive needy ways and broken means.

Yet even here
with these final four
I night sweat in guilty worry
about how they could best thrive
when I can, at last,
no longer hear them,
nor they me.

Most folks I loved
died when I was young,
leaving me to wonder
severed prospects for survival.

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