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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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Not-Not Rhythms

If two mistakes are not better than one
then why do two negatives equal a positive?

Why does not not peace
not equal justice?

Who does not not dying
not equal fully cooperative living?

Why does not not fear of future or anger about past
not equal love for this present moment?

Why does not not now
not equal heavenly eternity?

Why does not not you
not equal me?

Why does not not motivated
not equal co-redemptively determinated?

Why does not not way out there
not equal way deep co-operating ecology?

Why does not not sin of omission
not equal grace of solidarity commission?

Why does not bad karma
not equal really good karma?

Why does not not yet dead
not equal still fully alive?

Why does not not my way
not equal the best highway?

Why does not not
not equal Yes Yes!?

Why do not bad nightmares
not equal really good dreams?

Why do not not monocultures
not equal fully climaxing beloved polycultures?

Why does not negativity
not equal sufficient positivity?

Why does not not night
not equal day?

Why does not not go
not equal stay?

Why does not not live
not equal decay?

Why does not not devolutionary dissonance
not equal revolutionary livedance?
“Not not.”
Who’s there?
“Guess.”
Guess who?
“I guess you?”

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Fuller’s Cosmic Consciousness

Said Harvard to Bucky
we feel quite so lucky
your genius on campus
has caused quite a ruckus
but this time we’re sure you’re less mucky;

And yet we’re not sure
which department could endure
your thesis exegetical
your wisdom eisegetical
of what is and is not we’re less sure.

Perhaps you’re a poet
and the last ego to know it,
you thought this was science
mixed up with con-science,
your poetic verse helps you show it.

When Bucky wrote meta-physical science
we read him as physical conscience
and that could be fine
it fits with his rhyme
of teleopathic resonance.

There once was a Fuller who prehended
a Special Case universe co-prehensile
teleopathic embrace
wears polypathic face
as wisdom’s synergetic eco-tensile.

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License to Contract Co-Intelligent Life

Partnerships contract primal economic,
civil,
cultural rights between consenting mutually subsidiary parties;
ecojustice solidarity mentors relationship-building.

Marriage contracts regenerate deep ecological sacred rite,
a liturgy of procreative mutual polarity and parity
bi-naturally systemic.
Iconic of nature’s quintessential binomiality,
bi-normiality,
bionically balanced as dipolar “tension” or intention
and daily life-recommitted liturgical practice
of mutually subsidiary economic
and ecological perma-cooperative Union.

Ecology includes biological systems,
but also binomial self-regeneratively organized information systems,
patterns,
organisms,
paradigms,
language,
and natural systemic Yang/Yin balance
and root-systemic nutritional flow functions.

Ecotherapeutic contracts evolve best
composted equal partners
of Wisdom’s gravity frequency patterns
AND Light’s sensed humor functional flow rhythm.

We evolve a darkside for every exegetical Truth,
just as we revolve a lighter side to every False-False,
Fear of Fear Itself,
Hating Haters,
Love of Beloved Bicameral WeSelf
Not Negativing our Double-Binding
spacetime Positives.

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New Neighbors

I am just finishing my morning meditation when I hear my doorbell ring. It actually sounds more like that buzzing sound you hear if you fry a fat fly on one of those electronic bug swatters. On my way to the door I hope it’s not my new neighbor who just moved in the first floor apartment below me yesterday. Nobody wants a too friendly neighbor, right? I’m from the “fences make good compassionately mindful neighbors” school of thought about neighborly interdependence, much less intimacy.

I open the door to a 60-something blotchy, ashy, white-skinned man wearing grey polyblend sweatpants, slightly too short, over a pair of black Crocs, screaming “I gave up on myself years ago,” and a lighter grey zip up the front, grimy hoody with a ripped left pocket, sleeves pushed up over old-red-haired-man, possibly ex-athlete, thick  creepy hairy forearms.

Before I have a chance to let him know this feels invasive to me, or even say “Hello, who and why are you at my door during my meditation time?” the new downstairs neighbor starts flapping his jaws as if my ears were born to listen to his cheery wisdom.

“Hi, I’m Oliver. My two neurally challenged teenagers, Ivy’s the bratty girl, and Daquan is the perfect, but sometimes a little loud, sort of like a really ticked off roaring lion, but you’ll get used to it, son, and I are your new downstairs neighbors, and I wanted to meet you right away because I don’t want you to freak out and call 911 when you hear us yelling or screaming or crying or jumping endlessly hour after hour because Ivy is really hyper and because Daquan can’t speak but often seems to have a lot to bark and roar about what somtimes seems like its just gas and sometimes means he’s wet and is trying to tell me I need to put the novel down, or stop writing that dreadful sad poetry, or writing predictable lyrics for country-western songs, much less living them, and sometimes he’s just playing Tarzan, yodeling in his make-believe jungle. He’s legally blind and uses a wheelchair for school but at home he scoots and thumps around, surprisingly athletic, on his butt, kind of like an upside down inchworm if inchworms had feet and arms, if you know what I mean.”

I don’t have the first clue, actually, but we have no time, and apparently not the least commitment to discerning my own thoughts about Oliver’s communication and rationality skills, or lack thereof.

“My husband lives about a mile upriver in our cottage that we are trying to expand before the rest of us move in. He is tall, dark and handsome in an AfricanAmerican kind of way and is usually depressed, at least when he’s around us, which I can’t really blame him because Ivy is Oppositionally Ordered, I don’t know why they keep saying Fetal Alcohol kids have Oppositional Disorder because her capacity to oppose everything is most certainly not out of order, or in any way under-developed. She will pitch a fit if all you’re trying to do is get her up from her feeding trough to help her out of a poopy diaper. You would think that somebody was going to eat her food after she has already marked it with her drool. I have no idea why they would call that Oppositional Disorder. No one I have ever met has been more oppositionally wired synaptic than my daughter.”

“Anyway, Valentino, that’s my husband, he suffers from chronic depression which is too bad because he used to have this really nice soft sense of humor and romance, if you know what I mean, but now he’s just quiet and sad and afraid to retire because then he won’t have any friends that don’t drive him crazy like his family does, including me.”

“He complains that we’re too loud and the house is always filthy and my cooking is terrible but he likes to cook and clean so I don’t really get it why it’s not OK for me to not like to cook and clean, or do the laundry, or the dishes. Do you know what I mean? So, tell me about you.”

Finally, a question other than the parenthetical “do you know what I mean.”

“Ditto. Except mine are named, respectively, Poison, Tarzan, and Attila. Do you happen to like Ginseng tea with lots of honey?

 

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Cosmic Comedy Consciousness

Love wants nothing to do

with the everyday affairs of men.

Love’s only intention

is to catch the lover!

Rumi

 

God wants nothing to do

with the routine affairs of men,

God’s only intention

is to catch the lover’s attention!

 

I wonder if Freud’s id transfigured as a sociopathic burning bush

because Freud was drawn toward our shared holy ground of insanity,

internal competition for awareness and consciousness and belonging,

uncovering psychotherapeutic models for highly stressed cognitive dissonance.

 

Had he deep learned himself into Positive Psychology Mentors,

Freud might have grown a more positive consciousness

of self-id-entity as primally

and ecologically,

and economically informed by regenerative natural Supereco

optimizing ego-systemic development compost,

glimpsing paradigmatic Permacultural Design and Implementation,

regenerative standards for achieving and maintaining Climax Community

intimately and internally Yin-landscaped,

within coincidental external Yang landscaped awareness

of Other’s natural systemic ReGenesis.

 

Natural systems not coincidentally balancing

both interior-Yin and exterior-Yang

fail to thrive,

cannot evolve,

become at-risk of de-systemizing,

de-informating,

becoming Non-Polynomial former spacetime information;

a no-longer-incarnating Black Hole Codexed memory loss.

 

Underlying prime organic RNA/DNA fractal tipping-point balancing potentiality,

Bohm’s Implicate Order?

lies prime thermodynamic radiant circumferential harmony

polar-waving gravitational atomic protons,

over binomial QBit TrimTabbing neutrons,

over 4-fold dipolar explicating electrons,

ergodically and ionically synergizing away

back through linear time.

 

We weave agreement:

This Golden Ratioed Earth and all inhabitants

grow stressed in critical climatic transitions,

sprouting both degenerative dissonance

and confluent regenerative trends of

Positive Deviant alternative karmic incarnations.

Our optimal diapraxis,

to notice these currently emerging ecological economic paradigms,

subcultures of cooperative economics and vocations and communities,

and cooperative health care and political discernment for inclusive well-being,

Green Occupier Gaia University Boddhisatvas,

and Permacultural Designers,

Food Justice is Economic Justice is Climate Justice is Ecotherapeutic Justice is Earth Justice.

 

These prune confusion toward prudent understanding of shared core eco-values,

rich with therapeutic seed potential

to plant investment more strategically,

cooperatively,

within our more persistently dissonant negative cultural sociopathology,

divesting from long-term monopolizing and monocultural high risks,

exchanging positively valued Life Id-Entity

to invest in loss of population through monocultural anthropocentrism,

achieving nihilistic trend returns

through lack of conscience, conscientific deductive rationality

and Super-eco balancing awareness.

 

As I more permaculturally comprehend natural system development,

it’s not so much that God is dead,

and it’s not so much that God has an ego-optimizing sense of humor,

it’s more like God is our Supereco polycultural awareness

of dipolar balancing humors trading ego-eco role plays,

enlightening intuitions,

emergent coincidental evolution,

actively peaceful revolutions in cooperative enculturing id-entity comprehension,

recreation,

regenerative ecotherapeutic song and dance.

 

God grows empathetic love

to laugh within our dark places

to light their eco-identity faces.

 

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SuperEcoTeleologic Humor

Our most entertaining wise prophets,

our saints and messianic geniuses

are those who mentor us about what not to do

to sustain abundant life,

what could not possibly truthfully communicate,

what could not become orthodox faith again,

how not to become,

how not to cooperatively come together,

how not to commodify one’s life and relationships to other people,

and other natures,

and why.

 

Polypathic saints without a globally embracing sense of humor

about what we should not be doing and being,

yet continue becoming despite our organic orthopraxis

and permacultured plans,

are either hypocrites,

liars,

wrong,

or all of the above.

 

Under our shared Sun,

on our shared Earth,

nothing grows more grace-filled,

or karmically appropriate,

or mindfully compassionate,

more content,

more enlightened and wise,

than optimally sustaining a kind

and mutually grateful sense of humor

about our interdependent selves,

lives,

futures and pasts,

our messy shared-Earth home,

a paradise of stand up together comedic opera,

and mutual applause,

however silently smirked

through soft-eyed gold horizon stares.

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Polyculture Asylum

She still flinches

when a hand from on high

heads too close to her head,

like an abused undomesticated bitch

with too much oppositionally heated

bipolarity for safe freedom

outside silent medicated silos,

well intended asylums

without her sense of humor.

 

How would I live without her gift

of oppositional comedy?

Where yes means no, or maybe yes

or I’m not sure I grok what you say,

but I see smiling,

gratitude for time, life

mentoring me how we look to Other,

playing oppositional synergetic noticing,

then trusting functional potential

rather than swinging hand

from up,

and back at pain,

lost hope.

 

How would I trust without total faith in her

utterly sociopathic guilelessness?

She could tell a lie,

but why would she care enough

about what you think,

about what you smell,

about what you see, or don’t see, for that matter,

or even feel,

to bother to lie to you!?

 

So, when I ask her,

“Are you more happy now,

or more sad?”

and she opens her full radiant beams

up toward my hands

and lispily adds,

“More happy…what’s that smell?”

I know she would have said the same

even without this smell

I cannot quite sense,

and hope so much is not me.

 

To grow capacity for happiness

and brief glimpses of saner kindness,

like “Make me breakfast, please!”

without even a prompt,

and then the quiet “Thank you” gravy

as I turn my back

to wash her filthy dishes,

regenerates our polyculturing

lives of solidarity,

dancing eye-to-eye.

 

He, Yin son,

without capacity to language,

throws dimples on this dancing song

telling stories he learned by heart,

in shrieks and gales and waves of

rich composting laughter,

spinning wild saliva strings,

radiant Angelman joy.

 

Old Right hemispheric dominant

icon of ecological myth,

ego zero-balanced centric identity,

son of Universal Mediums,

breathes and beats his

well-indented teething ring,

hypnotic alchemistirring wand

drenched with passionate mindfulness.

 

 

 

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Princess Drivy Crazy

Princess Drivy Crazy stares cross-eyed alone with internal voices driving her flight toward our unsuspecting future, then throws her oppositionally challenged head back, swelling adolescent breasts, her proud ripeness out and up and forward, arching her back, ecstatic smile broadcast across gleaming black-glazed bipolar pupils, grateful for language not too foreign, “Princess, I do so love you, today and always feel and know sure passion in your joy, your beauty, goodness, your rightness, your hopeful path of humor lest you tear from memorized neglect, depraved cultural confinement,” responding without access to s and l, “A**ho**!” she laughs, to please and thank-you in our we-discovering way.

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