Tag Archives: love

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Conversion Therapies

I could not support a ban on Conversion Therapy
to change gay into straight,
spirals into lines,
because I believe we should each be free
to pay for any alternative languages
someone might be prepared to make
and write
and speak,
with self-marketing audiences to listen
with therapeutic outcomes genuinely preferred.

If some unhappy gay person,
or lesbian longing to be not,
remains willing to invest in persuasions
to switch teams,
transfer and exchange identities,
then that’s a high risk investment
that will die its own ego-exhausting death
when conversion
levels into diverse reversions
and/or some depriving perversion of healthy cooperating love,
or inversions into repressive silos called despair
and, more likely, some of all
of the above.

But, conversion therapy for unhappy gay to happy straight
only if this becomes equally available
accessible therapies
for unhappy straight toward happy gay,
for if it can work
to teach someone into a different dominant identity,
then it could work both ways,
more bisexually.

And, if conversion therapies can,
they should,
to be fair to all those unhappy
with their current team,
or teams,
preferably multiculturing toward health,
rather than monoculturing toward further climates of pathology.

Then we might invite further Conversion Therapies.
Unhappy Conservatives
becoming wealthier quasi-progressive
Earth natural-spiritual residents again,
and vice versa,
except more ecotherapeutic conservators
of regeneratively full-steamed life.

If all it takes is investing in some therapist
to convert my unhappiest attributes
into those that would make my new best ecopolitical day,
then such therapy should not just be free
from gay to straight
and straight to gay
but equally persuasive
for all now feeling out
wanting more in toward sane integrity.

But, investors beware,
we have had many WinLose Therapists
for unhappy powers to become more capital rich,
yet only few narrow WinWin unhappy rich
to become more simply and contentedly reinvesting
away from larger WinLose anti-therapeutic tragedies.

The larger WinLose therapeutic sector
has best outcomes
only for already full-played out entrepreneurial change agents,
and their larger scale not-so-therapeutic marketers
of further competitions
within and between
our diverse unhappy identities.

Conversion AntiTherapy
would be so funny
if not so ecopolitically tragic.

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Strange Love

We are surrounded,
sometimes aversively beset,
upset,
by diverse warm and colder felt attributes of love.

We have each known and felt candidates for resonance,
waiting for our more stringent,
yet also generous,
articulation.

Those remaining who believe unfettering capitalism
must be forced for sake of appropriate and necessary liberties,
secured and maintained
even with military industrialized precision of commodified violence
and at least threat of strong and redundantly-armed offenses,
abuse and systematic nutritional neglect,
within our own corporal and capital punishing families,
wherein ego defensive strategies have been removed from conserving cooperatively resonant health,
in our local and state armed militias
contractually ready to represent us through arrest and fines
for crimes of poverty
and self-medication,
addiction and absent self-esteem
and lack of behavioral health and safety assurance,
and in our well-capitalized politicians,
not necessarily experienced with judicious cooperative diplomacy
even within their own extended family lives,
living in lack of love-leadership cities;
this BusinessAsUsual remaining ungrateful portion
of Earth’s self and other loving citizens
must be invited by and through mentors
refining attributes of sacred love.

We need to cool down strong words for sacred outrage.

It has been said
God’s love, like humane love,
can be ruthless against injustice.
A better word is relentless.

It has been said
Love sometimes requires us to behave savagely.
Better words encourage us to behave wildly and radically
and profoundly forgiving
with gratitude to Earth
for this mutually held
wildly extravagant
co-operative vocation.

It has been said
Sacred love is committed to destroying illusions
born of anger and fear and hatred’s nightmares,
mistrust growing active distrust
of this WinLose devolving
descending
species of would-be and self-proclaimed anthro-supremacists.

Yet it is more accurate and precise
to see
and smell
and taste
and hear
and grow love’s Full Yang/yin commitment
to Integrative/destruction of double-bound illusions,
born of both ShadowYang’s capital idolatry
of and to and for Ego’s greatest Plutocratic HealthClub Memberships
and ShadowYin’s rabid paranoid-bipolar resistance
to LeftBrain deductive-only,
no nondualistic inductivists invited
to play with double-binding dualistic reductivists,
self-proclaimed both feet on floor realists,
segregating NaturalLeft-Physics from dipolar SpiritualRight-MetaPhysics,
ShadowYang’s anti-bilateral disculturing dominance,
overshoot of sacred Love’s
Left-Right polypathic harmonics,
refining word choices and concomitant feelings
of and for sacred multiculturing love.

Seeking ecopolitically correct advocacy
for PeaceWarriors conjoining JusticeMentors,
more judicious diplomats of love’s vast integrity,
inclusive of double-binding dualistic illusions,
born from fear
to redeem love’s dualdark co-gravitating potential.

We evolve and revolve diversifying attributes
of and for sacred ecology,
poignant and fertile love
of Nature’s Health–Spirit’s Wealth,
YangLeft struggling with and never against YinRight,
indigenously wild Win/Win integrities.

 

 

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Great Commissions/Small Omissions

In all things, give thanks.

Surrounded,
overwhelmed by claustrophobic depression,
gratitude.

Gratitude, a sacred noun,
positive attitude, a secular verb phase.

Depression and gratitude,
depressed gratitude,
mystical oxymoron.
Impossibly essential
potential.

Repression and victory.
Hope in and through blind and deaf,
senseless faith in power of positions
over doubling down negative
to co-arise resonant resolutions.

Suppression yet naked clarity,
dualdark yet light-squared
and cubed
and fractal holonic,
holy,
sacred self enslavement,
mortality
despair.

Desecrated Earth
and inhumane capitalized bodies,
giving thanks
in dawn’s promised dusk.

Within,
above,
below all,
giving thanks receiving thanks,
sacred acclimating gratitude,
humbling attitude.

Great commissions,
emissions,
omissions;
elevating attitudes
descending through our past.
Elevators rise to fall to rise
within great and small commissions.

Paradise fulfills embryonic love
as love grows roots in positive faith
as faith emerges out of naked hope
as hope fertilizes absence of mistrust’s despair.

Desperation’s absence
begins with absence of pathological denial,
returning Earth’s embryonic trust
with mistrust,
light squared fertility
returning dualistic darkness.

Energy is capital,
our regenerative god
and our degenerating idolatry.

Our subsidies
grow our investments in future health
and our divestments out of past pathologies.

Information is the capital derivative of energy,
as exformation departs from embryonic negentropy.

Great commissions of gratifying robust systems
grow from small omissions of dissonant mistrust.

In all trusted and mistrusted things, give thanks.

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Opposites of TooHot Climates

The opposite of warm is cold
but what lies in-between?

The opposite of friction is fusion
and Earth’s living systems evolve in-between.

The opposite of Capitalist Empire Building,
with military industrialized full-investment strength,
is Earth Cooperative Paradise,
flowing fusion of fertile fulfillments,
in-between ego competition monopoly games
and eco-centered global cooperative ownership,
where competitions of EitherOr economic deduction
revisit cooperations of BothAnd political seductions
to ecopolitically define love
as at best and most optimally present
within active cooperative ownership,
interdependent multicultural governance,
polypathic LeftYang-RightYin fusing climate within
as Left-Western Capitalism-Right Eastern Creolization
fusing economic and politically cooperative networks,
matriarchal/patriarchal balancing creation stories
without.

The opposite of competition’s too-hot
is ice-fused cold paralysis,
but what and when and where and who and how to
flow nutritionally in-between?

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Deviating Sisters

One of my sisters believes I chose to be queer.

Did you remind her
you had no more choice about chasing guys
than she did?

Yes.
But her favorite televangelist
says I must be mistaken,
or just lying,
because who wouldn’t choose to be hated
by all the hetero homophobes
like televangelists,
right?

That makes no sense.
She can’t really believe
you would choose to belong
to any repressed and humiliated minority,
especially during early onset of puberty,
when every girl and boy in any culture
is terrified of becoming different,
or special,
or weeded out of the clickety-clak pack.

Well, as she sees it,
she is in a LoseLose double-bind.
Either I chose to be queer, and am thereby demented,
or God graces all forms of WinWin sexual expression,
which would be contrary to her homophobic enculturation,
so it is easier to believe I am nuts
to choose perversely
than to consider herself nuts
not to choose more graciously,
especially with regard to God’s creative capacity for love,
rather than simplistic judgments
which look and smell and sound like patriarchal sexism
more than radical fertility of God’s healthy wealth
of incarnating love for all children,
red and yellow,
black and white,
gay and straight
and shades of grey transgenderal,
each is precious in our multiculturing
nurturing
MotherEarth’s sight.

What about your other sister?

Oh, she agrees.

With what, or whom?

She agrees we’re all nuts.

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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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Succeeding Days

How old was I
when each succeeding year
each successive year
became each falling year,
each failing year?

How old was I
when each year fell away
as did each month and week and day,
both succeeding less
and failing more
resigned to fade out play?

How old is just right maturity
of days falling off
away?

My calendar begins with clearly given rebirth dates,
succeeds toward organic dusk conclusions
on a day and week and month
within a year not yet quite fully numbered
and yet already fading toward some numeric memory
for those who remain succeeding
more than failing
through days and nights of fears
and faith
our wins outweigh these latticed losses.

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EarthDay by Day

Day by day
within each passing shadow,
surging strength
to grow from fear through time.

Night by night
without full hope of living,
doubt pervades
my troubling mind’s worst fears.

Night by day
and day by night
within each dwelling passion,
faith I find
to live despite dark nights.

Day by night
and night by day
we dream co-dwelling passions,
loves as lives
to die apart in light,
to fly as part of bright.

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Afraid to Love Too Widely

This ancient apposition
between fear and love,
distrust and trust,
where fear reigns, love has already faded into too-distant hope;
where love co-redeems,
fear can naught but evaporate.

Such dipolar oppositions wear newer wings
of healthy permaculturing wealth
and impoverishing WinLose anti-systemic pathology.

These speak in transliterating dialects
of trusting regenerate truths
and distrusting degenerating dissonance,
arrogance,
confusion,
apathy,
absence of sustaining interdependent curiosity,
dipolar co-gravity.

Those who dance through bilateral designs
of permacultural influence
for polyculturing love’s integrative outcomes,
extinguish LeftBrain’s angry mono-political fears
of disintegrative eisegetical outgo.

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Vistas of Love

When I imagine my iconic vistas of love,
I watch a sunset
red and yellow,
purple and pink,
bruised lavendar and darkening grey
until pointing jagged mountain peaks
turn to black understoried landscape
plunging against gravity
toward slowly emerging sea
of glittering stars
strobeless yet twinkling pinpoints
of light’s long poignant memories.

When I imagine this vista
I also see
through my velvet brown-skinned manchild’s deep autumnal eyes
starting back and forth,
side to side,
without capacity or need for language
to absorb Earth’s dusky light and pine-soaked scent
turning up toward dancing brights,
’til dawn’s epiphany of grey,
then nearly violent, love.

When I imagine iconic eros vistas
and feel internal agape
conjoining philos,
appearing nowhere
except together,
like Yang strong bright
and Yin flow night.

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