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Are We Safe?

Am I safe?
Do I matter?

Are we safe?
Do we matter?

Am I sustainably healthy?
Do I resonantly matter enough?
to survive win/lose evolutionary assumptions
about history,
to thrive within win/win multicultural wealth.

According to the amygdala center
of our Default Mode Network
bicameral in/ex-formation processor,
“Am I safe?”
we originally ask of EarthMother womb,
While “Do I matter enough to survive?”
MotherEarth asks of still individuating me/we.

Climate and multicultural trends
premillennially presumed to answer “Yes!”
to both questions
optimistically predicting win/lose evolution
would lead,
through MotherEarth’s manifestly destined reach,
toward win/win Alpha/Omega Tipping Point Balance,
ZeroParadise organic zones
of multicultural design
for enriched polyculturing global outcomes.

But,
in this post-millennial Time,
Whose mighty Yang Amygdala
does not answer these same questions
with a crippling and troubling,
dissonant “No!”?

I am not safe
from inhumane mortality of life,
for cooperatively interdependent species,
for survivable Earth history
for continuing communication,
for complexly organized organic relationship.

Do I matter?
to survival history of Earth,
to thrival win/win multicultural economies
regenerationally reborn by EarthMothers
of all colors
and stripes
and spots
haired and furred,
wooled and feathered,
shelled and fish-scaled.

Are we safe?
How deeply
and extensively
do we matter
to Earth’s living history?
to GaiaEarth’s healthy multicultural outcomes
and incomes,
divestments and investments,
detachments and attachments,
degenerations and regenerations,
entropy and energy?

Why are we safe/not safe?
How do we matter/not matter?

What is the historic significance of communication;
the multicultural transcendence of relationship?

Why are we health
communicating?
How do we widely
and deeply wealth
rooted relationships?

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Teaching Power

Teaching can feel depressingly predative
to younger minds
preferring to not evaporate while preyed upon.

Mentoring can feel more hopefully symbiotic
with younger,
fresher,
less domesticated minds
preferring to mutually stalk
shared prey of symbiotic and creolizing truths
between generations,
ancient to yet unborn.

Parenting can feel parasitic
to younger minds and bodies
ready to break free
of aging hosts,
relentlessly hoping
to pass along some semblance of grace
as gratitude
for Earth’s co-investing gifts.

Parenting could,
in hypothetical theory,
invite mutuality,
more like benign parasites,
who know and love each other,
moving from harboring co-dependencies
to seeking mutual interdependence
for further good-humored
yet vulnerable
exploitations of honest life as mutual gifting forward.

Power,
energy,
nutrition,
even vibrant health
can feel like unmitigated competitions
where if I win
then someone else must lose,
when all the most important choices
are between Either Yes
Or No.

I suppose power could feel more limited.
Power to mutually avoid
and live in side by side autonomous silos
of live and let love,
where if I win
then so must you
and if you win
then so must I
and if this generation wins
then so must future generations
where all our mutually avoided choices
issue forth within Both Yes for me
And NotNot No for you.

Teaching power can feel predative,
as mentoring interdependent powers
invites deep harmonic ecology,
sacred symbiosis
of me
as also notnot you.

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Nuclear Family Issues

Might we be having trouble fusing nuclear energy,
as opposed to the more troubling nuclear fission’s anti-energy,
because nuclear fusion is just normal everyday Business As Usual
cooperation of thermodynamically fusing nuclei?

Oh, I see,
like it’s easier to notice you’re having another nice healthy day
after you experience the divisive holacaustic implosive alternative?

Yes dear.
Like visiting my lovely mother
and not your dreaded mother-in-law.

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Decomposing Love

Can you truly love a rock,
you’ve never directly seen or touched,
or some other relatively inanimate object,
like ego-centrism,
or a steel wall?

If so, then how is your love
different from a more unilateral “appreciate you”?

If not, then what is different between your “love”
and your “co-passions”,
compassion,
passion with and toward,
but not “passionate energy received from,” necessarily,
or, Yes! Necessarily!?

How do you know your love is also co-passion,
reiterated and returned,
however un-equivalently expressed it may be?
Is this not a matter of positive teleological faith,
of enthymematic hope,
that boundary time between stimulus and response,
before and after,
subject and objective,
identity and relationship,
in an environ-mental health that is,
by default,
setting aside mutual immunity barriers,
to more courageously and opportunistically co-habitate,
co-incident,
co-passion love,
rather than fear, anger, anxiety,
all dissonance settings of negative default,
oppressive to self,
suppressive of others’ natural positivity,
default tipping point barometer,
that the value of one positive opportunity
edges out double-binding disvalues of two passively negative non-risk takers,
hoarding against a future
more fully defended as a contentious ally of death-defying hope.

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What You Take

What we take
without asking first,
thanking second,
what is rightfully our property,
our valuables,
our commodities and loves.

Yet we also take
what we are too ashamed to ask for,
then thank
for receiving selfless hand to open hand,
or hate for selfish lack of yes,
or resent negotiating maybes
or strings attached
further growing far more than your rightful share
of shame.

Shame,
engaging high risk acquisition choices
rather than trusting Earth’s grace,
cooperative evolution of relationships
between those who have
and those who want to live healthier,
without shame and guilt
for addictive needs, attractions,
aversions from others’ shame and guilt offerings,
final intimate NO in face of your hungry appetite
for self-regenerative identity,
less shame,
absence of guilt
for having become who you are,
for not having become
as you more lovingly intended
yet.

When did you start asking first
if I want to make our bed together?
Right after I took your breath away
with I would rather do it myself.
Right before I froze your love
because you don’t do it right.

When we take love without first asking
fertile thanks rebounding back,
we grow shame for guilty needs
squeezing out what healthy love
could otherwise breathe in.

What Ego takes without asking
Eco string attaches
Yang to Yin
Left to Right
to LeftRight EcoConsensousness,
asking Ego’s untimely Death first,
thanking Eco’s revolutionary holonic primal life,
second.

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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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