Tag Archives: transition

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Weekday Alarm

I am anxious
as my 5:30 beeping alarm
grows defiantly louder,
reminding me of surreal difference
between asleep, longing for better days awake,
and,
now awake,
longing for more sleep
struggling toward alarming predawn buttons
to release from this first crisis
for depressing life’s day-rousing alarms.

I wish for a more therapeutic,
more leisurely,
more retiring way to awake,
if I truly must.

Nearby,
my son who cannot speak
or walk,
but hears just fine,
sleeps on.
Eyes closed.
Dimple mischievously appearing in full moon’s light.

What could be his difference
between light unconsciousness of competing spoken day
and dark consciousness of cooperating listening night?

And is this so very different
from vast humane majorities of nations,
who speak too much by day to listen
and listen too briefly at night
to speak of dreams we might share
arising once again together
toward depressing buttons of despair
for this another alarming Earth Day.

This Earth day
with too many speaking half asleep
to future invitations;
Earth nights
listening back to this internal nap half awakened
by past convocations
of memory as light
forgetfulness through therapeutic dark night.

My muted son,
though hardly silent,
as he can be a loud red-charging bull
yet in a peaceful playful warrior way
to those who believe we know
his inside sleep
showing through his outside wake
to share Earth’s daytime communion.

He and I
are equally invisible
indivisible
undiscriminated by night
and, I suppose,
both using light
to brighten differences
between inside me
and outside not yet,
not still
double-bound somehow
like outside views
impossible without inside longings
to remember our shared inside-outside intentions.

Wishes and fears,
hopes and angers,
loves and hates unraveling by predative day
arisen from our warm dry beds
of praying affluence.

Longings and belongings,
seductions and reductions,
inductions and deductions,
terrible investments and terrific divestments
calculated reweavings by dualdark night
within our Earthly rest
from fully individuating difference.

The alarm still echoes
through my half awake ears
as I stumble before dawn’s light
toward remembering how to become an enabling parent
taught by disabling children of love.
Recalled to how we might awake to love each other more
before this night’s rest reweaving Paradise.

I am anxious
as I depress my alarming button,
a toggle switch icon
transitioning anxieties of sleep
through opportunities of life together
awake.

My son turns over
toward his wall of darkening comfort
as he prepares to dream
our Therapeutic Warrior songs
and dances
once again.
His prayers rise dimpled within me.

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Metamorphosis

Innocence of new birth
Such a sacred thing.
I could not recall its distant unreborn pleasures.

Too worn away
A mundane day after relentless
smoothed-over passive day.
I can only take my fading remainder measures.

Between innocence and torn elder
A midway ride tripping through sacred sighs
and secular screams.
I would seize such natural spirited treasures.

Complexity of integrity
Such a mundane past birth
yet sacred future rebirth.
I have not yet reached for daring resonant fissures.

Innocence of reborn birth
this grey stormed winter reassures.

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Wind Whispering CoMessiahs

Mentors of the BeeTrees

From NorthWinds
come darkening winter
as newborn discontent
waiting to spring forth.

From SouthWinds
come summer’s diastasis
climax of full-born wisdom
of contentment for and from all four directions
spread across sleeping hearts
of each nighttime regeneration.

From normalizing WestWind toward East colonializing
patriarchal harvest
comes abundant fall in grace
of grace
from grace fulfilled in heartier summer,
for grace processing
through deep long winter winds
of (0)-souls abundantly newborning.

From EastWind springs
nondually co-arise
good news as Easter strawberries
full and blood-red regenesis
well ahead of co-redeeming dreams
for other berries to come after white lillies lead
around green connifers
promising full summer’s heat
by learned lighttime
on this first day
of all gratitude
yet to reborn come
leaders of berries
and birds
and baby bodhisattvas
of all four winds,
each with their season,
reasons
rational Tao gratitudes
and irrational Confusion platitudes
of sacred yet secular ecology.

From NorthWinds
winter water darkens
within discontent
newborn,
dreams dawning
future seasons of gratitude
with summer’s fullblown positive attitude.
———————————————–
As I awake this morning
I remember a song I taught my more oppositionally disposed daughter:

I love you
and you might love me
even if I couldn’t
re-align my four B’s,
brain,
and branches,
and belly,
and butt
these four aligned
good government.

If you do
then I will too.

It was part of a dream
as I awoke this morning
I remembered EarthTribe is no longer the same population
living within that song
as when I went to bed
last night.

A few of us have died.
A few have been new born.

And so it goes each morning
since I was that new born
overwhelmed by all the collective Four-B wisdom
of older dreams
awakening each morning
to discover a few more have joined us,
coming along behind,
and a few more ahead
are now beyond any further potential
for re-alignment leadership
or even long-lived Fractal-B hums of silent listening.

And so I will go that last night
now leading those who listen
for a swelling population of EarthTribe Crystal-B Voices
greeting each new born pioneer
who joins us for this Earth training turning journey,

Vocation for wiser co-aligning Elders
as just normal-aptic naptime for others
just now begun
for whom we join our minds as one
in and with and for and of
peace-filling co-gratitude.

I wonder if our purist unity as EarthTribe
is only RightBrain known and felt in dreams
where reptiles and mammals and amphibeans
like beans and corn and squash
all process more alike than separate,
more interdependently than empty,
without distinctions arising sexism,
without separations co-arising racism,
without asseverational appositions causing self-righteous violence
unless we know these as unruly nightmares
begging to grow more restorative mercy
and thereby less necessity for retributive harsh justice,
patriarchal vengeance is ours!
as EarthTribe slowly shape-shifts repopulation
between each daily-nightly evolving frame
roundly rolling along spacetime’s polypathic avenues
becoming not exactly who we were yesterday,
as there is not sufficient time to quite grasp it all so much
in one timeless time,
just as, in RealTime,
unlike Common DreamTime,
we cannot quite get back
to (0)Sum original habitat
of spacetime’s full-blown diastatic revolution,
still home, disappointed yet again.

But,
maybe tomorrow night
this resonant resolution
may yet come to last
for tomorrow’s recast EarthTribe,
polyprotagonists
yet perpetually interdependent underdogs,
(read: bitches, eco-witches, Sacred EarthMothers, and MotherTrees,
no anonymous underdog identities undemocratically meant to be
unpolitically correctly excluded)
depending on your preferred bulldog or the b-word identity
of protagonizing ecojustice dreams
where Paradise Lost
looks more same than different
throughout today’s reborn
post-creolizing,
millennializing,
degenerating still,
then through this timeless multi-speciating dream,
more double-binding than simplistic (0)Sum LoseLose
degeneration with regeneration
for no one wakes up tomorrow
to re-create gratitude for dawn’s newborn delight
in FourB eco-alignments
more interdependently flying together
than degeneratively coming apart.
———————————————————–
Up from NorthWinds
comes darkening winter water
as newborn discontent
waiting to spring forth.

 

 

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Aging in a Deeper Place

As I age
the formerly wide chasm between ecstasy and despair
grows narrower,
deeper.

I had not thought this an attribute of maturation,
quite the contrary,
but perhaps an aging crevice,
a thinning fracture
between played-out manic bliss, over-extended harvest,
and depression
nondually faces two extremes
of positive major chords and keys
with negative minor tensions
searching for each other out and in,
become too vocal, focal
looking for tacit evidence
apposition yet lives
on another side
of this darkening
enlightening
divide.

Dr. Jeckyll’s confluence
redeeming Mr. Hyde’s dissonance
double-binding midway balance
now become a treacherously tight rope
tensioned for resonance and buoyant bounty,
just short of snapping side against side.

Perhaps wisdom is learning how to equitably co-invest
in both wonder and shock,
without becoming paralyzed in-between these boundless awes,
deep wavering yes and please not yet,
not yet,
carving a gorge
deep echoing sacred reverence
and secular irrelevance,
ecstasy with ridiculing despair,
boundless sufficiency without endless satisfaction,
reiterating eternal integrity
not yet surely promised
beyond potential disintegration.

If solitude portends sublime co-operation,
what remains for aching loneliness?

Who and what could become redeemed
through double-binding isolations
within voiceless awe
for wonder indwelling silent shock
of ego loss
deep shadowing eco-gain?

To win to lose,
to lose to win,
co-arising deceptions again.

Deeply resonant depressions;
subliminal,
suboptimizing ego dominations.

Two delineations
with hairline fracturing co-definition?

What would be blissful contentment’s promise
without any dissonant content
for comparison?

What are omnipotent spirits
without ego vacuuming materials,
evidence of necessary,
hopefully sufficient,
deep double-binding awe
that we,
even I within we,
have been something,
someone,
someone’s,
rather than the far more statistically likely
nothing at all
evermore.

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Wealthy EcoNormic Promise

He spoke with his ego-systemic body
through his own eco-logical maturation.

She flowed bilateral time
with her ego-eco centering mind
incarnating Earth’s humane regenerate economy.

Together they commune nature-spirit hybrids,
bicamerally creolic
co-redeeming care-giving spirits,
completing each holonic tridium of becoming
one within spacetime’s ecological promise,
three-placed co-present economy
of trilateral political grace,
playing enculturing WinWin games
ego-eco creations of just right mentoring integrity
strategizing cooperative economic-logical health,
this Holy Trinity’s supply and demand
for resonant triaged wealth.

He asked of this grey spirit,
Are we white or black,
male or female?

She responds in gray embodied script
Yes, both white and black,
patriarchs born of bodhisattva matriarchs,
yet not mature all white
and yet not mature all black,
and in-between our ecologic-economic natures meet
enspiriting cooperations
of integrity
with all trinitarian stories past enfolded
and all those yet wu wei unfolding
within Earth’s potential bounty.

Each languaged life,
both embodied left and mindful right relational
internal political landscapes
dawning through Earth’s renewal
of and for external climate health of bodymind
organic integration networks,
integrity of love’s polyphonic wealth.

And so this marriage
of ego-capital,
wisdom’s logical acquisition
and accumulating
and re-investing body,
with eco-normative mind
regenerates nature-spirit nondual wedded stories
co-arising through each reweaving
enspiriting
incarnate Promise Day.

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Careful Revolutions

I believe great political
and psychological
and spiritual
and natural transitions
are places of great deep learning
opportunity,
with concomitant risk;
responsible for opportunities
with authority for absorbing requisite
and repulsing unnecessary degenerative risks.

These great transitions,
like weddings
and births
and deaths
and elections
and changes from winter toward summer
are yin-death of one thing
into yang-birth of another,
a commencement into regenerate opportunity,
decomposing multilateral historical risks.

This great transitioning political season wheel
turns through psychological reasons,
trusts and distrusts,
circling revolutionary around
creolic nature-spirit stories
of creation
with concomitant decomposition,
Yang opportunity
with multilateral Yin risks of devolution
reversion
co-arising.

Within this Tao wheel of regenerativity
are great transitioning edges,
where evolutionary change
emerges more revolutionary noticed.

Great transitional edges
are landscapes
wherein climate double-boundaries
between death
and embryonic birth
grow transparently thin
and bilaterally spacetime translucent.

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Revolutionary Climates

YangEgo is endosymbiotic
as Yin EcoHome grows ectosymbiotic.

These two faces of cooperative change
dipolar co-arise creolization,
transubstantiation,
metamorphic re-acclimation
within as without;

Interior landscape evolution
as exterior climates of great and small transitional revolutions.

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Making Hay

Make hay while the sun shines.

I grew up as a closeted polypathic nature-mystic
on a marginal, at best, family farm
in Michigan.

This farm was my embryonic home,
an extension of my vastly loved and nurturing Mother,
more than my workahoic homophobic Father,
who most emphatically did create a patriarchal god in his own image.
His farm was for slave labor.
Her farm was a garden for growing healthy wealth.

I loved Mom’s Multi-ReGenerational Family Farm
like an extension of my ego’s mind and body.

And, like a turtle without a shell,
when I first headed off to Ann Arbor’s University
I brought my happy and healthy ego with me,
eager to begin my new adventure story,
yet I emotionally stumbled,
felt naked and exposed and depressed,
for lack of my embryonic habitus,
my eco-center,
my home,
my interdependently embracing love of sacred spaces
and their seasons of regeneration and degeneration,
growing still and fading without ego me
conjoining.

I was homesick,
but not for Nurturing Nanny
and Fearsome Father
or even Perfect Princess Sister, whom I cherished,
whom I could talk and listen to as whim might invite,
and, although somewhat more of a sore detachment from our farmhouse interior spaces,
my disorienting alienation from Ann Arbor
was as a too-urban outside place
just as my recreating resident embrace
favored my dorm and classroom youth-learning multicultural race
against more oppressive monoculturing times.

To this day,
despite a six week backpacking hike
along California’s Pacific Coast Trail,
plundered by surreal vistas and fragrance and light and unspeakable beauty,
when I imagine a meadow, a field, a woodland,
a pond,
a barn,
an unpaved road,
a gravel drive,
a herd of cattle,
a pen of pigs,
a coop of chickens,
a litter of kittens with eyes still sealed shut,
I recall iconic scenes from this sacred originating home,
my eco-memory
calling my doubly-bound ego-enculturing self
back home
to where we permaculturally began together,
making hay while the sun did shine.

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Innocent Intentions

When I looked across our front lawn and garden,
listened to robins and crows
cawing warm June breezes,
I was then innocent of knowing
this would become our threatened birthright
and evolve our time to hear
climatic warming winds still blown
across warm June front lawns,
organic gardens nourishing mind eye memory,
flourishing yet fading fragile rememory
of when I began discovering, Why me?
Why now?
Why here?
When will this mutual rescue life begin,
and why did we ever think messiahs could
or should
or would
or would not
end soon enough for rescued lives fulfilled,
complete,
replete creation stories
with warm clovered lawns
surrounded by chattering echoing forests,
tree gardens
singing and breathing therapeutic care,
blowing Agape’s polypathic winds of courage
to remember our Original Intent.

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Shoveling I-Cycles

He said he planned to freeze to death.

Did he mean to have his body frozen?
Stored to hatch again later,
leftovers out of time’s deep freezer of waiting.

No, not that.
He responds with undeniable dismissal,
this would not be his investment in future plans.

I hope and believe that I will choose
when to freeze my death.

I remember his hope
stepping out into Connecticut’s perfect nor’eastern,
stern at onslaught,
like pilgrims and nearby islands of granite
states and histories,
but then dragging more gracefully out
into lacey fluff
floating toward quintessential kitschey views
framed from inside
by silent flickering orange light
of coal black constitutional wood stove
New England casual propriety,
radiating dry welcome warmth,
but with appropriate restraint,
while I remember to step
onto my snow covered front porch,
evenly blanketed front to back,
as if devoid of shingled Cape Cod roof.

This would be a good New Connected way too die.
Shoveling snow in paradise
evening’s post-storm quiet,
waiting for far off snow blowers
to finally rest.

Without anger or disappointment.
How could we become a better time and place
to re-enter timeless freedom of empathic light?
Fearless deep enriching flight
into nesting night
of death’s diastatic elational surprise,
floating out as in
to continue WinWin play
as recreating love-life
by day
and regenerating CoLover’s Love of love ourselves
each climaxing full-moon night,
speaking trough nor’easter’ wind
of light redemption
and bright winged mythic co-reception.

If I were of his fearless content mind
to fade in frosty sublime light,
now would be my time
to threshold off
into enculturing adventures
of co-relational Earthen Love,
holding off my WinWin Climax re-transformation
until this night’s threshold,
freezing away from carnating restraint
of graceless angry fear of lively shadows
and losing ego’s permacultured golden age
to flow into disincarnate freedom
full as loving tic elating grace,
recomposing Earth’s Tribal Golden Embryo,
a grand transitional opera
in four snow-bound limbs
of crystal-frosted dancing light
elating pure true resonance.

He planned to freeze his death
to love Earth’s Paradise,
echoing co-radical Presence.

My warmth becomes distracting
to this Bodhisattva Revolution
into cosmic-conscious decomposition
of Gaia’s delicious musical comedy
sung full-timed operatic pretension
until cold brings time’s threshold
storm inviting steadier-state contemplation,
love Beloved freezing Presence,
free at last to climax multicultural Elation.

Funny, now, to remember
his pre-climatic drama,
requiring death
to embrace love’s timelessly available freedom,
when each breath grows sacrament
baptizing love’s diastatic promise,
then purging Passion Stories back out
to feed Earth’s ravenous trees of upside-down wisdom.

It’s all so intensely rich and deep,
frosty,
shoveling snow,
remembering a friend
who chose to freeze his living
to enjoy a dancing Full Moon dying
to become his already present EcoArising Presence.

CoMessiah breathing in Connecticut’s normative normal
natural business
nor’eastern Paradise Transition,
shoveling deeply within
newly laid embryonic blanketing womb
tomb.

I hope our kids won’t worry or ever fear
that we’ve chosen frozen to death out here
over all our over-heated operatic flame
of life in quiet reConnecting home.

He said he planned to freeze to death
to sit with passionate Earth’s Tribe,
co-rising Time’s elating love,
CoPresent.

Even so,
I hope he misses me
as I miss him.

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