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Extraordinary CareGivers Among Us

To receive care
that best meets your needs,
and also,
by the way,
everyone else’s too,
we look first
to where and when we have given such care
since our original longest reborn journey
down Mom’s birth canal,
prepared just in time for our delivery,
as traumatic as that must have been,
life’s first lesson in receiving care
that feels like giving care and will and desire
for life together
on a more even give and take terra firma.

So too,
when sorting through complex patterns
and rhythms
and seasons of giving care
best suited to our experience so far,
we look first
to where and when we have received such great care,
that it felt and seemed life’s loveliest way
to give care back, in kind.
We look for superior models of care-receivers
who clearly thrive on cooperative care-giving.

Let’s say you are discerning
which of two,
or any manageable number of,
candidates for giving optimal care
to our shared health and wealth outcomes,
both short-term and long-term WinWin outcomes preferred.

We look first for the candidate
with the wisest and most successful practices
as a cooperatively responsible
and authoritative co-parent
of and for developing strong give-to-take care relationships,
inviting Both-And mutual problem-solvers,
avoiding starkly fundamentalistic
Either its white and good
Or its black and not so much.

Second,
I look for the best teachers,
who are also positively regenerate mentors
for health-wealth living,
cooperatively active design and planning listeners,
then Both-And speakers,
deeply and richly experienced in non-violent discernment,
cooperative mindfulness,
discussion,
dialogue,
which might briefly descend
into some mutually-loyal and respectful debate,
in which protagonists speak what they have heard and seen
positive
from antagonists throats and actions,
and, if so,
only with ultimate outcome goals of generating
cooperative WinWin outcomes together
no later than the end of each economic
and political day.

Care givers
practicing best practice
frown on slovenly slackers
letting loyal oppositionalists
go to bed angry.
Not feeling cared for,
neglected if not abused,
as if they were not doing their best
to become grown up care-givers too.

This educational care-giving role
is best relentlessly practiced
as a listening of and for care-receiving praxis,
co-intelligenting experiments
with perennial seasonal trends
from birth through springs of care-receiving,
summers and falls of care-giving,
harvest through death
where we could no longer distinguish
between these nondual co-arisings
we ecopoliticized as climates
and landscapes
of life’s regenerational healthy trends.

To receive optimal ecopolitical care
through all four seasons,
we look first for those mentors,
winter-born,
giving cooperative nondual co-arising care,
and getting regenerative results.

So, yes,
I would choose a wise democratic constitutional legal teacher
and mentor,
with strong parenting experience and apparent outcomes,
over a dysfunctional parent and spouse,
with Wharton School for the Entitled Empire
college experience,
taught merely how best to Win today,
without worrying too awfully much about tomorrow,
or other immigrants along our capital developing play
learning power and control by exploiting real estate,
and those who reside within these well-marketed properties
where they must Lose as much as capitalist-hungry markets
will competitively bare,
before we all Lose.

Even the game of Monopoly
ends
when only one monoculturing capitalist
remains
wondering how to best receive care now
the other players finally have succumbed
to patriarchy’s ego omnipotence
of relentless LeftBrain powering over
the luck of Earth’s nutritional draws
to reward cooperators
and punish competitors,
eco-matriarchs blending ego-patriarchs
co-arising.

If your nation
and your planet
desperately need to receive remedial mentoring care,
where will we find candidates
and appointees
mentoring optimal health giving care
planning and ecologically regenerative design,
cooperative ownership practice,
mutual governing non-violent listening skills?

Where would Jesus look?
Where did he look for leaders and teachers
for future generations,
for future spiritual-natural policy and program economic and political developers?

Probably CoMessiahs do not first look for future empowering candidates
at Wharton School,
and probably not any Ivy Leagues,
although maybe.
But we look first for healthiest and happiest winter-borns,
untouchable transgenders,
especially those with amazing parent resumes
as teachers and actors of multicultural mentoring.

Jesus might look for lesbians of color,
Native American matriarchs
with cooperative-ownership histories
filled with healing hurt kids,
including wondrously gay left-handed artists of color,
grandparents of challenged kids
who know who they can safely go to
when someone wise needs to listen
for they have no other hope
in these climates of future despair.

CoMessiahs look for wealth of cooperative living spirit.
Healthy care-givers
who have learned to receive care
despite being alien-born into a culture
defining them as disenfranchised immigrants
who must thrive as if natives
within Earth’s still-standing PolyPathic Tribe
of humanizing matriarchal-patriarchal trees.

To receive best practice economic and political care,
look for those who thrive from receiving care as giving care
with multiculturing challenged kids
pretending to become cooperatively mature adults,
and committed to our healthy air-creating partners,
flowering shade trees recreating fertile organic forest gardens
for climbing both up and down together
emancipating winter-born nuts
waiting for spring’s revolutionary season
for cooperative care giving as receiving.

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I Know Not

I know not
what produces and consumes regenerative design
any more than wherein lies recreative imagination
or even empathic and trusting intelligence,
yet I do know this cooperative designer is not me,
and yet I am part thereof,
as are you.

I know not
if positive therapeutic faith
is a gift from Earth’s historic nutritional bounty,
or an internal growth programmed as positive developmental requirement,
yet I intuit that trust in Earth’s robust cooperativity
as I grow and mature in this sacred direction also
is fertile rooted
both in collective Earth-regenerate systems
and within regenetic health
as co-empathic trusting consciousness.

I know not
if trust in Earth’s regenerate health is a gift
for mistrusting faith in dispiriting competitions.

I know not
if cooperative faith in our trust regeneration
could become positively therapeutic
consumption of competition-producing capitalism,
to win more and faster, sooner,
than my cooperative owning and co-producing EarthTribe.

I know not
how to compete for capital gains
flowing in my autonomous direction
without also producing roots of mistrust
in Earth’s cooperatively regenerate sufficiency
of revolving spiraling time enough to invest in all.

I know not
how to disinvest of our regenerative tree,
root embedded within Earth’s creolizing temporal unfolding compost
to push out cooperatively transforming branches
beautiful to other tree huggers and warmers,
tasters and smellers
listeners and watchers
shaders and lighters
trusting shared regenerous nurturing root system
of Earth’s outrageously public health-wealth bounty.

I know not
how to RightBrain nonverbally communicate
for fertile robust muticulturing outcomes
while LeftBrain verbally speaks
only in degenerative despair
for an ever more monoculturally competitive edge
rather than remaining Left-Right co-empathic trusting
in our shared cooperative capital investment potential
for producing consumer balance
emerging multiculturally robust slow-regenerative depth
and resonant resolutions
of I know not whom and what as yet.

I know not
why cooperative tree design
stores our nutritional capital investments
to invest seeds and nuts
for and of future wealth of fertile regenerations,
eco-mentoring further co-enrichment,
root health-systemic forests.

I know not
all-consuming production
of and for regenerative design
or even trusted co-empathic intelligence,
yet I do know Earth’s reweaving
invites this cooperative designer,
who is not me or you,
yet is you with me.

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GrandMother Tree

Miracles of GrandMother WinWin Tree
begin with her purgative peaceful birth.
For at this time,
so long before her cycling rings of time began,
we see her original seed
and this seed’s less original composting environment,
and within this brief timeless moment,
before her WinWin becoming,
these each appear to decompose LoseLose into each other,
yet fertilely so,
beginning GrandMother Tree’s long waging of peace-filling rings,
recycling time’s historic four fractal-dialectic seasons
of regenerativity.

Once begun LoseLose zero-sum balancing,
GrandMother revolves through days and nights
emerging relentless WinWin creolizing root systems
of zero-sum regenerativity.
For each new ring another year of cooperative becoming.
Mostly cooperative,
and only minorly competitive,
or becoming decays to no longer being,
yet even this continuous transition
is not equivalent to springing back to prior springs.
She cannot go home again
because she carries her original home
within her still small skeletal seed regenerating within,
speaking of past purgations and migrations
yet all while extending further rooting down
ever richer deeper cooperative
health-seeking WinWin system sensors.

And so, at last,
GrandMother Tree begins to fade from Yangish life
toward Yin-emptying death.
Whether fast, through uprooting hurricane,
or slow, through slowing drying aging defense/offense loss of balance,
her woody organs disintegrate
creating creole compost perfect for her seeds
and, even more richly,
for seeds of her adult children,
now become intrinsic to
her densely rich WinWin forested environment.

Her forest floor
each spring
producing LoseLose metamorphic creolizations
of seeds and composts
remembering each WinWin peace-filling other
GrandMother Tree winds and voices reweaving nutrients of time
as regenerative ecopolitical space
still system rooting for waging peace,
ever more cooperative.

Waging LoseLose war
prefers competitive discontinous imbalance,
as waging WinWin peace requires root systems
of cooperative continuous balance.

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Who Are We?

First and last, Mom’s embryonic parasite,
phylogenic tumor
with built in obsolescence.

Then, a moment between exodus from symbiotic womb
into Earth’s promised Eden,
forested trees for GoodLife and of prior EvilDeath,
and then time to exhale again
one last self-regenerating timeless
fertile eternity,
regenerous nativity.

In between, ecopoliticians
hoping to improve our cooperative family improvisations
on a larger liturgical jazz-dance theme,
with occasional speaking while deep-listening parts
in EarthTribe’s multiculturing womb,
embryonic ego-tumors
with built-in obsolescence;
a moment between exodus
and cooperative regenesis.

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Muddy Tree Family

I’m planting trees today.
Cherry trees in front,
Peter on the street,
Paul in the middle,
with Mary closest in toward the house,
all on the far side of our gravel drive.

On the same southern side,
along my neighbor’s new above the eyebrows 8-foot fence,
backside facing me,
which is fine,
more backdrop character for vines and ivy,
preferably less poisonous,
I also plant three larger fruit trees,
Dillen first,
then Spencer,
then Daquan,
after my three sons
in that original adoption-planting order.

Then, by the front porch
on northern side,
an apple tree
named Marvin after Gaye,
my first love before I knew what mine felt right like.

Three thornless blackberries
planted in the back,
Matthew first, of course,
with shared Beatitudes,
then Mark, progenitor of gospel vocation stories,
then Luke the ecotherapeutic Medicine Bush,
luxuriously black berryed, Agape.

All this vast recently adopted extending family
to greet and nourish my multiculturally mutually adopted,
and sometimes quite dysfunctionally malnourished,
human fractured family,
but rarely allowed to go to bed angry or frightened,
at least by each other.

While planting I go in and through our home
with my muddy gardening shoes,
remembering my mother’s exasperated voice,
Who tracked all this mud through my kitchen?!
and my standard response,
The mud-tracker prefers to remain anonymous.

I’ll just bet he does,
she responds,
as I reach for broom and dustpan.

Then later,
Why, of all things, would you choose to track through all this muddy gay identity?
I was really planning on birthing a Saint!
and my response, of course,
The filthy queer prefers to remain anonymous.

I just hope he does,
I can hear her thinking
as I plant Peter, then Paul,
then Mary, the cherries.

About that same time,
while sorting through syncretic interdependence of regenerative economics as power-politics,
my mother wondering why I would choose to head toward Hell
as an unredeemed Taoist,
and my response
The evilish Taoist-Christian hybrid
prefers to remain both atheistically anonymous
and power-theistically full of sacred diastatic abundance.
In other words,
polypathically and multiculturally empty,
and yet co-redeeming as co-loving interdependent fertility does,
not just pinefully and whinefully intends.

About this time I am singing
my final adoption by baptism rite with Marvin Gaye,
Otis Redding’s “These Arms of Mine”
dedicated to all those transubstantiating syncretic polyculturists
inside, as ecopolitically outside,
even if preferring sacred organic co-rootedness
to secularly remaining as anonymous as a wordless tree.

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Political Faith Systems

Religions,
eco-political traditions,
faith systems,
variations on an evolving creation story theme

Are both rooted in
and feeding on
multicultural evidence of faith in nurturance,
mental/physical health-integrative outcomes
of living trusted truths
through co-empathic forests of beauty

Or faith in more fundamental monopolistic
autonomous idolatry of ego’s fragile powers

Or both,
as idolatry of gratitude for self
matures into love of 0-sum agape Oneselves,
no longer fearful of losing some value
I could never truly have had
autonomously.

In good-faith organic systems,
gratitude’s gravity draws
in search of agape
requited.

Radiance flies toward Exterior Light.
Gravity dances with Interior Night;
a flight of fancy dance.

Radiant trees reach tender tendrils
toward touch of bright
and interior night.
Richly embedded birth searches below
with slender stealth
toward Other
where We are One nurturing co-arising Earth.

Love born again in perpetual orgasmic grasp
and release of nutrients,
capital,
value,
meaning,
information conjoins in-forming networks
toward ex-formed leaves
blossoming seeds spurting radiantly out.

Looking back through recycling times of organic egos,
Interior Landscape recalls gravity’s reverse,
spiraling toward future flower,
reborn eyes
raining seeds of hope
for Exterior Landscape’s richly composting ReGenesis.

Seeds spiral down,
culturing genetic
generic genesis ground,
religious trees of life and death.

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Leaving Stems

Imagine yourself as a tree
with a leaf named Yang
and a coarising nondual twig named Yin,
having a sappy conversation about life and mortality.

Do you think this twig would be so foolish as to correct the leaf’s beliefs
that life and death are analogous to evolution and retrenchment,
dormancy decomposing into further incarnations of Earth’s soul,
feeding root systems of future tree’s healthy coarising development?

Yet, for the leaf named Yang,
once separated from your embryonic twig
and Yin’s ecologically breathing economic and politically symbiotic treehome,
healthy life is but a nutritional season.

Your incarnate tree’s rings of revolutionary root systemic development,
of resonant evolution,
of regenerate virginal life,
span many growing seasons, as a tree
thriving, then gradually slowing, within your interdependent forest.

And,
many enculturing centuries more,
as a speciating voice within Earth’s nutrient/boundary skin
of RNA/DNA scripted life,
further potential regenerations
of Earth’s abundant love.

Imagine Earth preoccupied leaves
decomposing sunny fuel and healthy nutritional function
for yin’s well-versed root systems
forging future virginal yet regenerate occupations.

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Trees Rooting Me

Last Autumn we invested in a 0.5 acre
of Mother Earth’s aria,
as sung to Thames River swell and tide,
New England new sprouting this our virgin spring wedding
with this home place,
space of grace.

My urgent first task, now largely complete,
was to partner with the trees and ornamentals,
in Bodhisattva warrior solidarity
with human racing family co-arising co-respiring trees,
counter-revolutioning against upstart thorny opportunistic brambles,
wild grape vines
reaching over all our 0.5 arias of CoBreathing Allies
in brambly weedpatch ways.

I usually tip toward recessive underdogs
and creation stories,
as these are far too often disempowered PostMillennial Occupiers,
these brambles and vines flirting with monoculturing graves
of gracious Trees, and other beings,
draping together to suffocate
0.5 decomposing acres of hungry thorns and briars
waiting for Bodhisattva SuperWarrior Me
to saw and chop and hack,
and sometimes shamelessly slash and smack,
invading over-populating brambly trends
of ivy towering thorns
with empire-building designs
embedding my delightful flesh.

Now, first spring posing tree re-liberation,
leaves speaking young embryonic appreciation,
gentle thank yous opening to more buoyant sunrise,
draped in fallen sins of past neglect,
daring me to turn my well-armed back,
to continue this solidarity with our still-enslaved neighboring trees,
gasping for strength to breathe
through coils of parasitic woody stinging strikes,
blood-thirsty for revenge
snaking dense networked vines
stretching down valley toward river source
of water’s satisfying nutritious displays,
more generous than I would prefer,
taking no sides in this small revolution
within Earth’s 0.5 arias
of stress-afflicted trees.

Without sufficient humility
I more resemble thorny brambles
than wise Elder Trees
rooting through compost-drenched systems
deep down to River’s sacred bed,
rising to meet Full Moon nights of bright.

Yet, in self-defense,
and defense of trees and ornamentals,
I prize our diversity and harmonic balance;
not so much looking for a free ride
up to sun’s commingling paradise.

Now free to speak their new spring intentions,
my neighbor trees, allies,
co-inhabitors of 0.5 Earth acres,
remind me to do my best with them,
try to follow their strong-rooted commingling example,
and avoid proliferating over-populated competitions
for River’s water
and SunGod’s co-arising light.

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Silent Storm Seduction

She laces this dark late winter’s evening
with white manna grace,
flowing flying frosting
folding in and over and around
dark naked tree limbs
dressing up and out
under icey liminal networks
of down and in-flowing rivers,
emptying out onto cold cover
of water’s frozen lace-flaked sea,
hovering over what had been our pedestrian front lawn,
now transformed and mesmerized
with diastatic ice crystals
twinkling in response
to their ice-fire children
following in their post solstice pilgrim path
to die their individuality
within this here-now view.

I smile, perhaps flirtatiously,
with this shy winter’s virgin dream,
a stubborn storm of snow softly settling
quieter than white-noise still quietly,
so so civilly, right,
a silent black and white moving set
framing a wonderful life.

She does not smile back
but I feel her cold embrace
teasing tickling of too-perfect beauty,
hope imagining she could sleep within this heavenly blanket
dreaming down her winter’s rain
of deep composting thirst,
drinking through walls of hibernation
dreaming of spring’s warmest winding offer.

This could go on all night
this reverse stalking
and inside window peeping out
across front and back porches
at Gaia’s grace elational transfiguration,
silent sacred ecodrama major
showing off her magic show
for those with ears to see through silent
first snow of momentous perennial occasion
falling just in time
to brighten renewal day for dreams
of Beloved DiaFramed black with white Communities
through this silent storm of love.

Impossible to ever be the same again.
Unlikely to become unlover.
Such elegant purgation grace!
I would dishonor her
to not sleep within our silent storming space.

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Stalking Time

Time echoes and resonates without language,
invests in green triumphal backdrop
below misty blue sky
spotted
blossomed in yellows and spindling purples
blues and flaming orange,
fragile moments of fully fertile time,
flagrant erections of next generation’s hope
for full color life
perennially emerging time
through fields of green enraptured
brown soil and gray rocks
and weathered stretching darker bark
back further through time’s ringing core.

This summer’s newer time full color;
Elder time dressed in grays and browns
of dusk’s deeper hue and cry.

Time’s newer lexicon
laughs through children
camping near a still-slogging river,
flowing time toward surfing Sound
from mountains of older swaying,
silently caressing,
singing time of trees’
ripe summer leaves.

Newer times hum industry
in jetted skies
through rumbling valleys of human enterprise
swooshing lanes of hurry fueled time
rushed toward some end of prime,
planned, yet unprioritized.

Drumming heartbeat
surfing breath
occasional tummy rumbles,
older times of human space
thundering through subliminal octaves
of time’s unrolling memory.

New time smells green fragrance,
older organics fuel richer pungent payment
down into Earth’s old-timed infrastructure,
roots hunting her mysteriously flowing estuaries
floating broken platters of Earthtime’s universe creation,
rumbling thunder
warning of ancient slow-timed lightening.

Capturing time’s enrapturing voices
and visions
peering through silent black faced race
through space.
Knotted notched logged time
captured in this sacred place
gracefully crumbling time’s investment,
forgiven and redeemed in last fall’s brown bed
of leafy fading trace,
succumbing to terminating time’s
less aggressive metamorphic place
from logs reversing back into time’s landed space,
impervious to eyes noting her change of race
from convex branches to concave composts.

Time’s darker elder face
haunts richer wisdom
but often fails to find just and righteous pace
for dominating white cultured mind
to find
and recognize.
Elder darker’s timing rhythm
speaks best through white hearts’ new-time memory,
transparently dark embedded cultural time
emerged as new found discovery
recovery through youngish light
most resonantly resolved
through time’s polyculturing brightest night.

Fear of dark raced time
begins with my own white placed skin
accepting time’s inevitable dark embrace
within full-colored humanely timed race,
to see my wilting face
drawn back into time’s dark souled core
dying into light’s progenitor
once more
dark never-enough-right-time supremacy
through dark purgation’s non-anthrocentric palatial door
toward dark time’s eternal color rhapsodic place.

Time’s song and dance
through nonexistential space,
my voice
our opera
time’s co-passion story.

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