Passive Alice.

I make parcels of the sentence handed down -

one point of reference - triangulated,

and cordon off the land

to ship for processing, the jungle

as they'd see it.

There a box, a black hole,

a continuum,

flanked by the Emperor Norton

where veritas stripped

of its symbolic emblems;

Naked a reduction of vantage.

It needed freeing

but he'd seen the memo on the labels.

It's hard to hear, they insist

I intake twenty more.

Marred fiscal, a relentless game of chicken,

With candor a matter of depth perception

So I'm the tourist with forged papers

Dressed to the nines.

You only have to look the part.

ii.

It's five and Lysistrata

dives off the bell curve, Squirrel!

Retakes a refrain

but its been too long

And she's already written a song

on prophetic self fulfilling

A function cosigned kyrie eleison

Did walking me here

Fill the narrow corners

Or piece meal a bridge

From the Seychelles to

Down pour out by the Ganges?

Elsewhere Monday's reparations

Knew it

Knew it well, granted.

No one ever told her

You only have to play the part.

Little doll lashes flash back

as rowing mends us recalcitrant

Merrily, merrily, living a dream

Don't stand so,

Close you in an oubliette.

iii.

It was Tuesday but Mars doesn't

Play nice with lightning

"Do you think there's rain today, dear?

We'll write dawn for dinner

in greater interest of caution,"

she said like a child

Wouldn't lovelocke

I wouldn't make proper eye contact

Or settle both heels on down.

In the way we used to like.

Defenders wouldn't want to look that way

Like seeing your history teacher

at the grocery store

So it went two half rounds

and sputtered

No harm, no foul about it

Except the little green and white elle's.

Congruent, I write words like a manger had always

stiffed Sylvia Plath,

endlessly narcoleptic,

except for the die I'd drawn

Came close upon it.

No one wants to hear of soft hearts

and bonnets, light bridges and unicorns

so like the shooting script says,

I sip succotash and

and eat them like air.

when the gods have no reason

Here the ridges are words

And on the last day

Night became

Like water in the stillness

We searched for meaning where

There was none and sufficed in the

Flesh form as only promise

I sunk my covet

In the ground of an apparition

Modeled on a man

Wealthy as a teacher

Or treacherous arbitrator, my

Healthy ambition restless

And needing of an answer

Which would not save

We control nothing and

In nothing we bring anchor

Against torpid reason

But now is my kingdom

I revisit my half travelled regret

Availed of nothing.

What is enough?

Grand ambition,

architect, an irony

Composed as our life

Would become of truth

Instead I slip inland

Looking for your mother

Or mine, or my father

In hollow halls

In the wood paneled rooms

Emblazoned with owls

and Luke and John slept in the

Abandoned quarter

A crow bar to my destruction

Now I guard against the pursuit of the

Things of earth

Erstwhile magnified in the

Material of bodies

And closet the hearth,

A barren witness

To the heart troubled

When the gods have no reason.

post modern soul coughing

In our hearts we know the futility and the fundamental fear of our vanities. We make well intended promises and hold ideals, false, above all else, longing for something outside ourselves in which to believe that can surpass the diligence of the passing of time. Never before has there been such truth, wrapped as we are in our inner worlds, in myth. Mind manifested in form.

Our time, unillustrious, mocks the wonder and wisdom held within our bodies, the miraculous body mind harangued by the vagrant strike of the clock, and the insidiousness of the culture. However, free from the confines of the temporal, free from our prescribed roles and duties, lives the light of our ethereal formless Self. It is accessed in quiet moments, the twilight of the dream state, and the ecstasies of the creative process in its many forms. I am you are me are we here forever now never always in eternity world without end. Suspended in the guiles of the ever present now, shape shifting, timeless, beyond the grasp of any threat, save those we allow to trespass into our reticulated presence.

Even then, the phantasms we allow are allegories, insights into the depths of our collective and personal psyches. Our deepest fear: that we will be found out as illusionists, perpetrators of an elaborate amassed treatise of smoke and mirrors. Wanting for substance. Worse still, the thought that no one remains to remark or comment in our absence because, horror realized, all is one and all is vanity, and nothing vivifies that which is without, but that which is reflected within, and we are all (un)regarded in the vacuity of the uninhabited.

Yet somewhere along the way, in spite of ourselves, we stumbled into the light life. As children we awakened and wondered at the complexity of our human-ness. Perplexed, we awed in the realization of our divinity, struck down by the audacity and verisimilitude of the Creator. Now that quiet gift, so uncertainly come by and so fruitlessly clung to, is worn like a shrift. Once sacred, now tattered, the blessing realized is curse, it both saves and damns. In our self realization we can equally create heaven in each moment, knowing the kingdom is within us, or, forgetting our benevolence, plunge into the constant torment of a twisted karma of legality.

To evade the responsibility of choice we retreat to the safe confines of a conformity attributed to schedule and regularity. We are comforted in the once resisted entrapments of minutiae and false reassurances of the expected. No longer bolstered by naivete, we are caught in the crux of the unknown - the promise of uncertainty certain before the credulity of chaos. Unable to embrace the depth of the formless, we make due with the reality of our daily diligence, captives to the cadence of the circadian. A quiet care is tended in reverence of the commonplace. Salvation in the world of form. A crisp apple. Water from the faucet. The predictable and fleeting rush of chemistry experienced in a new love.

A well worn lesson is finally assimilated: completion is never secreted within the cocoon of another. Disparaged at first, then content in the realization of the grand illusion. Contact with each fragmented luminescence of personality a jogging reflection, or echo, of our own creation. Like Narcissus we are drawn back time and again to gaze into the waters of our subconscious made manifest in the intricacy of another sentient. If we can only hold in dialectical tandem, for more than a moment, our own ego fragility and the fragility of another in balance and hallowed care, All would be preserved. The lyrics of Idol's "Dancing with Myself" bounce round the corridor: "Nothing to lose, nothing to prove"- Self relating to Self. Too often, however, the All is lost and we fall from grace back to the unjust world of the criticizing and commonplace. Fear, not hope, reigns supreme.

Creation in the Word was first error as the Many in One, divided into form. In labels - not considered outside the immanence of a verbal cognitive structure - we judge and are judged in each syllable. Was man entreated to name each object and thought form in Christendom as a gift? Or was he awarded the knowledge of good and evil to be damned in the process of differentiating the forms? Now consciousness is no longer self but Other. With all the world a stage, and each player an emanation of the One, we wonder at the relevance of performing. So in our essence, sublimely righting this, we commit the greatest crime and forget that all that is external Other is Self also. Thus continues the dance.

Confounded, reluctant, calmly, we move beyond the grandiosity and are sated in knowing our best dwells in our least. In our non-doing we are released from the desire to need to be, instead succumbing to the beauty and the brilliance found in what is. More and more we are satisfied with less and less and conservation is a cultivated vestment of budding character. So as the self, unseeking, loses itself, it is preserved. In time and in correspondence, this is reflected in the transpersonal, in the communal, in the global, so where there was once disharmony and division, there will be a balance and a sovereignty in each entwined breath and step. We are kept in the care of our humility, not knowing if it is fate or faith, or both, with which we contend and is that which keeps us. The dregs of the rest settle to the bottom as the light matter raises and awakens to the wonderment of itself, undefined, uncrowned, servant, self-less. Sentience an echo of the formless

zephyr in three parts

I.

I was lying

on the floor

in your room,

your bed a loft,

colored in muted

blues and greens,

and naturalist prints

from restoration hardware

except this is a dream

and the text on the paint can

read like a manifesto,

as if everyone who

bought into

restoration hardware

were in on

the secret.

You can never sleep, so your room

had become a shrine

and I pressed myself

to the floor below, to blend in,

pressed myself down,

into walnut the color of my hair,

to evade notice.

you came in, found

ten black hairpins

in the dust, which were bubbles

and said, "Oh, these are for Joy!"

and slink, I unblended from

my camouflage and chirped,

"Here I am!"

But I couldn't tell

if you were happy to see me

or offended that your sacred space

had been violated,

just like I can't tell

if you really

believe all the crap

you said about me being

out of your league,

projecting one day

i'd get bored and leave.

it's devastating, and maybe

at the same time,

i'm spared in the truth,

whatever that is.

in waking life I eat toast

with cinnamon

and brown sugar

to sweeten the send off.

you are such a chicken

But then I wonder,

what is it you think I need,

where is my league,

and what kinds of games are played there

I want a match in spirit convinced of mad devotion.

And maybe I'm a douche to admit it,

but I want some tranquil

blues and greens

from restoration hardware:

loden, sage, sea foam

and sex like a manifesto.

It doesn't matter, the dream

turned,

and I was in a jewelry store

but the persian son of the mom who owned it

had a party and trashed the place

and I tried to save everything

in little boxes

that weren't mine.

II.

Disappointed by our abstractions

I get to the point of your reaction

Satisfied in your enjoyment

Of the lies in my comportment

You're not the one for me

You're not the one for me

At least that's what you tell me

And that's what I believe

And that's what I believe

I believe

The lies you speak

From a hopeless heart

I realize the future never warrants

A guarantee of glory and fortune

But stopping before we get legs torments

A life only lived with what you afford it

Take your time

And get it right

Justify your need

Justify your need

But don't appease the fear

But don't appease the fear

Of a hopeless heart

Oh our hopeless hearts

Conversations, our doubt devices

Give rational lies and likewise minded

Litany of reasons, a love departed

Before we get wings, before it's started

You're not the one for me

At least that's what you tell me

And that's what I believe

And that's what I believe

But you forget your righteousness

But you forget your righteousness

And it tears me apart

My hopeless heart

III.

The sign on the wall says

It's your call

The sign on the wall says stop

Stop stagger

Wait no go. Go now

The sign says no go. Go on.

Now. Go on. You are my

Sunshine starry eyed

Surprise me girl with your

Wicked ways. It's been days

And we would leave like

The rest before. I Implore

You now. Stop. Go. Stop go.

See me with you. I see me with

You. I see us. See through

You to the rest of us. Once

Was a time. A time upon it

Front to back my sassafras

Your no named figure standing

At the door. I'd say please.

You'd take leave. Like before.

The message and the method

And Or But Isn't Ipswich

Come with it. Come away.

Get with it. Coalesce. Undress

You know the rest. What isn't.

Flip it. Mind the mess.

Resist it.

FML

It goes without saying that I'm fucked on some kind of deeper cosmic level. In earth terms, I have absolutely no regard for human life, my human life. Every four or five days or so I go and fuck it all up. I almost made it out the door with my little, "in case of emergency" bag with helpful things in it but I decided to have a snack before I made my escape. The escape I was trying to make from the snack. I had a snack on the way out, trying to make an escape from the snack. This, dear people, is like stopping to play with a bottle of lighter fluid when you're trying to escape when your house is on fire. I was fine yesterday. I was fine today. And then I talked to my dad. I cannot blame this on my dad. I cannot blame this entirely on my dad. I cannot blame this on Knox. I cannot blame this on God. I can only blame this on myself, on my own weak will, on my penchant for death.

This is not Joy writing. I do not know who this is. This is some other entity which has over taken the body of Joy. This is someone masquerading as Joy. This is someone thinking the thoughts it thinks Joy would think if she was having a bad day and ate all the granola and then puked. Joy at least would have better things to binge on than cottage cheese and fucking granola.

I half wonder if we are all really angels but we contract with God to come into these human bodies, not to make the world a better place, or to experience corporeal life, but rather to experience pain. You gotta think that being an angel is great except you just can't ever feel anything, and that probably gets boring, so God let's the angels down into earth bodies for like a pain vacation because angels really miss pain when they're in heaven, but oh wow can you get a lot of pain here on earth and let me tell you, I'm really enjoying this.

Not Joy, but the psuedo bullshit angel entity that get's off on gross fucking things like eating all the food and then puking. JFC, if maybe I can really just wrap my head around how fucking gross that is for a second. Maybe then I wold stop doing it. Maybe if every body fucking new about it then maybe I'd stop. Well, here I am being all honest and shit for my audience of zero and it just fucking doesn't matter.

At this moment I don't know what matters. I can go sit placidly and play the four to eight chords I know how to play on the piano in a rhythmic sequence and pretend I'm playing a song. I could read a book of verses or other inspirational who-haw.

I honestly don't know what the fucking point is to anyfuckingthing right now. God, please let my life start to make sense soon. Please stop letting me hurt myself. Please remove my supposed free will that supposedly gets me into this mess, or rebuke and expel whatever demons or ghosts or angels that may be occupying my body for shits and giggles. Or tears. Whatever. Amen.

Right.

I can count on my parents to point out the negatives in my life. sometimes the positive too. But mostly that which I would rather not look at. My dad is taking a flash light and shining it in my face at 4am while I'm sleeping. That's what this feels like.

Long live chaste relationships. That's all I've got to say for myself. I'm not in the mood for processing but know that that is exactly what I need to be doing in some way. Maybe I should go to Mills and play the piano in my practice room for a while. Or something.

I want to start a list called "Things You Could Not Pay Me To Do..." So far everything that's made the list has to do with alcohol and certain social groups in the San Francisco scene.

I'm not sure what I am so upset about right now. Perhaps a blanket statement of 'all the above'. I'm upset because of everything, I'm low energy, I don't want to deal. How, pray tell to get out of this funk? Mills is calling but so is a bowl of cereal. We are currently trying to get out of the habit of eating to mask feelings. Why the fuck does feeling feelings have to feel so shitty? Embrace this present moment in all it's shittiness, Joy. Haha. That is a funny sentence to look at, because my name is Joy. Annnnywhooo.

furthermore

so now i will just say that i re-dedicate this blog to myself and realness. whatever that means, whenever i feel like it. and i don't care who reads it or does not read it. it's not going to be about nice little pretty in pink posts or sleek poems, or whatever, it's going to be about what i need from a blog, which at this moment is a container for excess emotion.

9.24.10

fuck it. i'm going back to blogging nonsense at the drop of a hat because well it helps to vent and such so that what is inside is somehow outside in a contained little space. and not living in some terrible ineffective behavior/coping mechanism. i really don't know what is wrong right now. i'm having such a difficult time resolving, no that's not the word. but when you have two opposing ideas/ways of thinking. oh yes, reconciling. i'm having a hard time reconciling what i think i know, which i don't know, about existence and consciousness, and transcendence to what my lower self lives in matter, in pattern. there is such a glaring difference. i must still be dealing with saturn and righting old patterns. this is something to overcome but maybe in total acceptance of the yuckiness and the brokenness and maybe i'll never be better but that is just another part of the needing to be okay with everything in this present moment and not struggle against it but give over and let it wash over me in big waves of realness.

i must give up my futile and destructive habit of striving for thinness. the thinness i've been looking for was a fleeting moment in time at age eleven, or thirteen, or for that brief time at 26 when i wasn't eating but ingesting lots of other things instead. and that was not a good look. well maybe in still life on camera but not in real time, in action.

and now my body reflects the truth of me. at least part of it. as mother, in age, with genetics. nature has won over the stupidity of youth. i am not false anymore in so many senses. i am living truth, no more masks, no more projections.

what a beautiful sunny day and i am so blessed for the pretty garden we have and my cute enviable neighborhood. working from home, not given more than I can handle for this moment. i can see the positive if i want to rather than the negative of the same circumstance. stay in the light! stick to the treatment to the letter. do all the good things i know that are helpful, even if i don't want to do them. i must especially because i don't want to, it means that i need to so much!

for neatby 3.0 (non sequitor)

where are my words for neatby now

when we were sticks together

fooled by the meter,

the words, and the distance

beautified his pursuant wit.

bricks of canterbury to crypts step.

a cheap trick.

where's my silver egg?

unhatched.

dance dance diva

turn me out

my epileptic teary eyed rhizome

and she danced and danced

jezebel, eve, salome, magdalena

draught a basket

a coin in my pocket

not even

your endless love;

fun, but too much like

his mad mother

he'd never capture her

so he raped his sister

at tunbridge wells

with his girlfriend upstairs

7/30/2010

persephone

she did not realize the significance of the fall until several rounds had passed and a pattern made itself apparent. oh darling psyche, cannot quite remove herself from the mythic patterns of her preceding lives. certainly that's not tragic. it's a matter of fate. i wouldn't quite call him a rake. la dee da, don't you know we're playing her again. i'll sit back and watch it unfold, my sweet sweet angel. i don't have the energy anymore, the care, or the wherewithal to fight back in grand schemes of poetic revelry. Ibid. please see the previous twelve volumes. change year and name of eros manifest in flesh. i've had enough of the school yard. wrap me up in the tetherball.

haricot verts

haricot verts.

reification

there really is no other option than to do a very thorough cleaning of house. all these old things, matter from the past, hang in the air. i want to get very far away from them. i really want to move. the air is heavy with the past year, here now at home. i wonder if the magic of the last few months will fade now that i've returned home. i must assure myself that God still loves me, even in Berkeley where Spirit is mostly dead. i am still loved. i am still anointed. i will feng shui away the baddies and forge ahead. matter is nothing but thought so i shall think it into something that feels good. sleeping in my own bed is going to feel good. i remember the last time and the intensity of that astral travel. hopefully those folks are busy doing other things. and i will sleep soundly.

truly be

oh oh wouldn't you know. she finally remembered why this all started. when she came too close to touching the sun and spilling it's...don't say i didn't warn you. following that thread into the labyrinthine. certainly now my inner voice is softer. certainly now i've given up the ghosts. certainly now i am as uncertain as i've ever been and stronger for it. yea though i walk through the valley. oh hush. there is no such nonsense on the premises any longer nor was there ever. perception! dear and these are the degrees through which we rise to higher elocutions. now for the sweetness and goodness evermore. truly dedicated and bound by fortune. truly sunshine. and love. forever and ever world without end.

where fore

how do you solve a problem like maria, how do you catch a cloud and pin it down? downed clouds never had it so good. those that embody the rocks hold more wisdom than all the library's of science. how can i be cold hard facts? the fact that i am a thought holds none to bare beyond the semblance of never, never land, never again. intercalary, i lament the keeper's of the geared wheel. four turns i've been missing. the alchemy of a mental straight jacket. and we are all little dolls. or maybe just a result of the projections produced by vibrations emitted by my spinning wheels of light. maintain low tones. let it flow and let yourself go. i had a track, i had a care. now i'm someone's numb-er. they got me good this time. oh they got me. welcome to the new new deal. they've been hiding girls who kick up dust in asylums for years. the good doctors, christ lovers each one. no one wants to hear how we are all God. no one wants to hear about the synchronicities of the quantum. or of shamanistic awakenings. or of gnosis. no one wants to hear about those peoples, groups and entities who are not to be named. they're invisible anyway. like i am. echo echo! does this miss it's mark? again like the others. a beautiful mind. the indian schools indoctrinated the native children with a new religion too. i caught on like my life depended on it.

In the Eye of the Ibis

1 Thessalonians

Rejoice always; ^5:17pray without ceasing; ^5:18in everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus to you-ward. ^5:19Quench not the Spirit; ^5:20despise not prophesyings;^5:21prove all things; hold fast that which is good; ^5:22abstain from every form of evil. ^5:23And the God of peace himself sanctify you wholly; and may your spirit and soul and body be preserved entire, without blame at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. ^5:24Faithful is he that calleth you, who will also do it. ^5:25Brethren, pray for us. ^5:26Salute all the brethren with a holy kiss. ^5:27I adjure you by the Lord that this epistle be read unto all the brethren. ^5:28The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you.

abide

remembering all my past futures. my loves bring me back. my voice gone quiet these days as the external realm picks up. developed a silence to quell the mental and physical anxiety. cultivate again an inner smile but at the moment my mother dwells. we must send her, kali, back back back. let the girl shine! oh her shadow, oh oh her shadow.

by you i abide, my grace. in this lifetime or another. each finds me again. but in these times are we to love as deeply. our settings now geared toward the fleeting and superficial. but to know again our lives and sink into skin i have known before and before and before. shape shifters. geometric objects. hurl around my diurnal psychosis. the trade off i have made for creating a symbolic exterior. when in the company of others, vibrant, confident, happy. on my own, first thing in the morning: contrast. all that which i do not let live by the light of day faces me in the mirror. until cleansed by meditation, exercise, bathing, mirror gazing, and the shadow is packed away.

the shadow wants attention, will not be masked or polite. will not bow to the whims of the artist. who is in control? my muse i refuse.

the karma i share with my others. our intricate connections. met abai randomly who also creates with noah. noah works with david and me. david and i work together. david found the satya yuga collective then i found satya yuga through abai. and also of the satya yuga, cayote, who i met two years ago on halloween when my voice first opened a channel. and odd, no 'coincidence' that the other day i was trying to determine who's spirit noah reminded me of and i thought of cayote who i hadn't seen since last july at belden, then a week later reappears into the plot line. i have never given him my number. met only twice and each time i am afraid of our connection and it's potential. like looking back through a mirror backwards and seeing all my past and futures. like staring into an abyss. it seems our story is not done. maybe it is. maybe it isn't. maybe it begins. maybe it is done.

i have far less attachment to any of them now. we are bound by nothing, by trust, by knowing.

and everyone seems to know about me. and the Pleiades.

and i'm trying to remember when that came into my consciousness for the first time. and from where. even my father, devout as he is to dogma, seemed pleased to know my new spiritual name gifted by Djin: Pleiades Aquarian. and as i mentioned parallel realities he said "resistance is futile" and i wonder if he's just fucking with me. he's not supposed to know about these things. he's supposed to uphold the church and the doctrine of father/son/holy spirit and that is it. he is supposed to remain a bastion of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic see of transubstantiation, psychic realms and altered states.

i let go. i give over. for the highest good.

green growth

the trees call. we feed them with our energy. they need our ritual. they need our love. it is how it has been since before we could speak. our green friends remember the importance of shakti on a harvest. now no one but my brothers will suffice. muggles cannot see spirit, do not know the dance as we. it is funny these things i know before i know them. weeks or months before i understand intellectually i will write of something in another form. and then the light comes on. i'm remembering this life experience from a dream. it is a dream. i am a dream. i've had this dream before. the pieces come together. they fall away. there is no doing there just is. each moment exact. i wonder sometimes if the causality of choice has any bearing on the outcome or if it really is all predetermined.

there is a sense of relief in knowing it is all taken care of. the road unfolds before me and i do not have to decide.

i love my brothers. they are a part of me. bound by psychic connection and our mutual flow. sharon says it is our karma together.

it is our love of the spirit and our shared reverence for love, community, and light to which i am drawn. it is a drug, to be praised as a goddess. not in a removed sort of way, 'hey baby you're a goddess'. but in a real, energetic sense. they know my power. they need me and other temple priestesses like me to ensure that they are fruitful. mama earth needs our female kundalini shakti to stay young.

i like being around those who are magical. i like when things happen, like going to the beach and having every other piece of land for miles have clouds and wind except for the house i am at but we have sun and the wind stops right when i get there.

it's all illusion anyway so it's not really that huge of a stretch for the clouds to part and the sun to start shining when i arrive. i could in theory create any sort of thing to happen if i went about it in the right intention...

i love you me us.

Le Lumineux

To know a marked difference, deference.
A soft eye translated
into a simple care
A sacred air;
Sacrament of diurnal cadence.

Our day at dawn
Sparked interstellar upsurge.
Pleiadian exchange granted,
there in transfer;
Centrifugal dynamism.

Seven sisters, and Isis all mine.
Her sons returned.

Corporeal one
flits in, granted.
Surrendering a stance
given to embody
yet not subsumed.

Her clarity wants
for nothing.
In Nothing
I am found.

A space holds
and process dissolves,
heeds a readiness;
Steel within resonance.

We of behind veil
alighted from submersion
Exalted;
evaporate resistance.
Anointed and given
Cellular mesh;
Psychic adhesion.

A growing legion
beyond distance or treason.

We are here bare,
Here we are two regarded,
Engendered,
departed,
Returning.

It is our mark
It is our mission.
Warrant One, Seraph
A singular vision.

Build.
Release.

Illuminating,
Raising fortune.

A gilded path;
Our expansion.

//

and the rain falls...

In the Garden

pretty bird chirping, sun rising, heart smiling perfect forth and fifth soaring long tones. recorded at Rumbo 5/1/10 with the Human Experience

I see your beauty

I see your light

When I look through your eyes

My heart takes flight

You are my reflection

You are my light

When we walk together

It makes us right

We walk through the valley

We walk through the night

Now in the distance

We hear a battle cry

I am you

You are me

All our intention

All our might

Here in our hearts

The dawn relights

We release our attachments

We release our strife

Here in the garden

Vessels of light

You are my sunshine

You are my bright

Everyday together we spend

Building our life

I am you

You are me

We are free

We are free

We are free

lullaby

i see our reticence

a penchant for their violence

i want sedition

but given silence

i hear their suffer sirens

can tell you know you are it

they took us out to lunch

we sold our souls

for a convenience

on the way out

that's what i tell my kids there's

a way out

a day away,

oh wait

too hard, oh no

i see their vision

expansion on their malice

they use religion

and garner tyrants

welcome to the

empire of mass deception

walk and wander

under stars and stripes

of Manipulations

again the servants try

to seek the guarded

tear and binded

sycophant, it's so divided

it's time to say goodbye

and sing their lullaby

i'll sing their lullaby

it's our complacence

that gives permission

consume our substance

makes us submissive

i see the end of their myth

can tell you know you are it

we take our final punch

desert our gold

and greet our brothers

that's the way out

make amends, bridge the difference

it's our way out

it's a day away,

there's a way

What I See Is All of Me

Happy Earth Day Earth!!

Bless-ed be all sentient beings.
Those who are yet not
Awakened,
Let them awake.
Let them love
With open heart
Unconditionally,
Without judgment.
Let them love
Beyond measure
Infinitely.

What we have cannot be bounded
By structure or intellect,
Does not have an equivalent
In any currency,
Lives outside of reason.

Let us love
Purely, as children.

In my minds eye
I hold you
In highest regard,
As pristine and
Guided,
Unwavering.

May all our communications
Be without judgment
Holding space, time suspended.

Remove all obstacles
Of mind and circumstance.
Create synchronous harmony,
Each need, as it is different
Fulfilled symbiotic.
In this single moment.
Which are all moments.
One.

Doing Time

sing song for the human experience/d.block

we watch the waters rise and fall

suns and stars are born, collapse

our dream, in time, in form reveals

the karma of our past

how many lifetimes have come and gone

how many more will we let pass

until the time we're freed from form

making this our last

all our gods have gone beyond

all their lives complete

into the garden spiral

and now unseen

unseen

come clean

from suffered bondage

to completion's

last

a sudden evolution

of our fate

no more doing time

no more doing time

we are free from doing time

in compassion's love

4.20.10

I think I know why I was eating so much. Too much kundalini energy! The heaviness and ganja was slowing me down and slowing expansion. Back to a healthy diet and meditating every morning and well...hmm. It wouldn't be so bad except I think blockages are moving through the meridians in my left side, specifically in my hip and it is somewhat painful. In a good way I suppose, because it is energy moving but oh holy god owww. I am much more accustomed now however to the correspondence between my inner world and my outer so at least that's not so much a problem. Anyway, here's to not getting in the way anymore of growth. Maybe at some point I'll get back to writing poems and things. That would be nice, I like those.

firm yet gentle reminder

i really must reassess my definition of "gentle". so far today it's worked. must also return to size i was in september. absolutely doable. why that size? because it feels better. and looks better. so there.

september.

not that this is terrible but....march.

actually that looks pretty good maybe but september felt better. i think. whatever. this has now crossed over into taking too much time.

STOP FUCKING AROUND. WORK.

real talk

he may never come back to live here and i might be okay with that. i might need to be okay with that. i am okay with that. that actually might be what i want. my body is grieving this closure. released the guilt in a show of tremendous self abuse in a final hurrah these last months. as if it were only okay to come to the conclusion that i am no longer his mother and have not been in effect for some time, i destroyed myself with various patterned flagellations. my life split off from his reality some time ago and the split personality which resulted is coming to an end. all the intricacies of 'my' story go and are gone. float along. no more penance. i'm done. no one needs me to suffer like this. this body is my home and needs to be cared for accordingly. it only takes three days of meditation, running, and pure food to return to the place of harmony i belong. it only takes an hour of drinking or binge eating to tear it asunder. make conscious choices. gluten and grains in all their forms are to be avoided. quinoa is okay, amaranth. brown rice.

we're getting a new fridge delivered on wednesday coincidently. noah is returning from his tour on friday. i like him. he likes me. we might hang out a bit on a fairly regular basis and create things. i think i'm okay with that. i have no attachment to it. i know the circles in which we roll. i have no illusions. everyone loves everyone. no one owns anyone. maybe there are primary relationships and maybe there are not. it's nice to be in my nature. it's nice to come into alignment with my self. without guilt or hang ups.

coming into alignment means working more. means creating more. means loving more. means producing. means representing. JOY THIS IS WHAT YOU DO. do not resist your nature, do not resist the flow. you do not even need to think about it. you've been thinking too much. let go. let it happen. show up.

be a better caretaker/mother/lover/friend to yourself. grace. gentleness. be gentle!!

i had a dream last night about huge hummingbird eggs, the size of goose eggs, vibrant teal. i was at the oceans edge and let them go into the foam at dusk. until i realized they were hatching when sharp beaks and feathers, fuchsia and yellow poked through the leathery shells. i quickly collected them and returned them to the nest. maybe two or just one floated away to the sea and Yemanja. the rest i held as they hatched. little porcupine needle hummingbirds. i had to talk them into flying into the bamboo cage we decorated with pretty lights and pink streamers in my grandparents dining room with the old chandelier. they floated and glowed and sang. i could sense they were unsure, that they were a little sad to be captured. they were my heart maybe. or the road. but they glowed bright blue green pink and yellow and they hummed. they were sad-happy and they were okay.