Create The World Now

Where is the place from which you create the world?
The stillness of the lake with a shaft
of light. Inspired. Electrified and swirled
that yes reverberating like true craft

and so much more. What impulse drives you to
open the door? Do you call from beyond
time, leave messages from voices brand new?
Do you recognize, embrace and respond?

Here in the Great Awakening I sit
receptive, still, awake with such delight,
rejoicing in these night skies I’m starlit
as all these shadows finally come to light.

Slip Off The Yoke

Looking always without a clue for peace
enslaved befogged consciousness still a tease
learning to slip beneath the yoked control
sitting in presence here now I perceive

innermost circle of intimacy
where universal love intricacy
is never fickle, sometimes though it seems
a precipice over an endless sea

I pled for safety, I asked to be met
filtering through difficulties and yet
the only hurdle I overcome I see
with power deep inside, my great asset.

Inspired by: Fickle, Overcome, Intimacy and Precipice.

Altar’s Alter

Sitting in meditation, troubling words
emerge to flap frantic, abrupt small birds
batter my house’s hard ceiling, absurd

persistent they break a hole in the roof
of my consciousness, so that a shaft of
light is allowed to enter now.  As proof

of this place carved outside of time and space
I construct an altar, feel now the grace
in my very physical room, the base

of my alchemical transmutation.
Each difficulty offered, creation
gift holy among the crystals stationed:

rose quartz love, deep magnetic pull of eight
hematite stones, a geode carved, the weight
of serpentine, these mysteries a gate

the chance to break the matrix, open me
beyond the confines of controlled mind, see
channeled from outside of my knowing, we

find solutions are instant and easy
unhindered by beliefs, I sit in peace
each troubling thought released to spirit’s breeze.

 

Inspired in this morning’s meditation to reflect that the solutions to what is facing us are not to be found in the mindset that created them.  Calm and centered, the light inspires.  

The featured image is a piece of serpentine found on the coast, with the “swirl” effect filter.

To Be Clear

To be clear, I am far from stating that the material world does not exist.  Rather, I propose that what we think of as the real world is a holographic consciousness construct that–in all ways at all times–is subject to modification by our consciousness (or unconsciousness) of it.~Potentiate Your DNA, p. 70, Sol Luckman.

To be clear, I corroborate
starry-studded hope. The great
scheme permits a shift
deteriorates these rubber
stamps that once defined
a quirky campaign purely
designed to control us,
shut our inspiration down
before it’s found.
Wait.
That’s opaque.
Words lead
astray. Our hearts
know truth when we can
sit aground, intuit,
follow every trigger
to its source as a matter
of course. Everything changes.
The bigger gift appears
inside the rift
of our exchanges.
Mumbo-jumbo yet again.
Bafflegab gobbledygook.
In essence, I applaud your juju
all the power flowing through you
transmutes the lies
and obfuscations
into clear sight, wordless
roots of transformation.

Inspired by:  Permit, Rubber, HopeShut, CorroborateCampaign, Scheme, Quirk. and Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt to start my post with the first three words of the first full sentence of the book closest to me when I sit down to write.  (That sentence is the quote at the beginning.)  I was overambitious today, trying to use all of the past two days prompt words in this stream of consciousness post.  Braving my inner critic to hit publish even though it does appear to be mumbo jumbo.  Creativity needs to be released.  So be it.

 

What is fitting

Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habit. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid. Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of [wo]man.~Bertrand Russell

The extroverts here only see the remnant
of the woman I once sewed to survive.

On my odyssey to awaken from the
societal spell, I borrow sanctuary.

And how it infuriates them as I mine
for salvation in the depths

of the mountains of disinformation
where they dwell in fear.

They worship the super villains
flocked by teams of press agents

and lawyers. This slowly waking
poet poking holes in the story

has no place or time. They cut
out articles on how to get a job

–trade away thought and
energy to make things the populace

will buy in the morning and
discard come nightfall. Holding

the model as a beacon, a siren song
luring me to the harness

with the promise of oats and hay,
someone benevolent to ride me.

I turn to the magnetic intelligence
always available

what is present now
an embodied being

dreaming my self
awake, aware right here

Inspired by: Remnant, Odyssey, Borrow and Infuriate.

…Wait for it

Jump into space

between couplets like the pause
right before I inhale

that joyful awareness, nothing
to surmount. All the stone fortresses

open their secret rooms. It’s dark.
The air is heavy. Sometimes I fall

into numbness, waking with a start
I am afraid to follow. And still

I carry a light. I have chosen
this darkness. It is mine. I claim

my deep intelligence present here.
As a goldfinch lands, twittering

I’m on a glider; golden light slants
across my warm skin. The sun is

too brilliant, even the reflected glory
in the lake causes me to bow.

II
Part of this poem dances in
and I without a pen.

Charmed and heartened, I marvel
rapt like an audience who owns

the very book I quote. Finally
running into the house for tools

allow that cursive flow along the
lines and I feel fine so in a bit

I’m grabbing my guitar to play
and sing just anything and yes

this notebook, bizarre and strong
is with me: I believe my voice

needs to resonate this grounded
heart into the frequency of we.
III
Sitting drenched in early evening sun
strong and lovely, my skin crinkly.

Joy comes when words surprise
me and the family secrets fling

the doors wide and sashay in
with winks and raucous levity.

Even the dark ones, villains, long
excluded from our happy tale–

I burp when they appear in any
healing moment, that is, only now.
IV
I’m going into more far-flung places
and the house is reeking with bleach

so I can’t enter. Perhaps I’ll sleep
here–never knowing which heavy being

keeps splashing under the dock right
below me–with mosquitoes and bats and owls.

I have caged myself in fear.
The pretty smile barely masks

the numb places. Oh, hey, celebrate:
they are  i am  we made it here.
V
I whisper in my ear outside of time,
loving that little child, giving secret

snippets of what is essential right now.
Loving the powerful adult writing here.

Jericho Brown, you’ve changed me. Once
a couplet seemed like too much hand

holding, escorting my reader down
the path. Take a breather. Relax

before this next line really takes you
to a new place.  Jump into space

Inspired by: Levity, Surmount, Marvel and Bizarre.

What Remains Hidden

I am grateful for what remains hidden.~Thomas Huebl

Where does trauma preside?
Holed up in a juvenile place

unreachable, yet glimpsed years later
alive and scolding like this green

heron’s brief flight across
the morning lake.

Always present
in a flesh that differs

from its intrepid sister
bravely forging ahead.

Like a forgotten base camp
the avalanche surely sealing it in

so the path is only
memory and faulty. We weave

stories and mourn, even as we
hitch it to our yoke

drag along the hidden pieces
emerging, surprise, who knows where.

Inspired by: Differ, Intrepid, Juvenile, Glimpse and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt to start the post with “where” and write whatever comes to you in stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write. (I’m obviously applying for the bonus points if you end your post with “where” too.)

The Look Time Can’t Erase

Each with charm to sway are staring eye to eye.  They dare not look away.~Joni Mitchell, Edith and the Kingpin.

Deep in inner space, I finally
cease to castigate and just
say I don’t know. I’m tired
of the kingpin swagger, the lord
high muckety-muck’s dilatory
stroll through the rapt
mapped territory.

The face of my disconnect
appears, blurred edges,
confused.

A strain of nightly music,
dreamcast and obscure,
I’m sure reveals some
powerful insight. If only

I let go of these cold hard
perceptions I call reality.

A glimmer of gold
invites me to descend.

The truth is

I am numb and that’s
okay. I sit with what is,

curiously falling

into the field
with my clear intention

to be here
just as I am.

Inspired by: Nightly, Kingpin, Strain and Dilatory.

My Old Friend

I end each day in silence
clearing the path of ripples

from every stone that smashed
my surface, on my way down

sitting in a sacred space.
Finding the way through the

drama and unexperienced emotions
to this place, deep and wide

and dark, pulsing, magnetic.
And there I dwell into

clarity before I sleep.
At daybreak, silent once again,

as if my dreams had opened
long thoughts, to be respectfully

regarded, fading fast but
sometimes lingering or pulling

me into a poem’s magic.
And though I warn the people

that I live with, they can’t help
but think me rude,

eyes glazed at a hint of
chatter, running out into

the morning, into upon
a secluded chair, settling

quietly to the morning serenade
children squealing, birds

on every branch, traffic humming
into the background. And when I

open my eyes, I am regarded
by a lizard, stone pose

until we scamper into the day.

Written for the Stream of Consciousness-Saturday prompt of silent/silence  (must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.)  The no-planning part is easy, but I love this particular prompt because it highlights for me just how many picky little edits I do to even my spontaneous morning poems.  Not for this prompt, though, scout’s honor.

Alone Again, Naturally

I sit just so to allow
the jealous child to emerge

and return to the scene.  How
far from nostalgic, seeing past

the captured smiles in photographs.
Compare and contrast, fall

off the high-expectations cliff.
Not good enough? Give your best riff

and be found
wanting, no fair exchange,

overlooked.  Unsung hero,
braced for the pain, condemned

by this voice inside.
Sometimes I’m steered into

tight places when the child
grabs the wheel, panicked,

fierce, misguided.  And so
I hold this container

ward off the oblivious putter.
No one to harm or blame, safe

waking with the melting steel.
A sweet embrace, a heartbeat

here invited
in and now I breathe.

Inspired by: Jealous, Putter, Nostalgic, and Return.