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.

Soundcloud recording here.

What Is Fog?

Still infatuated by summer, huddled
in fleece jacket and blankets, piping

hot coffee, I’m in between and so
tingling with tomorrow’s initiation into

esoteric lore that I sprang from
sleep in the dark. I’m easing out

of political borders and national fervor
sliding into a global village web.

Dawn paints majestic
bright pink clouds as blue

sky announces the coming sun.
The lake ghosts spectral moving

westward as if summoned–not
a retreat from the power of east–

dancing columns rising reaching
like fingers of smoke. Oh, don’t

nag me with science. I’m all about
the soul right now. Here outside

the trance of modern life, taste
synchronicity, allow each significant

message to open me. Amidst
mystery, tasting cold on this

autumn porch. The light moves
me just as the dark

eases awareness into new
possibilities filtered out

by fear available now as I
fall in love with the portal

between night and day birds
assure my waking from my fog

Inspired by: Esoteric, Amidst, Infatuation, National and the Stream of Consciousness prompt to use -tast-. (And yesterday, my three-year-old grandson stopped me as I read an unfamiliar word and asked, “Bibi, what is fog?”)