Check Your Baggage

When I am down and I forget
the way we were when first we met
hold my eyes, reach out, my love
just recognize we are kind of
the same, inside the skin and bark
and fur and feathers. This whole
game of hide and seek when we pretend
we only go so far and then we end
palpable here as we avoid each other
all the struggling excluded brothers
here converge, awaiting flight
we bite our lips, we are polite
lacking special courage that it takes
to bridge the gap for human sakes
though crises loom, we’re in our heads
sneering at our different threads.
I’m sitting in the terminal
poised boomerang’s return
to my roots. My potential’s germinal,
nearing spring, and so I yearn
with this young heart to serve
the sour and the cynical
a dollop of joy and verve
bless the inimical.

Inspired by:  Terminal, Boomerang, Sour and Young.

Soundcloud recording here.

Stream of Being

There I met an old man
Who wouldn’t say his prayers,
So I took him by his left leg
And threw him down the stairs.*

I postulate that now is when
we collaborate consciously
practice zazen
as a planetary being
guaranteeing our well-being.
The subtle realms ring true
while wretches longing, sing blues
bewailing the lockdown
prison bars break down
and isolate, each unvoiced
song that seeks to rejoice
silenced, the malice echoes
through the death rows
alive in our cells
we carry the spells
of ancient lineage writhing
rushing to church and tithing
to be free of the curse
we can see, pray the universe
will reimburse these good deeds,
knocking down the weeds
that separation frames
and names in childhood games,
the propaganda that we live and breathe
long before we show our teeth.
We’re locked in time.
We can be free
reach out your subtle hand,
tune in with me.

Inspired by: Collaborate, Postulate, Subtle and Wretch and the childhood rhyme (a form of propaganda) Goosey, goosey, gander*. Featured image taken in Chingaza National Park, Colombia.

Sound recording here.

When I Say Jump!

Breath regulates our meeting
illuminates the precipice
we poise, suspended in the liquid
light, recognize the love-torch
eyes that greet with such delight.
We let go of the egregious past
just so and, too, the looming
future-painted evils we predict,
here, now, open and loyal
to this moving universe
in this expanding space
just after the exhale
but before the inhale
so precise and still.
I don’t know jack, you say
as laughing time appears
riding the practice of water
we emerge as waves
the world in motion
just before we submerge
we smile and point to the next
peak where all our separate
particles could meet, each voice
thrumming in the ocean symphony
we plunge into the thrilling dark
dance of the sea, accompanied
by this life we breathe.

Inspired by: Egregious, Jack, Torch and Regulate. Featured photo is a favorite precipice where locals leap at Waimea Bay on Oahu.

Soundcloud recording here.

Money For Old Rope

The path to crisis is boulder-
strewn difficult. One must
strenuously avoid the
temptation to do nothing–
that is, they say, when evil
triumphs. Beware any
chance to sit in silence
clear the inner murmuration
of starling-thoughts flying
intricate patterns of karmic
misperceptions. Try and try
again! Do! Move like a murder
of crows as the tempest
feeds on your panicked
activity. Onward, to the
breaking point! Trouble looms
and brewers, we foment
with such good intent, and yet,
our trajectile initiates from
hate, the very rules we seek
to dismantle. This is more than
we can handle.

We set down
the old-world tools
curious, unsighted
to receive what now
has newly lighted.

Inspired by: Triumph, Crisis, Nothing, Temptation and this photo taken in 1890 of my great-great grandfather visiting his son in Colorado.  Do we carry the old ways in our genes, or do they carry us on a wave of preconceptions?

Soundcloud recording here.

Crone Weaving

First lady Melania Trump revealed that her New Year’s resolution is “Peace on the world.”

I mean, I’ve seen resolutions die
quick deaths, the ones to be best
spoken with confidence, but this
one takes the cake. To blow peace
to kingdom come just two days
away from January 1–
is she a disconnected mouthpiece
the truth is hidden from?
I’m no political analyst
but as a peaceful strategist
drone strikes are on my list
of nos. This crone abhors
the killing blows. Life wants
to live and so we breathe.
To all our living loves
reprieve. The space inside
where we’re connected looks
at what has been rejected.
Opening our hearts to claim
the evil manufactured in our name.
We’re rooted in this world,
not on it.  Our peaceful leaves
are furled, we’re haunted.
This is the now we must face.
We are the integrated
peaceful base, the powerful
united loving human race.

Inspired by: Best, Breathe, Confidence and Kingdom. and today’s news of a Trump-ordered drone strike that killed the head of Iran’s Revolutionary Guards Quds Force.

Soundcloud recording here.

Still Sleeping?

The birds would like to know why
she cut down the lilac bush
right before this big snow.
They call down the chimney.
Query unheard. My voice
more clear. She says, I never
thought about the birds,
taking a breather,
watching her suet feeder,
looking for tracks in the deep
unbroken white. Sure in her right
execution the solution.
The bush expired
her affection–she admired
a different sort.
So life’s cut short.
From this insulated box
the wilderness a paint-by-number
jumbled mess. On Fox, perceptive
of the sentience celebrated
the flickering screens
calibrated us versus them.
Even her own species judged,
dismissed. The other beings
begrudged in cages and she’s
forgotten that they need
nourishment. Feed them.
I remember her
ancestors chopped venerated trees
to claim the land still red
with the forced exodus
of genocide. Don’t count the dead.
I dial in most days. The line
is busy. There is no forwarding
through the haze, darker
hellbent recreation
keep the past labelled
the future with a magic
marker that fools no one
or everyone, fast asleep.

Inspired by: Dial, Chimney, Perceptive and Expired.

Listen to this on soundcloud.

Love’s Perspective

I’m not afraid of running out of love. The more love I give, the more love I have to give.~Rob Brezsny, World Kiss

I bless you precious basketball
bobbing along the iced edge

of the bay: forlorn, forgotten
by the children who missed

the hoop and changed the game
to this cold and lonely lake

tour. Here where the springs
bubble up in the hole hewn

by the highway contractors,
here is beauty. Breathtaking,

heart-opening basketball, faded
into a mustard yellow with a frost

cap, observing with a detective’s
stealth. Alive in the living waters,

as I am. Fractals of the complex
humming earth, creatures forged

from stardust and sound, light,
energy. I release the separation

that declares my sentience supreme:
what I have is yours and yours

is mine. Vibrations of love,
we presence one another,

tuning in and reflecting
disturbances in the field,

so easily corrected when we
are intent on kissing our wounds.

Bringing them like sobbing children
to our mother. Nurturing each

other, every one of us called
thing or it or jack—even

this flickering sentient screen bestowing
this message, records your metadata

expressions as you read
these words. All of us alive

and brimming with it. I’ve thrown
off the separation, I’ve missed

the target, spinning, throwing
blessings to every thing that matters.

We. Us. And what comes before
the word the intention

the transmission deep
abiding love, the blank page

on which we write in our
feverish dreaming. Kissing

cousins. Nothing is
as it seems.

Inspired by: Jack, Detective, Hewn and Precious.

Photo taken after a long climb in Oahu when I felt overwhelming love for all of creation. May it transmit that same all-encompassing love to you.

Listen to it on soundcloud here.

And here is Rob Brezsny’s 8-minute celebration of love, World Kiss, that arrived in my inbox right before writing time.