Tag Archive | new age

Hard Drive

Spatial Data Exposure

How much storage is left on this thing we call earth?
Many people have lived here since it’s been in use.
People may be concerned that we’ve not enough room
For the future. Indeed, we have visions of doom
At our own hands. We are like a virus let loose
On a path of destruction. What’s come of our worth?

We’ll admit it’s a Hard Drive to get to the top
Of one’s chosen profession or life as a whole.
Every life lived is sequenced in logical ways
That defy what is heartfelt through most of our days.
Perhaps defragmentation is good for the soul.
It’s not like we can find a new Hard Drive to swap.

Silicon is like plastic we cast to the sea
To outweigh all the life there. We’ve made of the air
Something suited for vaping. A bleak humansphere
Is not something that has to be looked at with fear.
There are way many people who fervently care
That this fast spinning Hard Drive continues to be.

The Giving

Process

There are times to be thankful. We set them aside
Because we are so busy with making time pay.
Times relate to the seasons the earth must go through
As it circles the sun making each cycle new.
Life cannot give up giving then call it The Day.
Each moment of existence is then justified.

In preparing for Thanksgiving, when to begin
All the planning and clockwork to make it worthwhile
To all who become present for one special day?
We cannot stop The Giving. We’re blessed in that way.
Now, we’re deeply divided and in no denial.
Life responds to our thankfulness – not to our sin.

In The Giving, relief from the drama at play,
On the world stage or this humble spot where I live,
Rings a welcoming echo and feelings of grace
That I have become thankful that I know my place.
I am thankful The Giving allows me go give
With no sense of confusion nor heartfelt dismay.

Momentum At Rest

The Motionlessness Apparent

An explosion in slow motion, as it takes place,
Is a consummate spectacle to human eyes.
As we place ourselves out there in body and mind,
We remain optimistic for what we may find.
Have we looked enough inward that we realize
What the nature of time is and how it makes space?

This star system created a vivified rock.
On the surface evolves a thin skin of smart moss.
It has leaped off the earth now to kiss the cosmos
Without asking indeed if it wants to get close.
If we stayed where we are, it would suffer no loss.
That, to many a human, may come as a shock.

Does it seem like it’s moving or standing quite still?
That pertains to our chaos as we find our way
On this Mother we’ve come to know as our birth place.
We exist through a larger will we can embrace.
There are ways to align self to live out each day.
When momentum is graceful, life can be a thrill.

Character Is Destiny

The Drama of Symbology

It’s a simple equation yet complex in ways
That can cause misconception and conjured up fears.
‘Character Equals Destiny’ sounds about right.
But, pray tell, what is Character? Shine me some light.
I’ve been lost in this forest for too many years.
As I watch them sneak by, they seem much more like days.

I do know well what destiny is, I do think.
It pertains to the future and how things work out.
If I live well, then good fortune may come my way.
If I don’t, then I won’t be immune to dismay.
To determine what ‘well’ means may free up some doubt
That would otherwise fulfill its job to hoodwink.

I should know what will happen if myself I know
As the sole story teller. To disarm all fear,
Am I known to be truthful in word and in deed?
People care about safety. Therein lies the need
For a code of behavior to which I adhere.
To thine own self be honest, then God’s grace will flow.

Dirty Double Dog Stare

Benign Absurdity

May we be made aware of the Double Dog Stare
Most specifically, the discrete dirty ones?
Truthfully, dogs don’t give them. They get them from us.
When they behave more like us, we make such a fuss.
They have become, for many, our daughters and sons
And when they misbehave, we still give them our care.

I cannot take for granted what’s in a dog’s face
Because it leads directly to that creature’s heart.
The connection exists between mind and the soul.
Each can know of the other to make knowing whole.
They are friends with much love and wisdom to impart
To the whole of humanity as a sick race.

We have keen double vision in how we believe
Our realities mingle. This is how we are.
Is it used for survival within our complex
Constructions of necessity? Nature objects
Such a notion of grandeur as much too bizarre.
Other species can learn from us how to deceive.

 

With Eyes Off The Perpend

Wall of Analysis

Parallelness is tricked as it can perpendict
At no other locations than ninety degrees.
So to stay parallel can be done fairly well
When revealed that the strong perpendicular fell
Through a crack in the mortar when it had to sneeze.
Such a thing shouldn’t happen if properly bricked.

But what brick can admit that, solid as they are
Whether laid on their sides or prepared to stand tall?
Truth among brick is baseless and of no degree
That can be safely measured and accurately.
Most unnatural acts are done to the brick wall
When destructed in haste and without a memoir.

Don’t pretend that prepends are perpendicular
To stuff above and under them – not to their sides.
One should act with conviction expressing belief
In perpendicularity, as this is chief
In the building of structures where faith are the guides.
Keep your sense of alignment from flying too far.

The Solemnity Of Solitude

Autumn Serenity

I respect my aloneness. I am not apart
From the magic surrounding me. Each breath I take
Is reflecting what I behold as I believe
In a world more fantastic than I could conceive.
Can I do such with others without much heartache?
There would be much less known and much more to kick start.

I am but one antenna with one vantage point
Defined in this reality as separate
From all other transceivers within the same void
Of a chaos of consciousness most humanoid.
Should my being alone be something to regret?
Those who long for this freedom may nature anoint.

I exist in an acorn that hangs from a tree
In a mystical forest bathed in golden light.
All the world that’s around me, I’ll take with a grain,
Or a fractional part that produces no pain.
When I do hang with others, I do so with sight
Of my true self distinguished from all there’s to be.

Malefic Colonoscope

Colon Specific

A head made for examining places obscene
Is the best of a woman. This world view will change.
Will the goddess of old step aside for the new?
Will she be brushed asunder, her path laid askew
By upcoming young Goddesses? Can it be strange
That procedures be undone due to ill routine?

There are those who, nostalgic for good times gone past,
Need a detailed report on the colonic health
Of the king who she works for. The news sparks their hopes
That all women can be trained to be endoscopes.
It is made more appealing when tied to some wealth
And the praises of men through their lifetimes will last.

I won’t look at that colon. Suffice it to feel
On some subsonic level what goes on up there.
My head must be above all that causes distress.
All the feminine power that we now suppress
Is approaching expression. Is this but a prayer?
Naturally prophetic, it shall become real.

Cosmosis

Procession of Existence

The direction I’m pointed to is, by design,
Not of worth to the cosmos nor who they contain.
I believe it’s a good thing. What else can I do?
It’s become calisthenic when my heart is true
To the point of the exercise. Yes, for the brain,
Which is part of the cosmos, this effort is fine.

At six seconds per page view, this site is on track.
A deep sense of fulfillment becomes firmament
Above firm, fluid calmness. I’m playing my role
As the fool of the gene pool with no special goal
But To Be and respond to the obscene event
And to keep on existing without looking back.

I Was Here. Who need know that? What sense does it make
That I can feel significant only by means
Of the chronic Cosmosis, contracted at birth,
That makes me need attention to be on this earth?
Being sociable this way is not in my genes.
So, should I write a book to compound this mistake?

Simply being alive means I’m doing my thing.
Should the cosmos become not aware of its own
Then it must defy logic since I do exist.
When I’m gone I can know that my words wont’ be missed
Because they’ve been lent to me so that I be shown
What a glorious outcome this process may bring.

Rationalization Of Pain

Objectification Of Fear

People utilize pain pills. They do a fine job
But they are problematic and otherworldly.
Addicted to their side effects, folks then become
Naturalized as an alien. Feeling made numb
In an effort to banish pain but completely
Is a crisis most urgent. Life Force does it rob.

Yet there is a solution to deal with deep pain.
One can look at it upright and study its parts.
In a rational context they all look like fear
That the way of existence is rather austere.
The nerve throbbing profoundly is how it all starts.
It is good to know that pain is not felt in vain.

I cannot dramatize it nor give it import.
As a signal, its job is serene and secure
Like the crash of electrons throughout their highway.
Drama only moves traffic and causes dismay.
If pain is seen as plastic, may I then endure?
Would I feel much less of it were I to fall short?

Verbal Storm

Thought

Our thoughts are like the weather. From out of the blue
They are born of a nothingness wanting to be
In connection with other thoughts. They coalesce
Out of need for expression. Life isn’t a guess
When they’re free of distortion and mental debris.
When they are well constructed magic one can do.

Thoughts need words to communicate much of the time.
Many ways to convey thoughts are at our avail
That are strictly nonverbal. Much art is this way.
So sublime a dichotomy can’t but portray
Possibilities boundless and rich in detail.
To get our points across is the thing that is prime.

In the space that is parallel to what we think
Is a vortex syllabic and vast beyond sight.
People learn how to speak well, but what does it mean
When words yield much confusion and actions obscene?
Words proceed from our thinking, and knowing it’s right
May be what keeps one balanced and well in the pink.

Saint Peter Was Once Just A Rock

Mineral Tribute

I take metempsychosis as I do most things
Like a big grain of salt I can study with care.
Those before me, like Plato and Pythagoras
Were most elegant thinkers no one could outclass.
Before I had heard of them, I was not aware
Of the bounty of wisdom philosophy brings.

The most unified theory of all that exists
Is so woefully wanting. The puzzle remains
Hopelessly uncompleted. I want to know more
Than the flesh can reveal. I have been here before.
From a source otherworldly the wise one obtains
Information restricted as nature insists.

There is never an ending. The Big Bang is part
Of an unending cycle of absolute change.
Consciousness is infused throughout all the expanse.
Everything is a soul which is given the chance
To evolve through all matter. Does this sound too strange?
For a ride in the Theme Park, it’s somewhere to start.

Who Is That Strange Soul?

enigma

Life speeds by rather quickly from this vantage point.
It’s just like at the movies, but I am there too.
My believing it is me, though it’s crystal clear,
Is a grand paradox – one that causes me fear,
Not of that which is unknown, but of this post view.
I can’t be that strange fellow. Why such a disjoint?

Have I acted so foolishly? I guess I did.
Somehow I can’t deny I’m the actor played there
Who appears ill and clumsy while caught in the light.
I thought I was a peaceful soul. This one does fight.
He would have people know that they’d better beware.
Indeed, when he gets angry he acts like a kid.

Has there been a mistake? This review can’t be mine.
Some screwup has occurred in the Akashic Vault.
One bored astral librarian made a mistake.
But who is there to check that? No sense does it make.
And can those who are in charge say this is my fault?
If I suspend all judgment, will things work out fine?

The Trials And Triumphs Of Tina Treasuretoosh

Showoff

When one’s toosh is a treasure, life can become strange.
For oneself, the ambition to stand out in crowds
Is a righteous and just one and follows the need
To be noticed and envied. We’ll fail or succeed
By the free wills of others. Vanity enshrouds
All the parts of our bodies that we think can change.

Parts are part of the parcel we dare to enhance.
To give one part attention more so than the rest
Is what people fall into because of demand
Of our parts-centered natures. Who can’t understand
How it can be offensive if wrongly expressed?
No one should have to fear that they’re taking a chance.

Some big butts are a magnet to wide erect eyes
That don’t mind stimulation. Tina knows for sure
She is much more than her cultivated asset.
Those who can’t realize that are not her regret.
She proceeds with a fine ass and heart that is pure,
Knowing that all the parts we have are a disguise.

Infrared Neck

Visual Revelations

Is the image of heat loss enough to evoke
Irritation and feeling stiffness in the neck?
It may be therapeutic to use infrared
To support diagnosis – not to be misled.
Why elude the believer? It’s proper to check
With a sensitive instrument to see what broke.

We should care for our Gelicals in the best way
Because Evan delivers the pain in their necks.
Redness responds to infra because it’s below
And indeed further on to where people can go.
An aching for a race war is not so complex.
Simple minds need a leader to plan out their day.

The right book states an Imperfect Vessel shall come
And his mission to usher in Armageddon
Is fulfillment of prophecy. What a delight!
Those who beam up to rapture will only be white.
All religion is human. Spirit makes us one.
Consciousness is an illness. We can overcome.

Do I Need A Container?

The Questions of Life

Is Defining My Life Force a worthwhile pursuit?
Or should I remain timid regarding nonsense
As is seen by this busy world? Is what I do
Of a value consistent with right points of view?
Silly world, I am childlike! My faith is immense.
Self-discovery for me is an absolute.

Do I need to be guided while I’m on my way
To wherever my spirit has pointed my heart?
We all are flesh containers. Those older than I
May be of some assistance. But I can get by
On the infinite wisdom of which I’m a part.
I must know who I am or I’ll surely decay.

Within me there is substance. It and I are one.
This complex earthy medium makes a fine tool
That I’ll use to explore to my true heart’s content.
There is nothing more meaningful than good time spent
Looking inward. It increases my psychic fuel.
There’s no end to my searching as long as it’s fun.

Afterlife

Transition

I have died, and I’m here now in this afterlife.
It’s not what I expected. It looks rather bleak
Like the life left behind. I discern no big change.
Things that are in both places I can’t rearrange
To my liking. Forgive my most honest critique
But what I see ahead is continuing strife.

Have I made this illusion upon psychic death
In a knee jerk response to prepare me to see
The Omega of afterlives waiting ahead
All because I believe now that I’m truly dead?
In believing it’s so, then it’s all up to me
To live up to what follows ‘til my dying breath.

Is there light? I don’t see that. At least, not right now.
I was told I must go to it, moth-like in trust
That reality will vanish once and for all.
This world that I’m believing could be my downfall.
How I deal with non-time here will still be discussed.
This death is a transition I humbly allow.

Keep It Simple

Simplicity

How can I keep things simple? My life is complex
Not because I’m a Virgo, but that I’m alive.
Saturn transits my Neptune at ninety degrees.
My wake up to reality gives me unease.
Somewhat lost in confusion my ill thoughts deprive
Me of life force and clarity in all respects.

The depth of my uncertainty too is unknown.
I don’t feel that I’m meaningful in a big way
Nor do I feel connected with those of my kind.
Until Saturn moves onward, the fog in my mind
Will try to hang above me and damage each day.
I must know I’m still worthy and not so alone.

I’ll rely on simplicity in my routine.
I’ve collected much clutter. It’s not justified
As a part of my makeup. It’s locked to the past.
I need to Keep It Simple and remain steadfast.
This thing won’t last forever. I’ll take it in stride.
It’s a time to examine my truth and come clean.

Toward A More Natural Order

Economies of Order

It’s a nonverbal language of lucid morphemes.
Acquisition or learning are possible ways
We may come to express what we see as our truth.
It is best that we learn how to speak in our youth.
That’s because when we’re young we put fun in our days.
We all read from the same book, or so it all seems.

Is there natural order to how life evolves?
Can we find a predictable sequence within
Spatial substance suspended adrift in the mind?
If the mind fights with nature, is it well designed?
All pragmatics, semantics and syntax are kin
To the global phonology as it revolves.

Language is as it should be… a social disease.
Subdivisions of virulence grow big in size
And compete for world dominance and point of view.
We become more programmable and less askew.
In the common collective we can recognize
How to become more fluent as our nature sees.

A Land Of Raw Milk And Organic Honey

Contrast Irony

I can’t double-click well when my fingers are cold.
The AC must be kept at the proper degree
Or I will not cooperate. I have my rights
Because I’m an American – one who delights
In detailing my comforts. Life is about me.
I can maintain some smugness in what I behold.

That land has to be promised by someone like God
Is a fact or a myth I can live with and hope
That I’m on the receiving end of what is good.
But what of all the others who would, if they could
Be providers and reapers? I broaden my scope
Of a true situation one cannot applaud.

Milk and Honey means bounty and everything nice.
To most, it’s an ideal… to few, reality.
All land has its own goodness. All life came from there.
We, the creatures who tend it, could give it more care.
Our world crises we nurture, not willing to see
Human nature is something earth can sacrifice.

Freewheeling Abandon

Freewheel

A visit from Uranus to Venus is like
Having Santa’s elves over to Feng Shui your heart.
I review my relationships. They need to be
Shaken from their sclerotic routines as I see.
All that I’ve become part of could use a fresh start.
To hell with an old mindset. My will is to psych.

That I do well. It’s not like I’ve not what it takes
To discover new ways of relating to all
Who indeed are my brethren. Commitment I give
Only to more excitement in all that I live.
What had been strong and stable has become banal.
When the heart becomes unstable, the soul awakes.

Uranus is the rebel rouser in the sky.
He brings on inspiration to seek out new ways
Of defining our values, our tastes and desires
…Those things that are of Venus. My spirit requires
Artistic stimulation, as my mood will raise.
Venus will be upset when Uranus drops by.

The Anatomy Of Feeling

Color Vibration

Electrons paint our feelings as they flow through nerves,
And like all good conductors, the nerves in return
Propagate waves magnetic, attuned to their flow.
Waves traverse space with great ease and complex cargo
That consists of our moments. I want to discern
What my feelings are made of as my heart observes.

Yes, the nerves are like wires. We’re much like the machine.
Our electrical systems respond to Ohm’s Law.
When our moments are transmitted and then received
Nerves within the receiver, so it is believed,
Replicate exact patterns felt and without flaw,
Though we may not perceive them unless we are keen.

Knowing deep pain or pleasure, each have the same feel.
Our high current protection limits either one
So the rational mind can measure in detail
What it is that we’re feeling so life can prevail.
We can re-tweak the system so that it will run
Like a fine feeling engine. Is this not ideal?

Keep Your Gum Off The Bedpost

Common Place

Keep You Gum Off The Bedpost. It’s not the right place
To park something retrieved from its oral abode
Entertained by the teeth, tongue and tonsils by day.
At nighttime can it be wise to treat it this way?
Gum cannot remain safe when its pace has been slowed.
It’s as if a good runner is pulled from his race.

And when parked on the bedpost, the germs in the air
Are free to make a fine home of its resting mass.
Gum will regain full flavor, not of what it had
But of crap in the funky air, and this is sad.
Any fool who would do this is quite the jackass.
One who chews funky putty needs wise mental care.

One must use proper hygiene when dealing with gum…
Never mind that the bedpost, because it’s erect
Through the night in a dark room may give someone pause,
Why put something disgusting back between your jaws?
The harm put upon gum from nocturnal neglect
Can come back to upset one and make one feel dumb.

Be Sincere

Social Performance

Film is rolling. Now, give the world your whitest smile.
Don’t tell me you don’t have one to proudly display.
We all have social standing. Is yours not above
Those who are at rock bottom? Do show them some love
By reminding them life is much better your way.
Don’t you dare let your mask down. It is your profile.

Be alive and in good health for all whom you meet
On the street, if they’re worthy of some time of day.
Use your keen sense of judgment to fully assess
How much they are like you or hopefully much less
So that you feel of value in life’s cabaret.
Claim your sense of fulfillment from Satan by tweet.

But be kind to the losers. We speak from the soul
With our hearts heavy-laden. Stage presence we lack
And our costumes are tattered from playing our parts.
We all have one director who knows all our hearts.
In a heartbeat we’ll leave here without looking back
Knowing non-actors exit with none to condole.

Do I Need A Co-Writer?

Programmed Terminal Distraction

Hanging on past my world worth, I seek not my own
Group of lighthearted losers. Alone I decay.
One misspoken raw truth or a social faux pas
Once a day should not get me involved with the law
Nor should it take my birthright to be here away.
Nature does still support me in its Twilight Zone.

Gnats don’t help with my writing. They get in the way.
I’ll assume that it’s personal then take offense.
Their obscene aeronautics hijacks attention
Even if there’s no light source. They do this for fun.
They are faster than I, so it makes perfect sense
That for such a transgression I shall make them pay.

While in flight, I can spray them with something that burns.
Rubbing alcohol works well. A delicate mist
Knocks them flat on their asses. I take much delight
Because now they’re so dazed they can’t put up a fight.
When they start fucking with me, I cannot resist
Brushing up on my mayhem against all concerns.

As they frantically gasp and flail after they fall
I now master the last laugh and take back some pride.
As I watch them grow weaker, I’ll spray them again.
They’ve messed with the wrong creature among insane men.
As I see that they’re hopeless, I feel good inside.
After that, I will kill them. My wrath isn’t small.

Do I draw such contempt from those of my own kind?
Do I act out in consequence of being cursed
As a highflying nuisance disrupting the show?
That I know nothing of it causes me to grow.
Someday I’ll cease my wars, but right now I’m submersed
In one of my own making. It’s all in the mind.

Women And Power

Strategy In Power

When and how to use force are the questions to ask
Among so many others before waging war.
We’d prefer conversation and working things out
Yet throughout all our history there’s little doubt
That we are prone to fight and to even the score.
When it comes to destruction we’re up to the task.

Have there been female generals in the wars past?
Who knows how they would fight and what harm they could do?
There are some of a fortunate few who could tell
Of the hell they went through that we cannot know well.
We know only of fighting men. Women, we view,
As still much less than lethal and of lower caste.

Women have been in office, but playing the game
On a man’s world stage and with the rules now in place
Is a leadership lacking in human resolve.
We can remain one-sided in how we evolve
But our old ways embellish our racial disgrace.
When women define power things won’t be the same.

Unmasking The Face Of Fear

Beneath The Mask

Do I fear the unmasking? What horror awaits
That I should know is coming by guilt that I feel
At the pit of my gut? Why this sense of surprise
That I have something coming? I wear a disguise
That is known as the ego. It is grossly real.
I cannot feel wholehearted when it dominates.

The ego is a force field that works like a lens.
It reflects what is inside outward but with flaws.
Our perceptions are finite. We use them to deal
With this rigid reality, damned to conceal
All that is not of this world and bound by its laws.
When the ego dies, that is the moment life ends.

Do I fear my undoing or fumbling head on
To a possible train wreck, or living in grace
Among those who I equal? What can penetrate
What I sense as my force field can cause me to hate.
What reflects back into me in time I will face.
The fear will cease completely when the mask is gone.

Toward The Soul’s Inner Truth

Remaking of the Soul

Many times through the year Mercury takes a break.
In his flight through the beltway he seems to sit still
Then track backwards, as if he’s retracing his trek.
When it happens folks complain their lives are a wreck.
Actions must be repeated. We all know the drill.
Simple things go awry. It can be a headache.

That’s not all it’s about, though. What lies at the heart
Of miscommunication is just an alarm
Sounded gently and frequently so we’ll review
Old ways of doing business and then make some new.
When we examine him closely we may disarm
How we feel when he’s retrograde in any chart.

Scorpio is his resting place, and for a while
We will be healing venom. The Truth of the Soul
May restore what’s been poisoned to healthy potion.
It’s the time that emotional cleansing be done.
Conversation in honesty can be the goal
Lest we remain indignant and stuck in denial.

Retrograde means re-knowing the path we have made.
Mercury, in his moonwalk, resets weakened ties
Or releases them if they’re no longer of use.
And in Scorpio, dark ties and secrets profuse
Are revealed. They will no longer hold their disguise.
The Soul’s Truth is a substance no one can evade.

A Check-In With Spirit

Journal

If I write on blank pages with fullness of heart
And well-focused, is its worth far greater than if
My mind also is void of just how to express
How I’m doing in my pursuit of happiness?
When comes time that I tame the feral verbal riff
Spirit then will take over me as I take part.

To sit down and start writing is not a big deal.
Some folks struggle with writer’s block. I am immune.
I’m equipped with a motor-mind shy of a voice
Loud enough that folks hear me. Is it not my choice
To be part of the episode we all attune?
And is it worth recording the things that I feel?

Go ahead and just do it! If I should hold back
Then there’s something undone, and my spirit will yearn
For some kind of expression of what it goes through.
Every moment I’m writing yields me a new view
Of my life with more clarity and less concern.
It’s the best way I know to keep my life on track.

Those Who Watch Us

Providence

The cosmos is expanding, so it creates space
At a rate most phenomenal – faster than light!
In that space there is substance, but not very much
Compared to all existence. Creation is such
That space is the main product. It has taken flight
Like a bat out of nowhere with nothing to chase.

Why there is so much space being made, and so fast,
May remain a grand mystery to the best minds
Until we come to know some things well understood
By the ones who are watching us, not for our good
But for close observation within their confines.
They would not interfere even if they were asked.

They have not come to harm us nor help us at all.
Their mindset is collective. Some have never met,
Yet they’ve joined for one purpose. It is not their goal
To prevent self-undoing of the human soul.
If they acted, it then would be seen as a threat.
Space contains all existence. That’s why we seem small.

The Nodes And My Modes

Lunar

The moon’s nodes form an arrow. It has a force field
That is grossly magnetic. It pulls on the earth
As it points to the way that my spirit should grow.
On the wheel of the natal chart, it’s good to know
Where the point and the feathered part were at my birth.
Therein are profound secrets that must be revealed.

Some folk say it’s a dragon with a head and tail.
But it makes not a difference. All see the same.
We all came with some talents that we perform well.
We have also deficiencies that often tell
Where we need to put focus. I cannot disclaim
Where the arrow is pointing, so I must prevail.

From the earth and the intellect, I’m pointed to
That which I cannot fathom. Aquatic and vague
Is the nature of nonsense and being at ease.
I find comfort and safety in my expertise.
I cannot just avoid what is not, like the plague.
I have come to seek balance, and it shall ensue.

Day Of Tough Love

Antidote

It’s The Day Of The Dove… or perhaps of Tough Love
That resembles the justice that must become due.
There’s an alien creature that feeds on our hate.
We’ve become deeply sided. We cannot see straight.
Civil War is its true wish, and its point of view
Is the sole source of nourishment it can speak of.

Not on earth did it come from. It just floated in.
A hot gas of no substance, it draws energy
From the drama of chaos which once were the lives
Of its innermost circles. He alone survives
Until those who’d been enemies finally see
How the creature is harming them, to its chagrin.

All our sides deal with one foe. The nation is not
One that can be divided and sapped of its worth.
We can laugh at the enemy and take delight
In the fact that the laughing will drive it from sight.
Such a creature should never take over the earth.
Life is like science fiction. They share the same plot.

Ping Pong Brain

Half Brains At Play

Do I not have a whole brain contained as one piece
Of the bodily puzzle? They say that it’s split
Down the middle. Each half has its ways to process
Cognitive information and how to express
Its version of reality. When they are fit
They can play well together. Good health can increase.

Constant communication defines how this pair
Can fit two sets of focus in one frame of mind.
It’s the corpus callosum that bounces the ball
Back and forth through the consciousness. If it should fall
Neither side takes a hit. Their game is of a kind
That will only continue. There’s always a spare.

We are binary beings – bipolar to some.
Separate are the functions among the same mass.
Mastering much of meaning, the mind mitigates
Or adds to our illusions as social primates.
Both the artist and scientist are of one class.
We may pray that the game never has an outcome.

Did Someone Use The ‘L’ Word?

Hang 'Em High!

Did Someone Use The ‘L’ Word? Who sounds the alarm
That I must pay attention to? Is it for me
Or someone who is like me? Who does it come from?
You don’t look like my brother who has overcome
Lethal racial injustice, and I cannot see
That your well-deserved drama is causing you harm.

Wash your mouth out with history, ignorant fool!
Having no sense of dignity, joke genius plays
Any card that seems feasible in delusion.
It may seem like a hanging to you, brilliant one,
Since you’re caught up in all kinds of trouble these days.
But your red neck will never know something so cruel.

You know nothing of lynching. Your analogy,
Like the others you come up with, are an insult
Belching forth from entitlement. You will soon be
With the criminals like you who see as you see.
Some who speak about lynching are those of a cult
Most accustomed to spewing incongruency.

As Long As The Pigs Can Pay…

Great Law!

Lord knows I need a living. I must make ends meet.
There is scant litigation to feast on these days.
Law degrees are a dime for a dozen or so.
Some who earn them are criminals for what they know.
I can make some big money with alternate ways
Of observing behaviors of those who eat meat.

To some, pork is inferior. It has a smell.
On a cellular level it is quite less than
Something healthy and sacred for people to eat.
People’s unyielding prejudices are complete
With the backlash of pig populations that span
Pretty much of the country. I do serve them well.

We have formed a class action for pigs who protest.
All who are U.S. certified have legal rights
To due process if they feel they’re looked down upon.
People should not bad mouth pork from dusk until dawn.
Pigs and people who hate them can get into fights.
I make sure things get settled and stay nicely dressed.

The Heart Of The Drama

Cosmic Play

At the heart of all drama there is a time stamp
That relates to all others, so they interact
To provide a performance upon a grand stage
Big enough that all creation wants to engage.
Astral bodies don’t govern us but do impact
The deployment of actors and where they encamp.

The big space sphere surrounding us, studded with stars,
Is a glass ball of ether suspended in place.
The particulate matter caused to flow adrift
Each have unique identity. This is a gift
And a practical guidance for the human race.
All the specks in the cosmos are our avatars.

The performance is ongoing. There is no end
To complex combinations. The drama at play
Is for whose understanding? Whom does it all please?
Information recorded over centuries
Has been used by production crews unto this day
To enhance entertainment for all who attend.

We Are The Garden

Newborn

I belong in the Garden that God’s angels tend.
They recruit may spirits of those who grow free
From the earth in this Garden. It can weigh us down.
Flowers cannot be sexy while wearing a frown
So the angels and those who have gone faithfully
Keep an eye on our progress perhaps ‘til our end.

Things don’t go along smoothly. One may think they should
Since benevolent forces impinge on our deeds.
When we act out of free will, they can’t intervene.
What we do unto others in time must be seen
In the fullest of clarity. We are the seeds
Of the Garden we make here in our humanhood.

They tell us we’re great people, the Gardeners there,
Having planted their seeds in the earth left behind.
With unending rejoicing, they see with new light.
We are treated as flowers of limited sight
For a short while. Sometimes it’s a chore to be kind.
We can know that this Garden is in the best care.

Death, Transformation And Rebirth

On the Cusp of Becoming

Pluto plows through the earth Capricorn is made of
As it dredges up deep-rooted structure and form
That can no longer function. What is left behind
Is a rich field for Saturn as it’s redefined.
What exists is uprooted to upset the norm.
Through it all, there seems not much that resembles love.

Saturn covers where Pluto has already been,
Chasing after the plow. When they do rendezvous
Should there then be disaster? A changing of ways
We will make about governance. We’ll reappraise
All our structures of leadership and make them new.
We’ll make sure that some things never happen again.

Transformation, it seems, must come on with some force
If we are to be brought from a comatose state.
Solid is our complacency. Saturn moves on
To leave Pluto upturning. Are we put upon?
Keeping all focus centered, what fate may await?
One cannot know the answer until then, of course.

A Ride In The Theme Park

Amusement

Do the mind and the body combine to take form
And become a fun ride in the Cosmic Theme Park?
Neither one of them is me, nor the ride they make.
If I thought otherwise, it would be a mistake.
If I am but the ride, then existence is stark
Like a rusted machine derelict in the storm.

We are all painted ponies. We look much the same
On the outside. And inside, we’re all made of wood.
Should we know we are captive on a carousel
Where bright lights and excitement drown out all the hell
That can certainly do the theme rider no good?
Playing with such a notion should cause one no shame.

Is my ride then predestined? Have I not a voice
In what kind of experience I can expect
Through the up and down cycles as I work my ride?
I can know that the decision maker inside
Has the power to masterfully redirect
My outlook on amusement. It is but my choice.

The Path

Path

From my vantage point, my whole life’s path I can’t see.
As it’s laid out before me, I look straight ahead.
There may be hills and valleys as I go my way.
I’ll walk through them the same as if life’s a ballet.
When I see the road turning, with caution I tread.
I can see where I’m headed but not completely.

Other people have walked this same path, I can see.
It is well-worn, so well seen, so people can know
That we all walk the same path yet remain unique
In how we relate to it and what we may seek.
As I engage the journey, my hope is to grow
To my fullest potential. My quest is To Be.

On the hilltops we can see big parts of the road.
In the valleys, it seems that we’re blind to it all.
Were it viewed from up high, one could see the whole thing.
What a wealth of foreknowledge that vision would bring!
Are we not meant to see such because we are small?
We came here for adventure, and such is bestowed.

Data Loss

Disgust

Putting all eggs in one basket does me no good
For who knows when the next scheduled screwup will come?
Data are much like eggs these days. I’ll cry out loud
Because I’ve put my trust in someone else’s cloud.
Now I feel kind of empty like I’ve been struck dumb.
I can see I own nothing. This is understood.

Do I own the Machine or is it lord of me?
That I must ask the question should give all some pause.
I’m not all for technology. It serves us well.
In return, though, it puts people through lives of hell.
Common sense remains missing from our noble cause
So some end up as losers, unfortunately.

So, I’ve lost all my data. I’ll just start from scratch
Like the birds of the barnyard do better than I.
Eggs are easily made, but containers are not.
Can I make my life simpler? I’ll give that a shot
Since there’s no other choice other than to comply
With humanity’s master. I’m free to detach.

Election Mode

The Promisory Nature of Politics

In the space of four years’ time, a lot can get done
But what gets done depends quite a bit on which mode
Leadership is locked into. One can’t be in both
Working Mode and Election Mode. One takes the oath
To work but for this country. Honor is bestowed
On the leader who knows we are second to none.

The election campaign is an aberrant glitch
In the internal workings of democracy.
Never ending, news cyclic, and wasteful, campaigns
Are a circus for many, but few will reap gains
As the balance of work done we’re not meant to see.
Who become the needy, We The People enrich.

In Election Mode, most leaders look far ahead
As if they have a strategy and enough charm
To stay hired for another term. Others are blind
To the nature of leadership of any kind.
They are put into place to dispense utter harm
As their foolish decisions beget death and dread.

Thoughts Are Things

Thoughtfulness

Thoughts are thought to be thoughtful in that they are not
Of definitive substance that one can behold.
Ethereal is their essence. They hide in the brain
Where no others may reach them then dare to complain
That way too many thoughts are thought and it gets old.
They are fluff like the feathers. That’s what we are taught.

Thoughts are much more than nothingness trapped like a school
In a translucent medium waxing adrift.
Often harder than metal, they can pierce the flesh.
They can also create subtle traps that enmesh
One’s good life into chaos in manner most swift.
They can lift one to sainthood or make one the fool.

All our thoughts are magnetic, induced in the nerves
As the movement of thought fragments by electrons
Causes energy thought waves to radiate from
That source which has created them. Now they’ve become
Airborne soldiers of fortune with hard erections
To provide all the real things the thinker deserves.

Spilt Milk

Perceived Waste Or Abundance

Things to do over Spilt Milk remain to be few.
Surely this is a good thing. There’d be many more
Reactions to make possible… most, not of worth.
Every moment conceals an abundance of mirth.
It is how I perceive things that I let life pour
Into my blessed bowl. Let it drench me anew.

Over Spilt Milk I watch from a vantage point far
Above all that is happening as it takes place.
I see also from close up, since I am right there
In the midst of the drama, not seeming to care
That somehow it affects my deserving of grace.
If I cleaned up the excess, would that be bizarre?

I jerk off over Spilt Milk. The mix is sublime.
My life is like a serial drama complete
With the fruits of my labor, in like way adorned
In a Milk of Magnificence, not to be scorned
To the point that I feel that I’ve no right to eat.
This is true now. I wish it were so all the time.

After Death

Death As the Passage Into New Life

The old body is done now. Where else do I go?
I feel so much less burdened. My breath is set free.
What’s become of my body? Is it laid to rest?
It’s been through quite a lifetime. Perhaps that is best.
It is odd that without eyes I finally see
That it’s not such a big deal for what I now know.

I’m adrift as I move toward what most I did crave.
And because I’ve no body, all bodies are mine
‘Til I’ve come to my senses. Discretion had I
While contained in a body. Now I don’t comply
With the laws of the physical. I will align
With the urges preceding my trip to the grave.

That I cannot escape here until I see light
Is the game that I play knowing it becomes real
For myself and my fellow ghosts in-between states.
Do I fear that some reckoning for me awaits?
The world I left behind is one where I did feel.
Now that isn’t an issue, nor is wrong or right.

While on earth, I felt strongly and spoke a big stick.
I took pride in my passions and had an ego
That was often abusive. Am I that way now?
Emotions are of earth. Spirit cannot allow
That which I’ve come to learn to harm the status quo.
Learning how to behave here can seem quite a trick.

Now that I’ve left this body, there can be no doubt
That I once had a mother. But now who is she?
Purely physical is the nature of this life.
Only on this green earth does a man take a wife.
My deep, earthly connections are not part of me.
Healing light is forthcoming. My faith is devout.

Does Work Cultivate Spirit?

Feeling Good About Work

An Obsession Magnificent, my work enthralls
And excites my whole being throughout every day.
My work is like a mantra that I can act out.
It enhances my wellbeing without a doubt.
My most absolute involvement becomes my way
To express who I am and grab life by the balls.

Anything done with great involvement does one good,
Whether farming or teaching or acting on stage.
But the only downfall is that my work depends
On results and approval. My heart recommends
That I also work deep within. There I engage
The spiritual mantra of my beinghood.

I must do something daily that does not depend
Upon anything outside my own inner space.
If I learn to do this well, then I can with ease
Make my work even better with no aim to please
Anyone who, of free will and infinite grace,
Is another earth worker who can be my friend.

Tight Slap

How Dare You!

“What would be called a Tight Slap is one that’s not loose,”
One would say who receives one from out of the blue
On a pleasant day when everything should be fine.
If I come off in error, do give me a sign
Other than a swift zinger. I have not a clue
What I’ve done to deserve this outrageous abuse.

Often times I’m well-mannered. Sometimes I’m a slave
To the sweat beast within me. Control I have not.
Can the creature of true heart be blamed for his act?
To survive a blind gesture with eyeballs intact
Is a fool’s expectation. I don’t fret a lot.
But I do take account for the way I behave.

 You are not my own flower, nor fruit from my tree.
I don’t have my own garden. People are not plants.
Knowledge comes as a Tight Slap upside the manhood
So that it’s maintained and forever understood.
Wisdom is abundant in any circumstance.
One does not need the Tight Slap to properly see.

Become Powerful

Inauthentic Power

Use your energy wisely. Don’t cast to the wind
Your potential for personal power. The brain
Uses twenty percent with the body at rest.
It will use way much more surely when it’s distressed.
If you think and speak less, there is power to gain.
As it dwindles away, it is hell to rescind.

Power is not about someone else, I should know.
It is only about me and how I behave.
Energy can convert to true power with ease
Or be wasted through ill thought and anxieties.
Language skills must improve if my words I do save
And disburse economic with rhythmical flow.

I can do much the same things without working hard
If I leave all unnecessary things alone
And do that which is needed and truly worthwhile.
Domination is not power. It’s a bad style.
Power is being effective and in the zone
Of the lowly enlightened. No one can be barred.

Who I Am… What I Am Not

The Subtlety of Illusion

I am not this flesh body. I gathered it all
By the means of consumption. The food that I eat
Turns into solid substance. It’s made of the earth.
Much I’ve accumulated since my meager birth.
But this body is not me, though it seems complete
As a functioning system that breathes and stands tall.

I am not this freewheeling mind caught in the breeze
Of a major commitment to generate thought.
Everything that I have thought has been thought before.
All I know is collected. I seek to know more.
But my mind cannot be me, though it may be taught
What is truly my nature perhaps with great ease.

I cannot say that what I have gathered is me.
Yet, without it, can one say that I still exist?
I exist without question, but what then am I?
I shall ponder that puzzle perhaps ‘til I die
And may not find the answer. I need not insist
That there is one. My nature is simply to be.

Where Is The Mind?

The Elusive Nature of Mind Substance

Human bodies are made of a handful of layers.
The gross physical form is what we can well see.
There are others more subtle. The mind, we may think,
Is the Crown of Creation – evolved gray and pink.
But our brains are but thought makers and their duty
Is to realize worthiness as thought purveyors.

True intelligence lies not in the frontal lobe,
Solid State of a substance within box of bone.
Every strand of my DNA knows more than me.
My nose is like my great uncle’s. How can this be?
What goes on in each cell’s life surpasses my own.
Vaster spaces exist not for the mind to probe.

The Geometry of Existence Is The Mind.
The cells are not the limits of knowledge untold.
Life and energy on earth all comes from the sun.
When compared to such knowledge, indeed I have none
But to stop and consider, and then to behold
A Most Wise Omnipresence which is undefined.

The smart soil that imparts wisdom to my bare feet
Is where I draw intelligence ripe for the brain.
I may also take wisdom from each breath of air.
No one can live without it. It is but to share.
Intellect that is infinite one can’t contain
But one can be receptive, and thus feel complete.