Plug in

26 Jan

There are limitless ways,

thank god,

to choose.

We took on the options

(all of them)

when we agreed to breathe.

What if we are not alone in this endeavor,

or powerless at all, but

able to access unlimited power

in our earthly play?

Wall sockets seem the closest humans can

mimic, right now,  of power in the material,

yet unseen through ball and socket eyes

could be a source available in the space

which includes us,

which enlivens us,

(high or low or a million ways of in between),

only ever limited within our single units,

when we forget what’s here,

not outside of us.

How else could we be here,

put together with a trillion

systems coordinated beyond our control,

our brains and fingernails composed of quarks,

or some quivering basis for matter,

chemistry, physics, and biology, and more

and much much more,

cocktailed into us, mysterious us?

Do we have any choice even if

our very being is beyond our understanding?

Today, I say, breathe deep into possible power

because why not?

This morning, it seems, the choice:

to plug in or not.

What if we distract ourselves not

with the power blackouts

of shallow living?

Every choice, in every moment,

powering us up or draining us down, then perhaps–

We can experiment with

the toggle nature of this freedom–

and find that

this equation is true:

∞   x   ∞

If I can plug into

that which powers all

by my simplest of choices

in each moment,

well, then,

choiceless choosing has

pronging me

plugging in to wallless outlets,

finding that we are the ones

letting there be light

down here.

 

 

 

 

holy

23 Jan

There is nothing but

holy.

I wore it today as a mantra

in traffic jams

and temperature swings

and in the checkout line

where I was handy

and open

next to  magazine and candy gossip.

Enough flowed through

to bless the swollen wrist

of the Target cashier

from RA she says and sighs,

so painful,

sweet one, yes.

When we are there with her,

our mind’s hand covers her pain

with tactile love

while we drop to the spot

left and right lungs

touch the fire pit of our

singular abyss.

Holy rains on

holy messes

and blesses us all,

despite.

 

 

 

before or after we gone

26 Dec

What is life from no vantage point?

Center dancing and catalysting with every other center –

a friction of creation.

We, bombs bathing in lighter fluid,

montages of memory –

the white noise of yesterday

mixing with the headlines of today

blind to the rumbling volcano now

where we are

made, destroyed, and made again…

The first collisions of matter still echo,

songs on the victrola traveling out,

borning to dying, a 30 second film –

a scribbled line from here to there –

disbanded drying and dying,

then gone,

a whimper AND a bang,

i say,

and again.

the plot

25 Dec

When I have simplified my life

to a single dripping faucet,

each falling drop

the entire spectrum of sound, sight, taste, feel and smell,

each plop an endless reverberation on every level, and

I can perceive

and I am free in each moment

to full spectrum – which is a happening –

then I am not fleshed anymore,

but a sensory device,

forgetting to be allergic to the cat.

the buddha breaks a sweat

9 Dec

Buddha in Black Sweats,

I bow to you in retrospect,

you who awakened my Nosy Rosey

eyes that noticed

you

rushing to beat out others

to be first

while dripping sweat

AND

not cleaning up after yourself.

It was that final straw that arched my back

ready for a war—

Harumpf!

You got me, I wanted to reprimand you, I did.

I’m in 2nd grade tattling to the teacher,

Billy didn’t put away his cartoons to do the lesson.

I  watch  some ME giving you the stink eye,

ha, all the while,

you in your infinite wisdom

hold a mirror to my angst.

Now, I can see—

so easy for me to wash the machine before and after

as a great service for me and to me

all the same.

I couldn’t even see you, if you were not me, as well.

I am you, sweaty man, and

I am Goodie Two Shoes who follows the rules, and

I am the machine,

passively waiting for each one who will sit on me

and sweat holy water for us all.

 

shit may or may not happen

29 Sep

It seems to me tonight

that I can’t get it right.

I have tried so hard.

It also seems

that I can’t mess up.

I return to a

seat

wedged between my heart

and solar plexus

on which balances

a space between

striving and not.

This seat does not totter

or teeter

but provides a solid spot

from which motion or not

is clear.

Every effort and every allowance

can be seen in joy.

May the Protestant work ethic

in all its good intentions

burn brilliantly into its own footprint.

Work Happens.

Stillness Happens.

And Shit Happens

from another seat

altogether.

 

 

brillo breath

21 Sep

Forgive me

all

for when I step on your words,

for my imagining that I know what you are going to say.

Forgive me for the tight holding

I have done

and keep doing

in uncountable seconds

of my personhood.

She imagines she has something important

to say

(any words in time are flowing water)

and she has a poorly acted way of pretending to know things

from her limited exposure.

Only ever each moment

to release into this soup of being.

My psychic muscles are tired

of holding self together.

Breath,

thank you,

enters

into the each

last

holding,

of this construct

scrubbing away the clinging.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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