Innocence

In No Sense

I Regain the Blank Slate

Of Beginner’s Mind

I Know Spontaneously 

The Truth of the Matter

At Hand

And the Cosmic Matter

I KNOW Intuitively

That Matter is Mater

And Mater is Mother

And the Earth

Is the Birth and Girth

Of the Feminine.

Which Brings to Life

The Invisible Pattern Of the Pater,

The Father, The Spirit

The Masculine.

My hands lie still by the keys

Waiting for inspiration to strike

Life has gotten humdrum

And technological

Where is my poetry?

Where is my rapture?

I do not wish to die with my song unsung.

Help me God.

Awaken the poet.

I don’t tell anyone about the thousand cuts of humiliation

Created by my own past follies and misjudgments.

The things I blurted. 

The impetuous enthusiasm 

That bursts forth unexpectedly,

Then subsides.

Unyielding to my fear that it will never return.

And then I give up, and get on with it,

“Proceeda, proceeda,”

As the Shree Lakshmi  mantra says.

I like that briskness, of “Move along, move along,”

Move along and allow. 

Don’t linger in reminiscing.

The bad parts, the good parts,

The no parts.

Even this poem is reminiscent.

An in dull gent.

The editing cannot happen until the creation is done.

Every Twitch of the Toes and Fingers 

Is a Twitch of the Mind.

And HumanKind,

Is Twitching Together at the Rate of 

25,000 People in a Room.

An Amazonian Evolution of Consciousness

Commercialized.

But I Say to You, Who Cannot Be Still.

That while God is the Switch,

It’s You Who Twitch.

And Sometimes You

Just Have to Turn it Off.

And Let Stillness Speak.

Manifestival

 Creativity is re-choired to 

Breakthrough the inertia

Of the Past

Of old Thoughts

Of spelling Mistakes

And the projected Spells of Others.

The Creative Principle

Is the First Thought

The Undifferentiated Reality

And if YOU can return 

Your Consciousness

To that place where

YOU don't exist,

Paradoxically,

You have the POWER

to manifest reality.

Falling in Time

Let them all fall away.
The intentional transgressions,
the unintentional ones,
the aggressions, the regressions,
digressions and progressions.

Time is just for giving.

Tomorrow is another chance

I don't want to cut the silence of the night with a sound
A voice would shatter the strange mercurial Stillness
Of my illumined Mind
I hold still with bated breath
I push out my thoughts.
Breath rushes in
Breath refreshes me
Night renews
Tomorrow is another chance
For Love to spring anew.

Eve’s Solution

Two loves, inverted and subverted,

Gravitate towards each other

By magnetic attraction

They join forces

Merging a whole O

And a half L

To EVOLVE.

But then something happened.

The story of Adam and Eve is the

Archetypal Split

Reality

Branching outwards

Into Duality

IN DIVIDE DUALITY.

Man and woman,

A complementary division

The dynamic duo

Archetypally cast

Into roles that are

Opposing

The subversion

Of the feminine spirit

Has caused both

Men and Women

To suffer.

Imbalance,

Too many divisions

Too many duels.

What’s a person of integrity to do?

What was this dream?
A fabrication in my psyche
It has the power to awaken me
To make me feel.
It is my psyche throwing up spoilage.
Gathering these stray feelings and wringing them out
Removing the stain of old hurts
Old resistances
Yield to love
Open my heart
Awaken your tenderness.

Fruit of the Poet-tree

My underlying belief is that
Bad begets good
And good begets good.
So when bad things happen,
I hold fast to the light
Like it is a branch in a waterfall
Rushing to hit bottom
At first my mind is tossed about helplessly
I am overturned and submerged again and again
But I turn myself right side up again.
Something in me resigns.
I exhale, see the Tranquility
That is the ground of my Being
And I know that no loss can shake me loose
From this tree that I cling to.
It is my Poet-tree.
And I eat of its fruit.

She Va

Should I do this? Should I do that?

There’s a bigger game afoot

And its best not to edit while you write

Because when you pause to correct,

You skip a step

You miss the real river of TIME

Flowing , following, falling

You break out of the flow

Pause for contemplation

And in order to catch the current-sea again

You have to catch-up

Breathe hard, walk faster

Get stronger Physically

And then the Container has

EX-PAN-DED

X-pansion    Xpension

Xpense

Pensive

Pen

Siva

The weight of a thought

Many thoughts float by.
I grasp,
They disappear.
Gone.
Not a trace of the
Intelligence from
Which they originate.

Its not the thoughts I'm after.
Its the Intelligence, that knows that
She who grasps loses.

Here we go again, you and I down Crisis Road.
But my heart whispers: "Christ is in the crisis."
I feel the skin of my ego thinning
As the uncertainty deepens and the options
evaporate like sea foam.

I feel the T within me.
The cross of my crucifiction, is the story of my misforTune.
But what if heaven were on earth?
Why everything would be inverted then.
ForTune would become misforTune
And misforTune forTune.

There's a lesson in that swing from one extreme
To the other.
Stand fast says my Soul.
I can suddenly hear that voice of deeper wisdom
Grown more numinous.
Speaking to me.

The Wait of a Thought

The weight of a thought is
Ephemeral
Immeasurable
In the distance between
thought and keys

What if all your thoughts were right thoughts?
Like jewels
Which you cannot wait to write down.

In my moments of
Prescient Presence,
I notice that there IS
in the ABSENCE
of idle thoughts
An attention and
Thoughtless Energy.

In the moment
That THINKS NOT of the past
And WAITS NOT for the future
Intelligence is utilized
into PER-SEIVING
the Present
Into acting instant-aenously
In the mo-ment-ality
With a full deck of in4mation
Whole-o-graphic V-shen
Great Attitude.

So what does a thought weigh?
Does it weigh you down?
Does it lift you up?
Is there power in your response
In the Mo-ment?

Which thoughts make your
consciousness FLOAT
On a C of Eternity?