Why do we say the rising sun?
It is always there.
Sun doesn’t move in it’s broiling glow.
We are the ones
spinning round and round,
cycling in and out,
waning and waxing and
rising then falling.
We rise, cycling round
another spin on the rotation -
turning now, once again,
we face the burning, cleansing, nourishing love,
as if it had left us alone and cold
with only its weak reflection for comfort.
Blaming what never left. But,
wasn’t it we ourselves
who tire of its gaze?
Thinking to slip away and
hide in a kind of make-believe bunker
until ...We tire of that too.
Aren’t we the clever ones?
Yet, Sun is always there, and
in the moment she takes us
back into her warm embrace,
we will be there too.

I have begun to delve deep
sinking into the small spaces
the almost imperceptible subtleties
of being - I see the psyche
No grand anything but illusion
Funny - Now it wants pity
After all the bitter brutal anger
and idolatrous rage and destruction
in the name of truth
There is no pity for illusions
No time for dreams
No space for fantasies
which always end in death anyway
All the things of matter
will always end the same
Now is only the moment of rebirth
where life is real and free
and death cannot steal it away into nothing
If I look again without fear
because there is none when you arrive here
Though you see it muster a stand
in defiance of destiny
Boldness is standing silent
with love in the middle of a storm
created by the rages of fear
Are they really afraid of little ole me?
Yes and I see why
They don’t exist when you arrive
They aren’t real in the light
of the truth that you bring
And the rage that ignited from
the trigger of the fear of annihilation
will cause any animal to react
Look to the quiet ones
The ones who keep their sounds
The ones who really see
and know truly
Look to the ones which are.

Let’s get these planes off the ground
before the storm rolls in.
There is a sense of impending eruption.
It is the height of the ******
just as the **** from the pimple
breaks the surface of the skin
The pre- and it is just
so very delicious because
you just don’t know how it
all will turn out
It will be spectacular
no doubt about it
But the way in which?
That’s the part God keeps
Those who die with the breath of ******
they’re the lucky ones
The ones who live to see it pass
must find a way to cope with the after effects
Forced to go to the after party
when you know you just wanna go home
and go to bed. Yet this is the life
and the players don’t matter
They’re only the matter
in which life plays
Step away from the flickering
dull and murky images
to see where you are

When there is movement close to this being
close to me - I am in it
And when the noise stops
there is a silly feeling
a feeling of oddness
and out-of-syncness -
a kind of ashamed self-consciousness

I think neighbors
a few and couple houses up
were having a dog breeding party the other weekend
Loud hip hop music
celebrating the gods of fertility and sensuality
all in subservience
to the one which rules them all
Large aggressive male voices
speaking dreams of
the god of green illusions
which never stick
That thing which sticks
is the sound of the mating dogs
riled up into an even greater frenzy
with the vibe of the party
Snarling yelping squealing barking
dismay and rage and
passionate oppressive submissive release
Somehow Consciousness knows when it’s on display
And somehow
though this person
burned with righteous indignation
at the inhumanity of it all
But who am I?
No other - No different - No one
What do I do?
What have I done?
I am not even writing these words
These words are writing me

no one can see
this inside of me
a whole huge universe
only for me
cuz no one else
that i can see
can see the wonderful things i see
in this big bright whole being
reality alive right here
and now inside of me