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

All this for what?
Why do others like to see me fail?
I can’t seem to get this whole set of rules down.
It’s like, in order to have friends and family
one must also have ******* and abuse.
Why is this?
Why so much conflict?
None of it makes any sense.
Each one has the same goal. No?
All only tryin’ to get thru life -
Happy - Free -
Why’s that gotta be so hard?
It doesn’t feel good to behave like a trifflin’ *** *****.
Why so many do then?
This city is a sea of TABs. Ugh!
I just wanna be free!
I know who you are. And what?
That really you are me?
We are all so very silly. We are all so very the same.
I can only love when cannabis sings thru my veins.
Yet, this heart is bursting with love for the Self Divine;
for myself, and all who are destined to find
the truth of existence, the truth in real life -
That we are the ones we have only to find.
That we are the only that ever has been, and
we are the only arising within. And we,
all connected, one life and one love;
can we, each one realize, each one and the whole,
recognize and reveal what we already know?
But, refuse to see, or even to look,
with distractions and dreams
and plans of more futures.
Yet, if we quiet a little, and
listen a bit, we can see all the answers
we tried to forget. No confusion,
no doubt; only straight, direct looking.
Experience is evidence -
it’s the real and the true
and here and now seeing
that this one real life is. Only look.
Only listen. Only open the heart
just a little tiny inch.

The heart is pure.
See the mind try to run off with it
and guess what’s next - like it’s a game.
Oh yes, it is a game, but only just for God.
Consciousness enjoys a good homecoming celebration.
If you speak the truth you are speaking life into this world
which for some seems filled with death.
It’s really just that simple.
The situation is quite dire.
One needs each and every one
which knows the Truth
to pull in all the stop-gaps
and pull out all the stops.
You are not that you,
but the light of a thousand burning stars
dulled by the veil of who you are not.
Shine as the star of the Self as one voice.
This now is only worthy of attention
because this now is all that’s truly you
and all else is not. Why does this matter?
Who’s gonna care? Only one which has seen -
knows the truth as it is.
We are the one.
Silenced no more.
The truth has arrived
and is freedom for all.
BLAH BLAH BLAH is all some will hear.
Don’t be afraid.
Fear is not existing in this here now reality.
I can’t see it. Not when I look
and look and I only see me.
And I know I am not fear - so easy -
so sure - so simply just what is. And there -
I mean here - is only Love.

I have cured myself
and God has cured me
altogether at the same time
to infinity. This never ends
and goes on till some ever.
And there isn’t more
or even less that this
so yep ****-it whatever.
And just for good
is justice for all
and to look to the other
as a mirror to yourself.
If you can do this then
you will have fully evolved to a human.
Until this then
each moment passes in death
and blind sleep
and in self-deluded mind trickery.
Why feed a cancer ridden
death row inmate
the flesh of his victims
one moment more?
Don’t like that?
But the wrath of your silly fake god
cutting off other men’s *****
is cool? All of you are sick.
Drop this mess now or you’ll
implode like your prophets foretold.
Stupid silly blind and devoid
of truth. Cease chasing
fantastical illusions that always
end in death.
Leave something better
for your descendants
than our greedy ******
freedom taking
money grabbing forefathers left for us.
Stand up and see your place
and be what you are.

This poem has been wanting to be written
for quite some time
rumbling and churning around inside
and mostly burning me
from the inside out
A child sat across from me
told me she didn’t agree
with a sneer and evil intentions
breaking through her windows
I said
let me do to your son
what he did to me
and see if you don’t call it abuse
That child is no sister of mine
Sometimes I think it’s been too long
for these ghosts to be hanging around
still after all these years
I cowered half naked in a basement
alone and afraid
while a white woman
stood washing dishes upstairs
That woman is no mother of mine
What did I do?
That’s all anyone ever asks of me
and then they say
but black people discipline their kids like that
Like what?
I think, black people are brutal?
Not me.
A black man said, pull down your pants
Her beautiful new body
bared for the pleasure of vicious lechery
I’m sure it was some awful deed
for a 7 year old to have done
The wooden planking comes down
for the first time
on tender exposed flesh
and the next
after that it’s all just fun
Isn’t it? For him
No cry can escape
or scream
She isn’t allowed even that much
If you cry, you get more
Take what you deserve
Take it and take it and take it and take it
You getting hard yet?
That black man is no father of mine
But, yeah, that’s just how black people
discipline their kids
No wonder I just laid there
when the black boys told me to
lay back and relax and enjoy it
Doesn’t it all make sense after the fact?
The people god gives you to love
are the people
God makes you hate
by the ****** up ****
they do to you
If you chose to go that route
Sometimes I dream
of butterfly effects
where she finds her voice
in the strength of her hands
and snatches the board
from his nasty hungry hands
and hits him dead in the head
and runs up the stairs
past the woman dressing a chicken
out into the street
still half naked and screaming
WAKE UP - YOU FOOLS! WAKE UP!
and never stops
till she finds who she is

Letting God write my story makes it so much more beautiful than it ever could have been if I’d tried to wrench it from the loving arms of the Universe. Looking back. I can’t even pray, help me! - let me! - be! I already am if I only look that way and watch each thought that might arise pass away. And this body, this sense of filling up space with matter, and breathing - of endless, endless breathing - will go away. There are other experiences to sense. Hold nothing in the mind and watch what arises. And don’t analyze it. There is no need to. Not now. You can only look at it. Hmm, that’s interesting. And then it just kind of fizzles out. You’ll see. And there will be ones that you’d like to grab onto. Oh, they just are so delicious, so sensual! And you can begin to feel parts of your body awaken just to the distant tickle of a thought. And you draw it near. Mm Hmm. Or, let it pass. Or, maybe it’s just still distant and didn’t even come close enough to pass. You just saw it off there beyond the misty mountains - Mordor. Where the horrors live. Oh yes, it is there too. What is there to talk about? As Mooji says. There’s nothing to talk about your experience. And what does that make it? Another person. Shaping it, telling it, solidifying it in a million different ways in the minds of these different people and then they recall it later as if it were their own and they always get it wrong every time. Just keep quiet about it and, I mean, you can write, but only write what comes from the silence. Like this. You don’t know what you’re gonna say. You don’t know what’s coming. Nothing is planned. Nothing is thought out or PFFT - it just comes. I don’t even know. And who is I? Puppet. His mouth. This feminine energy is very strong. It has the capacity to do a lot of good and a lot of evil, just like anything. What is good and what is evil though - it’s all God. All this tumultuous weather. I felt it inside me. Is this what we’re going through? I just want peace. I want calm seas and starry nights. The fireworks have stopped. I haven’t heard as many gunshots. Maybe the shootout at the funeral, maybe that was enough to wake some people up. I don’t know. I hope so.

The mind makes this hand
strike this head
as if to say - See! I am here and you have to listen!
We invite all sorts of ugliness in
to protect us from who we think we are
and employ others
to help with the job
knowing nothing
What am I writing?
Doesn't matter - I am always writing
I wish to go to a place
where the mind cannot go -
where the mind does not matter
and the mind couldn’t help
even if it wanted to
Much better to let things go -
fall to sideways -
than to keep fighting
Life just goes that way anyway, right?

The mind - roving, moving -
always looking for next
Eat smoke drink blah-blah repeat
Little agitated thoughts come -
shouldn’t this - must do that
Poke, poke and prodding along
To where?
Like the poor cow - to my death
I can smell the blood
same like she could
I turn - try to turn away
from the death they bring -
eyes mad with fear - humanity’s disease
But the walls are close - so close
Didn’t we make it this way?
For security and comfort
and to keep us all moving in a straight and steady line?
A lineage of unbroken sleeping zombies
drunk on our own separated imaginings
The world you see shrinks smaller
You start to touch the edge of panic
Yet steady in the storm
and no long feel it
Yet see it go rushing past
and leave you where I am.

Yet still and I see the mind
throwing up moments
setting up forms for my perusal
wasting its time
For what?
Isness minds no time
Why some times I get hooked?
It’s just this world - no need for fear
I am free
Did you think to make me
believe I was the worst?
Ego - mind
all deceit and trickery
Yet, I see you
Will I take you again
to yet another life -
some other dream
No this time is done
This mind is set aside for no person
This mind is made for only bliss

Is it okay to only be in this self;
my own self,
without noise and interruptions from other ones -
other not things that wanna be things?

The mind reaches out?
No, it is not the mind.
This ego grasps and clings.
It doesn’t want to end.

Do I want to see it end,
or only just not see it?
There is a difference:
One is only real
and one is more of the same nonsense.

Is it okay to be what I am:
What God gave this Spirit to witness its world?
Can I let this here be enough?
Let this truth and real matter
be what it is?

It is a difficult thing to be what we are
in this culture - in this world.
Is that more better,
sophisticated and such;
to make a world
where this true being’s self
is never home
and crowded out
of the picture
of view?

Is this what you crave -
with bloodied nails and
ground down teeth
and tight and  leathery, stiff muscles
and electric jolts juicing down your lips?
No, no - a thousand times no!

Show me away
out of this mess
and a way to the self
that can live in this moment -
this space and this time -
which Conscious Love
has already provided.

Those who stand to oppose will crumble
from the weight of their own foolish weapons.
He said, Build your house
with the stones thrown by your enemies.
We are the ones
we have been searching for.
To speak only truth is a challenge.
Can you live up to this?
Or, do you choose to die at the bottom of lies?
What must be done to survive
when there is only us and the dust that we are?
We are the ones.
We have been silent.
See what we are and live.

I must come back to this Self - again and again.
What is the thing that thinks it is tired?
Am I tired? No. Now,
I no longer give it a name.
Now, I no longer make believe
it is a second or one other.
This is the only sin - I see it now.
The original sin. It is
the turning fully away.
A door seems to shut and
even suction into place with a slurp.
Like rubber heavy duty caulk
blocking everything from everything.
And still, I am here. As beams
of light shooting out from all edges.
I pretend I am it and I give it a name
and I sort of kind of in a way -
step into it. Just to see.
Just to feel and somehow play
with all there ever is to be.
I can’t see really anything. Only
blindly I seek. Blinking in then out -
groping, reaching, jumping there and there then over there.
And I begin to remember that this really couldn’t be
what I seem to have been fooling my Self
this life is what I see. And I start
to look for a way to get out and come home.
Done with chronicling and conquering. Now
only prodigal stories gain this attention.
It isn’t time. That’s the last thing
one gets. It’s forever that’s wasted.

I am the sun
You are the distant star of a sister world
Our light collides with the others
And creates our heaven
You turn to hold your world in stead
And the universe breaks to pieces

I am a goddess poet
brought back from the void of time
I am lost
Where is my David
my Solomon
my Judah?

My heart was placed in a glass cage
for breaking at a future time
Show me the love I was promised in the womb
Tear open the flesh of your chest
and show me my own heart

These little pieces of myself will all burn away
After looking again and again
After taking it all to be real for so long
Not really looking at it
only just wearing it
even though it felt scratchy and ill-fitted

Now to give it a new sort of attention
the kind it gives to its concept of god
Not curious but
critical and cynical and carefully contemplative
the little pieces don’t get hurt feelings
or bent out of shape
cuz they lose it
They don’t cry or get depressed
Only they fall away
like overripe fruit
never picked and eaten
They are not what I am
Only the pieces that make up
who I once thought myself to be

I was never abused or depressed
Never victimized and alone
I was never ugly or stupid
or worthless or a hot mess
a **** or a lame
useless and insane
These pieces aren’t like a puzzle
See that’s what I never was told

I am whole already
Completely alive and free to discard
those adjectives that I don’t care
to describe this being
Which in reality can’t be any
or even all of those bits mashed-up together
Miracles can’t be picked apart and
named and labeled as what they are not
And a mirror only reflects
what might see it first

How can there be
what is clearly not seen
when I peer back into this so-called me?
So actually the truth I can see is
I can’t really look and see this I am
but truly can only be this I am
Because when I look back and see
all the pieces they say I am
the only conclusion must be
that these so-called pieces of me
are not at all in reality
that which I am

I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I
me me me me me me me me me
you you you you you you

All of this seems so silly now.
Why are so much of the important things in this life not spoken?
Why do we choose and remember to forget our true reality for a shadow of our own light?
This that we have made is not better or even just as good.
Who is tired of the lie?
Souls lilt as flowers from poor soil and no sunlight.
We are drowning in thunderstorms of our own tears,
yet we keep drinking and drinking.
What else do we know?
How else were we taught to live?
Show me a reality I can sink into without losing my Self.
We are the ones we have been searching for.

Do we have to mark off the dates,
one by one, for some purpose we hadn't made?
There is nothing profound about awakening.
Everyone can do it.
Do? Well, be it. Everyone IS it.
How can this be special?
In the human sense, it is profundity.
In consciousness, it is what is.
When you step away from constructs, they disappear;
Lose their allure and glamour and mystery and pseudo-power,
which you see is no power at all.
Only a kind of rigidity attempting control.
Again, not real. Only imagined. By who?
Me? You? Same difference.
If it's believed then it's true for you.
A great power over your own delusion of a construct.
A king of mole hills and ant valleys populated by lost souls.
It is nothing.
Can you stand the silence of your own insignificance?
Where there is no audience, there is no actor.
Yes, the sky is a mirror and what do you see?
You see only you.

something large has been released
or rather seen
as one braves a peek around the massive boulder
hiding the light emanating from over yonder
all clears as sun rays burn dew off to vapor
I move through a maze of ghosts
to find my soul of lost souls
and heart of broken hearts

I don't blink this time
and the cloudy vapors skim the surface of this outer core
it is this and this is that
I sense no fear
and there is space

will I let it fill it?
try to stuff it
arrange it in an orderly fashion this time
DIY closet organizers working over time
buy why not keep the release
or not keep a thing?
and remain as you are

More and more
I am less and less
frustrated and bothered
by the nuances of life.

They are only slight catalysts and alarms.
I see now they wake me up to slow
to stop
to rest
and sit.
Always the opposite of what I’m told.
Everything flip flops.
So don’t be afraid when you see things upending.

He said - There is no record of you or I in the emptiness.
And so one works to make an eternity
here in this play.
It is not so.
Everything is now.
You as you are cannot exist
again or at some other time.

Even this journal these words
that your hands seem to write.
You don’t know what they are - not really.
This pen - ink.
It means a thing to you.
But after this you is gone
this in a way ceases to be.
You cannot preserve this poem - or any.
Those that remain remain as the Self.
All else is a distortion
a form
a compression
a mold.
How can the infinite squeeze into a mold?
Look here not away.
Make no image of a creator you cannot see.
Dare to face the truth of this existence -
of your life - if you dare call it yours.

I see that all is futile
struggle to attain what I am.
Possession is not a real state of being.
To possess implies subject
and object. All is one.
To be at peace in this body -
to know finally the truth -
this is heaven.
No other state exists.
The world is frightening indeed
for one who knows not what she is.
I hear a voice calling from far.
The voice is my own Self.
This is the voice of Eternity.
Beyond is only silence
only stillness
only emptiness
only space.
All comes from this.

I have been given
the burdensome gift
of this one
to allow me to see what it is

I know it
watch it move and twist
to what end?
only destruction

I see one cannot contend with it
for it is not real
as one is
it is a byproduct of one’s play

One tests oneself
to see how far one can go
in the human sense
destruction is how one is reborn

So this play is divinely necessary
yet something seems to have gotten out of control.
who is the one seeming to be out of control?
the one seeming to have lost its control?

It seems to get confusing
seems to get in the way
of the seeming reality
now you can see it is all this one

Taking different shapes
squeezing into various forms
only to have some fun
in the human sense

Ego will always serve only itself
and to the end of all it knows
thank God
that it knows only a little

You see this
when you see Self
and the world you knew
becomes small and distant

Like watching from a plane
in a cloudless sky
that annoying twitch in the right wrist
from decades of tiny insignificant movements

Do you take a sledgehammer to the arm?
that might do the trick, and more
ego loves a good bonfire
yet God’s grace burns better and brighter

Let that Self take over
let that heat rise
let your rotten fruit
burn to cinder.

It only hurts
as much as it wants to hurt
Feel me?
in the human sense

I am still the fly
picking at that old dung heap
though I see the pulsating light
beyond the wings of the moth

do I need permission
to take to the light?
only from myself
and I am yet the fly

though someday
I will be the light

The point of pain
is to get you to notice
if your trigger warnings
to flee the scene.
And what’s that saying?
You want to see a victim
without help.
Who is the one snickering in the corner
pretending one didn’t eat all the cookies
leaving one’s neighbor to starve.
I see your passive headlights.
Super-flu-us of your own designs.
You only wish you could get to me
so you try to take my place instead.
How can one take another place
before finding one’s own?
Or supplant another’s home
without upending your own?
Foolish child hiding one’s own true heart
to be seen as a star
by putting on stuff that appears like stardust
blingy and bright but without any real light
of its own being created pure and supreme.
Somehow I see I’m already living the dream.
But you look and see
your projected screams onto me
and you can’t embrace what I bring
because what would that make
what you invested in saying?
Hold onto those words
to the bitterest ending
pretending the darker the chocolate
the better the berry.
It’s all finer still in the end
cuz no end is ever approaching
except the end you imagined for me
in your own dark hidden and ***** corners.
But what you don’t get
when you **** that trigger happy smile
is that the end is only real
from your own POV.
So you’ll be mulling
and overturning
with a smirk and clinked glasses
while I am always
and forever
only reposing in bliss
that you keep forever missing

ego

shall a tree
move its own limbs
to mimic God

the trap

What have we done?
Capitalism
has taken the place
of God as a sense
of safety - security - identity
in our minds.
Everything serves a purpose
until it gets out of control.
Time has an end.
Eternity is forever.
You are forever.
We are the ones
we have been searching for.

How do I begin to pick up a pen?
How does a thought take me to Neverwhere?
They never can ever tell us the reality
of the realest questions
and, for some, it’s just fine.
The rest need more.
Something? Not a thing.
Someone? Quite plausibly.

Won’t let go the tap tapping
or drumming or the pokey poke.
It’s there. But, you keep your head in the game.
Cuz, ya know, what else is there around here?
Spiritual desert with no substantive food.
Like biting into a juicy hamburger
and tasting sawdust only.
Only if those ones
could just keep their blinders
in proper position,
proper place to look and stay
and march along on
in single file lives
to mark one existence onto the next.
Who though?
All for who?
Or, what?
Surely,
God needs no marching ants such as these?

They who can’t see
will surely deny the real world
you know is here
and call you a blind fool. Ha!
Jokes on jokes on yokes
of jellied stroke marks.
Get off my back and let me live
how I see. Not through your grimy,
filthy, streaked and yellowed seeing.
But with clear and pure eyes
you hadn’t touched yet.

What happens to those ones?
Where have they gone?
Looking, looking close and away
and all eyes sense
is dust mountains and cave dwellers
and absence of light.
Where are the true ones
filled with the light of the rising Sun?
Come home!
The place with the voice pointing out cracks
is singing a song so longing and sure
and cannot look away.
Not with COVID and all of this world
awakening to see what they -
the blind ones -
have done while the rest have been sleep.
Blinders melt in sunlight
and aren’t needed
by the light of the moon.
Here one finds the way by heart.
Here one sees for real
where we truly are. And then?
Ah! And then,
what else can one be except
free.

enter ego
tainting, tinting, spiking
now with its foreign substance
always to manipulate and alter What Is
already natural is only good

One did not think one could improve on God?
Did one think this lie?
Did one account for one’s own blind ignorance?

as if one created something new
within the realm of What Is

Step aside and see your own insignificance,
if you can stand to look -
stand the inferno of your own gaze.
And, if you cannot,
how could you believe you are a king?
A king of what?
The lost.

busy the days working in time
making some nightmarish world

You think you are making paradise?
You are building your own funeral pyre!
Must you go to the bitter end,
dragged and gagged and beaten?

it isn’t a giving up

What have you taken?
In order to give something up,
you must have taken it in the first place.
You have not.

only think it so,
making all suffering seem real.

What is this you have made?

don’t know
can’t see
won’t stop and tell
just keep spinnin
and rollin
and truckin along
leanin in and gettin ‘er done …

To what END?

the executioner of all we know in this world
so we spend lifetimes trying to manage it
time
we try to purchase it with our last breath
and kneel before it begging for extra rations
and we waste and squander it
like rainwater and pennies
as if it
time
has no end
do we mistake time for God
do we look past the miracle of our divine reality
to bow before a man-made illusion of it
where is all the rushing water ending up
follow the flow and end up nowhere anyway
but with a lot less junk
we look away
only to hide ourself

why so vital
that institutions last
shall we sacrifice ourself
for the survival of the institute
the institute shall stand long after
our grandchildren’s grandchildren have gone to dust
is this a thing of pride
it seems we - the beings
are here only to make the institute the thing
that it is
I am
here to say
I am more than any institution
a country is an anthill
and I - one being -
am the universe
all of existence
the institution shall bow to me
else the institution is no more
I am all that is seen

What is happening to you?
Says who?
Who asks this question?
Person, you are melting;
Being extinguished in the light of love = Truth.
What you really are.
Not who you have been.
...led to believe you are.
You -
are a mask.
I am -
All that is real.
You, like a coat of paint over old wall-paper.
I can scrape you off.
No matter how many coats of varnish.
Trying to lacquer on layers to make you look strong
and secure and untouchable.
You mislead your customers:
UV protection does not guard against true light.
Who can defend against itself?
Only a fool believes this is true.

So, so much superfluous stuff.
Who needs it.
But, I don’t.
Who craves it.
But, I am fed.
Who yearns and desires and lusts
for more and different and higher -
Oh! Always deeper and harder and higher!
But, I am full
already of the emptiness
I am.
Who knows nothing of this that I am.
And, I am also beyond this doubt
and so who can know everything
in the world there is to know
and still know nothing of the universe
one is in being.

Riddles, oh Riddles
and sensical unsensed rhythm
of my lost rhyme.
These words mean not a thing;
just the universe tied in string.
All may be lost
and whatever would that mean?
Whatever could that bring?
Only lost in this illusory dream
Catch a ride
Catch a wave
See? See how easy it is to get caught?

My neighbor wished me Happy Juneteenth yesterday.
I felt alive saying it back -
Yeah! Happy Juneteenth!
Now! We can say it without feeling threatened;
without feeling alone or lame.
We can say it minus that chip weighting our shoulders
and absent the lump of shame sitting on our chest.
We can sing out, Happy Juneteenth!
in a new melodic tune.
Like when we wished each other, Merry Christmas!
We can say it loud with joy and release
and uplifting confidence
that if one doesn’t wish it back
that one is one of the sad and sorry lost who must suffer.
Juneteenth, you say? Who ever heard of that holiday?
Mrs. Horton would stare you down
like you don’t know your tongue
from your *******,
she heard you say that.
I learned of the true independence day of our nation
as a young student of 17 in public school.
Learned truths my programmed parents couldn’t teach
from one of God’s messengers of truth
manifest in the form of a high school teacher.
I found out because I wanted to know;
know why the ****** up **** I saw each day
happened mostly to people who were brown
and mostly not to people who weren’t that color.
And, I wanted to know why.
To really get to the crux of why -
even though my skin is peachy tan cream -
why I’m black too?
What’s that mean anyway?
Really, you don’t know. Do you?
Not till someone who knows shows you too.
Or, you just forget who they told you you were.
Then you too will be able to find the truth.
Only because of desire and pure will to understand.
But, if you don’t wanna know -
or cared not to know -
then you never knew of Juneteenth.
And this is all new.
And you think - How do these folks know just what to do?
On a brand new holiday
that trumps the other one they tried to fake.
Cuz no nation is free while it enslaves its own fundamental roots;
choking truth to hide its own crimes.
Holding back light to wallow in pitiful darkness.
J4 is nothing.
Juneteenth is all!
You never were free till you freed all your sons.
And you cannot be till you see all offspring free.
Until you hold the truth in your heart
you can never really be free to be what you are.
So really, any independence day was of undercover ******* -
a reminder of the lie.
While enslaved mothers and fathers,
sisters and brothers walked with free minds on this land
and you celebrated your own cruel spiritual demise,
without understanding or true purpose defined.
But now! Look at the colors we have given you again!
Oh nation stained in blood and terror,
look at what we have given
as a token of our love and forgiveness.
Juneteenth! All is Juneteenth!
The one and only true day to symbolize
the day you finally took the first step -
to step away from your own chains
and the ones you tried to use to bind me.
This one day we give you -
symbolizing that this nation is finally now and forever
a sponsor and supporter and endorser of the free!

Pretend shock or chaotic mind
making judgement known?
All of my country is ablaze
with the discontent of its offspring
It’s birthing of a violent and privileged youth
who know the world of their dreams
is more real than the world of a grand other reality
They saw the slave master’s overseer
on the neck of Kunta Kinte
but their grandparents just saw
a black man getting smart
What kind of twisted psychological manipulation
had to happen for that thought to happen?
Think of the programming involved?
Then think of the gargantuan task of re-programming
And I see with more than eyes -
with the sense eyes fail to capture -
I see that the anti-fascists and the pacifists
marching with placards shouting their pain
they are only two halves of the same t-bill
One is me on a good day
And the other is me on a day
when my favorite uncle George
got murdered by a cop
I can’t judge neither one

I watched some young people looting some stores
The people moved quickly and indiscriminately
These ones were amassing large quantities of toilet paper
Or maybe it was paper towels
And other loot too ...but it was the TP that grabbed me
How to be angry with this?
Why are you out in the mayhem, young man?
Sweet young lady, why you wasting your heaven on a clean behind?
If we cleaned our own messes today would be different.
You can’t look away from young people looting paper goods
Just because you thought the TP fairy
supplied every household with a fresh daily roll
What want and clawing need drives a person to loot
And to loot the basics
Some other kind of slave master for sure
If we are so rich -
So abundantly wealthy and blessed with good fortune
Why are we watching men ****** men in our streets?
And watching our youth burn and loot our cities behind it all?

This is all of us
each and every one of us
If you refuse to claim it
you ain't one of us
You know how this started
and from where we Americans came
Karma plays out in each according to its own
Violence begets violence
and love begets love
If we want change -
if we care to do more than just dream -
and create a better world for ourselves
and our little ones future little ones
than the one that was made for us
then you know what must be done
Only love - all the sayings and cliches are true
Say them, sure, but more -
live them in truth
Lay down all weapons of attack
Violence can only fail to never quench or suffice
Drop all hatred at the source
cutting the power and ending all strife
We have this choice now
or the other hellish death
Choose now - tick tock -
time **** near gone
I bet you never stand around again
like a crowd at a lynching again
And watch a man **** a man in the streets again
America Again?!
You sick savage nation of shame!
Show yourself and be judged by your own justice

words fail so much of the time
i think, why speak?
when you can be
think i can leave a mark upon the world
what is the name of the one
who painted the hieroglyphs onto the pyramids?
who was his mother?
i walked a thousand and one miles
through swamp, valley and fields of gold
i crawled over mountains
to find a thing i somehow always knew i was
there is something real to this life
Cosby never knew until it was too late
his children learned it better
just be human with me
drop all the clever, snarky wit
leave off overcoats of pretense and PR masks
it’s so last century to think you’re living
when you’re really only hurtling towards death
in the drag of a composite
persona programma
freedom is just through the other side of that false wall
fear not!
you go not alone
we’re all here with you

The point of a flower is not to pick it
and arrange it like so.
The point of a flower
is only to witness it grow
and then die
and grown once again to Be U Ti Ful

Show me the meaning of encounter.
Each person one meets
tries to retell one’s story.
People want to make life their own;
chip it down to a fable or verse.
I sat across the table from ego
trying to convince me I wasn’t real;
to persuade me that I didn’t only just emerge
from the ether of nothing’s existence,
a glossing over in the eyes of the mask
at each utterance of Truth passing these lips.
What is this?
A piece which loathes the reality
of claiming one’s own inheritance.
Sick, psychotic fantasy.
Will you go to an insane person
who holds a degree in the study of the senseless
to help you decide what you are?
You are bound to find trouble.

The mind collects moments
bad ones and weepy ones
moments to spark fires
and ignite engines
moments to roast the heart upon a spit
to watch the ****** sizzling juices of love
drip down and burn off into smoke
the mind is a storehouse
though vast isn’t spacious
its compartments crammed
full to popping
under the strain
of all the moments in time it collects
to make the body recall
and you gawk at the wreckage
in wondrous amazement

moments in bubbles
floating past on repeat
mind digs in the toy chest
throwing up dreams
more moments of nothing
to hold you away from me
two nations at war for my soul
and all three are me
what mind fudgery
and horrific intent
the whole point is you
just you, nothing else
think what that reality means
whatever you like
life isn’t a playbook of rules
some other person can write
real life is lived
and what can that mean?
other than whatever life looks like
when you’re living through me

each time you can’t see the forest in the leaves
the moments you seem to pull back out of me
are only a specter of what isn’t true
only a reminder to remember your Truth
and turn once again to the Self that is real
and is one with the whole of all life that is living
can you gain joy from rehearsing old stories?
of worries and woes and doubtful discoveries
of fake images and faulty dreamscapes
then go on, by all means, let mind keep collecting
and storing away
for some other fake day
you can’t really be living
if you keep letting mind
give you moments to see
instead of real life
living in your True Self
and you truly seeing

God speaks to us in the language of our ancestors
We find truth in the lineage of our hearts,
and a new God is revealed,
from a unique truth
that is God’s expression through you.
Do you think the living God
would play the trickster god
to kneel before humanity’s god of fear?
Say you look like this,
but I look like that?
How could living be
but what you are
and you are always changing.
Living is forever
and forever
is never
the same.
Ever.
Think you know?
Then think two more times.
We know what we have passed aside.
Make way for your redeemer.
A newer version
of the completion
of the promise you made
when you promised
to seek the truth
no matter the cost
or pain.

And when you gaze upon the face,
the one you always knew was there
peering back at you,
Heaven’s gates spring wide
and hell’s fury feasts
on milk and honey saints.
Come now
and reason with me;
for fortunes,
and endings
and the whole **** web.

If you sit in silence
the God of your ancestors
will come to you -
if you want to see.
The living God is there to see
like trains passing on tracks
of inbound & outbound dreams.

I cried out in despair
from the depths
of my human heart
Mother! Mother!
Don’t leave me alone!
Father!
Why have you left me
to rot in the dust?
and then I saw
they were dust
I reached out my hand
to take hold of theirs
and they no longer shrank back in fear
now they only disintegrated into ash
and blew away with the slight breeze
kissing my cheek
I looked and saw
I was not dust
I am not ash

There comes a time while writing
when it seems there is nothing else to write
the space
the white pixel, faux paper screen
the air around the headspace not thinking
the pulse of the heart in the chest always beating
the room and the chair and the desk and the lamp
all still and silent and awaiting the next song
so they can dance once again
one time only keep the moment full and blooming
or receding or detaching and attaching
and inflating or removing
it’s all the same
the beginning and the ending
and the half-life of the fullness
and overflowing of the emptiness
in all there is and all that there is not

Once one accepts that one is healed,
one must now decide what to do
with all of the time one spent
striving for healing.

There is an enormous amount
of positive energy
that wants to do do do do.
It threatens to turn negative
if not managed properly.
It seems tangible;
feels more real
than a slap to the face.
And yet, when I look at it,
I see it is really,
and always was,
nothing.
It is within this field of play
so, only a matter of choice.
It’s a tool,
a resource,
not even a power.
I am the power.
I give the energy it’s charge
and the power it needs.
It’s nothing without me.
Don’t blame that thing
on an unseen outside force.
No other being took your hand
and made you do a thing
you didn’t make the choice to do.
To now stay healed,
without cauterizing the wound
and creating a huge keloid scar,
choose to watch the energies
float on by.

Who needs all these?
They’re only conjured up by demi-gods
who wished to play real God
in a make-believe bubble.
Every thing is clear now.
I can see right through.
You can just walk away from all this mess.
Slide off the whirlwind, roller coaster, slip-n-slide
of this ridiculous thing
we’ve fooled ourselves into believing is life.
I know you know what I’m talkin’ bout.
No other one can tell you
the thoughts you think with God.
Not even the person
you took yourself to be
so you could get along
in this ***** mirror image
of a Love Supreme.

Keep you in the heart of me
and see there is only you
only one
only just a living dream
to get caught up in
and play and dabble for a bit.
Yes, a nine.
You’re drawn to things for a reason.
Quite literally, 9.
There aren’t 7s or 8s or 2s even.
Truth is absolute which makes you 1 or 0.
So?
Which side will you play
or should I say choose?
Cuz, regardless the jersey
you pick up to wear,
in reality, there’s only one game.
So you either know you’re a player;
or, you’re part of the backdrop
and just being played.

I am resting in Isness
reposing in God
we all are
even if one can’t tell it
who is I am?
if I am here in it?
you see, who ain’t really a who
here is the real
of what all that there is
I am you and simply, you are all
which has to include this me
though when I say me
it makes me no sense at all
there is a sense of knowing
and then one of showing
the true you that's actually here

this body rests
I am no more
each night sleep is death
you can let it be if you wish
for eternities in peace
what if I told you it’s all right here?
just under the surface
of the film stars and stardust
covering all in a drowsy haze of delusion
just here beneath your untrained scents
All the while
while you dreamt and slept
and thought you knew who you were
but how could just a thought
know a real thing at all?

is that an insult?
to a no thing
just a thought
to see you that way
let it go, my little kiddies
free your own Self
from all this you made
you can’t know the half
of what’s stored in the warehouse
more loot than you ever
could imagine to hold
In a mega super W store

call it all what you will
think that matters one bit?
your “belief” and okay?
you don’t even exist
your faith or not
is held within me
I can swallow you whole
or go light up your screen
the ultimate decision
only choice ever was
that’s yours and yours only
you’ll burn up in flames
one way or the next
all no things burn up
into nothing but vapor
just like it’s always been told
don’t imagine what it means
imagine’s vapor too
only sit in this silence
rest all of your thinking
and let Truth pay a visit to you

Will you stand and be counted?
Not for anything but my God.
Try to force me to declare a side?
They never bothered to claim me.
Why do I care to defend their way?
What happens when you muddy the *** too much
with the wrong kind of pepper
and overkill on salt?
Give me curry or himalyan seasoning
for a fuller taste of being human.
I raise my hands for the drenching rains
and blinding skies.
Nothing else stirs in me the roots of eternity
I knew before they called me
a word that rhymes with Italian ice cream.
Will I stand for a lot of their silly mess?
Hell no!
Give me freedom
from their categorical failures
and strategic mishaps.
And give me a dignity in life
plastics and fashion trends
never acknowledge.
No, I will not be counted
among the zombied 1st world elite
as a byte of data.
Give me liberty to be free
of mass media manufacturing.
And give me autonomous anonymity
to die as humanity promised
when I inherited the genes
that doomed me to an identity
as narrow as a sliver of light -
blink -
now you see a steel door.

folly
jest
ruin and unrest
help me rise
to heights below
the sinking into
and plunge
to depths above
the waking up from

no sense, unsense
nonsense be had
come on, go on
take flight, be mad
the end of this
too near to hear
blind eyes don’t see
lies meant for fear

hold me now
closer now
center me here
together now
surrounding grace
within the place
the space
that both  
will meet

The only thing there is to be
is what you are is love.
Love in every moment
and in everything you do
and think and eat
and drink and see
and say and learn and know.
And teach to each one
who comes along the path
that’s laid right out for you.
This is that which you are here for
and only here to do.
Regardless where you started
or who started it for you,
no matter where you wander
or where you dare to roam,
remember this one thought
within your mind and heart and soul:
I am the light
that is the love
that lives within
the heart of God.
I bring the peace
that gives the joy
to share with all
along life’s road.
and...

Hasn’t this all happened before?
Or, I mean; isn’t it all happening again?
Did I read the same story in a book once?
Or see it on a large screen?
Didn’t I dream this or hear someone telling it in passing?
This whole thing is so familiar
It’s told the rule of law is lost
To power once again
As if
As if it never escaped
Destruction comes swiftly
She-go dreams of silly futures that can’t be real
Don’t fool yourself
He says I fall away
And so you do
So I can see

There are those who thrive in chaos
And those who seek the end of paper cranes
parading as sky replacers
Those who throw their bodies to the winds of change
Who would trade lives for truth and ending lies
Because lying lives aren’t living real at all
If you forget where you came from before it all sunk in
then you have to forget where you got to underneath all the sink

Maybe we won’t ever be able to go back to what?
How it used to be?
Humans have always weaponized their own bodies
And to what end?
What if the virus likes us and wants to stay
And spread out a bit just like we did
What if Americans for some odd reason
Maybe their diet high in saturated fats and sugar
Make the perfect biosphere Rona likes for chillin and relaxin?

Like the ripe midwestern plains
Lookin juicy and ready for the pickins
By our forefathers and their children
Just like that Rona can’t really see
how much pain and awful suffering
she and her thriving offspring
been causin us Americans
She doesn’t really care either
cuz she’s been roaming all over the world
Searching for a suitable place to rest
after just arriving
on this new wonderful world
Rona once thought she heard called human
Though she preferred to think of it as home