To be certain there is a way of life that exists in the languid.
Nature never hurries and yet all gets done.
This is not a tapping into, this is not an extraction process , this is not mining of internal resources. This is a growing.
Sometimes I speak of resistance to myself, I notice and catch all the smallness of life, the small distinctions of this and of that. Sometimes I get annoyed way too fast, at life, way too fast at not getting what I want

time is gentle,
time is gentle,

Slowly there is a shifting, slowing down there is a moving sifting through I get the feeling, I’m becoming my own dreaming.
Here amongst the cavernous forum of my lie , the sky sings slowly moving shifting always gleaming, turning swiftly dancing slowing fruit is ripe I am my friend , I need the daring friend friend friend, there is something, moving so slowly resitance to my yearning chasam. I turn off now, I don’t have to take it all on though, even though I feel it’s mine, this is not our slighted journey, this is not our reasonable rhyme, for the darkening, for the lightness, and the color that arises when they meet, I am the child of our aunties and uncles.
give chance
make peace
with the wide open skies
of the southwest
and the land where your brother and sisters fled
and their blood seeped into the land
harboring their empty spirit until the time would come

Forests of Time await in the vastness of our hearts
and the simplicity of
our inner gems, they sing to us
paint themselves an accolade,
sing to themselves
a daring hum
of life present, serene
in the very same hearts

out here

are heartbreaks and suicides,
here, in these moments our tyranny is our blessing.

If you haven’t yet understood the power of this vesicle, comprehend.

Here down to our toes,
we are death, life, assimilated and working.

We are paradox's conclusions
we are demons denying themselves patience, do you hear me?

This could be our last sentence, our last repeat of the cyclic crimes splattered across screens and into our minds, honed deep into DNA and memories passed down to us,
do you think that karma doesn’t die….

Forget with me, for a moment what may tie to you to this or that, what may make you some way or another and remember,
the possibility of your existence and it's slimness and it's fervor

such beauty I could sing.

Come home.
Come home.
Come home to the wonder of yourself.

7 billion+ people and you are lovable, by some one, somewhere, right now, know this, and no I’m not talking ****** partners, although they may fall into the mix,
I’m talking family and friends,
I’m talking the trees who shake and shimmy and bend,
I’m saying the sky loves you, the rivers love you,
the dreams love you, you are a shimmering essence of pollution
turned sparkling star dust when you live like you are worthy, live like you know what you are, ( nothing short of a miracle)
live knowing the magic and beauty that flows through you,

yes, you who knows what death tastes like…and still smiles at the majesty of it all.

If you haven’t yet understood the power of this vesicle, comprehend.

We all have it on our very lips, we all have the ashes of those long dead in our lungs
we burn that to make our cars run.

We think we’re alone out here in the universe
we never even left home
Or explored the forests waiting in the vastness of our hearts.

Come home.
Come home.
Come home.

When faced with the kin of existance turning to me and asking for more when I'm staring down a wall of self-destruction
I falter
I fail
I fall back into the murky past of suckling on my pain and feeding it's worrisome jaunting, it's callous remerks and the uneasy , unquenchable desire for everything to turn around and be just like how it was not , back in some distant moment , back in some dim memory of success of pain or failure.

When faced with the kin of existance turning to me and asking for more
I know i need a rest for just a moment but that moment is not worth it
it is a festering
When faced with the kin of existance turning to me and asking for more
I turn to them and say here it is
here I am
here are my mistakes and my furrowed brows
here is my vulnrable strength
how can I give of that ?
I breathe in deep and relinquish the need to know, the need to be right and I recognize, here in this moment is a greatness , a quality and a strength -
we are alive and it will be aliveness until it's not
it will be aliveness until it's not
and that relentless living will turn and turn and turn as this planet does
as these movements do
and I will also.
This is one of those things that I can't change -

One of those things that I must embrace
One of those things that will make me less crude, softer , wiser , gifted with visions of no more or no less,
recognizing the quagmires

We're just two clouds passing through -
just passing by,
colloquial for but a while -

Firm and fleshy in the moment,
wispy and nonexistant later.

Our cracked and opened shells of a solitary death
co-created
waft up their sweet scent of fertile ground
moist, fresh
smelling faintly of stardust and the impossible -

Our edges that don't exist in this world
shimmer and sparkle
pop and crinkle on foreheads and bellies

shining out of our eyes
is the magic of respect
that blows a strong wind

pushing us away
away
from each other
away
away
from each other
closer
and
closer
and
closer
to ourselves
our own dreams

have changed directions.

BE patient for you were once like him.
Young, joyous and dead inside. Let your frustrations melt into compassion for the journey he is embarking on. Your patience is a gift, hard earned , from toiling the same fields he has yet to sow. His wisdom is in it’s nubile stages where your compassion may water those seeds no end.

Love is your guide, is love not your guide?

Laughter is your superpower , is laughter not your superpower?

Fun is the cosmos, is it not Fun?

Grief is real , so let it through -

Least it turns to anger and eats you whilst you are still living....
on   and on   and on

Be patient for you were once like him.
Be patient for you are not him, he is not you.

Life doesn't always work on the currency of hope.

Be patient for the same fields you have yet to sow
ones you don't even know,
already bloom and fruit, seed and disperse
over on his land called a body.

You are a branched, crooked tree,
and this is the way we exist,
when we are ourselves.

Unknowable until the moment,
powerful beyond our dreaming,

bring yourself back in,
to the land that is your eyeballs and knees,

soft
and slow
and gentle.

Frustration gives way to patience, molten fires cool to foggy breath

Peanut butter sticky mouth breaks the dankness

that thick smoke wrapped round my heart disperses
as I laugh and am startled, lightning piercing through clouds -