September 11

M.O.N.D.

Modified Newtonian Dynamics
... speed on the outside of the galaxy and the centre is the same ...
what about relativity?

In blackfoot I can talk about 2 days backward and 2 days forward
A 3 day road
That's it my friends

Don't go by the 12 month cycle
Like 50% of 7 billion
Go by the 13 moons
Circular?
Not quite
Time is repetitious
Reptilian
Might be a better interpretation

"Every year we perform the same ceremonies ...
We sing and chant the same songs
There is even repetition in the songs.
Medicine Wheels ...

The main axis is  aligned with the solstice
0.07 degrees off because of procession of axis
Possibly ...
Don't go past 2 days ...

September 12

Unaccountable, maybe ...

September 14

Not accounted for ... maybe not

For Michael, a warrior and an inspiration*

You look at me like I'm weak
I am
Weakness is bending
Not breaking
It's how I show my strength

You look at me like I'm dark
I am
Darkness is brightness
Not reflecting
It's how I show I'm light

You look at me like I'm ill
I am
Illness is health
Not refracting
I call it the illness advantage

You are the song of myself... That's why we resonate. But there is duality... Otherwise we're just ******* ourselves... We're the children of the Big Bang ... When you become the lightening rod for yourself, then we can *** together ... Forever ... Under the guise of J.H.Christ.... Why J.H.? Because there was a J.A., a J.B., a J.C. ... And this time, if we get it right, then we get to live forever zzz

Never get it right the infinite of eternity is hell ... God gave his only begotten son so the vampires would have something to feed on ... Puritanical is impure ... Perfection is flawed zzz eternal sleep... Vamps don't live forever, we do! U and I on the eye... Get to create heaven here on Hades .... in Walt Whitman's my self -->

No man is an island but as an aggregate, if we can remember who we are, we can become even more solid than a rock.

Maybe as an aggregate, we can become the rock we've always been looking for.

Remove the mask
Strip to essentials
Remove the ballasts

A crossroads
An intersection divine
Don't rue the darkness on a boulevard of light

Lucifer's here
Will the deal go down?
Or are you hedging on up?

Flying in on the back of truth
As an agent of change
Write your own contract

Be just and align
Oblige yourself with Self
'Be like water my friend' (Bruce Lee)

Fill that vessel up
To overflowing
A soul is pedestrian

An overflowing soul leads to changency
An over~soul (Emerson)
Define your cosmology

Uninitiate is a good initiation
You have to strip your house down
To ensure true pitch

Attuning for those forks
A hollow reed
For a river of truth

she gets you
always a rattle before she strikes

vitality
immortality
in vitro

wisdom
intrinsic
are you starting to get it?

Gaian
getting high in
something not in short supply

the serpent’s vine
so divine
initiate

awakenings
transmutations
and healing

sharpening intuition
bringing to fruition
and feeling

earth medicine
grounding and connecting
dimethyltryptamine

a single entity
going round and round
seeking peace

the snake of life
she gets you
always a rattle before she strikes

Sipping cerveza with
Beautiful bocce ***** bowling
Through Pacific sands
While the sun tracks into the horizon

From the Songs of the Arcturians

In an Octopuses Garden

On the edge of the Luna Sea

Turquoise and aquamarine hues

Chasing away the blues

Synesthesia is complete

The monkey goes cheep, cheep, cheep

A

Not No Logos, Klein.
What about anti-logo
Using the figure as the foci
But leaving the message in the medium
Both in the back and foreground

Then we yell fore and the foreground becomes the background

2

Always remembering hierarchy but always forgetting Plutarch

Is this is a disambiguation?

Did I confuse Parallel Lives with Plutarchy?

3

So we grid it out.
GOTO Vitruvio ...

4

Trying hard to balance can create imbalance this we rationalize through irrationality.

3.14159265359 ...

5

Symmetry ... .. . ~ . .. ... assymetrY

Stressing the *** in asymmetry

And what about the meeting of Apollo and Dionysus and the Apollonian/Dionysian duality?

6

Rhythm:

3:3 ; 4:4 ; 7:4 ; salt peanuts . .. ... windtalkers

7

White space is an access point for flow, Tao, source .... this is where my batteries recharge

8

Every element is mindfully placed; an element of gestalt ism "shape form", is this analogous to timespace?

Is the whole other than the sum of its parts? GOTO Miller-Urey II nested inside Babylon Falling

Both are self organizing, none the less. Such wholesome folk we are.

9

The patterns found in isolation parallel both linear and crossing elements and the instructions always coming from a double helix. GOTO The Dance of the Double Helix

... and always adding depth and motion ... kinematic to the statics. GOTO Introducing Happiness

10

Type faces are interfaces so be consistent ... you Paranoid Android!

J

Always K.I.S.S.ing

Q

And in motion means modularity is a must

K

Peaks and valleys can be better understood at the Red Onion or maybe just by peeling back the layers (of life)

My tribe is a
mingling of adjacent hues
finding harmony
complementary

My tribe is a
facet of you and me
a mashup of science and art
an education of the heart

My tribe is a
wisdom bringer
a lighthouse singer
over crimson shoals

My tribe is a
ghost dance partner
a symphonies daughter
a shield for fodder

Cause my tribe is peace
like a captainless ship
like a philosophers quip
like a
"I don't know but I'd like to get it right"
kinda trip

My tribe is yearning
curious and learning
rumbling with vulnerability
spilling over with capability

And every time we think we are there
we go a little deeper
because it isn't complicated
as my tribe is love

Today’s lesson on the pad

Showing a new guy how to stake grades

So we paced out a grid and pounded in stakes at semi-even intervals

Always picking up where someone else left off

Using their existing grid, we paced ~16 m in Northing (a metre is approximately equal to a yard)

Again, using the existing grid, we paced ~13 m in Easting

Then I asked him to pace out the hypotenuse, it was ~21 m

The grid was for the most part at right angles to each other

To show the new guy how Pythagoras came to his theorem

I scratched a triangle in the crushed aggregate

On the side of the x-plane I scratched 16 m and on the side of the y-plane I scratched 13 m

The diagonal received a 21 m

Out came the notebook

16 squared plus 13 squared = ~21 squared

Using my iPhone calculator

256 plus 169 = ~21 squared
425 = ~21 squared
square root of 425 = ~20.6155281280883 or ~21

Then I grabbed my stick to scratch out a head, body, appendages, and finally a circle encompassing my proto-Vitruvian dude

Never thought work could be this fun!

I buried Wisdom & Folly at Indian Graves this afternoon

It was cut in three
The two halves I buried close to each other
When they come back on the next plane
They will have a better chance of finding each other in one piece

The tail, I left hanging on a tree

You don't need a tail to walk upright

Raven is near
She's paying her respects
And a Thunderbird does a fly-by

Connotations and elucidations
We need language that recreates nations

If you use changency on a regular basis then you might be a changent but then you're defaulting to a noun based thought process and we live in a fluid, living universe. Nothing in the universe is unchanging thus locking our minds down with noun based systems of thinking cannot do our Selves or our Universe justice...if you believe that you have a life sentence of just ~100 years and then you're gone, then you're not a responsible human being...or you are being lied to and tricked into thinking that we're barely human...being is a verb...we are in process...in flow...we are the dragon's that we've been waiting for. We are the guardian's of wealth and we are the guardian's of prince's and princess's....because we are the prince's and princess's.

If you think I'm full of **** that's fine. You've been tricked. Your reward for such treachery, your reward for allowing yourself to be deceived....another ~100 year life sentence.

You'll deal with it eventually because you'll be back again and again and again until you figure out how to swim out of Hades and get back onto an eternal path not as a Changent but found within the fluidity of changency.

You don't go to Wall Street or Bay Street or any of those 'important' streets to understand currency...you borrow Turtle Island technology in the form of a canoe (don't forget to pay your royalties)...you get off the land and onto the river and flow....this is currency...this is flow. Buddha sat on the edge of the river studying flow and found great truths...Buddha never had access to Turtle Island technology. You can't study currency without getting into flow physically...the mind will only take you so far. A mind has barriers, a mind can be deceived, that deception can lead to false dichotomies such as the left brain~right brain, us versus them, US vs the People...let's unite the states. Flow into the nondual truths that resonate through the subtle frequencies of those attuned... Let's stop at Acme Explosives on the way home from 'work' along the ****** Tune paths found in our minds and load the Hoover Dams built in our heads by the Fortune 500 who want us to think that we're dead (or dying) ...  load the dam full of explosive ... then let Wylie and Bugs do their thing. A levee is impermanent...and the levee is about to break...it nears the time for the deal to go down. Hereditary leadership could make a coup but this doesn't honour flow. Those power mongers, who, using their ill-gotten bellows to stoke the flames of fear have worked their way into their own slavery. When We, the living people, realize that we're the plantation owners and we are the ones that can and need to start pushing the signals back into the marketplace...this is the people's market. A just internet decentralizes the economy...it just is...Justice. Destabilizing using the ebbs and flows...using whimsy...this is Game Theory writ large. Let's turn the Prisoner's Dilemma on it's head, Jed...i

The idiom...pushing on a string is supposed to connote the impossibility of sending signals back up the ladder. Hahaha. That is exactly what can and in the new economy will be done. You can pull strings but you can also push strings. I know this, I understand this because of an idea I've been meditating on for several years. It's an idea the Tlingit and Haida chiefs used to honour their lost loved ones. It's called a Potlach Ceremony. It's also called Indian Giving or flows into negative connotations that are attached to indian giver, let's take the power back...keep pushing...it's almost time

Adapted from pg. 571 of Alcoholics Anonymous, 4th Edition

The Black Swan Sanctuary will become a unique and highly successful approach to that age-old public health and social problem, following the crowd... In emphasizing Black Swanism as an integral component of the human genome, the social stigma associated with this condition will be blotted out... "Historians may one day recognize (BSS) to have been a great venture in social pioneering which forged a new instrument for social action; a new therapy based on the kinship  of common suffering; on having a vast potential for the myriad of ills of (hu)mankind."

-- he sees farther than I
So I'll drink to that.
A toast to scotland.
We toasted royalty,
and so don't have to
pay any royalties . .. ...

--> concesssions were made I'm sure . .. ...
my grandfar would have seen to that.

Arooooooooooooo

The wolf howls

The hawk circles

The elephant trumpets

The badger … lurches

The turkey … vultures

The Ram …

The Bull …

And the eagle and condor live happily ever after

And always built on the framework … on the architecture of the dream … thanks Raven …

Always and in all ways love You

"Don't tell me the poets ... "

I write poetry that is both incorporated
And incorporeal ... and un and un and un
It is done

On the pad : and off

Hop - Lily

On the tailgate
In the truck
Boots on the ground
In the muck

Put on your Carhartt's
It's time to get *****
Even better

Grab your Old Man's work clothes
Finish the job
That He didn't want to start

Don't tell me the poets are ******* crying

We're living
And we're dying

Careful though
The warlords have come into the jungle and slaughtered before

But we live again
A little more angry
A little less wise

--> **** **** up, juveniles

Shoplifters of the world ...
untie

The Guide and I into that road
     Now entered, to return to the bright world;
     And without care of having any rest                                         135

We mounted up, he first and I the second,
     Till I beheld through a round aperture
     Some of the beauteous things that Heaven doth bear;

Thence we came forth to rebehold the stars.

"Baby, baby why can't you sit still?
Who killed that bird out on you window sill?
Are you the reason that he broke his back?
Did I see you laugh about that?
If I come on like a dream?
Would you let me show you what I mean?
If you let me come on inside?
Will you let it glide?

Can I have some remedy?
Remedy for me please.
Cause if I had some remedy
I'd take enough to please me.

Baby, baby why did you dye your hair?
Why you always keeping with your mother's dare?
Baby why's who's who, who know you too?
Did the other children scold on you?
If I come on like a dream?
Would you let me show you what I mean?
If you let me come on inside?
Will you let it slide?"

Black Crowes

Today, the renaissance continues … with any luck
The words flow
So I follow - - > The poem of life
I am in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains
In a town called Okotoks
After breakfast, I’m driving West
First across the Sheep
Past Big Rock
Then west down the number 7
And through a Black Diamond

And again, across the Sheep - - > I don’t know how that works I’m just following the path

Taking a turn at Turner Valley
And on to the 22 and into K-country
Kundalini Country, perhaps
More likely Kananaskis
A vision of a great leader to set aside place and space
For beautiful things to grow
Now down the 549 and into the heart
I’ve hiked hearts ridge
Camped there in the dead of winter once
Only thing keeping me warm was a Nalgene bottle full of tea
And the down of our feathered friends
Insulated on a bed of air
And of course a shell from the face of the north

Tonight, I sleep at Indian Graves (Campground)
Latitude: 50.2417849636
Longitude: -114.362189631
Cause it’s here that I find answers
And I bet, if the land decides to speak, shares poetry

A diamond of perfect clarity and flawed .... Less
Is more
Uncut or not
Refracting light imperfectly
Through my I am
Perfections
Wit
Less
But less is more
You halfwit
Half my self
Seeking my other
S(elves)
An uncut gem
Maybe
Or maybe a carnonaceous chondrite
Being formed .... Crystallized

Through unintentional pressure

This is love
And Phaedrus always in behind
Gently pushing from sometimes gently tugging from the lead
Trying to stay in the eye

Of the storm

52 Weeks: Whitman

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

52 Weeks: Mullein**

The Red-Tailed hawk swoops by and catches just a glimpse, he tilts his head Dionysian style mouth slightly agape.

I too am a wild thing, I too am untethered,
And I sound animalistic in the dining halls of the tamed.

The final missile thud holds me in a sweet caress,
My likeness rockets earthward … tried and true and tired and truer,
I am coaxed into existence once again.

I maintain my aetheric ties as I know this is the roadmap back to you,
It’s nice to be enmeshed in the living once again even though they drain,
To drain is to live, one gives eternity to be mortal - it’s the only thing that ever made sense.

I won’t depart, I dig in my heels,
And I turn my back on the organized.

I am of the earth because I understand my antecedents … my mother’s mother’s mother …
And because of this knowledge of ante’s I can set prece’s, hopefully precisely.

I hardly know who I am or what I mean (on a good day),
But I am good for you none the less,
As our tastes and sounds and smells and touches intermingle.

And always I wait patiently,
for me for you,
for us.

Aaron: "Hi, I'm Aaron and I'm a (recovering) misogynist"

All: "Hi Aaron. Welcome!"

Aaron: "I wonder how much longer we can **** and pillage the feminine with a clear conscience?"

All: "Who has a clear conscience?"

Crowd: A few raise their hands . . . more than you would think . . .

Gestapo for Good: Furiously taking notes . . .

Aaron: "I don't know what you're gonna do about it, I don't even know what I'm gonna do about it . . ."

All: "You don't need to know, just don't shut out that feeling"

Aaron: "I'll do my best"

All: "Then you are"

Aaron sits down
Bill stands up

Bill: "Hey, hey, hey I'm Fat Albert" *(in a sad clown voice)

A hundred and fifty years after Darwin's dangerous idea

The flaws are showing

If you look closely

You can see the storyteller's gathering

Sitting in my Yurt:
A trophy room

Warming myself by
A violet flame

Tom Waits streaming, essentially screaming
'All Stripped Down'

6 dwarves on the wall ~ my masks:
Base, sacral, solar plexus, heart, third eye

One place left
It feels right

Inevitably coming off
My crown, no longer masking

Free flowing energies
Tantric, not romantic

In search of the Moon
Octavio whispers about the Sun

Removing the 7th dwarf
Reveals a giant

It's Snow White and it's
Ivory & Obsidian

1 blink yes
2 blinks no

Rebuilding psyche
On a binary platform

Climbing over the rainbow
You change all the lead sleeping in my head to gold

Through a black and white prism
Entrained within the prison

A white horse
Resounding out of the North

Through an impossible nightmare
Built on kamikaze dreams

Boundaries dissolve into a never ending
Never beginning: yin yang

Another yellow brick in
The wall

willow of crystal, a poplar of water,
a pillar of fountain by the wind drawn over,
tree that is firmly rooted and that dances,
turning course of a river that goes curving,
advances and retreats, goes roundabout,
arriving forever:
                     the calm course of a star
or the spring, appearing without urgency,
water behind a stillness of closed eyelids
flowing all night and pouring out prophecies,
a single presence in the procession of waves
wave over wave until all is overlapped,
in a green sovereignty without decline
a bright hallucination of many wings
when they all open at the height of the sky,

course of a journey among the densities
of the days of the future and the fateful
brilliance of misery shining like a bird
that petrifies the forest with its singing
and the annunciations of happiness
among the branches which go disappearing,
hours of light even now pecked away by the birds,
omens which even now fly out of my hand,

an actual presence like a burst of singing,
like the song of the wind in a burning building,
a long look holding the whole world suspended,
the world with all its seas and all its mountains,
body of light as it is filtered through agate,
the thighs of light, the belly of light, the bays,
the solar rock and the cloud-colored body,
color of day that goes racing and leaping,
the hour glitters and assumes its body,
now the world stands, visible through your body,
and is transparent through your transparency,

I go a journey in galleries of sound,
I flow among the resonant presences
going, a blind man passing transparencies,
one mirror cancels me, I rise from another,
forest whose trees are the pillars of magic,
under the arches of light I go among
the corridors of a dissolving autumn,

I go among your body as among the world,
your belly the sunlit center of the city,
your ******* two churches where are celebrated
the great parallel mysteries of the blood,
the looks of my eyes cover you like ivy,
you are a city by the sea assaulted,
you are a rampart by the light divided
into two halves, distinct, color of peaches,
and you are saltiness, you are rocks and birds
beneath the edict of concentrated noon

and dressed in the coloring of my desires
you go as naked as my thoughts go naked,
I go among your eyes as I swim water,
the tigers come to these eyes to drink their dreams,
the hummingbird is burning among these flames,
I go upon your forehead as on the moon,
like cloud I go among your imagining
journey your belly as I journey your dream,

your ***** are harvest, a field of waves and singing,
your ***** are crystal and your ***** are water,
your lips, your hair, the looks you give me, they
all night shower down like rain, and all day long
you open up my breast with your fingers of water,
you close my eyelids with your mouth of water,
raining upon my bones, and in my breast
the roots of water drive deep a liquid tree,

I travel through your waist as through a river,
I voyage your body as through a grove going,
as by a footpath going up a mountain
and suddenly coming upon a steep ravine
I go the straitened way of your keen thoughts
break through to daylight upon your white forehead
and there my spirit flings itself down, is shattered
now I collect my fragments one by one
and go on, bodiless, searching, in the dark....

you take on the likeness of a tree, a cloud,
you are all birds and now you are a star,
now you resemble the sharp edge of a sword
and now the executioner's bowl of blood,
the encroaching ivy that over grows and then
roots out the soul and divides it from itself,

writing of fire on the slab of jade,
the cleft in the rock, serpent-goddess and queen,
pillar of cloud, and fountain struck from the stone,
the nest of eagles, the circle of the moon,
the seed of anise, mortal and smallest thorn
that has the power to give immortal pain,
shepherd of valleys underneath the sea
and guardian of the valley of the dead,
liana that hangs at the pitch of vertigo,
climber and bindweed and the venomous plant,
flower of resurrection and grape of life,
lady of the flute and of the lightning-flash,
terrace of jasmine, and salt rubbed in the wound,
a branch of roses for the man shot down,
snowstorm in August, moon of the harrowing,
the writing of the sea cut in basalt,
the writing of the wind upon the desert,
testament of the sun, pomegranate, wheat-ear....

                         life and death
are reconciled in thee, lady of midnight,
tower of clarity, empress of daybreak,
moon ******, mother of all mother liquids,
body and flesh of the world, the house of death,
I have been endlessly falling since my birth,
I fall in my own self, never touch my depth,
gather me in your eyes, at last bring together
my scattered dust, make peace among my ashes,
bind the dismemberment of my bones, and breathe
upon my being, bring me to earth in your earth,
your silence of peace to the intellectual act
against itself aroused;
                         open now your hand
lady of the seeds of life, seeds that are days,
day is an immortality, it rises, it grows,
is done with being born and never is done,
every day is a birth, and every daybreak
another birthplace and I am the break of day,
we all dawn on the day, the sun dawns and
daybreak is the face of the sun....

gate of our being, awaken me, bring dawn,
grant that I see the face of the living day,
grant that I see the face of this live night,
everything speaks now, everything is transformed,
O arch of blood, bridge of our pulse beating,
carry me through to the far side of this night....

gateway of being: open your being, awaken,
learn then to be, begin to carve your face,
develop your elements, and keep your vision
keen to look at my face, as I at yours,
keen to look full at life right through to death,
faces of sea, of bread, of rock, of fountain,
the spring of origin which will dissolve our faces
in the nameless face, existence without face
the inexpressible presence of presences...

I want to go on, to go beyond; I cannot;
the moment scatters itself in many things,
I have slept the dreams of the stone that never dreams
and deep among the dreams of years like stones
have heard the singing of my imprisoned blood,
with a premonition of light the sea sang,
and one by one the barriers give way,
all of the gates have fallen to decay,
the sun has forced an entrance through my forehead,
has opened my eyelids at last that were kept closed,
unfastened my being of its swaddling clothes,
has rooted me out of my self, and separated
me from my animal sleep centuries of stone
and the magic of reflections resurrects
willow of crystal, a poplar of water,
a pillar of fountain by the wind drawn over,
tree that is firmly rooted and that dances,
turning course of a river that goes curving,
advances and retreats, goes roundabout,
arriving forever:

*Mexico 1957

Yesterday, I sat on the shores of Acheron.

It was before christ or maybe British Columbia hard to tell, my lens was clouded
The mushrooms were telling a story.
Do you know what story they told me?

The truth hurts cause the truth comes from the ******* of bovine
And we are all bovine … some sacred … some dinner … some just simply cows
And I wish I had bovine spongiform encephalopathy

At least then I would have an excuse for being a mad cow or raging bull
Either/or, a **** machine is a good thing for this world
Because: mushrooms.

You have to go in through the out door
And Frost told us long ago “The only way out is through”
And Rogan gives this knowledge away in the aether via Amber.

So what does the gateway into the **** have to say to me?
We are the monsters under the bed. The spectre’s lurking in the closets
And Yahk, BC is the place where answers get spewn out in chunks and spurts.

I thought the only way into the underworld was Grecian.
But a warrior poet knows the way,
And Chris would always and in all ways die for Bella.

Cause what is an eternity without your One
It is eternal damnation
So across the river our hero goes.

He slays everything in his path, beast or brethren
Now the illusion is destroyed
The underworld is deceased except for one.

Residing in the mirror lives the final causality
Casualty?
Only if you want out.

And out is through
So you destroy the Self - id, ego, super-ego … you decide
Covenant in disarray.

And what is born out of it?
The river styx no longer
But instead … the river phoenix

Awaiting my orders to stand down
I roll myself another roll-your-own
Mullein style ~ Amber whisps
Shared with the wind and soil

My orders never come
So the decision is made for me
Standing orders are ******* by physical limits
I fall asleep on my feet

I stand down
By sleeping while I stand

Tough job
This is zombie work
Why do we let the vampires
Drink our blood
Just like the kids in
Art school said they would

i got soul but I'm not a soldier

Writing a poem is about locating self.
Every facet within what you’re about to create
blooms from your consciousness, your subconsciousness
your ego, your mind, your heart

But where are those elements planted?
Where are they rooted?

They are rooted within:

your ethnocentric illusions
your lived reality
your privilege, your pleasure, your pain
your abilities, your disabilities
your socioeconomic status: have and/or havenot
your fluency, your empathy, your sense of humour
your vices and your storytelling devices

Now we've got some roots, what are we going to grow?
Let’s begin by observing, using our senses
Maybe, let’s use our eyes
Consider, the reality of how we see and sense the world
Is different for each and every one of us

Everything is tempered by the lens we use
Which is informed through the roots of our synapses
Which empirically flow from the subjective ground
On which we stand

And what does this have to do with poetry?
What you describe in your poem,
Is an interpretation of what you see (and feel)

Interesting poetry comes when
there is exploring to do
It is a poet’s imperative to
Explore the edges
Out past the boundaries of the visual and audible spectrum

If we were fish poet’s
Would we write poetry about water?

I like to toy with my teenagers on occasion
So I asked my son the other day, what his worldview was?
And I have been enjoying the vacuous silence ever since
To be fair, I have been asking myself the same question for many years
And this might have been the inciting incident leading me to storytelling

As we began this journey together, it was stated that
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Can you describe your context?

Let me attempt to describe mine:

Here I am on the stage in this ocean of air
At the Owl Acoustic Lounge
On a Wednesday night in May
Popping air with rhythm, nuance, and a certain je ne ce quoi

Although this poem is not objectively true
Let me attempt to share that
this poem blooms from my developing cosmology
From the overtures of my Overself;
from the undercurrents of the Monomyth,
From my ***** and through my groans of intercession
This poem blooms from oblivion
Threading through philosophy, to worldview, and into a budding cosmology

For myself:
Worldview fell away when I found cosmology while reconnecting with the night sky
That night sky took me places while grounding me concurrently in inner spaces
Where locating self flows into meta-cognitive health,
Well ... that is something to write about

You got a face not spoiled by joy
I've got some burns from fire by trials
You got blindfolds that can see right through me
You're not afraid of a requiem
I was told that I would feel nothing the first time
I don't know how these burns heal
But in you I found the time

If there is a light you can't always feel
And there is a veil we can't always heal
And there is teal we shouldn't doubt
And there it's alright, it won't go out

And this is a poem, poem for someone
This is a poem, poem for someone

You let me into the lyrics
A song only we could make
You break and enter my imagination
Whatever's in there it's yours to take
I was told I'd feel nothing the first time
You were slow to heal but this could be the night

If the night is alight
And the world can't see
If you are dark, angel
I'll be the light, it won't ever go out

And this is a song, song for someone
This is a song, a song for someone

And I'm a long way from Spy Hill of Calgary
And I'm a long way from where I was but I need it to be
If there is a blindfold you can't always see
And there is a world we can always be
If there is a kiss I stole as Logan
And there is a dark, don't let it go out

Shifting gears
Revolutions near

Red line absorption
In blue sky spectrums

Characterizing wave~particle
Photonic duality

Designating principals
Using dark features

Coinciding emissions
With elemental missions

Broad strokes
Masking narrow bands

Of water lilies

Have you ever had yourself shattered into a million tiny pieces.
"If you ever have the opportunity you must ... "
Cause that journey of trying to place the pieces back together is impossible
And the mosaic that comes from you trying is a work of art
And trying is the battle of your life ...
But the endgame makes it all worth a while
I got to become the architect of my own life.
It destroyed me and I guess that is the point.
By taking ownership as the Creator
I had to emulate Source
Before my crash ... I never fully respected source.
After ... I knew where I had come from and because of the journey I just might have figured out how to get back ...
My life today, begins by ingesting a crystalline structure.
Lithium
The lattice-work simplistic contemplative duality built into the structure provides the foundation on which I stand.
Now that previous statement is probably all ******* 19 times out of 20
but isn't Dogma at it's very root all *******.
Funny thing is ... ******* is a pretty strong foundation from where I'm standing ...

Following les Beat en less path
A little mixed up
Yup

One sweet dream came true today
Came true today
Came true today (Yes it did)

One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven (fade out)

Where did the ring go?

dog ma I

Up the slide
When you start at the top and you slip
When you meet in the middle and you stop and you go for a ride

I am god

English literature
A gateway drug
To Divine Comedies
And Tradegies
Of the Commons
Always leading
To poetry
For the succinct
Prescient
Indirection
With discretion

The end of the holiday's are near and it's time for me to get back to work. I've been writing and reading and thinking and meditating for years. Preparing the temple, so to speak. My stories are public and private goods and the presentation and profits of these stories must be landed in a good and truthful way ~ I've spent much time and energy on how to do this in a way where I can maintain certain intensities and integrity. Intensity for distillation of truth and integrity for power and resonance.

Stories are just stories but it is the ***** when someone else co-opts your creation and paves over the nuances and complexities of that which you had overtly placed your personal power, thought, and energy into.

You might be reading this and all you are seeing is: *******, *******, *******, *******.  All ******* for as far as the eye can see. Fair enough, I've been thinking the same for years but just when I thought I was out, the ******* keeps pulling me back in. As far as I can see though, **** is the distillation of truth and I hope that I can spin this yarn into a web that you will see the ******* structure that holds up the ******* truth and maybe we can try and digest that and compost it and churn through it then grow a mushroom on top of it and then eat the mushroom so we can attempt to find the spiritual truth of what our ******* structure lies upon. This particular idea is not just some floaty meandering abstraction, it is a truth I saw on the land: Longview, Alberta. And this truth was emodied in the ghost I slept in, nearby in Indian Graves Campground that night.

The land speaks if we let it; if we have prepared our temples, maybe the land speaks truth.

You feel me. If you don't then that's ok. It isn't your time and maybe never will be for this iteration of instinct that I am presenting. My rhymes aren't meant to resonate with everyone all the time. I'm not writing pablum or soul food. Feed your own soul in your own way. That's between you and Mr. Potter and the Chairman. Our truths are our truths and they are absolute.

The reason that I know I am prepared to write this story now is because I have done the work. I have found my inner compass and tested it time and again. While in process and flow, the landscaping shifted and my truth's fell away and the absolute revealed itself one star at a time and isn't it ironic how in tune our bards are with the ... wait for it ... enigmatic.

So where am I going to land this access point to the White Buffalo medication? I am not. The medicine already flows and always has, I just woke up and took what was prescribed because a dude in shorts once told me: abide!

Aquamarines
Hues unseen

Velvets and
Mercury retrograde

Projecting lines
Of constant course

Meanders and oxbows
Hinting at future and past

Dancing to songs
Unheard

An effigy for love
Unseen

A garden of tears
Unwrapping the present

Pistil and stamen
Awaiting

Pollinating
Ones and zeros

Bifurcating from binary to analog
Or amalgamating the two

Becoming one
Reprogramming matrices

With personal
Trinities

Everything looks neo
Through this lens

My purple iris contends
U2?

Something in her eyes
Took 1000 years to get here

Something in her heart
Something in her heart