I was playing a game with my kids the other day

I asked:
What do you use to see?
She said 'your eyes'
He said 'your brain'
Both right
Next I asked what do you use to hear?
She said 'your ears'
He said 'your brain'
Both right, again

The wisdom of children!

The game ended there but it got me thinking about what we use to feel
The most straight forward answer is our skin
Your brain is what processes the sense of touch so that has to be included
What about your heart?
Where does it fit into the big scheme of things?
Isn't the heart the space where we process feelings?

I have to loosely define things and often turn them upside down
ruminate
reorder my worldview to make it copacetic
I'm pretty sure that I often walk in two worlds
If my mind is simply locked in the western paradigm then people look at me like I'm bizarre
I'm not joking when I say they've wanted to lock me up because of my views
When I allow my mind to get locked into this western paradigm,
I sometimes even feel like I belong in lockup.

That's even worse than being held against your will
You're being held because you've lost your will

So I play with definitions to better suit my needs

When you do this however, there is a risk
Last summer I unlocked a spectre as I drank deeply and greedily from Crypt Lake

Crypt Lake is a real place on this planet
How did it get it's name (you might ask)?
According to the Blackfoot, placenames aren't given,
they come from place

Let's contextualize ~ this is all part of the journey
The physical leads to the spiritual and vice versa
To get to Crypt Lake you have to enter Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park
Found in the southwest corner of Alberta and the northwest corner of Montana
Once through the gates you have to catch a boat at a certain time
You have to be in the physical plane of existence at this point otherwise you're not getting on that boat
Once you get to the trailhead, then you can start to drift

That's what I did
As I walked, I let the stories come into me
I let them flow through me
They were sitting there waiting to be told
A spruce, arm in arm, with a pine
Hawks circling overhead
An ever present alertness for our bear brethren
Always open to the wildflowers
Indian paintbrush (I have red hair could I be considered an indian paintbrush?)
Pollinators flitting about
Oh, the water

Listen to the stories the water told:
First we come to Hell Roaring Falls
Next Twin Falls
Next Burnt Rock Falls
And to reach the Crypt, we have to pass through a mountain tunnel
Opening up to Crypt Falls
and finally Crypt Lake

This is a regular heroes journey if you allow it to be
I was in that place in my mind where I allowed it to unfold as it may

This is a place that's also known as the Crown of the Continent
Not far away is Chief Mountain, Turtle Mountain, and Crowsnest Mountain
Also Writing-On-Stone and the Milk River and Sweetgrass
These are holy names, this is a holy land

What I saw at Crypt Falls was the backbone of the continent
I saw the backbone of Turtle Island

I was floored
I had been on a continent wide spirit quest a few years previously
There was talk that the Deed for Turtle Island was coming due
And maybe it would be produced at one of these gatherings
We all waited but nobody produced it

I ruminated on that idea for a few years
I'm pretty sure that the Deed was there
Those who held it, just didn't realize

I learned something at the Crypt
I wanted answers and I made an assumption
I assumed that the water held the answers
So I drank deeply, even greedily from the Crypt

Right there in the international peace park, on the crown of the continent
With the Old Chief and the Crowsnest not far away
Writing-On-Stone just a sashay away
What about writing in calcium?
If I were the earth, I would encode important information in something
Transmutable

Not blood.
Bones

What I learned up there on the mountain as I gulped down knowledge from the Crypt was that the deed is written into the bones of the land and into the bones of those borne of that land

This is indigenous knowledge

It's in the water, the water is the medium for the message
The bones are the stock
But just like a double helix
A genetic sequence is an expression of time and place
On a certain spacetime continuum this innocuous looking structure
(take a look in the mirror)
Has all the necessary answers

What conclusion should i draw,
from this ambiguous relationship
Of our failed romance
Of your persistent messages 
Uncertain of what to do 
my heart cold like stone 
With my mind like a sponge 
And my lack of control
I miss you sometimes 
In the peak of the winter
When the heat of the summer
Melted saints like a sinner 

I made haste with my affections
And you wasted no time
To uncover a secret
Left for only seduction to find 
And I let you unravel 
Passions I held under guises 
As caution blew steadily in the wind
yielding pleasant surprises 
We held our heads above water making peace with the silence 
Of our now heavy hearts 
And ever questioning minds

Yet we continued on down 
towards blissful confusion
To a book without words
To a rhyme without reason 
to our own presumptions
About the meaning of an instant
When just getting by 
Was such a heavenly blessing
With thoughts of equilibrium 
bringing tears to my eyes
After a sequence of movements later trivialized
But beneath each breath drawn 
with great consideration 
Lay your careless tongue
and malicious intentions 
With Your endless doubts 
Trapped in webs of confusion 
I followed your lead towards this path of destruction

Sitting beside you
Beneath a watery sunset
I felt your soul swimming onward towards the depths of the sea
While your body was left there
alone, next to me 
I felt disconnection between the rocks and the waves 
I felt more than just ecstasy in those few summer days 
I no longer look for answers or meaning in life's episodes 
I merely ask for solitude 
After its over

A beggar clump adorns a dump, his pencil box in hand -
With sightless eyes upon the skies he’s lying there unmanned.

He’s fallen down in Shantytown, his knees too weak to stand,
With no relief and bitter grief too dark to understand.

The Bowery blight is hid from sight, it’s covered up offhand
While Robin Hood and Brother Hood are buried in the sand.

Hello ghost
Singing in my ear
Caressing my face

Slow.

Slower



Free falling my heart
Free basing my hope
The tethered rope
Of love
The sand storm stealing
The image from my tongue
Though the impressions forever there
Sweet death
****** despair

From the conscious silence to the nomenclatural sound....
From the existential time to the reverberating silence...
Existential sound from the evolving time....
Evolved time from the sustained silence...
Time drenched into the time breeding timeless life....
Life is creator and creation,
It is the play of both of them,
We are their children and everyone of us,
Not just only human beings,every creature on the planet...
Existence is not human-centric,

We are living in the creation,creator is beyond physical....
Life is the voice of the creation,
and the source of our life cannot be seen through our eyes as it is more subtler and beyond physical,
Life is ubiquitous,there is nothing which does not have memory....
Even nothing which is everything and which is life also does have memory.....
Their memory is to act according to the intentions of other lives,
They carry our intentions and consequences,
Intentions and consequences are not apart,they are in the same moment
but one may descry the consequences after a certain period,
but they happen at the same moment as intentions does happen,
Silence bred sound,
and the sound bred me,
And then I am going to dissolve in to the silence......
Life is uncreated,In other words it created itself....
Let me dissolve in to the source....
You cannot breed consciousness nor silence nor the source of life,
one can only dissolve in to the larger entity....

When I lay in bed,
Trying to sleep.
When I close my eyes,
Thinking so deep.
When it becomes too late,
I fall asleep.
When I dream of a dream,
I can’t upkeep.
When all my senses,
Start to seep.
To the nonexistence,
Want to creep.
That’s the moment,
Forever,
I want to keep.

Abdullah Ayyash
October 2nd, 2010

Don't wake me
please
I want my own world
not your reality
Call me an escapist
Call me a coward
but quite frankly I'm sick of earth
like atlas when he held the burden of the sky
I can't stop myself from wondering why
the world is so cold
to the young and to the old
the young have to grow up so much faster
to survive and even then they won't have a chance to really thrive
And the old are out in the bitter cold be it from past injustices karma or just having nowhere to go

So when the lights have gone off
and the world has shut down
I hope a crying falcon can whisper my words
my dreams, on its crying breath
that I lived with honor and left my heart inside my work
And let my words and thoughts find a home with someone alone that reads and my ink stains give them what they need

lifted out and up from birth
your mouth and nose wiped
of gore. your saggy bottom slapped
until you cried.  And all those ahs and
ooos its a boy, no its a girl, as the umbilical
is cut. Then in years to come your Mother
tells you, "I fried eggs and your afterbirth, mmmm"

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My love it breaks my heart to see you cry
But love the time has come when I must fly
This world holds many wondrous things to do
And so my love I cannot stay with you
I hope you can forgive me in good time
Someday I will return to make you mine
    The future yet unknown will be our past
    And fate alone decides a lover's path

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a river flowing tears unto the sea
away away to never trouble me
such tiny things, each worthless on its own
how weak one seems when one is all alone
yet in good time the weak will cease to be
alone without true love for company
    the future yet unknown will be our past
    and fate alone decides a lover's path

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My love it breaks my heart to see you cry

        a river flowing tears unto the sea

But love the time has come when I must fly

        away away to never trouble me

This world holds many wondrous things to do

         such tiny things, each worthless on its own

And so my love I cannot stay with you

         how weak one seems when one is all alone

I hope you can forgive me in good time

         yet in good time the weak will cease to be

Someday I will return to make you mine

         alone without true love for company

    The future yet unknown will be our past
    And fate alone decides a lover's path

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