In the quiet does one hear the elegance of Wisdom as she passes by.
When one stops in the calmness of themselves, they may perceive her touch.
For when she touches one - insight is given like water filling the depths of an empty well.

Where worry cuts off the ability to think and move, Wisdom’s touch removes the debris around.
Relief’s sigh exonerates within the depths of one’s soul - the freedom from our circumstantial prison;

The insights, a robust fountain that springs forth from the depths of one's reality, their being floating in the ebb and flow.
How wonderous is Wisdom's touch?
For the waters of reality becomes enlightened to the ones marked by her fingerprints.

The depths
of nothing
rise and fall
creating tones
unknowable
to the human ear
invisible
to the eye
Creating a labyrinth
to confuse her
to evoke feelings in her
to make her revoke those feelings
and crush them into nothing
to be plunged into the depths
And become the depths themselves.

a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy

~~~

the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none

~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”

“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”

“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word  wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life

“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
                                                         ­­ of the vaguest of dearly departed

skin is not the only mot shed,
                                                sloughing of woeful words”

“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”

Help

I'm falling

In falling water

The lie is cold

And drives my soul

Sick irony takes a stroll

Down the black

I'm alone

In this winsome hole

That leads to the fall

To depths of icy gall

Monsters are at the bottom

They'll eat me

They'll maul

Help

I'm writhing

In the ice of the sun

But to me

It's a glacier

The falling water ends here

Oh no

I'll freeze

This is where I die

No


Longer



Me




Goodbye
I love you

Wayward in the depths
Soon the shark shall strike frame
Only then will we understand
How the thunder and rain
Could explain love and pain
In ways Shakespeare never could

Hoping only that
In the eye of every beholder
Is an artist who draws
Gentler conclusions
Than the ones we have about ourselves

I’ve always had a fear of water that’s deep
I remember my fright in the city pool
how I made friends with the shallow end
how close to the sides I’d keep.
I still recall that curved stone edge
how my fingers held on and I felt a fool
being so scared when the other kids
would jump in the deep end with joy
how I felt like such a silly scardy boy
and I envied their abandon and grit
the big splash when their cannonball hit.

But it’s true my daddy was never there
to teach me to swim
to help when I came up coughing for air.
Oh man, how I could have used him
and his strong arms to hold me
and show me the breast stroke
slap my back when I choked.

Now I still thirst for a father
when I get afraid of the deep water.
The difference is now I’ve got a dad
who’s always there when I’m afraid or sad.
In fact I look forward to the dive
into the deep where I’m so alive
centered and at peace.
But I’m still learning to let go and release
the edge of that deep pool
and breathe in the depths… of spirit fuel.