We are like resonating strings
We crave what resonating brings
Matching our vibrations
With audiovisual sensations

Rapid reverberations
Expand and cross nations
Transmit like radio stations
These vibes deny explanation

We seek community
Where we can truly be
The truest form of “me”
Totally friction free

Grooving to the moving
Jiving to the beat
Dancing to the music
Feeling so complete

We are energy looking for a path
A certain resonance frequency
That could be conveyed with math…
But that would be indecency

Instead we name it differently
We call it personality
But to put it honestly
We are atoms in reality

A pattern, a frequency
A string reverberating
Looking to vibrate freely
Liquid, liberating

So go with your intuition
Follow the beat of your own drum
Find your ideal situation
Your part of the continuum

Aduring profane, Love,

Lite unto Thee,

Whose brightness details

Fathomless Heart,

Brilliance, dispelling

Bricks of illusion,

Walls of delusion,

A mind's cell,

Awakening One,

Adhering sacred, mundane,

Neither here nor there,

Am I?


reality

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!

One. Two.

Is this thing turned on?

One. Two.
resonance

I can't see even a few feet in front of me.

God?
resonance

Anyone?
resonance

There's nothing said back from the void.
Disapproval. Deification.

What difference does it make,
Whether withheld or spoken?

Shadows show well on the walls
Before Netflix in my home at night,

The futon
resonance

Eyes overflowing with lust

Looks like a diamond
yet fragile as glass,
A noisy and chaotic world
of words never spoken

A small voice about to crack
Never noticed by anyone
Only to be heard by
the reflection on the mirror.

Everything gets piled up,
everywhere is a mess.
Just waiting to trigger
the bomb inside

Finally the hidden dome
cracked and broke;
it let itself out
revealing all the secrets.

During this time of vulnerability
resonance comes in-
It builds a new world
this time with open doors.

When the soul seeks
the song frozen in time,
Divinity obliges by
sending a few echoes down my path.

They reverberate across
the blue champagne
waves of inertia
to awaken reminiscences
of our harmonic rhythm.

Moments flow syllable like
to find a meaning
between the lines etched
on destiny's canvas as
a presence converges into resonance.

Every word is amplified together into
honest understanding breaking apart
the rational mind icebergs
that predominate love.

Feel the chains change in me tonight
Condense me to evaporate in want
The long of a bounce to another world
Light the fire to burn deep and fervour

A belly roasts in repetitive embers flushes
Hearts tied connate as the essence flashes
A tangle ribboned to last after the dawn
Testify as our sparks infinitely ignite dances

Titaniums of our tectonic plates merge motions
A convergence entwined in bordered emotions
Link me in the convections of transformations
Conversations of a lasting warm benevolence

Paradisiacal chum of a past in resonance
A photographic collection of a lived long life
Unwrap the snare, unwind the erased tapes
Lay back as we hide away behind the moonlight

A sleepy lullaby to warm the soul. The sound of rain, and thunder in the distance, with echoes of the nearby church bell. The resonance of your world in a music box. "Keep it handy", he tells me, "When you need the world's help, wind up that little wonder like a heartbeat, and you'll feel like you're in a dream."