Perhaps a choiceless recording
An echo in the room
pressed and pushed like to straws on a broom

Set to simmer then boil
the plastic, the foil, bristles and coils
I'm like the tools of the kitchen

Used

I'm given a purpose without reason
There's a lock on the door without keys and
I just want to know

i was 15 when Kokopele knocked me up
and i was ripe, though unready --
every day i visited my spot
at first to relieve, but then to sate allure --
invisibly appeared,
mysterious pleasure day and night
throbbing at the thought
of that strange spot.
i clawed to sate in dream
what goddess women understand
in noontide reveries,
sultry swells of swoon
i don't know how my belly grew
was it at that drafty wall
or by the reeds..
there were several spots it seems.
i am ashamed
i was told to be ashamed
of this belly i love, and body
cravings carved into my soul,
covert sudden lusts
set in stone at 50,
children grown and making music of their own,
in tents along the streams'
comingled murmur moans,
he visits each in turns
to teach the spiral dance
and finish in the seeded womb.
flowers glow to settle racing heart with truth
infant recognition of an origin's choiceless birth
and now, i am in force --
become katcina cougar, proud Kokopelmana:
the role is taken by the horn --
eat my cornmeal cakes
with crooked somiviki smile while i make you mine
you can scatter but i will find you hiding
purring soft to catch you firm --
every boy and man will learn







.

A relationship at its core
Combative situation for both
Choiceless awareness the approach
For maintaining the growth

Impartial and non judgemental
Flexible adaptable and pliable
What is is Changing and moving
Requires thought and action which is  flowing

Awareness halts projection
Dying to yesterday's thoughts the solution
What should be and would be  is wasted emotion
Awareness requires permanance and endurance

Fluidity of thought and action
Requires choiceless awareness
In harmony with the outcome
Nothing to worry or fathom

Perfection

Superimposed with self-perpetuating pollution

But being sustains all and won't mourn its loss

Clear as the sky

Untaintable

Delicious

Home

Forever

I am

The end is just the beginning

Shedding limitations

In spring reborn

A heart of immense power

Cares for all

No longer infected by the sick

For illness is a choiceless choice

That needs no cure

This is the good news

Rejoice

You and I have danced for decades,
Stabbing me on the warpath as I giggled along,
You taught me to hate myself the most,
Way down to the vivisection of my soul;

Am I just shifting blame? Didn't I hold the knife too?
You gave it to me, I made it serrated and poisoned,
Hence why I'm venomous, uneven and stubborn,
Am I chaotic because I am or am I just unhealed?

I held your hand as you plunged it into me slow,
I thought you loved me, why else would you do it?
To be so obsessed and devoted to my destruction?
Isn't destruction just the beginning of creation?

It worries me that you don't leave, you keep the blade in,
Are you worried I'll bleed out or do you enjoy the misery?
Have I learnt to love you choiceless and mistaken?
Like the compass points north, the tall child feels comfort;

'A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort'
Was I after all designed to be harmed or do I have a choice?
I'm not alone anymore though, I have my moon now,
She'll guide me home across the dark and quiet :)

My heart sought a home, even when I was in one,
I moved here almost 9 years ago, I gave it my best,
To settle, to adapt, to overcome, to thrive even,
Instead I corroded, I mangled, I survived choiceless;

Through all your lush green and the rain,
I never found real comfort, just a respite,
I suppose I was stupid to expect it at all,
How does one find home in a war?

Nothing has changed, I don't expect it now,
I was just a city boy abandoned far away,
In an land, where I couldn't speak or relate to,
I'm supposed to belong here and I don't;

It's amazing how far I've placed my mind away,
I rarely live in that certain aspect of my existence,
I'm somewhere I don't belong and can't go back,
Where I used to belong no longer belongs to me;

I'm a nomad in a place I'll never understand,
I've grown accustomed to it's people and things,
The tailored familiarity often backfires into me,
I can't be in tune with them or them me,

I'm a child of the Earth, nameless and unbound,
Perhaps there is hope after all, I'm undefined,
Tried to fit in their boxes, gracefully broke all of it,
Maybe I don't fit in anywhere, the wildcard;

I do take great pride in that, it's a badge of quality,
The untamed among the tamed, blessed with chaos,
A mercurial maverick who desires rest and calm,
I'm only a person after all so I hope, I hope, I hope...

Has he not been beared
From seas to streams
Marked with cutlasses and ashes
Forced to swallow cowries
Why would he not wear down his face?

Has he not been living
On his choiceless delicacy
Concoction of gmelina roots
And garlic sap
Why then would he smile?

Why would he dance?
The voilent drummers in his skull
Were pounding thier drums
Like groups of carpenters
Driving pieces of nails
Into a hardwood

Has he not been marched
Round the village on pant
Bearing a *** stained with dry hen's blood
And rotten bones and stenching earth
Why would he not dash out his wealth
To seek a neater heath?

When I had no choice,I chose life.....
When I had one choice,I chose breath....
When I had unremembered choice,I chose my parents.....
When I had two choices,I chose to walk,
but when I had myriad choices,I chose you......
choiceless gave me choices,
and now I realized I can unchoose the blessed choiceless life,
through my sheer reverence and seeking thither my eternal maternal muse...

Oh, happiness, you know, is such a mystery to me
For my sweet mind, so nubile, now tempted and teased
In daisy chains constrained, becomes unflaggingly naïve
Amidst hopeless, hungry caricatures of a fresh, degenerate breed---
It is these sad amalgamations of cynicism and greed
That beg so caustically for my poor pauper’s decree
Wholly, humbly, in morally hazardous beseech
Reminding me that I will never be exempt from this disease

Because a bird that has for all its life been caged
Would know not, in freedom’s grasp, just how it should behave
And I imagine, most ignorantly, would haplessly spend its days
Flying in circles above the cold cell in which it was once contained
For it is the fear within that forbids us from ever wandering astray
Not, as we convince ourselves, those despicably tangible restraints
But the prejudices and prospects upon which we were raised
The unforgiving pathways of a pre-determined fate

Well, I’d rather die simply, dreaming wistfully instead
Because even the corporeal hand of freedom is ghostly akin to lead
The poison in my veins that leaves me ****** and unfed
It can scarcely compare to the beauty I’ve concocted in my head
And ‘fate,’ I admit, is something that I’ve come to quite dread
To think my end is not my own makes me wish that I was dead
To be voiceless and choiceless and paralyzed in my bed
A story that was written and never to be read

My existence will never course on a single, narrow line
And there will be many, many beds in which my loyalties lie
The destination may well be as crooked as the path the arrow flies
And for all of this uncertainty, I most assuredly will be fine
Because mark my words; let doubt not linger in mind
These cages and these pages will be now and forever mine
Just an arbitrary reaction to the hand-me-down destiny I’ve defied
The parameters I have made to covet all the corners of my life

i wonder how many sons
and how many daughters
passed on
before the phrase,
“Only the good die young”
became cliché.

how many had to grieve
before the phrase
lost its sting?
surely, i still feel
the potent scream
of its veracity.

“only the good die young.”
like all axioms,
we could unpackage and dissect,
trim away the fat
and try to understand,
but at the end of the day
it seems to me that we’d only be
helplessly clutching at straws
in vain attempts to try and make sense
of a reality that our human brains—
try as they might—could never fathom.

i cannot say
if the aphorism is true,
if only the good die young,
but i know that Jakin Murray Foster,
beyond a shadow of a doubt,
was one of the good ones.

to try and select
a single story
as exemplary
of Jakin’s life
would be akin
to plucking a star
from a constellation.

surely, that story
would shine like a sun
unto itself.
people would rotate
about that story,
anchored like planets
by the gravitational force
of Jakin’s compassion.
but to do so,
to focus on solely one story,
would be a great disservice
to the cosmos of Jakin’s existence,
all the lives he’s touched
and changed over the years.

instead, i will try to tell you
about the man, my best friend,
my brother: Jakin Murray Foster.
i will try to capture a portrait,
one that will, admittedly,
be woefully incomplete.
i will leave you to fill in the blanks,
the empty spaces
between the disparate stars
of his constellation.
the gaps in my description
can be filled by the memories
of his cheer, his integrity,
his profound humanity,
solid as steel beams
buttressing and bracing
in these moments of grief.

so, let’s reminisce:

Jakin was stubborn as an ox.
this quality stands out to me
in perfect clarity
because he was one of the only people
who had the strength of personality
required to challenge me
to become a better human being.

to check me when i grew cruel or aggressive or inconsiderate.
to encourage me when i became callous and cynical and unkind.
to love me when my heart was hateful
and wanted nothing more than to spread my own misery like a poison
before putting a permanent end to everything.

Jakin was silly.
take a gander at any number of the photos collected in his memory.
they paint a clearer picture than i ever could
of a man who laughed loud and laughed often,
but never at the expense of others.
who could lift your spirits
like a steaming cup of coffee
in even the most frigid winters.

Jakin was a geek,
a home-school kid,
a Jesus freak.
his personality was refined
by the teachings of a radical rabbi
executed by the state
for standing in love and solidarity
with the weak,
a man who’d change the course of history.

in brief, Jakin gave a ****.
until the end, he stood up for what he believed in,
convinced by the clarity of his conscience
and the fire that burned like a burgeoning nebulae in his heart.
i can think of no better way to honor his memory
than to hate what is evil
and love what is good,
to fight for a world that is in such desperate need
of the grace, charity, and fraternity
Jakin exhibited every day.

Memento mori.
be mindful of death.
i think of the end of all things daily.
for many, the end of a life is the beginning of something new.
to me, death makes life invaluable.
death is choiceless.
death is a cruelty, an injustice no one should ever suffer.
like a mirror, death shows us our own fragility,
it gives truth to the reality that our time here is fleeting.
death makes life more precious than any commodity ever wrought by humanity.
death reminds us that we are owed nothing,
that all we can do is seize every moment of love and joy afforded us
and build a new world in the shell of the old.

i do not know if only the good die young.
i know that my best friend, my brother, is gone.
i know with certainty that I will never see him again.
we will never laugh together,
bicker over philosophy,
or drive around listening to music ever again.
that reality fills me with so much misery
i can hardly stand or breathe or even think.
but i will do all i can to be a good man
so that when i too meet Death like an old friend,
i can say, “i lived like Jakin.”

everyday?
really!  Yes.  
choiceless.
I'm tired.
I'm sore.  
I don't want to.
Show up.
Be present,
do your best,
breathe,
wake up,
practice
and
life moves
through you
in the most
extraordinary
ways

that blond girl
with long long hair
is a color
of delightful luminosity
glaring
by a precise
poetic sensuality
of the tongue
tapping the palate
hitting the right note
concurrently
manifesting a tone
an equivalence of a smile
in all worlds

She –
made of lustrous transparent rose skin
is a goddess of temptation
the curling ice queen
on a museum floor
manifesting ****** to
not believing eyes
once dressed up
in tightly packed dark clothing
unfitting to the straight torso

jutting out the shine of
her far away alluring looks
the porter of ancient nordic landscapes is her eyes
which you’d choiceless fly through

She – the divine breeze made to softly aerate
angelic locks –
innocence of youthful dreams
joy may you call her laughter -unheard – freezing time
rebuilding traces of an unlived dream

She is here today

to harmonize the thought chords
attuned by the subtle passage
made of blurry sets of colors and lines
flowing at a readable rate  
along the dark November backgrounds
of an intoxicated Sunday morning

Red is still red in the neon
as if too early to be awake
clock hitting the afternoon
wall of fame signs rolling lonely
to haunt ghosts of yesterday nights
which have never come alive until they got brighter than the stars

Dark that shall make the silhouettes forget and reanimate
the never starting and neverending play of zombies
looking for a pure soul

always somewhere else
failing to find one

Flashes of illusion swept by the persistent horns

to be replaced in their place
not as divinity
but as an administrative layer of impurity
All replaceable at once
while everyday stays the same
while everyday they think is different
except for the old man

the old man doesn’t think
wearing a cap
sits there outside
at the most invisible corner of an old theater café

He sees everything he has three eyes
He hears everything he has three ears
He reads everything always the same newspaper
turning the pages in the same tempo of this chimerical dream

I am being observed I know
while writing beside him
and he says silently :
I don’t wanna read yours
but I can read you
if i want to
and he attempts to go
many many times

while I write I wish him stay
as if keeping an admirer beside my words
an anonymous faceless friend
and I speed up as I walk fast with my pen I fly
and he gravitates back to his chair again
restlessly

I want to finish this up quickly and walk away at once without even looking at him not even once
that’s the perfect scenario I think mixing up a reality to a dream
considering the urgent importance of this line makes me immerse and see nothing other than the self  but alas the traffic lights turn to green

and She – the profile of my beauty queen
holding a beaker to go
raises her head dancingly
arcs the neck
and in slow motion
throws a laughter to the air
whose weight should be a blissful wiege
for my loving looks –
made of a shape of a missing
of what I could have never been
– halving her pink coat in well fitting blue to her jeans

and she steps forward to fade away
leaving me chained to the glorious gravity
of this untouchable dream

on this invisible island of mirrors
which neither she nor anybody else has ever seen
but me

hopelessly sculpting now
a reflection of an illusion
made real
through the weight of these words
me is  a sad melody
of an autumn leaf
falling for her dream

You don’t have to come
when it’s my call apart!?

I am following the route of
my promise
given
to a child
a girl with a stray cat
always found by the same cat  
different color
different shape
once she also read the Tripods
long ago
but

No
You are not
her White Mountains
I met you on the way

Find the truth
for me- she said
in plain joy
bring us home
when you grow up

Home was where you could create magic

A spherical  -transparent ball
a living crystalline - singing
made of colorful -universe particles

don’t forget
this one also has a crest
remains invisible to
they who do not
already know
the way - inscribed
along caves
above the eye-  and
promise to keep me
alive by your side
as a beat in your heart

I promised
...
I grew up
...
I forgot
…

Forgot to remember

until I met love
until I heard the beat
and remembered
and escaped just

No
You are not so near
You are always here
It was me who ran away

I saw it all coming
before
our roads crossed
and planned to
lend you my heart
for a temporary time
of mortal maybe
while
calculating
if -s

If
I were
not
good enough
for me
for you
for her
…

Keep it well I said
and plain for me
cause I gotta be free
and promise to always
stay oceans away
from me
is
our decree of creativity

Pains I passed
belonged to
the absence of
her or of you
were set as traps
on  both sides
of a rewinding tape
each gaze pulled us back
to the same awful track
until I learned to move ahead
cause you gotta be free
yeah and  keep it well for me
cause we gotta be free

For we
I travelled worlds
of  the destroyer
until I learned to destroy time
and move ahead
from a central soundless line
some of the illusionary erased
others of truth stayed
to make difference
at shores of wisdom
at  waters of innocence
at crests of all sense
I was healed for
the healed is here
to heal
but
alas
in the meantime
you made my heart real

Choiceless and reduced to one
I bounced back to you and
to a place where we started
as if  a promise is broke now
or of decree surpassed
hoping the -only if-
by creativity
?
all we can do is walk
the unknown verse
made by a quest
towards the sun
we shall see then
the golden dawn
at rest is at now
blessed we are and one
truth of her dream we become
or else none (be destroyed by time)

and they sang bold
the chorus of her dream

Is she home yet?
or still out playing ? ...again with that cat
mom said
as if
...
but no
all I heard was my heartbeat.

The mantra of Hiroshima incarnate
The map of every star in a torn fishnet
Loss of life among other consequences
Images of words as the devil slowly dances
The apple of Eden's been bitten before
Only now does it have some of Pandora in store
A weakened mind in a deific shell
The new tree of life unleashes true hell

Broken, torn, shattered eternal face
The petite, pure angel has fallen from grace
Inconsistency in post-modern apocalypse
Collapsing under the hound's charred up lips
Burning new wings in a sea of the womb
Blossoming inadequacy, eternal tomb
Callous, joyless orange ocean abound
The true retaliation, a hurricane of sound

Lazy eyes and a dysfunctional throat
Untrue might, a choiceless faux-goat
Green, emerald, grass, truly loveless
Alight the need to never again fess
Drowned a nobody, a weakened coward
Behind a true god's skirt he always cowered
No more colors, a blackened white sand
A recall of choices this boy doth demand

Green cascading from the smooth curves of her hips—
unmoving—of velvet flowers that I approach.
Silken, they are; and with balm applied I kiss her lips.
Wandering to discover Eden, without reproach,
hands and eyes journey together, seeking
what pleasure, what ecstasy, delight  
the texture of her soft skin returns to me, peaking,
I am only hers tonight.

And yet the sun is not in keeping
with the children of her Eden shores,
swallowed up by her catlike creeping,  
why side to side, like waves of joy
crashing in curves of green velvet cascading.

Eyes ablaze, yet shoulders coy
her stare implodes my chest, inflating  
waves of rapture, collapse, and drown me so
I am but a child of sudden, timid choice.
Why her eyes that say come hither, come slow,
that motion stills and vibrates with her voice,
yet I am a silent caress that goes
up and down her thigh intending, from her waist
to her lips; I am not a fool to woes
nor a child to her eyes unchaste.

Lo! Reflections of the crescent moon,
the night unfolded like dreams hidden behind her eyes
that call “lover,” to me soon
I know, and yet cannot impede reprise
for she is the sun that draws me out,
and I am the seed that sprouts ***** before her.

Choiceless and unaware of clout
hiding nothing as if nothing were
the object of my affections streaming
from the fingers stroking down my chest,
to lips that pucker open, and to her eyes, beaming
shatter the gray of storm and jest
that by the sounds of thunder repeating
could not find meaning in the apparatus of her smile
nor the significance of her heart.

Yet still I search beyond the mile
to understand what plays its part.
The answer must lie at dusk
between the hours sweet and bitter, which have no time,
but smell like musk
and whispers softly in sweet and gentle rhyme.

Suppose it was known at the first moment,
When you called on me to be your transition,
When you, through me, enabled yourself to punish men both past and present,
Vulnerable in me alone, left to liberate your power,
That grace would sever our connection.

I consented,
I am no victim.

Through you I've seen paradise through strength,
In you, I carried my hidden reserve.
I let you hold all that I know, and can be,

So that I could remain choiceless, and meek, in the average eyes of the world.

I gave to you.  Love poured from me like a decanter small,
and made of magic,

And you simply drank!

You drank and drank to my spirit's inspiration.

It was unconscious greed, a taker's spirit forged from a foreign place,
One where mercy and love, where civility, honor, and thoughtfulness,
Never dared to infringe on the impulse to survive,

But it did inspire me.
Such basic and consistent placement of self first in the face of all that works to will one toward the world's masquerade of sacrifice,

Was as astonishing to me as the freak, the genius, the new constellation,

And I still struggle to understand what your experience of the world is like,

Without the indefatigable tug of duty pulling at your pulsing heart.

I reached my limit.
And this discovery of imposition has warranted me my own selfish wills,

I will not soon mistake them for the fancies of another.

But I will say that there is grace in you,
As you travel, composed of want alone,
Healing those you hurt just enough to clear and clean the path you fashion,

And I'll idealize you because you never humanized yourself to me.
Or wanted my humanity.

Our service to each other like points that hold along the sky.
I affix my eyes on your cold and constant light.
And discover a direction.

Neglecting the presence of choiceless
pain, I became singular and I said
I would not allow the life
slip through my fingers.

Looking inside, beneath the rags
of awakening, makes you to rebel
against the decadent forgiveness.
Belief in dying was a reversed nightmare.

Till the arteries explode in the limbs.
A robot kindles the hope to walk
without a brain and I grieve for the
death of a nightingale in the woods.

I will knead the invisible universe,
roll it to the stone wall of conscience.
Age will undo the million dreams
behind the creative shame.

Empty your Cup
Free of thoughts past
Choiceless awareness
Non judgmental in the present
Be flexible
Fixated and Opinionated is easily breakable
There is no opponent
Self knowledge clears the confusion
Not tense but ready
Complete focus on the fray
Not thinking not Dreaming
Outcome not in the Reckoning
Keep Practicing
Integrity on doing
One with the opponent
Fluidity in motion
Dont think feel
Heartfelt effort on the deed
Express yourself
Truth from within not suppressed
Have no technique
Learn practice forget
Self Actualization
Knowledge of self without imitation
Self Image Actualization
Projection a false sense of who we are without inhibition
Be Water
Be soft and you cant be hurt
No way as way
Using all methods available
Having no limitations as limitations
Get past barriers and projections
Emptiness
Egoless equations

Who Is From All
Who is in love – in the shadow?
Who is the love – or the light?
Naked disclosed just let do,
And will be seen what is right!

Right – in the rightful direction,
That’s only felt in demand:
Motion is equal Salvation,
Longing makes crush reprimand…

Shadow materializing
Is of the Miracle work:
Responsibility rising,
Betting on here and rogue, -

Freedom of choiceless desire
Liberty holds and provokes, -
Motion, comparing, dire
Opening in front, behind locks…

Who is in What – vivifying,
What is expanding in Whom:
Live those who fixed in dying,
Giving out what seems so doomed.

Light pours out in shadow,
To raise again – and erase
Whisper of poisonous Letha
From all endearing race!..