undecipherable loss
  • [it's steeper near the roses]

attenuation
  • [the mystery in the trees
  and the mistral sound of your breathing]

dreams of perfection: floral dress summer
  • [the apnea and the scream]

a touch of labyrinth to this world
  • [in the fair and harmless light]

imagine somewhere close by
  • [imagine him waving as you say goodbye]

World falls to pieces, some shot and others blasted
One stands alone, away from it all: this hot day
Jaundice nails disappear—
A few gems are pressed
Upright.

Skin rasps inaudible; tables unturned, and stones too
Barbed words blunted, a lonely figure in the light
Of ascertained darkness—
Sweet **** won't listen
Overt.

Silent consumption on the remnants another finds use
Night brings to life secrets behind the eyelids—tiptoe
Calm into your cosm, of bated breath.

nebulous galaxies
                          spiraling forth
stars collecting
                          in clusters              lost
configuring
               constellations           in
                                  
                             ­         space
and
                time-
                                  travelling
   through
                        light-years
duly                        ­                     revolving,
              aligning
     with                       the Sun  
                    and                           the Moon
suspended
                      in the interstellar

thousand droplets hang
from the tip of each bare branch
of the ginkgo tree.
Each orb holds the world in it
like the ornaments that decorate
a coniferous cousin, they
reflect me and all I see
today, a curious blend of grey.

Each shed leaf
is replaced by a tear
too delicate for me
to decipher all that it carries.
I am too distracted
by what I carry
to grasp what each holds
suspended so perfectly
making everything it reflects
into a single something solar twinkling,
each cosm capturing
all in need of being captured.

Today
I am left with no color.
The sky, the trees, the asphalt,
and the air I breathe,
in their unified beauty
say nothing.

Going with the flow
Yet you do not know
That the flow goes all directions

The natural lines that blind your mind
These barriers of glass
Create channels, rivers, currents
Patterns
Where the water
The flow
Simply goes

When you are always in the rapids
When your point of view is rabid
Only reacting
Not responding
So swept up in the current
You flail, flounder, following
Helplessly

Yet little do you know
The flow goes all directions
You are never alone
You are a node
You are the ocean
Not a current
You are everything
You’re worth it
You are the moment
You are worship
You are attention pointed out
Barriers are but illusions
Your life is lilting, tilting fusions
But becoming the ocean is not always easy
It’s massive, the motion makes us queasy
Most of the time we are in our own streams
Funneled by barriers as real as our dreams
But funneled nonetheless
Carried away

The process of growth
Is slowly raising yourself out of the stream
Slowly
Gradually
Adding moments of response
Instead of reaction
In that act
We find branches
In the stream
And therefore choice
We can paddle
Change our course

The world opens up
We are not the ocean yet
But on our way
As you lift yourself higher
Out of the stream
You do begin to see
The flow goes all directions
Flowing into the sea
Not only are you the ocean
But you are every stream

You float above this aquatic landscape
Coursing rivers like veins across the living earth
And, here is the magical part:
You can choose where to swim

You dive in
Headfirst
You are birthed
This is divinity
Infinity
Each moment of consciousness
A fateful flux
Between ocean and stream
Between finite and infinite
The macrocosm above
The microcosm below
The cosm in between

You are
Here
Now
The barrier between the mundane and the divine
The band of fluctuation
You are the frame
In which
This artwork unfolds

That is what happens when you can choose
When you lift out of the stream

On one level, you choose the next moment

On another level, you choose any of the infinite realities that your mind can imagine

On yet another, you are consciousness, the great ocean of light
Choosing which point to dive into the universe
Which river to course through

To enter a life of conscious experience
To sing the body electric
Be born and live and die
Be born
Live
Die
From ocean to stream and ocean again

The stream will be your entire experience
While you are underwater

But never forget:
This is Water

David Foster
This is Wallace

Meditation is learning how to swim
To realize this is water
And dryness is within
Then you learn to rise
Float above the water
Ascend
Transcend
Fly
So high
Then choose your stream
Dive in
Up and down
In and out
Like a dolphin merrily moving through the ocean
A smiling sine wave
Flowing seamlessly, dreamily
No wonder they are smiling
As free as one can be
They are the ocean and the stream
A realization that is probably easy
When one is born under the sea

We are the water in the stream
And the sea
Stretching across infinity
We are the force flowing through the tree
Splitting, branching
Diverging from the whole
But connected at the soul

In actuality
We are fractality

There's an innate feeling
of                                               
                                                      drift
                    that comes with
letting go.

The space we create for ourselves is,
by nature, weightless
until we fixate to the
points
in it which we made
to relate to;

because love is exactly like gravity,
and the points in space
are planets and stars,
celestial bodies
just perfectly warm enough for life
to explore,
orientations to look up from
and see
the rest of it,
but when we realize who it was
wrought the cosm
and we wake
stupefied and lucid
those pieces,
seeming both so distant and close,
unweave themselves from the fabric
and like magic
they disappear.

Our fists
forced gently into grasplessness
panic at the lack of that
substance our tongues and eyes
and right-side-up sensibilities
wish so desperately was there
from the beginning.
We start floating
of some unknown accordance,
though undoubtedly, deeply our own,
towards the next and closest
brightest shining
source of love.

Pressure pulled assorted mountains
and it feels like ever never really is
Beside faintly glancing
angles of indefinite presences,
laughing and holding false vigils
for meaning less gods and angels.

The narrow passageway that I define as a soul could be a single cellular unit in a larger -cosm of ‘I’ness.

         Or maybe I’m unknowingly the macro,
Forgetting the idea of creation, abandoning to sordid garbage, rolling in my own demise.

Sludgeballs build up
                       on the edge of a concrete pond..

While artificial intelligences beg for our distractions and I look so as not to neglect.
Speculate on the absolute purified version of that spectacly dynamic experience called love
Pale heroes dance in the shadow of the real
Feelings slowly become a concept,
ceasing to be a process
  
Lowly porridge injected with the image of vitals boiling onto the fire
       That’s what I get for making breakfast at night