I am a man against violence.
See my own blood spilled, rather
Than that of any other.

But I have a wall full of knives.
I've collected them my whole life.
Still do. Tools of war.

Tools of craftmanship.
I know the story behind every
Blade, Bowie or handmade

Russian letter opener.
I am not a man of religion.
I see God in every thing.

Worship all; therefore none.
But I collect rosaries.
The one on my desk, I bought in

Vatican City. The one above my
Bed was brought to me from
Transilvania.

I know the story behind each
One. I may seem confused at
Times; contradictory.

Construction working poet.
Heavy metal loving meditator.
iPad wielding viking.

I collect interacting opposites.
Wear snakeskin boots with my
Funeral suit.

Shave only my head at times.
Warrior monk. Knives and rosaries.
Stabbing at

Gods. Praying
For my
Enemies.

Tip of the Day: Become A Meditator
        ( in plain street talk)

A meditator
Can become a better,
Even good creator.
You should try it if you haven’t.
Just a tip,
Not only for the hip;
The brain feels sharper,
Extra bright.
Longterm,
Not just a single night.
Life seems to go your way,
Black turning white,
The hard stuff easy,
At least easier;
Easier to find the self,
Dine alone,
Put those problems on a shelf,
Give self-help.
Like good nutrition or a diet,
It takes time.
So try it!

Give it three good months or so -
Time to feel and time to know.
It’s nothing fancy,
Not a fancy,
Wait and see:
Continuously
Or in fits and jerks
It works,
Accumulating over years.
Start now, this minute’s very second.
You can reckon
                        on success.

Tip Of The Day: Become A Meditator 4.20.2021 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover corwin

.

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time
committee meetings, board meetings.
Facing death was how they knew they were alive
or was it more about allocating resources
like yr Dad said.
It's hard to step outside what yr DNA tells you to do.
Nice ****.
Family farm, fight club. It's all one yet distinctions are
what separates the librarian, reflective man, from the road and bridge
      crew.
That's a class statement. Us guys love
our children and will, circumstances dictating, fight for you.

                                 --------------------------------------

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time
is more important to me than my wife. But there is no one left to fight
and no one knows me and I know no one well. That's good,
there is more space between people than I'd ever dared to hope.
I'm confused.
Meditator or gunfighter. Either could come to know himself,
flat abs, clear sight
with patience and discipline.
What's this:
know yourself?
Once yr knee or neck is smashed there's no getting up to fight.

                                 --------------------------------------

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time
will grow old alone once I'm in the ground. He will live
with the question what was our purpose? He was managed by
the molecules we're made of, proteins, enzymes, amino acids, DNA.
******* DNA.
I'd rather be a rock.
But the rock is subject to
its elements. Thus, the periodic table and particle physics,
meiosis and mitosis and yes, democracy and self-governance,
all the colors of anthropology and ecology, windmills and sundials,
fission and fusion for evil and light
and the devil who exists to carry the load when we misbehave and
      fight
among ourselves.

                                 --------------------------------------

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time
is how I know who I am.
Because the truth is always changing, depending on the meeting.
What's good.
Service to others is a safe bet. That service
may take many forms: fighting, meeting, teaching, making.
The fighting may be part of holding community together. Limited
      scope, defensive posture.
How broadly we define community says everything. So,
we come to Mexico, a violent border and an unhappy history.
Or Gaza and Israel. Or Russia and just about everybody.
How can a people become a nation without resorting to violence or
      incurring violent reaction?
Does it matter? Accept violence like any EMT and devote yourself
      to
what, beauty?
Why do I write about violence, I've almost never
had to fight.

                                 --------------------------------------

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time
is nothing compared to the ocean which can take your children any
      time.
The Nazis or janjaweed.
In peace we have our meetings.
When violence comes to the neighborhood the hierarchy of
      communicants will hold or fold
it is then the peace work proves relevant.
Hold your clod of land.
Give way to the waves.
All I do not know.
I admire the writer who penetrates the unknown by describing that
      which
is not himself.
His enemy,
anyone who wants to fight him all the time
helps him live outside himself.

The Buddha sits still
For hours, then days,
And soon a spider
Comes creeping along and
Weaves its web
On the Enlightened's
Meditating form.

I started watching my breath

It twists and turns
under the stern gaze of my consciousness

Like a slippery fish
it escapes once again

Suddenly I got it!

Just then thoughtful clouds arrive
and shelter it for a moment

Safe at last it relaxes

I daydream

ZAZEN

As the pale light of dawn
bleeds through the shōji
we eat a thin gruel
of rice with a pickled plum
from black lacquered bowls

the wind blows cold
we hear the lonesome cries
of wintering gulls
as a temple bell resounds
and a train rattles by

a monk in an indigo robe
strikes a meditator's shoulders
with a stick of cherry wood
fiercely repeatedly
until it snaps!

Mental goals:
The journey of attaining them
It is my instinctual pleasure
Mental discipline, learning new mindsets
I am addicted
When I write, when I observe, when I speak and when I don't speak,
All with the purpose of fulfilling one of my mental goals

My mind is my muscle
I exercise it in all ways of life
The many I collect within
I write about later
Preach of them later
To create the closing page
The kiss goodbye and the smile that follows
I do it all so seamlessly
That much more embedding
Meditate to reflect with the silent mind
For mediation heals not through words
But waves created and absorbed by the meditator

The independent, or guru-free,
meditator,
has no close companions
except other independent meditators.
This relationship is not like sharing rays of light,
but like sharing freedoms.

"There have been very few people who have moved and transformed as many hearts as Jalaluddin Rumi.

In the world of the Sufis, Mevlana Rumi is the emperor. His words have to be understood not as mere words, but sources of deep silences, echoes of inner and the innermost songs. He is the greatest dancer the world has known.

His dance is a special kind of dance. It is a kind of whirling, just the way small children whirl; standing on one spot they go on round and round. And perhaps everywhere in the world small children do that and their elders stop them saying, 'You will become dizzy, you will fall, you will hurt yourself,' and, 'What is the point of doing it?'



Jalaluddin Rumi made a meditation of whirling. The meditator goes on whirling for hours -- as long as the body allows him; he does not stop on his own. When whirling a moment comes that he sees himself utterly still and silent, a center of the cyclone. Around the center the body is moving, but there is a space which remains unmoved; that is his Being.

Rumi himself whirled for thirty-six hours continuously and fell, because the body could not whirl anymore. But when he opened

his eyes he was another man. Hundreds of people had gathered to see. Many thought he was mad: "What is the point of whirling?"

... Nobody can say this is a prayer; nobody can say this is great dance; nobody can say in any way that this has something

to do with religion, spirituality....

But after thirty-six hours when they saw Rumi so luminous, so radiant, so new, so fresh -- reborn, in a new consciousness, they

could not believe their eyes. Hundreds wept in repentance, because they had thought that he was mad. In fact he was sane

and they were mad.

And down these twelve centuries the stream has continued to be alive. There are very few movements of spiritual growth

which have lived so long continuously. There are still hundreds of dervishes. 'Dervish' is the Sufi word for sannyas. You cannot

believe it unless you experience, that just by whirling you can know yourself. No austerity is needed, no self-torture is needed,

but just an experience of your innermost being and you are transported into another plane of existence from the mortal to

the immortal. The darkness disappears and there is just eternal light.

now i'm the meditator
moving in slow motion
try, see what the lights looked like on her cloud soft skin

how long she spent in front of a reflection
using mother's new eye shadow
labeled Midnight, adding to her moonlight glow

sneaking kisses behind their backs
has been something i pride myself on
ride myself on

i touch all of you in the same places;
the difference being when you need it
but there are so many connections laced under your layers
that i have trouble ignoring.

"How do you know exactly how to touch me?"
I was born all-knowing.

that secret spot along the back of an ear
(the curled fold on a leaf)
anywhere the bristles poke me
(pine needles brush my shins)
where hair meets the back of a neck
(that vast lake, meeting the sky)
the shaft meeting all that hair
(base of a tree that fits my back)

the crease on a knee
(cracked soil in the desert)
the palm of a hand
(an areal view of connecting streams)
the tip of a ******
(a mountain peak)
the bottom lip, slightly tugged
(the opening of our damaged atmosphere)

That is how I know;
from singing to atlas'
saturating maps in my wetness,
staining myself with ink ...
and knowing exactly where to feel.

A goddess wrought in platinum aura sublime
Aloft, triumphant at starts and ends of times
All is created and all is destroyed there
Perpetual motion; thermodynamics flare
Men they try to copy her might, futile mime
For they can't emulate her deep disarming stare
Which transcends reason, inspires bards to rhyme
For the good and godliness in there
Outranks Medusa in enchanted hair
For I floated enchanted rapt in thrall
Enchanted by her bonny beauty rare
And her suppression through aeons the mind appals
But when henchmen of demonic devil's snare
**** her in the western warring call
Arrogant to think they'd suppress lady Kali's magic might
They will fail and they will surely fall
Irisidescent was her gestating glow
Glittering atman guarding all of space
Angels take us to see her to and fro
Show us in her the light of love apace
To deny her truth is a dank disgrace
We should regret that, repent and woe
That cultists **** her, proudly, in her prime
And make of diva's death a glutton's show
We are her children, but some of us do not know
She is able, what's hers is ours
A knowledge that begs to be devoured
In celestial, rare, immortal hour
Time not decreed from tyrant's tower
From her blessings wonderfully shower
Thankyou John for showing me
Temptress Kali, sweet, supreme
To her we went through eternity
Saw the celestial democracy
Of Christian and Hindu angels alike
Don't carry each other's heads on spikes
For knowing Allah's heart has light
Like all prophets peace their fight
Direction's guardians, Blake, Buddha, Ganesha
With love's light and earth enmeshed
Blake lamented spiritual decline
That children by Satan's plans in brine
But his flaming vision sees through times
And will path the way to freedom's climes
Buddha sat under the Bodhi tree
Knowing peace to set minds free
Hearts in confraternity
No you, no I, only one heart, WE
John the angel of the north
He told me John, didn't say which
I cried with pride when his enchanted drawl
Revealed a songstress from people's Liverpool
His message spoke to the one and all
Imagine the people, Imagine them all
Out with all that hates and that is cruel
Hate has made of each of us a fool
Ganesha, last but surely not the least
Has hankering heart of bright benevolent beast
The angel of the earthen east
Love gestate in him that never ceased
I saw him before, it was a while ago
But dressed in woman's form, with woman's glow
Vinayak the learned scribes would say
But all can know her either way
I saw her as one called Lexi that fine day
And it put an end to my dismay
To see us indivisible, goddess, same
When foolish man played dividing game
Gave "better" and "worse" to us as contending names
While he go questing for recognition, fame
But I do not resent that one for flaws
For all are irresistible to adore
Just want him to end this goddess war
That all men educated for
I digress, back to the flight
Where John took me on an epic sight
Next was angel of the earth
Diana of the heart and hearth
Lightworker born in tyrants sect
Learned how to love not genuflect
To hearts purity we would sure neglect
If we didn't long reflect
On fact that was surely killed
By one to who the devil shilled
What their fancy name: who cares?
To scare us with it: who dares?
She got our hearts on television
Appealing with her sweet precision
To love and brother her decision
Sought to heal the earth's contusion
Like Michael Jackson, arch angel too
Deranged as me, but sweet and true
To hurt children he didn't want to do
But give them nurture, play, they grew
The ones who really hurt the child
Are the ones who he reviled
Who sought to bring him down with lies
Again their victim empowered in the skies!
So many angels I could not count
Shakespeare whimsical on his pipe
Silent thinking thoughts so ripe
To think Lords slandered him as tripe!

Percey Shelley too was there
Chose to rebel shed claim to heir
Scaled the oxford ivory tower
and pamphleteered for freedoms power
Got kicked out in gray dull hour
But through time his insights rain and shower
As audience for devil are fewer and fewer
And peaces hope is ripe, empowered
Beyond angels, Shiva, meditator sublime
Is it audacity to ask what he sees in font of time?
Lids half open, rapt supreme
Painted with a pallet got from dream
Looked akin to Taylor, dancing wild
With heart and happiness of chiding child
That he akin to god reluctant to accept
But aren't we all Gods in retrospect?
That we are animals belong to tyrant taught
And in accepting that, our souls meet la mort
(If you read Plato backwards he fought
To encrypt truth of soul's genesis, answer sought: Really, it's stunning.)
Beyond shiva cosmic churning true
Said the blessed fires run through you
And I heard clear and remembering applaud
THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR WE ARE ALL ONE GOD
There is nothing on earth as exquisite as you
It spoke turning my heart from red to blue
Said all the world is lordly love and light
A truth in which all nascent souls take flight
Musicians there, their sweetest songs unfurled
Their festival with all the time in the world!
Even ones in youthful splendour culled
By ones who will to hate heart's song and world
It was then that Lennon zoomed me to Kali
Swimming in that churning seismic sea
Sure as heaven a vision of eternity
And in a circle she danced fluid free
The circle was a wave and particle
Light, a string in theory, gave me fright!
For Kali I had been so rapt in thrall
I had not noticed THE GOD PARTICLE
Sounds crazy but experiments of thought
Are scientific method Einstein taught
For only in deepest dreams is it possible
To see what life could truly be
Thanks John for letting me climb your wings
And flying that particle over me

When we descend back to sprightly earth
The angels all changed place, assumed new roles
Diana cede to Jo, of equal warmth
Fought for lass and mass and for the proles
And Buddha went from northern angel sweet
To defender of the faith with God's trust replete
A role assumed by Jesus once before
As he ascend to god, irresistable to adore
The bit that got me most is this
And it gave me joyful bliss
I ascend to Buddha's southern role
See sunshine as a kiss, it made me whole.

If any magic could fathom that divine spark
That emanate from thine soul from which I am cleft with sadness
The world itself a bastion of beauties
Of which I am bereft by solitary madness

But music, tender words thou hast spoken, makes
The power of my soul fortified
The irrepressible light you share it makes
My beleaguered mortal life fortified

Love and being must be one
For only in unity under the sun
Can we ground our dreams

Through which the cosmic fires run
Giving colour to pallor wan
Of the meditator who thinks in streams

Sublime creator, meditator true
In which the cosmic fires brew
Time adores thee and worships thine form
A God of mortal illusions shorn
Clear as sun, and day, and light
Irrepressible desires to take flight
With thee overwhelm the man who perceives
Thine presence, immortal as timeless seas

Fathomless mind, in which eternity contained
From which matter made mountains and wisdom rained
Such wilderness, the dunes of time
Make for an enchanted clime
To love, behold as children do
Their parents, for we dwell deep in you
From ground to sky you are supreme
Paint earth with pallet got from dream

Seven days a meditator, you feel the peace in you can't demonstrate a perpetrator, you served me later with your built skills that still fulfills the feeling of guilt, we work to build a fuller thrill, when dull, indulged with pulls to ****, the bull in this revelation, is only lulled when he rules out his expectations, the cessation of the rest of this representation, can rest the case of this changing face, every place I find myself chasing happily, I find it sad I had dealt with apathy.. to recognize paths to this empathy.. becoming wise, seeing its lent to me, to feel the rest of me, by definition I'm real, steal this destiny, I was just hating to peel.. the deal that delivers the shivers to freedom.. the man in the mirror, I never can beat him.. lead him to the reading to feed him.. essentials with potential to greet him.. in the place that he wished for.. he's peaceful, now it's his floor.

The Plan: A Mantra

There is a Plan:
Inherent since the start of man,
Cause and effect, effect and cause;
Always was, works through laws,
And never, ever stops to pause.

And so I bind the whole of me,
To knowing That before I die.
If death means ‘bye’,
I want to learn, absorb the why.
If it does not,
I’ve got to understand the rest,
Scan and perceive first hand
What’s best,
Or life seems all but meaningless.

Instinct longs for happiness.
An ignoramus longs for this.
So in pursuit of bliss’ nearest,
My pursuit is Daddy Dearest,
Universes far from me,
Known to the soul implicitly.

I must believe before I leave
In plans and laws and forces good,
Something which makes all it should
And something which controls it all.

The Plan: A Mantra 1.17.2020
Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

*mantra; a word or sound repeated to aid concentration in meditation: a mantra is given to a trainee meditator when his teacher initiates him.