a mind ~my mind stutters in broken accord skips a track loses a beat and is slow to pick back up not knowing where it left off I wait for it to regain its bearing so we can continue our journey two old fools sharing a room with a view at the far end of the hall and it’s probably better that we never got that monkey
Of course there were rifts from the beginning in the fabric of things that never mended the way culture wanted and there were tides and whirlpools both figurative and literal
one tide brought my brothers and I out into the sacred under a moonlit sea off Myrtle Beach on Styrofoam “surfboards” waves and stars and warm water moonlight rivers on the ocean
a lazy whirlpool once trapped me for several minutes in my huge inner tube early in the leg of a 4 hour river run in asia through rapids and beach parties a paddle would have probably helped expedite an escape
almost lost a friend on the same trip he disappeared in front of me like a magic act like some leviathan of the deep snatched him I waited, paddling by hand in circles debating diving in an try to find him in that sinkhole or to wait a tad longer meanwhile his hat whooshed up without him a few seconds after and he sputtered to the surface
I have been washed to sea through ayahuasca, san pedro, peyote, mushrooms, float tanks, trance states, out of body, lucid dreams I’ve seen sirens I have addictive tendencies that runs in my family, lineage and race if you believe the stuff about natives and liquor but I’m pulled to altered states more or less daily… through meditation,vivid or lucid dreams, path working during the day, edibles, ale or wine in the evening feeble attempts to keep the riffs from closing before I decide to enter
It’s past witching hour by far In vino veritas (y tambien, la vida no es tan seria como la mente hace que parezca)
enjoy life -but live it(!) don’t settle which means ~obtain your magic claim your mojo you die alone make some choices that only you are accountable for
escape a few beliefs and a little indoctrination free the mind a bit and spirit more you know those feelings …your memory can reach that far back to what you’ve lost touch with-in
in all the scurry come back to the body it’s not just a temple it’s a playground of sensation, energies pathways and forces a nexus of power
ride these sensations into presence only the body is always here and now while the mind can spin endlessly in neither anchor self in the earth and reach the stars or not a thousand games a thousand gems
Protect yourself and grow upright to the sky; that is all.
— Shunryu Suzuki
outside, gray skies gray streets gray gradient dopplers of swooshing cars inside same gray excesses the night before leaving ashes where motivation should lie hate to leave on a gray wave or gray way how does one melt these pewter talismans down their leaden enchantments using a glowing splinter taken from the paw of a creature made of fire which owes me a debt as best I can remember
… a gray wave and gray day probably spawned from a haunting poem I learned in elementary school, though I don’t know from where. It went like this:
A green little chemist On a green little day Mixed some green little chemicals In a green little way. The green little grasses Now tenderly wave O’er the green little chemist’s Green little grave.
let go limiting thoughts gaslight thoughts thoughts with measurements thoughts of righteousness thoughts of judgment thoughts too small and too petty Who. Cares? Really. Others give us about as much thought as we give them Not collectively, individually How much have you thought about person x? even if person x is family or close friend daily? how many minutes? a few seconds? weekly? rarely? add it up for those you love dearly, maybe hours No matter for many of us perhaps all of us we mostly think about us to such relief! usually nobody thinks that much about us in particular yet: we think everyone’s attention is obsessed with our every move, facial tic, expression, behavior, reaction well… Dream on …but make better dreams …if you’re in the dreaming business otherwise, let go of this self-importance feel free to jump into the stream of us taking nothing personally the royal us
light seas passing breeze cloud float frigates slabs, ocean gray near the arctic circle migrating birds from distant shores compass in head or heart fish swim beneath watery horizons tail-flash into caverns deep dark, turnkey passages slip to realms of otherspace poke heads out to mimic ufos tribal cultures witness in petroglyph diaries earth turns, spins, ringing far flung corners of a portly shape to rhythms days and nights creatures creep crawl on floors, top of skins begin day again climb towards summit over bones, dust, stories of ancestors remains of lineaged history moments fame, glory, pain and gore memories forgetting wind kiss scents of pine, heather brush shyly and fade night sky pricked with light atop a jar, punched holes letting air for our souls to wee little bugs us that live in the glow here
takes most everything I leave for it returns it in the oddest of places if you would excuse me sire, may I borrow a moment of your time? and of yours madam? thank you, I promise to return them when I’m done but I’m lying I trade them all for tinsel as soon as I’m out of sight
road hum car noise a hotel room banking the freeway a car parked out front a dilapidated outpost never a great destination only a tiny dutsy stop alongside a passage to greater things lizards scramble searching for breakfast across the lot A man sips stale coffee, watching a velvet Elvis through his window yellow portals of gargoyles seep through royal arches guarding hamburgers of paradise where millions, no billions, are served to whom? who collects these hungry souls, and their chicken nuggets and family meals and who doles out plastic toys of smelted dreams dangling attention moments empty of nutrition tossing roadside offerings to lizards who nudge it aside to look for living things scurrying dirt and rock amidst towering things of tiny consequence and whole worlds spin and move and cross round invisible to concerns of larger spheres. So many charts and gravitations! whirls and crescentations and heliocentric orbitations circling the most mundane enveloping the most amazing hardly even matters a difference between arcs and jolts of attention currencies of denomination paying tithes to the new church of latter day mediocrity
Spawn of fantasies Sitting the appraisable Pig Cupid his rosy snout Rooting erotic garbage “Once upon a time” Pulls a weed white star-topped Among wild oats sown in mucous membrane I would an eye in a Bengal light Eternity in a sky-rocket Constellations in an ocean Whose rivers run no fresher Than a trickle of saliva
There are suspect places
I must live in my lantern Trimming subliminal flicker Virginal to the bellows Of experience Colored glass.