cormish

Subtitles for:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yU2wkD-gbzI

- Parken here
- Edson
- Oh hey Natson. Whatcha ne hashu?
- Hadean.
- Lining. Panning. Barbeting. Demenims. Aim?
- Animonic. Wassurd with the head newm?
- It's... carpetable. Hashing guards actual Tracy Palten dot having since like forde wall I, was a soap 'n ottumer or something, it was palatable.
- Tracy was in Normacon?
- Yeah yeah, Ashton part though. Mandalin, that older comey dorm dot yeah that part the actual placency and over it was draped like... six or something... I mean, strange me out and it was, palatable, it's... chalked over now but hey did you wet her after it?
- No, only a stone pieces, but pieces in HP pieces.
- What divided the acorn pieces?
- Kind of parties hoarding is packing. Is he having it older?
- Ol, older with the leak, yeah.
- Right, I heard you and tri da without a parkinsons.
- Pour the parkinsons is actually the lancaster. Shim was the part of it that I didn't want to open for, cause, I mean I thought the handsticks was better so the corbet but the phasing how the biagnature something it was... palatable.
- Did storn?
- Yeah, corbish.
- How corbish?
- Prisoned for me, it bought him of those bifens things.
- Yeeahh, that's grosh.
- I know. Hey, have you seen how those paggerd screened out?
- No, how does that suck?
- Yeah yeah. So it frames in a pertle or something, right? But there's hashfectans that reve in the same hinge, those are tenacian, subanecian, and exanecian, but the exanecian should flittul floweracy so you can kind of like, *pew*, barber it or something, yeah. I mean, I thought it was omenet, but they shouldn't do that. the sevens.
- Why the sevens?
- Because sevens are the ones that piloter time taming was surface it I mean. Dude if you don't plug it, you can ask, I mean, plax and plux, those are both undersighted.
- Sure.
- Yeah yeah, so we're guys in sevens.
- But the sevens are the head cocked back.
- Sure, but that was centile, this is markup.
- I don>'t know, centile?
- Centile, with an aim... yeah.
- Sort of when. How's the carnicle?
- Shows up he's white wiring now.
- White wiring for what?
- Car, cartinpad, cartintad, cartin... some, something in the name. Strange me out, and it's palatable now. I... have actually pemfordadet it out like, synomynously but, but, uhh, don't even get me a minus, the stake is donable, wilting donable.
- Really?
- Yeah.
- Wilting. Did you said a hominid?
- Not, at least I don't chime it. But I think I gotta diet out.
- 's there a corbish?
- Wilting. I got an efficency thing on forday and a ummm... a cammon anharp on darnsdey but...
- A cammon on darnsdey? is it even harded?
- On the bachen that that happens or something behind it?
- That would the nashbreen.
- I'll let you diet out.
- Sorban
- Paymen
- Later
- Later

Spieltrieb

Spieltrieb was a luscious flowing mixture of
colors
people
costumes
bodies
sexes
displays
arousal
smiles
skins
alcohol
penetration
dance
acrobatics
sensuality
bliss

I swam in a lovely flow. My steps were just felt, and an observer I knew watched, and watched, as each step was taken. Each approach, each hug, they just flowed from my body like waves from the river. And I love how trust helps smooth any edges and asperity from this flow. just yes. and "swooosh", we continued with a clear yes.

one moment I was dancing to music with a good bass, and I saw a girl with a tiny backpack move past by me to my right. quick attraction. "oh, she's nice", something inside thought. and then "click", an impulse came from inside. "follow her", it said, in the language of the impulse. pulled between doubt and desire, I followed my impulse and found myself dancing beside her. "stay", said the impulse. so boom boom boom, we danced side by side. soon, we danced facing each other. waving arms. touching hands. sliding fingers. found our shoulders. down we went on the highway of our bodies, and swoosh, swish, smoosh, push, grab, caress, sweat, breath, neck, bite, moan, lick, closer, our bodies became waves that danced with each other, two smooth blankets of life converging on a frequency together.

hand, chest, pause. deep breath from us both, we felt each other in a together-zone of connection. our lips touched. they sought each other like two fish mouths, open lips, seeking touch and an exchange of breath. the beat of the music was our personal guide for our touches and moves. we could play so many games with our bodies. tap of our fingers. hold of our faces. touch of our tongues, swirl of our tongues, like sensuous dancing fishes. our hands slide on the others' chest, rubbing her breasts with lust. our legs twining, she pushed her groin on my hard thigh as her head tilted back and I kissed and pulled at her neck skin with my teeth. waves and fire through both us, unrestrained. flooooooooooow of so much energy.

my sex resisted orgasm for some time, then released its ejaculate with pleasure. I held my penis head for a few seconds, thinking I might still clean it up before it wet my clothes. And just after I thought "no way I'm leaving to the bathroom now". I let it go, and wooosh, release of semen unto my underwear and clothes. it felt good to let go. I was seen by her, all around me. the orgasm, the holding, the release. now with a large wet spot on my groin, we continued dancing to the unrelenting music. I love how we both acknowledged my ejaculate, and how it prevented nothing. how it barely interrupted our dance.

A tall smiling man caught my eye. Our arms waved in synchrony, our eyes remained in touch. Our hands met each other, and played with curves in our space. Beat by beat, our skins came closer and explored. My hands rotated on his skin, followed the path of his body. His hands found my hair, and it slid down my face, neck. Life celebrated joy and movement through us. My hands found his back, and they slid like water down his terse back. He found the sides of my body above my hips, and we pressed our hands, dug our fingers into each other's skin, with an intention of "I love you and I want you to feel good", and the doing so felt like pleasure to my own body.

Our foreheads found one another. our noses. four eyes watched in a close space, devoted to that shared moment, no motive, no goal. I felt the assertion of "yes, we are here" vibrate through my face. And so we remained.

Realized

I realize now my blockage is held fast by shame. My own shame.
Shame of confessing how angry and destructive and spiteful I can be.
Well, that is only defused when it is revealed.
Somehow. It need not be destructive. Just... Whole.
Huh.

cusp

Wow, my emotions seem to be at a cusp. In equilibrium. Between an intense looking-forward, breathed and slowed in the last 20 minutes,
then braked and pulled the other way, reversed, when my visitor cancelled her visit.

and I feel calm.

No pull forward. No pull backward. Just cusp.

Observe. observe.

surfacing

connection is breath

I surface and gasp in a fresh breath of air

every once in a sometime

sparse events

circumstances pull me back down

there I hold breath

retain

wait for next surfacing

in the meantime

the plexus hurts

like muscles hurt when holding breath

and I somehow still don't know

how to swim

Boil

My insides boil with expression, truly pushing outwards, itching to break free, so much. Messages to others, messages to say, that I do not. Because they belong to the shadow. Because they do not "belong".

Well, I am here to express them.

Fucking message.

acceptance.

This is my message and this is my idea and I will do whatever the fucking hell I choose to. Their eventual reflection on the world may come. Now, this is it.

Pulll them out.

Let them go.

Fuck

Typing does not express the emotions that want to be expressed. rrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

arrr. geeee.. eeeeiiitchhhh. how scary.

anger, resentment, blockage. how do you come?

ah, loneliness triggers it. Loneliness. I do feel lonely. It is the day after Christmas, a time of social gatherings, and people tend to their loved ones, they gather to feel loved and to celebrate their being together. together.

no one reaches out to me. no one asks me to gather. I send out messages to people I care about, their replies are scant. People who care about me send me messages from far-off places, their words hollow and 

what I miss is her hug.

I had found her I had found her I had FUCKING FOUND HER. "I have a boyfriend".

No, I don't care about that. The connection is real. What I do care about is

that my skin-starved body feels... misses her. 

Yearn

Why do I feel yearning for
that which I don't know

How can tension pull my soul
towards that it's never known?

it remembers
perhaps

Golden

I feel vibrations along my arms and up my torso that I feel golden.

They are triggered when something moves inside me. An inspiring sound, an experience that shifts the direction of my momentum. Something that brings me to pay attention to what is happening. Gentle touch, a caress of the wind, a delight of the skin, a spirit-raising smell. A motion of wind on the arms, the power of my belly's energy. Anything that reminds me of center can bring it.
Like this.

They seem to originate near the base of my spine, and travel upwards along the sides of my back. I thought it was directly on my spine, though now I feel it more intensely through my muscles. bzzzzzzzzz. At times they reach my forehead, the sides of my neck, my shoulders, my arms and forearms. A warmth of calm and trust washes upon me, and I can melt into the beauty of my center.

Around my nose, as well. Atop it, on the points that touch my glasses. My cheeks as well, just under my temples. Ah, and my temples themselves feel exquisitely sensitive. Like they're preparing a honey concoction of wisdom and light.

Actually, as I feel them, I realize the vibrations travel directly from the sides of my back to my arms, then up my forearms and shoulders, then neck, face, head. Ethereal golden waves through my sensations. Benevolent, true.

This is how I feel golden vibrations along my body. Ahhhh.

imbalances

in myself i notice at times situations of imbalance

when attracted, interested towards a person, my attention may sway to their side, and my state depend upon their attention and interest on me. at times i pour my emotional weight in that direction. my actions after differ drastically depending on the person's reception of my interest. if rejected, my interest recedes and closes, preferring numbness to the discomfort of unrequited interest. and if accepted, my interest remains and sways softly on their side, with an artificial push, a slight fear within that letting go of them results in losing them. and even after continued acceptance on their side, the artificial push eventually tires my emotions, and they recede towards the other side, intentional disinterest.

when unclear on a goal, impatient for a result, my mind seeks a path, a destination to follow, something to move to avoid remaining stagnant. it is afraid that stagnancy will slow it down. it knows itself as a fast and effective agent, and is unwilling to let go of that state. of its perceived identity.

in those moments, any activity suffices. Repeating stored sounds, cracking fingers, chipping fingernails, dotting the near future with optimizations.

at times i strain my body and attention to focus on a goal for the sake of optimization. "If I finish it tonight, it will already be done by tomorrow. It will be done faster. I will be seen favorably by my teammates. I will have proven my worth." When stretched beyond my natural will, my body and attention tire, and when given a chance, they recede to the opposite direction, one of tiredness and unfocus. sometimes i attribute these effects to a bodily lack of nourishment, and an association clicks between my body and my distracted mind. eat for energy, caffeine for focus, they say. eat, drink, re-focus. often before they have rested to their will.

leafy

A leafy wonderland
greets my being this day
a world fresh washed by falling rain
feels soft to shed its weight
just to fall
to be
leaves lay
clouds travel, open to sky
sun rays pierce the openings in branches
river rises, the flowing messenger
flowing its message
saying
this is

Gisela

My love for the teachings of Gisela is intense.

I knew when I moved to Zürich, that I wished to find a community to dance with. A space to allow my body to express its urges and passions in dynamic and rhythmic beats, to move-inspiring music of diverse backgrounds, timbres, and flavors. I wished for dance.

Finding Gisela's meetup event seemed opportune. The event was that very Wednesday, after leaving the office. Gisela Rocha... the effects of movement practice and the benefits on the art of healing... embody your expressions... helps us to feel connected... yes, that felt good. I wondered what it would be like.

I loved the rainbow colors painted on the columns outside the dance studio, and the people who attended wore shining smiles and open demeanors. The changing rooms were ample, they had showers in them, and the feeling of the studio was an impeccable Swiss order and cleanliness. It was a delight.

Gisela herself was present with a full smile on her face. As the class began, we gathered as a circle shape, and we began to warm up our bodies. Soft music at first, very soft. A few chanting mantras in the background, slightly cliché for my taste at the time. I wasn't looking to subscribe to any particular religion, and my religion flag triggered inside.

And then, we were being guided. Guided? I didn't seek guidance, I sought dance! Free, full, unimpeded waves and bursts of dance and colors within the body and bursts of emotions! And she gave us... stretches? Breathing exercises? Spine warm-up? My independence-seeking flag rose up.

"Such limited exercises", I felt. "How am I able to show to others, to express truly, what I really want to do and say?"

The class ended, and my body felt happy. It was happy with the endorphins and the expression allowed. And some part of me was conflicted. I felt in this class truth, and joy, and people open and smiling and seeking to dance, similarly to me. And yet... the truth I found was not the flavor I expected. It didn't taste of roars and catharsis and dramatic display of the deepest. It tasted of... patience. Of softness, of attention, of a closer connection to the physical than the ethereal ideal I had built in myself. And there was a soft dissonance inside me.

I felt truth, and I followed it.

As months went by and I softened my disbelief in my body, the weight of the exercises seeped into me. In subtle, recurring waves, I felt how the soft warm-up soothed my bouncing mind, and allowed it to focus on the sensations of my body. I noticed how concepts I thought were simple, like balance, and flow and staccato rhythms, triggered in my body the building of connections to my behavior, to my emotions, to my thoughts. Gisela's guidance, as she repeated it time after time after time in each class, began to trigger deeper knowledge. Like waves reaching my being, over and over, eroding layers, I began to feel the sensations inside me that theses waves spoke of. One class I would feel energetic and satisfied, in another I felt dissonance. And in some, a concept stood out, clear in my mind and my body, that I realized I could apply to my daily life.

The gentle words and flowing structures began carving out new patterns of sensations and behaviors in me. At first the dance floor was a space for me to display, to show, to prove my worth to myself. Then gradually, spaces within me softened. Realizing the changes the class nurtured in me felt magical.

I began to feel the interplay between the learned concepts and my own life. I felt amazement at realizing how the exercise of balance, of finding one's center, is intimately related to finding balance in any of Life's situations. I found beauty upon realizing that practicing continuity, moment to moment, awards grace and awareness to any of our experience, to a buzzing mind. Like following a long red silken thread we dance with.

One by one, the exercises she offered us began to grow roots in me. Like flowers she offered, each of them showed me new colors, new shapes, different smells. With these exercises, I brought awareness to each of these new factors, and was able to feel myself through my body... with fullness.

Gisela's guidance allows me a space to research into my own body, and to deconstruct its myriad network of sensations and actions into a set of core factors. I love how I can practice balance, continuity, and joy through awareness in my body. I love how the soft space we engage in helps me dissolve the obtuse barriers I had built between me and other people, and has allowed me to see another person, to listen to her whole self, while feeling myself fully as well. A miracle of connection.

And I love the community integrated with our dance. Our meeting together and growth feels organic, genuine, true. I love I can connect with others in the dance floor with no words nor names whatsoever, and realize our humanness, our shared connectedness. To feel the joy that arises from the simple nature of being. Being present.

Gisela recognizes a divine potential she loves to share and wake up in others. I've found my path intertwines with her teachings with passing time. A soft touch at first, a gentle dance follows, and a willing meshing of energies continues. I love the softness and the magic I'm gradually unearthing as I practice the lessons Gisela shares.

blame

Holding a grudge is heavy.

Old grudges easily hide among the myriad other newer perceptions and sensations in our body. Not that they try - they've just become part of the decor. Like that table in the corner of the room, unused for years, with layers of dust over it blended in against our experience. Its use of space not even noticed, so accustomed are we.

Like the weight of an old grudge.

A patch over a wound that allows us to redirect our pain into blame. Remains as a channel through which to move that pain. Weaker and distant as time passes, yet the channel remains by existential inertia. An emotional leak that only attention of the self can treat.

Hmm. Old grudges. Who are you?

Blame against my high school classmates for excluding me from their social circles, for singling me out as a target for jokes, as fodder for their attacks, for not letting me be as I was. For fostering a feeling of mistrust in me.

Blame against my siblings for excluding me from their games, from their secrets. I was not their friend, as much as I wanted to be. As much as I tried, as much as I asked them to play with me. I felt either a social burden to them or a novelty. Not a friend.

Blame against my parents for the social fears that they passed on to me, as unintentional as it might have been. Against their shunning of topics like gender, attraction, sex, drugs, and violence. Against the silence of discomfort that covered their marriage, whose truth I wanted to know about but was excluded from. With their shunning, I built fears towards these topics too, and deal with these still.

Blame against the psychic I saw in 2014 whose "promise" of finding a female companion did not come true.

Blame... against the driver whose car broke my bones? It sounds like it *could* be one, but I don't feel it.

Hmmm.

And among these feelings, I find lakes and waterfalls of gratitude towards other experiences.
Some may be somewhat stuck too.
A topic for another time.

Loose strings

An aunt to visit
A flame to acknowledge
We owe nothing

A father to honor
A family to help
we owe nothing

A tree to plant
A book to write
need do nothing

A food to taste
A woman to bed
need nothing

A sex to fulfill
A truth to distill
need kiss nothing

feces to drop
elegance to retain
need hide nothing

threesome to fuck
pride to inflate
need fuck nothing

insight to show

game to win

need win nothing

value to prove
pain to weep
need state nothing

A skill to grow
fruit to reap
need get nothing

A cry to shout
A wonder to weave
need show nothing

A pattern to keep
A promise to keep
need keep nothing

A joke to make
A fear to break
need reach nothing

Praise to earn
money to spend
need do nothing

words to type
lands to roam
need do nothing

yoga to stretch
balance to maintain
need grow nothing

oceans to cross
music to sing
need sing nothing

traumas to heal
sacredness to kneel
need feel nothing

body to clean
smiles to beam
need smile nothing

sex to promote
energy to devote
need emote nothing

laws to assess
rules to break
need reach nothing

anus to wipe
flowers to raise
need maintain nothing

wisdom to find
currents to flow
need find nothing

secrets to glean
power to gain
need gain nothing

verses to extend
injuries to mend
need rhyme nothing

space to ponder
life to wonder
need enjoy nothing

laughs to share
hugs to spare
need give nothing

air to breathe
sun rays to wreathe
need flow nothing

light to refract
words to retract
need change nothing

love to feel
life to seep
need move nothing

waves to sway
patterns to avoid
need move nothing

mind to dance
body to dance
need dance nothing

sounds to hum
self to be
need be nothing

coda to dot
apex to tip
need end nothing

and yets
this all
is

Three-way embrace

Three-way embrace...
I see you... yes.
You see me..... (yay)...
you ARE me!!!
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
.......... as the
wave sweeps
me into you
back again
for both,
the most
natural
symmetry of the
world... I unto you
You unto me.
And yet...
without around us also
embraces
the observer..............

The dream is dreaming...

The dream is dreaming...

yes.................................................................. oh, and
what dream AHHHHHH OMAH

him/her/it/we/you/all?
Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
            iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssssssssssssssss........................................
and what do we bring with us? just us
all we are. What else do we want to give? we are no more. hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
laughter laughter.......... ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
million empires dissolve from ***** and clash to dust to sand to wind to waves at my feet and back being swept to the shores of Consciousness... constant always.................... desire?

longing? what what what WHAT
WHAT   WHAT TO DO WITH
THIS LIFE? LIFE AHAHHHHHAHHAHAA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Laugh....... ip hahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahaahahsdhfahshhhahdfhahhahhahahhaha

as the wind laughs the wave laugh the sky laughs rain to clouds laugh onto


___________________________________________________________________________

Washed upon the edge of Now. From myself onto Now. myself. My own pleasures in liquid form surrounding my body.

empires fall. become anything. vanish dust. with the roar of a million mighty empires, dust..............
and yet, we find ourselves in
on the shore
of Consciousness
of Now.
to... what?
what?
what?
another empire?
another epic?
heartbreaking story?
fulfilled longing?
symphony of...
to be.... what?
what?
what?
to be longing?
to be, feel words?
make? rend?
give. be.
what keeps rising from the void.
Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.
Why comes love? Love. Love dance love. Loves love.

comes
love
comes
love

Could I question you? Oh, how could I?
Oh, how to question you, that All-being Me?

How to....
keep rising
rising
bubbling, ever... ever...
love love love love love love love love love so love,
love love love love love love love love love love







_____________________________________________________________________________

One Could Say
I swirled through

OnE COULD.............................. say


I crossed and felt the rise and fall of empires
from....... un. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO... empires
rise from dust
toooooooooo... rise fall
rip
become

WE

weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
and I always
now......
washed upon
the edge of....

A field of forevers

A field of forevers, wondrous and beautiful.

Where wind breathed Life into the colors of the marvelous juncos, so full and joyful. Their wind color melted into my eyes, into myself and flowed, finding anxiety, confusion, existential dread, self-dread, and only arose on the other side, in glorious inbreath of Life,...

washed again on the edge of Consciousness...
... a cheek to the wet sand of Existence.
to...to...to...what? what? what? whathathahahahahahahahahahahhaaahhahahahahhahahahhaa. wind laughs with love.

with laughs with me.
my laughter dissolves into it and contemplates the magnificent sky,
laughing clouds... wispy, soft, tremulous, cotton..............
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....

laugh laugh

laugh laugh

wave (me)                              (cheek) (me)

brings (me)                              breath (me)

crash (me)                                who? (me)

edge (me)                                 else? (me... swoosh.....)

shove (me)                               and x again roll through the walls of myself watching myself in the

(sand) (me.

reflective walls, feeling myself meet me as I daze by, astounded at the Vast All-Me-Now-ness that IS.

Exchange of energies. Through HUG/FLOW/he->me->what?->smile->back->flow->you? me? who? IT. IT. And OOHH. delicious to meet me!

Union

Within me, I saw an ocean of fluid, alive consciousness, flowing in play, shaping at will, and underlying the essence of everything I felt within me and around me. Shimmering light blue and pink, yet the fluid had a tinge of green. A single consciousness continuously merging and splitting, like water currents within an ocean. And "outside" of it, on the "other side" of the membrane, I did not see but feel, an infinite of void - blackness, nothingness, unlimited potential to be. It had nothing, it was nothing.

The membrane created by the clash of these two opposing infinities created shapes and textures, colors and lights irradiated by the ocean and tinted by the frontier itself. My body was part of this. The grass around me was part of this. The world of matter I had come to know was the play between these two behemoths - an alive ocean experimenting with different shapes, games, and interactions, exploring the vast potential offered by the void. At times these shapes would cluster and organize into self-sustaining systems, like exquisite Rube Goldberg machines powered by consciousness instead of momentum, and the clumps of energy within these systems we knew as life.

The book I read today poses a likely analogue to this vision. It states Reality splits into Spirit and Matter, which when joined become Consciousness. This divine Consciousness is the divinity that sources humanity, which itself splits off into objects and the I, which when joined give form to the human consciousness.

ponder

Containing

deconstructing into fear

the long flowing sobs I poured into the swimming pool remind me of the suggestion I offered to Pilar. Deconstruct the emotions into its core components.

So, these sobs. What are they made of? Where do they come from?

Blocked anger, resentment at not being able to express. The raw want of being and caring and connecting blocked so stringently by society and, worse, myself. Resentment of knowing that others, especially women, are able to enjoy their sexuality like bees in a flower field, like honored guests at a perpetual buffet, while I feel I have begged for food at every doorstep, ever so meekly and with fear, for the glaring looks of "no" and the hidden kicks of "I just don't see you that way" hurt like a 2-meter long thorn piercing my masculinity and my sex drive, which deflates it to the point of sadness and shame. And I hold the firm knowledge that I have not the right to appeal the decision, and that it likely only lessens my odds of connection. And so I have learned to not show myself exactly as who I am, but as a shapeshifter who blends in with what she may perhaps like, a provider of gifts and miracles who provides not only for the pure pleasure of sharing, but for the possibility it just might trigger her gratitude enough into desire for connection and sex.

Yes, yes, story. What is the fear?

The fear is that I have lost my potential and my masculinity to time and wasted opportunities. The fear is that my true energetic potential remains unfulfilled. My fear is that the strength I know I have is locked away in an iron cage deep in my being, only to come out when it cries and when it explodes in anger. Not as my true self.
The fear is that I do not express my true self.
The fear is that I pretend, keep pretending.
The fear is that my life is wasted.
The fear is that my beast serves a life sentence for a crime it doesn't even know it committed.
My fear is that I do not find a way to allow it out,
in this society
laden with iron rules, heavy assumptions, and fiery backlashes.

My fear is that I live a lie.
Even when I feel I don't.
(most of the time)

More than one fear. So, what to do with these fears?
Face them head on. Feel them. Experience them while the action takes places?
Actually invade the boundaries I've so far kept unviolated? To break free of the iron cage?
Theoretical looking into the fears is... it causes crying and catharsis. And sadness. It does not, in my experience, heal.
Bring love to myself? I have done that.
More love? Just keep loving?
That does not provide me with any experience or any connection. Well, I guess that's the point. That the thing desired is let go.
No success yet.
Catharsis? Keep shouting and crying and screaming unto channels that will take this, and clean me of it?
Part of me feels it's a waste of energy. Part of me feels it helps. Part of me feels it doesn't. Crying into the swimming pool was a somewhat relieving sensation, but I've experienced that before.
I don't know. I keep
seeking
observing
listening
for now, containing.

even when I feel the place from which I act is pure
the floor on which I stand is flat and clear
a thorn I sometimes think is gone
is actually hidden away in the corner,
it can be so hidden, yet not gone
and when I happen to
step on it
as I dance, my foot feels the stab,
it remembers what lies under it
and it remembers it, it uncovers it,
and finds under a miles-wide chamber of rage, hatred, resentment, anger, desperation, and starvation.

because even when I don't know it, my approaches to women begin as stratagems
always
even when I don't remember it
it has been that way so long I don't know how to not play the stratagem
not to live the lie
I don't know how to
and I don't know how to learn
I fear the time to learn is past
gone with the time when friendships bud sparkling from the young flames of puberty.
gone
with no social context to emulate it
with even no biological circuit in me
to relearn it if a societal context were there.
I fear it is gone
and my beast is
trapped forever
doomed to die caged
or due to explode and destroy myself in the process.

The process

The process is how to seek
To feel the search
To savor the findings
To walk the path
Feel how it moves
How it talks to you
Me

If I see a shortcut fore me
A step that will skip three others
Do I pounce on it?
Do I pretend it's not there?
Who says which is the path?
Infinite paths


Ahhhhhh
One path


Yet in the entrails of the strong currents
Woulds and what-if's arise.
Yes, they do.
They need not not arise.
Stray wandering bubbles arise from an untamed flow
And I reach out
Ah, the mind reaches out its
Countless arms, trying to catch them all


"No, wait, you could have been the one. Let me follow you now."
"ah, more bubbles! Wait, that one looks shiny too! Is it that one?"
untamed flow
Uneven viscosity
Racing time
Trying to beat reality
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

Hilarious, silly, in theory
In body, strong, passionate, tense
Associated concepts bring tension
Desire of feeling her turn herself and offer her love back to my body
Desire of feeling her sexual energy churn through her
Desire of reaching her sex
Desires
And a reality lukewarm with warm touches and attempting grasps
A teeter totter swinging between care and lust
A mind distracted with goals

yellow waves

The world greets me this morning with waves of the wind and a myriad colors: branches wave good morning, the sky reminds me of all-encompassing presence, and my yellow hammock, with its million intricate details close in distance, sharing space with my body, this body, waves its own presence and tells me "I am here".

Last night I let out a wave of strength through my voice that I loved. My body felt grateful, my voice felt free. I felt my voice attract dancers around me to dance with me. We danced, she and I, sharing our skin, grasping to hold on to each other, to feel the other, to loosen their muscles and tissues and love. I felt fearless, physical transmission of energy and playfulness.

Chaos

the energy wrought during chaos can expand, express in any direction. With no direction, with absolute discontrol, it explodes into the vast space around it, a cloud of dust heat all that remains from the energy brought out.

Last night the expression of chaos was shared in groups of people. We each shared our one word we intended to let go of. Anger. Another word I do not remember. Insecurity. Summarized into fear. We danced it, and we did not listen to each other while doing so. Each of us melded into the chaos of our bodies, the explosions of our movements. "Trust your movement", Gisela said. And so my body followed. The curves my arms traced through the air, like a twig upon the surface of the water, felt the delicious friction of the air it brushed and the muscles it celebrated and honored. The body allowed to go fluid, to go anywhere, to explode with all its repressed energy.
And yet, each time my eye caught sight of my group, it remembered a bond. A direction. "Ah, yes, I belong there now", it felt. And my body knew it. And such a direction guided the exploding energy. Instead of aiming at all directions and diffusing through the nowhere, my body knew to direct its energy into this direction. It expressed the energy through velocity, moved through the group and beyond, always expressing, with its own space, with its own intention. And when it felt somewhat diffused or lost again, again it caught sight of the group and took its direction as a beacon to guide the energy again. Harness it, direct it.

Like gravity. A force that exerts its constant pull. calm, constant, powerful. It forms a bond with the body, and the body expresses and lives and shouts its energy at its will. And when it feels lost, seeks direction, it has a direction. It *has* a direction. It is not a unique object floating in nothingness. We are surrounded and cushioned and bonded to and *seen*... *seen* by all around us. However much chaos explodes and energy is used to create, a moment, a gap of attention, and the force will again show itself, and pull. A guide, a reference for anyone lost. A leash to one seeking absolute freedom? Last night, I felt it a guide.

Stan said (& others)s

Things said:

* The danger in labeling that, for instance, as a palm tree, is that it immediately labels the rest of the world as not-a-palm-tree.

* I feel like a lightning rod. Like I can absorb all the energies around me, and remain in my center, because I am strongly connected to my ground.

* ...so I attempted to get out of the circle for a full half hour, wrestling physically with everyone, who wouldn't let me out. And after fighting for this time, I was exhausted, and dropped on the floor. The leader then motioned everyone to leave, and so they left me lying down on the ground alone. And I felt... absolutely powerless. I looked to the other side of the room, and I thought: "If a herd of elephants now just came here, and was stampeding in my direction, there is absolutely nothing I could do." And I realized that I had always been afraid of being powerless. And now, when I was there, I thought "oh, this is it to be powerless? This isn't so bad :)".

* I am a number 6 in the ennealogy, so much of my life pivoted around fears. There are two types of number 6's - one of them runs away from their fears, while the other faces them. Always in my life, when I encountered a fear, I would face it, walk into it.

* What I encountered with Sally is joy. She has a joyful manner of living, and I found myself integrating that part of herself into my life.

* Boredom is so lazy, it never walks alone. It always rides on the legs of fear (Gregory Nye).

I feel

• I feel strong desire to connect with people and to care for them. It is in my nature.
• I feel strong want to help and be recognized as valuable. It is a habit I learned when being helpful was the only way I managed closeness with people.
• If I do not feel helpful, I sometimes feel inadequate to connect, as if I have not "paid my dues" to connect.
• I feel strong want of physical intimacy with women. My sexual desire is intense by nature. Long repressed, it most often boils in desperation.
• My desire to connect and care for others is dampened by the pain accumulated at some time, of being ignored, rejected, laughed at between friends while meaning "what does THIS guy think he's doing?"
• I feel afraid to relive this pain. The pain is sharp, and now when I see people I would like to connect with, I feel a pull to slide away instead of expressing my interest. I even forget the desire to connect in that moment. And after I pull away, moments later, I feel "ahh... I would've liked to stay". And that hurts too - an inability to actually move towards what I am looking for, because I somehow make myself forget.
• I feel confusion when I begin to connect with a woman. Between the primal desire to connect, the feeling to pull away, the muted fear of the imagined pain of rejection, the looking for ways to be seen as helpful, and the desperate pull towards physical intimacy, also split between caring touch and sexual fulfillment, I know not what I do.
• I feel shame about this seeming inability to connect, likely silly to others apter at it. I feel sadness about the connection potential lost in this lifetime.
• I feel fear of experimenting on these feelings with women I do not know, for I feel fear of causing fear.
• I feel fear of ruining the potential of a relationship that could've been turned out delicious, had I not experimented on it.
• And I do not know what to do.

Wisps

Wisps of cloud
Travel with the wind
Paint trails with their bodies
Waves, streaks, dissolution allowed
Their canvas, the sky

Trees wave at their passing
Clouds know not where they go
They dance, twirl, and splinter
Through the air they also
Are

The door

I sense the door that lies there front
the threshold up ahead
my path meanders there, with certain step
it knows it it before it's seen

teeters sometimes to this one side
and sometimes to the other
the tremors can remind me
trust it, yes let go

my feet steps on colors
my air I breathe with songs
companions birds and voices
my soul feels and dances to them
grows
feels
is
true

the hurry peeks in sometimes
and what-if's some times more
light and music softly remind me
there is no after nor before

these steps you take, they're yours now
these actions are your choice
no experience supersedes your own
no fear lives in trust

trace your path like a swan's neck
or Autumn daring gusts
like the endless waves of water
one can flow with no musts

Fallbacks

Fallbacks punctuate distractions
Allow diverting a reserve of the
Energy
From the now
Into the maybe
         the if
         the what-if
         the just-in-case

case
allow enclosing experience into cases
allow diffusing the energy into
  multiple paths
when only one path is

I seek absence of fallbacks
a state of devotion of this
a flow of direction pure certain
though next step be a hit or a miss

I walk trusting to dissolution
a voice deep & gentle, it calls
allow holds, grasps, roles, to detach
to let go, dissolve with the all

syllogisms

associations
flow
when one seeks
reason
and purpose
cause
and consequence
one seeks
associations
that persist
that remain
the same
always
always?
for long
for some time
perhaps that extension
to always
shifts our trust
from the subtle center
to constructed syllogisms.

die

You and I
we are going to die
while we're here we try
to feel beauty and not to die

Why the world are we here?
The matter is not quite clear.
Meanwhile, amidst strife and fear,
let us hold ourselves near.

We have a playground of space
and with time, we choose our pace
we have hands, feet, a face
we can smile, dance, and race.

Trust your spirit, my boy
that warm tickling in you
love your path and enjoy
all you feel, it's all true

Role

At times I realize the role I play when I interact with other people, and how it is most often, a choreographed unconscious reaction selected from a wide array, selected particularly for each occasion and mood. How nice to be aware and pour our attention fully on what is happening, instead. To be aware of this autonomous reactive system that we have, and despite it, choose our actions based on what we feel at that moment rather than on what has been prescribed or programmed.

Top on my mind are my reactions upon encountering women. When I see a woman, a multitude of feelings and thoughts and actions rush through in a crowded conversation between myself and myself and all the parts within.

Eyes see her, curious at the moving person there.
What is her body shape like? Oh, perhaps she'll notice me looking at her as I do. Somehow that feels uncomfortable. Why is that? She has a body and I have eyes. What feelings are the background for this discomfort?

Eye aversion. Fear of showing interest or curiosity. Smiles during conversation. Attention paid beyond what I want to pay. Paying special attention to her reaction to what I said. Feeling of failure when awkwardness ensues. Of not fulfilling a role well.

There is a pervasive expectation that I take the role of the hunter, and they take the roles of gazelles, the prey that prance around, careful to stay away from the voracious eaters. I feel these roles arise when I interact with women, and I feel weary of them. They do not reflect my current desires.

They reflect the cultural ecology of attraction, and parts of my life have shaped them into how they feel inside me. They do not align to my current desires though. They remain, congealed since years, that have cemented canned reactions, responses, expected roles for myself, for them. Roles of the hunter for me, the cautious prey for her. The shy ineffective hunter, the judgmental prey. The paired couples who have achieved their goal of coupleship, and are for that fact better than me. These appear and overlay one upon another haphazardly, forming layers upon layers that hide the ones beneath and my core beneath, like old layers of stickers, faded and slimy with time, placed there for matters that once felt of paramount importance, that I have fully forgotten.

That role for me as the villain, the person who surely looks only for gain from approaching her, who surely only approaches women to achieve physical intimacy, that role which I sometimes still believe. The expectation of achieving a connection, the shame when it fails to happen. The roles they take, who automatically assume my approaches towards them is based on selfish sexual quest. These heavy, old, silent roles I have carried for only little less than I have carried this body, and I tire of it. It chains me. It feeds fears, obsolete and irrelevant, hidden in the darkness of social etiquette and assumptions.

Tis not the only one. Tis a heavy one.

sex
money
fatness

Our chains lie where our fears lie.

minefield

across a minefield of mistaeks
tiptoeing to find the path of correct
when each one of our steps is blessed
by our feet.
World arbitrates
allows only what is

identities

Identity is. What we feel it to be.
And that changes.
And changes can bring resistance
Resistance is let go
I remember identities I've held. These stories
The boy who could run very fast. Faster than all others.
The boy who was very good at math. Better than all others.
The boy who got the good grades. Better than all others.
The boy who was younger than all others.
The boy who was admired by his intelligence.
The boy who was different from all others.
The superlative boy.
The different boy.
The boy who didn't know vulgar words.
The good boy.
The boy with few friends.
The new boy in school.
The boy with few friends.
The shy boy
The boy no girl liked.
The gullible boy
The mistrusting boy
The lonely boy
The math champion
The intelligent programmer
The sleepless achiever
The scholarship boy
The frugal buyer
The long-way walker
The Ph.D. candidate
The backpacker
The clueless achiever
The rejected suitor
The adventurer
The joke of irony
The failure
The pity boyfriend
The rapid recoverer
The honest polygam
The tech impostor
The leaf in the wind
The Google employee
The electronic music lover
The dancer
The singer
The friend
The appealing man
The sexual supply
The sexual demand
The prosperous man
The questioning man
As time flows, these identities rise and ebb. Upon falling, their release is met with resistance, an urge to ask "if this leaves, what will take its place?" Like unsatisfied air pressure.
Only we maintain that pressure. Fear of losing oneself. When softened, the resistance to change softens also. Then when the fall comes, we can feel trust as we release it. Perhaps knowing that though these stories are part of us, they are to us like leaves to a tree. Born, grow, thrive, fall. None of them
Make us
Or break us
The Us that makes them is not undone.
It is.