Laws

Laws that restrict instead of promote
Wall off the flow
Slow down the flow
If the intent is to stabilize
To prevent floods
Then dams seem like a natural solution.
Prevent the overflow.
Yet excessive damming
And restricted flow
Can produce stagnation
Inability to run
Fouling of the water
Forgetfulness of freedom.,

Laws arisen from the pangs of fear
Are perforce reactionary
And often short-sighted.
These require careful revision
In times of non-fear
In order to align them
With a sustainable flow
Or to remove them
To prevent needless bloat,
Unnecessary layers.

Laws that restrict instead of promote

Laws that restrict instead of promote

Wall off the flow

Slow down the flow

If the intent is to stabilize

To prevent floods

Then dams seem like a natural solution.

Prevent the overflow.

Yet excessive damming

And restricted flow

Can produce stagnation

Inability to run

Fouling of the water

Forgetfulness of freedom.

Laws arisen from the pangs of fear

Are perforce reactionary

And often short-sighted.

These require careful revision

In times of non-fear

In order to align them

With a sustainable flow

Or to remove them

To prevent needless bloat,

Unnecessary layers.

Gentleman

Quick narration of something that happened at an office I visited...

received by a fine gentleman

who offered me coffee

and I choose decaffeinato.

I felt welcome

cordially greeted

with my sense of belonging

my... non-separateness

considered and cared for.

thank you, kind gentleman.

Soy

Soy soy.

¿Qué soy?

Soy quien se nutre de experiencia,

Quien con fe, ejercita paciencia.

Soy aquel centro de conciencia

Que observa el mundo en quieta presencia

Y a mi persona cuando actúa, siente y piensa.

Soy conciencia

Fluyendo en experiencia.

peddle my wares

I look around at our society

this system of people and rules.

A mass of myriads of units

convolved, doing our best to make do

I see its flows and its cycles

its customs, its habits, its fares

and I feel that it asks of each of us

that we strive to peddle our wares

The human unit nowadays

depends on the dense social net

its mere right to survival

is bought with coin and sweat

Tis an axiom of the flowing

that to get one must perforce give

yet too often the immediate transaction

overrides the deeper zest to live

Too often see I peers and strangers

serving a stale or unwilling bond

measuring time and product as foremost

uninspired to do anything beyond

proving bare required and enoughness

justifying the wages they seek

but by bottling our service and efforts

our will fastly turns stale and weak

Tis not the nature of the service rendered

which degrades or shrivels the employ.

It is love in the service provided

which transmutes the must into joy.

It is whether I support the purpose

of a student well reared and taught.

It is whether I see in each cleaned floor

how it freshens and inspires he who walks.

It is whether I feel in a customer

her joy when she gets her croissant.

It is then that the mere ticking workday

is enlivened in the plain restaurant.

Do we see health in the ailing patient?

Do we see utility in the cracked?

Pouring love into our service

inflows us the love we thought we lacked.

And it is love that best guides our service

for love only stays if unforced.

So it's worth to listen to our signals

of where our love desires to go most.

Trusting love instead of the logic

can feel like a fearful leap indeed

for money and prestige and safety

are those which most often take the lead.

Yet we humans, in our momentous frenzy

to build and conquer and make

have grown rushed and lopsided

patching hurry and confusion with fake.

The great structures of humans grow rigid

in their zeal to not crumble and fall

yet we need change from rigid to supple

for us to know who we are at all.

So I see the society around me

and it asks me to peddle my wares.

Yet I come empty-handed, I have none.

My love wants only to help and to care.

I believe that I can help through listening.

I feel love when I touch and reflect.

Yet in language of degrees and salaries

I know of no job that pays to introspect.

I live amidst a web of transactions

and through savings, I cope and survive.

yet I long to, through loving, true actions

give my love-laden service, and thrive.

I aim not for inflated financials

I wish not that I garner prestige

but with my whole body, mind, and emotions

I wish to serve lovingly, either generally or in some niche.

Idealized Endpoint

Choosing to jump to or push through onto an idealized endpoint

Without taking awareness of each moment, step, and force along the way

Is like choosing to drive ahead on a train track

Without taking awareness of the state of the track and its cleanliness

Of the presence of debris, of worn, broken, or absent rails.

Driving through with willful, reckless throttle

May hurl out rocks and wooden, metal beams flying off

Hurting the vehicle or arbitrary bypassers

Unmeant hurt.

May derail and severely postpone arrival

If not completely prevent it

A broken bridge.

Is like choosing to dive headfirst into the uncharted water

Unaware of its depth

Unwilling to follow due diligence

With respect to one's integrity.

Cleaning and care need not fear

They move ahead with intent clear.

For they bring light to the pathways

We have not traveled yet.

Fracture

Seeking for help

Wailing to be seen

Crying for angels

To save them their fate

Relying on others

To settle the dispute

When only from the fracture

Can a solution come

That is real and absolute

Observador

Si este mundo es realmente

Esencialmente

El observador observándose a sí mismo

Sintiendo-se en toda su plenitud

Venimos entonces a observar, precisar

Lo suave, lo duro, lo verde, lo oscuro.

Lo ralo, lo denso, lo rojo, lo intenso.

El frío, el calor, el río, el color.

El ritmo, el espacio, el veloz, el despacio.

El llanto, la risa, el juego, la delicia.

El arriba, el abajo, y la dirección

Y el como se alteran con la rotación.

El número, el género, la polaridad

El orden, el caos, y la vacuidad.

Lo bueno y lo malo, lo extraño, lo injusto

¿Qué es eso, y por qué a veces causa disgusto?

Tristeza, enojo, prisa y paciencia

Son todos productos de nuestra experiencia.

Venimos a saber qué es la duda

Y cómo nos lleva a necias locuras.

Venimos a sentir rabia y pasión

Los fuegos internos de nuestra emoción.

Atracción y belleza, seducción y lujuria

El hambre de carne que se torna devoción.

El gozo, el placer del ser satisfecho

El éxtasis al acabar un trecho

La expectativa, y la decepción

Al ver que la finalidad era ilusión.

Lo corto, lo largo,

Lo estrecho, lo expanso

Lo tosco, lo angular

Lo fino, lo excepcional.

El cóncavo, el convexo,

La periferia, el nexo.

La similitud, la desigualdad

La proporción y la complejidad.

Contornos en masa, en curva y en recto

Delinean, denotan nuestro enorme cuerpo.

Las partes, sin pausa, quiebran y conmergen

Esculpiendo unidas el misterio latente.

El nada, el todo, y la unidad

Son las construcciones de nuestra verdad.

Los flujos que destilan nuestros sentidos

Son nuestra comida de nosotros mismos.

Y de los muchos espejos que abundan

Nuestro cuerpo refleja realidad de lo profundo.

El dolor, el trauma, la alegría y la calma.

Sentimos aquí los aspectos del alma.

Frescura de aliento y de sentimiento

El rancio que nace del estancamiento.

El ansia, la prisa, ¿por qué hipnotizan?

El triunfo y el fallo, tras tantos ensayos.

Construimos de nada el bien y el mal

Y polarizados, olvidamos lo real.

Desdén, avaricia, culpa y vergüenza,

Que surgen del miedo de mala experiencia.

Ternura y cariño, cuidado y amor

Que nacen de ver en el otro valor.

La fuerza, energía, impulso y acción,

La causa y efecto en la reacción.

La luz y el agua, el viento y el fuego

Son nuestros en este infinito juego.

El canto, el baile, la ciencia, la religión

Distintos caminos de exploración.

La forma, el patrón, la idea, el concepto

Venimos a sentir lo que es intelecto.

De la forma deducimos simetría

Y en las estructuras vemos jerarquía.

Los ciclos del tiempo y la continuidad

Permítennos sentir cambio y variedad.

El color y el sonido nos dan el gradiente

Y los ciclos nos muestran menguante y creciente.

La naturaleza, en todo ínfimo rincón

Se viste de estupenda geometría y patrón.

El nombre, el objeto, la identidad,

Marcas y escalones en esta inmensidad.

Conectando símbolos a toda entidad

La mente construye su red de verdad.

El plan y estrategia, la propia intención

Combínanse todos en la razón.

Y así refinando lógica e inferencia

Surge naciente la divina conciencia.

Y afuera miramos, queriendo entender

Qué fuerzas antiguas nos hicieron nacer.

Y en todo el universo, no hayamos más central fuente

Que el axiomático observador presente.

Podríamos toda eternidad buscar

El perfecto estado o el perfecto lugar

Pero tal demanda excluye el resto

Y no hay universo que no incluya el resto.

Entendamos que navegamos un mar

Y no hay playa perfecta ni isla perpetua.

Todo fluye y muta, y es ilusión el azar

Construyamos en cambio con esmero ejemplar.

Estamos en este preciso momento

Yo escribo, tú lees, en nuestro propio cuento.

Mas aunque sea vasta nuestra diferencia

Caminamos a través de la misma conciencia.

Pillory

My internal record keeper

My internal coach

Continues to want to check on me

To measure me

To applaud me

To reprimand me

For the choices I take

For the concepts I find

For the changes I effect.

Much like an attached mother

Continues to straighten her child's shirt

Praise his achievements

Chide his transgressions

Within the framework that once supported

The young stalk as it grew.

But the stalk has grown wider

Sturdy and larger

And the trellis that once held him

Has become a pillory

Constrictive, inflexible.

Unmeant, unhelpful.

The lobster shell outgrown

Must be molted

If the lobster is to move free.

The invested mother

May continue her ways

As long as the child

Responds still the same.

With pride at her praise

With shame at her reproach

With fear of her displeasure

With frustration at her insistence.

The way to release

The yoke of conditioning

Is to recognize it in me

Then pay it no heed

For I'll know when it shows up

In anxiety and doubt

I'll smell its scent clearly

When fear lingers about.

And slowly the paint flakes

Will fall off the wall

The old structure will wither

Until there's nothing at all

Between what I am

And what I wish to be.

Potter

we the potter
the collective potter
have much yet to learn
of the manner to mould our clay.

as we grow and sculpt our shape keeps distorting
away from that ideal
that we know we can be.

we keep pressing into the bumps that swell on the surface
from points of friction and conflict.
that is the old and tried technique
of fixing our bloats
our unseemly shape
by pushing it in
and cutting it away
of gliding over our problems
in this human world that waves
between pain, joy, fear, effort, hope
hatred, kindness, and confusion.

we keep crushing and cutting the lumps away
by reflex
thinking it helps
or thinking it delays
the "really difficult" part
for later
for someone else.

but
there is no one else.
it is just us.
it is just this.
tis our collective weave that is suffering
tis our shared pot that is threatening
to blow up and break apart
once more.

tis not needed.
the break is not needed.
we can learn if we ponder
penetrate into what is inside
where these bulges come from,
realize the dynamics
and acknowledge the subtleties
of the chemical reactions within us
the unintentional leaking of volatile gas
heated in the zeal of differentiated particles
as they repel and push off from one another
protruding up the surface into unseemly lumps
as we continue to grow
into each other.

our reactive mechanical bodges
pushing into the lumps
cutting and fragmenting
come from those frustrated, impatient,
unwilling to accept
that mere mechanics cannot solve the problem
anymore

our clay has grown past
the point where pushing and cutting are enough.
the mechanical must be transcended
if we are to fix it
if we are to heal.

the mechanics of the physical
must be acknowledged as the observable effects
of the chemistry of emotions.

we must reach the point where
the mere arithmetic of adding, shifting, and cutting mass
is well known, yet informed
by sincere insight into our own clay
and superseded

by the subtler synthetic power
of love.

the recognition

in the other

of oneself.

Temple

only once the dusty floors are swept

the grime cleared off the marble

the crystal windows are washed

and the storm has stilled

can the sun's rays pierce and shine brightly

and illuminate the temple's true beauty.

only once the body has been purified

the emotions have been cleansed

and the stormy thoughts are stilled,

can divine light shine through

and we see what is truly here.