Mariposa Asustada

Hoy Tilda y yo nos vimos en la mesa

ojos suaves y penetrantes, en contemplación mutua

(después de escuchar Earthsong

y sentirme fluido-a-través-de por energías altas

a través de mi cuerpo - brazos levantados, atención interior)

y tuve una impresión, una visión, de una interacción entre nosotros

anterior a ambas nuestras vidas

de nuestras almas.

De nuestras almas más jóvenes.

Y luego bailamos, nuestros cuerpos,

a la música de piano suave en la cocina.

Ella dibujando curvas suntuosas

con sus brazos y con su cuerpo

y luego al vernos, cara a cara

le dije lo que vi/sentí:

"Sentí a nuestras almas, hace mucho tiempo

cuando te tomé con fuerza, queriendo tenerte

y tú, mariposa asustada, te escapaste

y me costó mucho tiempo volverte a encontrar".

Lágrimas rodaron en mis mejillas

saturadas de anhelos antiguos recordados

y ella me dijo

"Me tocó mucho lo que dijiste.

Ahora estoy aquí, contigo,

y quiero estar contigo".

Y llorando, comprendí el dolor de hace tiempo,

que al forzar su presencia conmigo la ahuyenté

desde edades olvidadas

y desde entonces, he aprendido

a sentir y escuchar.

Rhythms

We meet again tonight, my child

as we have each night.

We build rhythms into us

by the repetition of ritual.

We build rituals into us

in order to harmonize with the cycles

that transcur all around us

and the cycles that iterate within us.

And as we build each rhythm

we gain the momentum of the harmony

with the world around us and within us.

Dynamic, living flywheels

sources of energy and strength.

And with each rhythm built

we express gradually

the true essence of our self.

Building a rhtyhtm takes time

sincerity and diligence.

Each step taken is one woven thread

into the fabric of our rhythm.

Therefore we meet each night

to build the rhythm of our family

to weave the tapestry of our family

with love.

Love knows the harmony

with other rhythms

with other cycles.

With the sun and stars above

with the heartbeats nearby

with our thought currents within

with our fears and desires.

Each thread woven with love, therefore,

can best produce a fabric

that joins the parts in harmony

in coherent, joyous union.

Each step taken with love

each thread woven with love

adds to the fabric of the family

that we are building

you, your mother, and I.

That is why we meet each night

to build the fabric of our family

since the stage of seed

so we may be joined through love

as our family grows.

Children

Children, truly, all of us are.

regardless of years, experience, or scars.

We play, we fight, we laugh, and we cry

but many after some years, we learn to deny.

To deny the anger that asks us to fight

because for convenience, we're taught that's "not right".

To deny fresh laughter that makes us shine bright

after so many told us that that's impolite.

To deny our wonder that brings us to play

when we're trained to be adults, who "have to work all day".

To deny the pain buried under those fears

who dare not seek help nor to shed repressed tears.

And instead we carve ourselves intricate masks

that avoid confrontations and focus on tasks.

They focus on survival to get the job done,

barriers and defenses to stave off everyone.

So when our anger wakes up to something unfair

our mask filters it to a despondent "I don't care".

And when something in a stranger lights up our spark deep

it filters to "nah, I'm busy, plus she'll think I'm a creep".

Our laughter spontaneous, we hold and restrain

for we fear it may boil in them anger or pain.

And instead we echo its squawks and its hisses

to pretend our approval with fake little kisses.

And inside of us, buried deep, barely a trace

lies the pain we never took the time to embrace.

For from it spring the fears spring the masks spring the walls

that keep us so lonely in this world full of souls.

Our child seeks connection, and looks out to see

"who'll truly understand me", "oh who will save me".

But when we reach out, we find them all flawed,

"no one truly sees me, no one truly knows".

"And even close partners, friends, and family,

there's just *something* that I can't quite make them see.

They relieve my thirst, and calm my desire,

but no matter what I do, they always expire".

Too often the seeker is thus led astray

he most oft does not know he seeks the wrong way.

The walls, the thirst, and the sought-after grail

are all on the inside, behind his own veil.

Deep within the layers grown so thick with time,

each time the pain oozes, a new cover of fear slime

hardens and encloses, not unlike a snail,

except that in our case, we're not quite as frail.

The pains at the core of our walls are old

oft too old for memory, can't even be told.

However, its psychical structure persists

and will do so as long as we try to resist.

To resist the message pain wants us to hear

a simple and primal "I am still here.

I hurt and I cry and though I've called you for years

not once have you dared listen nor share my tears".

"I'm scared and alone and I cry out for help,

and all you do is echo that out of yourself.

You seek help in others, and fail to see

what you've truly been seeking is this lonely you/me".

"No lover nor offspring nor safeguard can give

you what you have been missing to THEN fully live.

You see, the only way that both you and I can heal

is that you dare listen to me, and let yourself feel".

"Feel the old wound whence spring all your walls,

that inside you are broken, at your mortal core.

Accept you're imperfect, inexcusably,

for only then the flaw of perfection you'll see".

Only when the path of inner pain

is walked and you embrace the one at the core,

can the years of grief wash out and drain,

and through awareness, soften the fears galore.

And little by little, when you least expect,

suddenly you'll find you're able to connect.

Sometimes yes, to others, but most peculiarly,

you'll find yourself feeling your true inner "me".

The air may feel fresher, the colors less dull,

gradually you'll have much less need to control.

Your laughter will pop out, your wonder will grow

where no plan for either had been made before.

And when anger rises, you'll now have the choice

of how you will manage your hands and your voice.

No longer a youngling, when you are wounded again,

you'll know to take time to care for your pain.

When people around you react at you with fears

remember that behind them is a dammed lifetime of tears.

Greet the child within them, even if with your eyes,

for yes, he feels it, even if the people retain their guise.

While you, recovered traveler,

can now walk and see.

Equipped with wonder, joy, and laughter,

Child Eternal, live free.

Day of Flow

• Flow level felt yesterday: 4/5
• Walked with flow.
• Made food with flow.
• Made love with flow.

Things Tilda said yesterday that ring true (for I laughed when I heard them):

1. "I think when you are with me, you begin to disregard your own needs in favor of mine. And I fall in to this dynamic, as it feels good being taken care of. As we both fall into this dynamic, you lose your focus and I lose my strength."
2. I think when we're living together, your unconscious is looking for tranquility, and it can't find anytime during the day when I'm awake. So it seeks to stay awake at night and then do the things you want and like, because only then you feel such a tranquility.

Value Increase

I posit there are multiple ways to add value to a system.

One can increase the number of people working on a process, such as in manufacture, or one can increase the amount of resources that one works with, such as using more land for agriculture. One can take the resources of another, or one can work/process for a longer time, in order to obtain more value out of the processes one applies.

Such increases of value are additive, for each increase of a constant amount of inputs (invested value - e.g. an extra worker) results in an additive increase in the number of outputs (resulting value - e.g. an extra 8 shirts made per day). Such increases are commonplace, and are present in common daily life.

One can also improve the process through which one produces value. The introduction of a machine to manufacture yarn, for instance, substituting the manual labor that used to produce it, can increase the production of this process by a certain factor (say, +70% output), in addition to reducing the cost of manual labor (say, -30% input).

Any method that introduces efficiency into a process is multiplicative, for each increase of a constant amount of inputs (invested value - e.g. one-time substitution of machines for manual laborers) results in a multiplicative increase in the number of outputs (resulting value - production ratio increase of 1.7 / 0.7 ~= 2.4). Though the investment of such improvements tend to require more effort or deeper analysis, and they are not as commonplace as the additive methods, their value increase grows much faster, and their improved effects are (in theory) long-lasting.

Furthermore, there are changes that occur in the world that bring about ways that can increase the value of processes even faster than multiplicative ones. Such improvements change the way in which a population itself produces value in their daily lives. In such a change, each individual is given the opportunity to improve his/her own production processes in multiplicative manners. As the processes between individuals interact with one another, and critical flow paths between them are unclogged, and flow quicker and easier, the individual multiplicative factors compound, resulting in exponential increases in the value of the entire population.

Such improvements, rarer over the course of generations, tend to bring about revolutionary changes across a population. Examples of such changes in our collective memory have been the Industrial Revolution, the introduction of Computers, the Internet, and most recently Artificial Intelligence.

On Raising Our Child

May we never force coercion

as a form of discipline.

May we keep upheld the value

of the Truth that lies within.

May we do our best to listen

to our child's concerns and fears.

May we with love, fully see him/her

as he/she bursts with cries and tears.

May his/her primal spark of laughter

wake up our inner girl and boy.

May his/her play be seen and valued,

guided towards what brings him/her joy.

May he/she be our little partner

who helps our home and family thrive.

May we include him/her in our banter,

in our chores, highs, lows, and cries.

May we know the proper timing

for his/her petals to unfold.

May we let go as his/her blooming

sheds old layers as he/she grows.

May we trust our own emotions

so that he/she may trust his/her own.

May we keep fresh aspirations

that he/she not need fear the unknown.

May we live through many channels,

language, science, arts, math, play.

So that he/she has ample options

as he/she crafts his/her own way.

May we keep fresh the light within us

and may we see it in the other

so that Love pervades our daily life

with the world and with one another.

May we daily feel truly grateful

for the lives we daily lead.

May we trust well and be faithful

to the path on which we proceed.

Mundane prison

Afraid of a mundane prison

I have been.

Pulling away from the ropes that bound me

resisting being considered/mistaken

as one with the place,

the people, the land, the systems around me.

The culture, the details, not me.

The routine, the friendships, not me.

The shapes, the specifics, not me.

So anytime I felt the tendrils

of any vine nearby grip my arm,

hug my body, pull at my leg,

repulsion flared up in me,

and the pressure to run away

overpowered the call to stay.

Disgust at what I know,

contempt of the familiar.

And so I fain uprooted

again, again, and again,

each time sincere yet shortened farewells

lit up the prideful feeling in me of

"you are not me, and so I leave".

Dissatisfied repeatedly, that what I found was not me,

frustration that I could not make the world and me align,

Her places always "but"-able,

her people always flawed,

why did desire always lead me

to what looked shiny, but close-up dull?

Then gradually I came to see

what caused such endless chase.

The problems were not the objects,

'twere the eyes with which I gazed.

Twas not the people who were flawed,

the flaws were my own point of view,

for each object existent in this world

has a true path that cannot be askew.

For it Is, self-proven existence,

and thus contributes to the True.

The instinct I grew up with,

that which insists "not me", "not me",

somehow it knew that people, groups, and objects

are not where lies the worth to Be.

And yet the shine stoked my desire

and signalled a subtle hope

that in this new place, partner, or job

may lie the sought-for "goal":

That which is really my own.

That which sparked my joy.

Which reminded me of my purpose.

Ineffable, elusive spark.

But while I knew that in the matter

lies not the worth to Be,

I half-forgot that I myself

also inhabit a body.

A complex mass of tissues,

beliefs, thoughts, shapes, and skin.

They also were what I repelled

because I knew it was not me.

I forgot I live within which

shines the very spark I seek,

and I cannot lose it truly,

for it's the essence of me.

I have been very afraid

to dive into the depths of the world

of groups, places, jobs, people,

of chains that bound me to the details

to heavy rocks on the ocean floor.

That I would drown beneath the water

and forget the sun above.

But where I had been mistaken

were not that the details were not me,

for that was true,

but rather than within each rock, prize, and flesh

I haughtily pushed away

after losing sight of the spark that drew me there,

there also lives the same essential light

that inner me,

of which I had been unaware.

Sometimes this realization

blipped in my unconscious, then faded.

But gradually, as I attempt it,

my feeling for it becomes greater,

and my path a little straighter.

For I now suspect this mundane prison we inhabit,

that blinds us, weighs us, hurts us, baits us,

we entered of our own accord.

And here we can find other sparks

which twinkle up our own inner flame

with whom we can remember together

our inner Sun.

That we really are Light within,

and what we wish is to shine our Love.

Onto all that Is.

the reins

hold the reins

oh so so softly my love

so gently, love, my mind

that a feather's touch would be too harsh.

you are the master and rider, yes,

but too often you are startled and rattled

not trusting the ride

offered to you by your faithful

horse.

Too often you hold on tightly

yanking on the reins hither and thither

afraid of the ride

afraid of the death

because you do not yet trust

the wisdom of your horse.

hold the reins so so gently, my love.

so soft there is no touch

so soft there is no sound.

direct your own ride, yes

but not with yank and whip

not with rush to escape the dangers

or to soothe your budding fears.

direct with clarity, mind.

know the aim, see the aim, and send it

lighter than the butterfly's touch.

so light you virtually do nothing

but hold your aim before you,

trust your horse to know the way,

and enjoy the ride.

micromanage not

coerce not.

send your clear direction upon

the currents of subtle thought

and see it bloom before your eyes

through the fluid actions

of your trusted vehicle.

Practice the art of enchanting yourself

with your will alone.

It trains it to be clear and to focus

through continuous consciousness.

traits too seldom used

for we have learned to rely on

fear, excitement, and spontaneous reaction

to take us where we go

even when these motivators

rarely have an aware goal

other than "scratch that itch", "soothe that fear",

which riles up

excessive stress.

Peace, instead, and build up

good trust between the two

your horse and your rider,

so the first is free to serve

and the other free to see.

Think/direct. Then wait/allow.

Patiently observe the mysteries of your own self

be revealed.

I Live

Forty years it took me, to realize that I am

a life form on this world.

Forty years I resisted.

Forty years, I would not yield to this

flesh prison.

To these solid inconveniences.

To these slimy sticky relationships.

But forty years past I am here, still.

And yes, I am: A life form in this world.

As much as I resisted.

As much as I cried, wailed, begged to come out.

To end it.

I am here, I am this.

I wish to escape no longer.

I am here. This is me.

I Live.

Amidst everything else that lives.

And we are what we are.

Audio