responsibility

responsibility is not an obligation

it is not a role

it is not a need

it is not an urge

it is not a bind

it is not a chain

it is not a debt

it is not a duty

it is not a commitment

it is the ability to respond

an ability. that allows possibility

for us

when we observe

a thing. an event. a lack. an excess. a need.

and we know how to change it

shape it

in a way we choose to

responsibility is

the ability to do so

because we know how

because we are able

and with this power

we

can

choose to respond

struggle

there is no war

it is a struggle of ourselves

onto ourselves

to stretch and push out and break through the layers around us

between us

the protective layers we have built for so long

and that are quickly

turning obsolete

let there be no war

within

so there may be no victor

and no vanquished

just us

Self times

Audio

Hmm. Self-times. 

Hmm. A self-time to me is. 

A time we preserve for the self. 

The world of needs and the world of the physical. 

And pull us. 

To survive. 

Pull us. To find. 

Sustenance. Direction. Purpose. Meaning. 

This is a world where. Our habits. Pull onto us. From many directions. 

Towards work. Towards. 

The bus that we can barely just catch at the bus stop. 

Hmm. Towards that girl. 

That somehow. Sweetens my eyes. And I. Chase home. I chase along. As if she were butterfly. 

Hmm. 

The avoidance.

Of what we fear. 

Hmm the repulsion the physical danger. 

All these ropes. 

Hmm. 

The meeting of schedules. 

Communication with others. 

Synchronization in society. 

Social fences. Around our behaviors. 

These ropes all pull pull pull one way or the other or the other or the other or the other.

Hmm. 

It. Sometimes get to the point. Where we are lost without these ropes. 

And where for a moment. Feeling how. All the ropes have loosened. In this particular wave. 

There is no tension. There is no direction. 

And we feel lost. 

When in fact what we

Feel. Is freedom of choice. 

Hmm. 

As with anything we don't know. It takes time to learn to use. 

To understand that. 

Hmm. 

When ropes are taut. They pull us crisply. And our direction is set. 

Hmm. When multiple ropes are taut. 

We may be in conflict. 

Between one direction and another. 

Hmm. 

Self-time. 

Self-time is a time that we gift to ourself. 

When we know. And we take care. That our ropes are loosened. Are softened. 

Are soothed. 

With our unending trust. 

Hmm. 

When we. Create. This space. This time. 

This bucket of existence. 

And we know. That our ropes are loosened. 

Hmm. 

Then the self. 

Can. Take time to feel. 

Can take time to move. From its core. 

Not from the outside. Habits patterns reactions. We have gathered in our lives. In this person. 

But from the essence. 

Where the oven of creation. 

Is. 

It waits. 

For us to notice it's there. 

Hmm. 

In these times self-times. 

Hmm. Our self has space to dance. 

To choose. To be. 

Truly. 

Hmm. 

Continuously. Unabruptly. 

Self-guided. 

Hmm. Like a delicate sapling. 

Hmm. 

It starts small. 

Soft. Pliable. 

Hmmm. When we give it. Space to dance. Space to play. Space to grow. 

Hmm. 

So grows. The self. 

Hmm. So grows. Its true direction. 

Hmmm. 

And when grown

As it grows

We can see. Who we truly are. 

As it blooms and grows into this world. 

Self-time. 

Hmm. Let us. 

Gift. Ourselves. 

Hmm. 

Moments of self-time. 

Hmm. 

They allow us. 

To grow. 

Mear

Dear Mear,

When I remember I am here,

and freel what is near,

the path is now clear,

so clear it disappears

in absolute here

and I am the seer

all else is mere wind.

Feel home in the

depth of your breath.

warm, thick, and sparkling

being

feeling

true

jelly

get to know the janitors of your subconscious

they know very many things about the

quirks and leaks and engines and lens and rudders

that reside in us

power us

guide us

sometimes itch

and sometimes spill

sometimes squeak

and sometimes screech

sometimes hurt

and sometimes roar

sometimes flow

no manual, but many

inside of us know us

let's go and be friendly

they're skillful and true

they'll share their own know-how with you.

a dynamic jelly

this sensational ship

each dust speck ripples into mounds

hills

each forgotten cut invokes protection

force fields and detours, armed guards

when we help clean

when we help heal

shower in with light

with care

jelly can soft grow anew

flavor

each glimpse of an input

can be my star to follow

my villain

my ground

or just

another flavor

inner space

a loud shout a release of steam

pressure that builds up with nowhere to go

a boiler

a cry an overflowing

of within emotional waves

spurred higher by the tides and winds that move us

shift us

to fly in our spaces, we must feel the wind

and learn how to dance with

its gusts and its flows

its eddies and swirls

whirls

slide back down through the layers

that build up our cake

a soft joy when I notice

that here I can breathe

here I can feel

quiiet from the surface currents, closer

to the core of our being

both denser and softer

the lower we slide

sink

here all of that think

is blowing far above

in dances of its own

just fall

delight in the warmth of your being

my being

I

who watches and feels

it

depths

an ice cream of sensations

of which we choose to partake

flavors are many

MANY

and their combinations way more

the sound of the distant leafblower

as my bare belly squeezes the bed

my calf muscles' contraction

as I twist my foot to the left

faucet running water

behind me, it soothes

the blood in my head pumps with fuzzy, self-rhythm.

on my jaw. on my forehead.

the shape of my body as I slide on the floor

and with a knowing right arm, close the door

fulfillment when music from next door is removed

its words ask mind to point somewhere and I gently refuse

this cocktail of signals

through this body of mine

are fountains of ice cream

for me to lick as I choose

I, tongue, sense the samples

my curious child wishes

and play, in this process, is all it will do

and play, in this process, is all it will do

the colors there, outward, light blue from the sky

it subtly rinses my visual canal

combine it with white clouds and curtains of green

and here is unique ice cream

never before seen

tasted

feel the fullness of this body

proprioception

its innards stretch and squiggle

a robust package of fragiles

channels perception to this me.

a warm base of digestion

thank you belly

a deep piping of breath, its subtle sound sigh,

the capacity, and tautness of our devoted lungs

a sense of balance

and domes of air waves made music by our ears

two instant periscopes

turning light into majesties

thank you eyes

taste a flavor

invite it

feel it

dance in you

all real

it is all real

and it is all here

every tiniest speck of it

every shaky hesitation

every lightest, strangest mood

emoted

the tiny jerk of the elbow

interpretation

of these

their connection to meanings

the unreasonable arguments

the motives for violence

the motives for peace

the shames we avoid

the fears that fence us

it is on the surface

here

or in layers below

here

or deeper

here

those ropes of must or should

that seem to pull

away from here

also real. habits

sometimes floated on the surface

with little depth

find its depths

freedive

to feel the habits

the behaviors and their roots

do they feel to match that

in that rich depth of you

of I

some will be strengthened

given ground

my ground

others may be unfit

for the shape I discover

in me

and shed

dissolve into the shifting ocean

and more space to dance

is allowed

in the depths of us

we can grow our roots and stems

and then our flowers can truly

bloom

bring them light

Audio

gratitude

it shines a light upon it

upon its object

awareness soothes it

the light of our attention shines upon it, and it is honored

seen

with gratitude

we see how this state

this

has roots, causes, associations,

to which we bring light

we remember our connections

we more know what we are

if only for the attention, it helps us know

feel ourselves

brighter

yet it also extols the virtues of the object

it finds them

it greets them

they are once again

unforgotten

and we can feel their delight

when we do, we no longer aim forward,

drawn by our aims.

gratitude is of this

and through it we see ourselves

and what feeds us

and what nourishes us

we can take a rest

take our feet in our hands and thank them

knead them with love

rest our horses

we can fix our chariot

and remember that the truth is here

that delight is here

as shiny as that horizon looks

as intriguing as the far-away seems,

the feeling is here

and yes, in life we move

and life moves

we do not remain forever

but when we remember to shine gratitude upon ourselves

upon what is

the movement is within us

and treasures dwell within

our design

we are building a structure

across time and space

to see what we can

to make all of us

into form

with this moment we build

our layer of now

with each flowery curve

and jagged mistake

we shape it

with each bright joy

each damp sadness

each sacred whisper

we clothe it

we bloom and grow and explore

the Infinities of Ourselves.

we ingress into and embody the matter

we grow it along with ourselves

together we play and see

what is all that we can be

love cares

I take care of you

and you take care of me

we do not need us to

we choose to

care for each other

sharing with love

is a joy

to take care of us

of our softer, subtler parts

we open up to show them

those that tickle when seen

and that hurt with miscare

like this we can know each other

we show each other

and trust that love guides us both

weave our arms

When we weave our arms so together

my neighbors and I

so we are grapevines that build on each other

that feel and rely on each other

our sphere expands, and I care for them

as they care for me

energies

There are energies in the world

flowing, shifting

the currents of force and direction in our ocean

the messengers

permeating the planes of consciousness and intent

I don't see them.

I sometimes feel them

when I trust and I listen to the music of Now.

they sway me and my world

into a dance I unknow.

In it there are steps of fire

and leaps of faith

brilliance of sunlight

turns of surrender

meetings of souls

like two fingers that touch

or two fluids that melt

or three

There are rivers of celebration

There are baskings in beauty

Lakes of contemplation

Forests of peace

bubbles of laughter

and joyous perception

when I remember I am dancing

and my partner is Here.

Sampling

It is more the slopes, the patterns, the choices and movements

than the states we encounter

that drive the Flow of Life.

States, precise and measurable,

are dots only upon the wave.

Drops in the rainfall

Leaves in the forest.

Each one does not speak for the whole.

When we see via state sampling

Nyquist recommends frequent observation

vigilance

to know well the wave that we ride.

Yet smoother is to feel the fall and rise.

Unmeasured. Been. Embodied.

Continuous watch of the Present.

The Is.

Notice of the tobogan of sensations, emotions,

thoughts, draws, hesitations

Shapes in space.

Colors in eyes

Sounds around

Choices, causes.

Secrets, whys.

And when we step out

we can step back in.

Feel you move. Let rush go. Notice, observe breath.

See the dance.

Be the dance.

Complete Presence

The Way of Full

Being

pond

Being, feeling, is a delight.

What lies underneath the undelightful layers

is a pond, quiet.

A trust. Permeating.

Each touch and shape and memory.

Watchful. Present. Unneeding.

Each speck of sensation a gift. A color.

to garnish our banquet of Is.

The floating layers above

of wants, pains, reactions,

the undigested remnants of our experience.

Have not yet been allowed into the pond.

For fear of pollution, perhaps.

To protect from pain.

Let them in. Watch them sink. Feel their shape.

The undelight can be moved.

The undelight can be digested.

Watch. Freel. That is digestion.

And clearer waters remain.

Arillas waves

We continue to be here.

I look ahead. The waves

continue to splash on the sandy shore.

Shimmering sunlight.

Morphing the swirling patterns of salty foam.

In surrendered offering to the slope of beach.

Caressing.

Melting.

Unrelenting.

We continue to be here.

womb experience

The delight of the warm sunlight atop the gentle, soothing waves that buoy my feeling, trusting hands quiet, limp, observant.

Antonio

in the water, she leaves me my head back, my body slanted back No air, I trust. She takes care of me. Time passes, I remain under. I know she knows. I know she takes care of me. Time passes, I remain under. My belly hiccups, it asks for air. I wait. She takes care of me. Time passes. I know she knows. I cannot breathe. Maybe she wants it. She wants me to stay in. All emotions at once. Trust betrayed. Rejection. She prefers me here. Unalive. Pride to cover my hurt. Let it be so. I stay here. It is good anyway. Deep. Quiet. Just me and I don't need you. I stay here. I don't need to breathe. She pulls me up. There I can breathe. No. No! You didn't want me breathing, so I stay in. Let me stay in! I don't need you. I pull down. I want to stay inside. No! You don't want me breathing, let me stay in! She pulls me out, I gasp for breath. Defeat. I failed. I failed what I tried, and now I'm with someone who betrayed me. Who doesn't want me. I failed. And I cry out loud, and the comfort I reach for is hers. I curl into her arms. But she betrayed me. But she has me. I breathe again.

Antonio

She plays with me. She curls up my leg as I sit, and she makes funny noises when she does. In playful, rising tone: "Tuuuuuuuuut!" I laugh. It's so funny how she does it, I like it. She takes care of me. "Swuuuuuuuuuuuuup!", she curls my other leg. I sit cozy and happy. She likes me and I feel good. Sun, water, sounds. My body is happy.

they didn't want me, but I am good.

I am good.

Numbers

What gives numbers their particular flavor is that they are so easily comparable. They open a clear potential for maximization and for advancement that easily sparks the spirit of achievement and competitiveness in those so inclined. A thirst for increase.

Their simplicity makes them useful and widely-applicable. When we are able to describe the world around us via quantities, we can grow a sense of reliability, of repeatability, that can clarify our mental models, and allow us energy we can devote to other pursuits.

A common pitfall is adopting the belief that the world is completely quantifiable. Or rather, that our understanding, our numerical descriptions of the world are complete, or even sufficient to navigate our life. Such a belief can see a person, intentionally or not, discard the parts of the world that do not fit their models. The fluffy ruffles, the unknown tinges, the occasional glitches, or even entire swathes of our perception, like our own inner workings and psyche, are at times crumpled up and moved aside to the bucket of "I don't know/I don't care", impoverishing our experience just as much.

Light is come

A restless sleep and a restlesser wake later, it is dawn. Silver sunlight gives the world a tinge of fresh light. Colors begin to wake again. A soft white sky with tinges of light blue and golden, just out my window. They permeate air. And a bee buzzes among the bright green leaves and the soft peach flowers that frame my window. Light comes.

Eyelids droop. A re-bed seems appetizing, but uncertain, as light is come.

Light is come.

Katikia Music Farm - Aug 2nd 2020

A 2PM coffee keeps my psyche awake tonight. A shared, friendly day with Kim has me fantasizing about the two of us sleeping together. "Maybe if I had said this. Maybe if I had asked that. Maybe. Maybe." Mind throws out its fishing pole into the sea of possibilities, distant from the Now. Searches for a solution.

There is no solution. It is here and now, and I sleep alone tonight. It need not be different. It need not be fixed. Nothing to take care of.

Just Fall.

coffee

coffee this morning

at a cafe I had never entered

on a street I often walk

time with calm, no fuss

i walk back, unpacking food

i feel a sudden pull

work must be done. get to it

the body jerks small, agitated

i pause to feel what is

ahh, my rhythm is stronger

faster, quicker, it needs to do

something alerts us, so

something must be done

i see the half-stored groceries

strewn on the kitchen counter

no, time for work is not yet here

i feel my chest beats, loud.

my body feels alert

and rises energy

to survive, to do what is necessary

but there is no necessary now

coffee jerks my body, feels an agitated energy spike.

it means no intent. it comes not from will

but from physical vibrations.

interpret, then, is what i do.

emotion feels body

hotter, quicker, shaky,

it recognizes it. it is fear.

the thoughts now notice.

there is fear here

that was not here before.

if fear is here, there must be

something missing, something wrong

There's nothing different happening. Maybe... did I forget something? Am I late for something?

what's the next thing on my list?

Ah, work! Work yes, Is it too late already?

That is something that is missing

the work done for today

so I will do the work

and this is how

I'll take care of what's wrong.

thinks mind.

and pulls my body's bridle workward.

this was how my feelings were

with my coffee today

I do not need to do things.

I perceive what my senses bring me

I interpret the signals as fears

or joys, griefs

and armed with my interpreted emotions

my mind devises a plan to

keep us safe and bring us well.

we interpret

we choose.

i choose.

pay presence to what we sense

what we think

what we feel

then we can t-r-a-c-e the path, f-e-e-l

the processees within us

thhat we may know

why and how

you cry

you laugh

you hurt

you love

you lack

you thrive

you rage

you fear

you fall

inner text

Really? You're really going through with this? Another improvement program, huh? How sweet. Again to make us better?

Hey, you've seen how messed up we've been these days. No energy, no purpose, adrift and lonely,

Yeah, right, and this is gonna fix it. Like the frillion recipes and oils and mantras and healings and therapies and workshops you've gotten yourself into before.

Yeah, it's another one. And it's what we've found, why not try it ??

Fucking. waste of time. I don't see why you keep hanging your hopes on what people tell you.

Well, I don't find solutions in anything else. I'm lonely and I'm desperate and you know it.

Fucking. waste of time. My energy is not going in that direction.

Whatever. You don't have to give it energy. I can do it myself.

DUDE. You're fucking going the wrong way. Complete SURRENDER, don't you remember?

Yes, I've gone that way. My body becomes a log and my mind slimy goo. My emotions a congealed crust. I gather sweat and filth from uncare. That's not working.

Isn't that what it's about? SURRENDER? Fully. fucking. surrender.

well this girl appeared in front and with it a chance to change something. why not try it?

yeah sure. try it. It'll work just as well like the frillion times before. back to the cycle we go.

I cannot turn you off, but I can fucking hold you tight. Don't you dare oppose this fucking "healing" routine this week. We're doing it and that's it.

Sure. Yeah, go ahead. But I'll be here the whole way - you'll need to drag me past every step. See you next time you're crying your guts out from the disappointment of failure and being lost and unworthiness in life. Again.

explode

want to

feel like

explode

find nothing

to explode against

no force in conflict

cannot push against

what is not

force congeals

brakes and holds on tight

to the inside of my throat

pulls downward and inward

on its frontal sides

both of them

a drain for energy to move into

so no expression escapes

it pulls

sucks

the will inside

where it is hidden

and forgotten

freel

freel

to feel raw

uninterpreted

advice

any advice

opinion

comparison

story

is a judgment, an attack

"this is truth. how dare you not know it already"

or is an idol

"this is truth. here is the value and the power"

when we do not know

feel

trust

our self

notice

I notice my behavior

when I come upon a person

along my way

and I have no particular interest in this person

I don't know them, our direct paths do not interact

there is a force

that pulls on my neck

and on my eyes

to look away

sometimes I feel a little curious

what is this person like?

What are her legs shaped like?

what's behind his hat?

what's that color design on her shoes?
what's that dimple like, on his face?

yet a force compels me

to look away

to leave them be

like a rubber band stretched out in their direction

tugging at my face to look, to face somewhere else

to signal

"I notice you, and I have no further business with you"

and to avoid signaling

"I notice you, and I want you to notice me too"

a habit from fear of interacting

of picking up the other's attention

the dread of feeling the

"I see you looking at me. Why are you looking at me?"

inner dialogue in a flash of anxiety

from not knowing what this connection

might be like

and other fictions the mind may live

leaking cheese

the funny thing about funny

is no one gives a shit
about the unnecessary filth squandered
in those holes of unused that gape all through our being
swiss cheese of fluids
leaks everywhere, we know not how
to be our own plumber
and we wander around hoping to stumble
against some other leaky surface
and our leaks find a cap
somewhere among the other's leaks
by soothing happenstance
like bumbling teletubbies unaware
of our being's true design

leaking cheese
moldy fluids
crying infection and please take a look
and please spare a second or two
to open you and treat you
emotional peroxide
yes it stings
and yes it bleeds
and yes it cries
and yes it dies
just on the surface it needs a scar
please give me a scar
the pus drains me bit by bit
so long has it hidden
ragged, filthy, bleeding in the basement
where we deign not sink
oh no i'm past that
i'm over that
while the maggots continue
to eat my child alive from the inside
that still cries out from the basement
give me light
and hold me tender, i can be alright
just not tonight. tonight
i'm a rotting ghoul
and i can't not be that
if i stay here

her smile

what is it that it seeks so desperately
when I see the graceful smile
the smooth skin

the eyes drenched in meaning
drenched in secrets I feel a
primal urge to discover?

is it her softness
that malleability to touch?
my knowing that in her I have a sweet batter
to mold, shape and prepare
as my own cake to savor?

is it her smile, that powerful curve
that shakes my insides as a
storm does a young tree?

do I seek that fizzing tumult
that makes me want to push your buttons again
over and over
and feel your sweet smile tickle me
forever?

is it her warm embrace
the ardent battle our skins wage
when they meet each other like
long-lost best friends, yearning for eons to play?

is it my holding her close to me
her willingness to be held by me
like my child and I hers

to know and tell each other silently
"I'm happy next to you"
and need then nothing else?

is it the smell of her head
just above her temple
among those subtle spirals of fine hair
that sweet aroma that melts my will
and makes me want her as mine
the deep feeling of hidden fatherhood
the sweet longing to care?

or is it the wild intoxication

I dive headfirst into
when your aroused smell enters my nostrils
and I know your body cries out for mine
that willingness of your softness
to yield to my form
to my will, to my container, my desire
my longing to hold you and care you within
as the mother nurtures a child?

are these urges those that pull me
that steer me from my core and groin
is it all of these, or any

the might, perhaps, of their powers combined
combines into a larger, wholer shape
whose edges I merely begin to
understand?

this power can see me become a drooling slave
to her, it might seem, but no
a slave to my own pulls

wild winds that beat my sails haywire
sometimes a willing slave, even miserable
for perhaps the desire truly
is for that ecstatic exhilaration
I feel when tossed and turned
even broken by her winds.

sweet hair, bird's voice, warm heart
I long to feel them close
I note, with clear knowing
that what I long for is not the closeness

but the feeling.

stay my words

My body urges to have her close
and hold her form, feel her skin
it sends a request to my throat
"tell her, show her that I want us to be together. Let's meet".
My throat wants to
my hands almost comply

but something else says
you know it won't happen
you know it's not needed
and it does not do good

so I stay my words

force

I will not will myself artificially to do anything
if there is intentful growth to be done
potential to be fulfilled
steps to take
then FORCE THE FUCK OUT OF ME TO DO THEM
LEAVE ME NO BREATHING CORNER BUT TO SQUEEZE IN THE DIRECTION OF GROWTH
for I will not give a speck of my will
in a direction that I fake
that I do not feel
or in blind following

workshop - the biggest fear

A prompt:
- Write it down
- Think about what I would dive into.
- Give us 15 minutes to write. it'll be a quick thing. Will just write out whatever is in the heart.
- Then after 15 minutes, we'll get to request.

Only positive, constructive feedback.
Safe space.


The prompt is:

I want you to explore the biggest fear that you have in you life right now.
- what the fear is
- where the fear came from
- what would your life look like if you were able to release that fear, and step into your fullest potential. What would it look like? For me, for my family, for the world?

Always starts with the fear,
and always ends with the hope.

First poem:
(think about my fear while he reads the poem)
Father Time

a few more guidelines for poetry:
- almost no guidelines


2016

"explore", you say

face your fear, be free
a burning wall stands right there
a fire wall, impassable but through pain

I've had places to go before
oh yes, and I go to them
because I pushed "just a little bit more"

this burning wall, a fucking fake
illusion, there's nothing o the other side
I know
I say
to myself

what is the point of pain if I'm not pulled towards what's there?
why should I care, I know I'll die
anyway

the problem is not the wall
it's that I don't care
that it's there
for whether here or there
I still exist
and I've wished to stop living for decades

"so why not?" asks, my mind pragmatic.
a knife, some bleach, a tall tall cliff.
maim your body, block your lungs
a body is not hard to kill
so why?

the pleasures still seduce me
the undone pulls me back
and deeper, there's a knowing in me
i know there's more
for me in this world
or for this world in me
and that trust is deeper
but it's stupid, says mind.
a tantrum-ridden goblin.

An urge of change, and something jumps
inside, it hates, it threatens to scream
and kick and destroy and slash
so much to slash. Could I just kill everyone around me?
With claws like Wolverine, a laser disc to split bodies in half
quickly and efficiently
geometric technique.

Ah what the fuck
this workshop wants me to explore
what would it be like
if I did

I DON'T FUCKING KNOW
I don't KNOW what that wall is
I don't KNOW what I'm hiding from myself
except loud, never-ending tantrums
that I've had before and that lead nowhere

I have none to blame
for my sadnesses
and yet I blame all
My angry child wishes to kill
it visualizes it in detail
as I walk along the park
and see others.

Hope... what's the message of hope?
The message of hope is none.
I have no hope because I wish for death.
the sweet release of a heavy world
heavy with existence
let me
THE FUCK OUT

...
...
...
if I did not have the unknown fear
of the unknown thing
that melts my heart off with burning anger
...
what would it be like?
...
...
death
please


Find someone in your life to share it with.

open voice!

Wow.
WOW

Running and breathing and sweating
makes my body feel
OPEN.
OPEN.
OPEN TO TALK
TO SAY
TO VOICE
TO SING
TO YELL
OOOOOOOPEN, my throat is open.
Delicious.

virgin

the appeal of a new human connection
relates to how uncluttered the space is
there are fewer gathered assumptions
forgotten threads, hidden impasses
no scores to settle, no avoided fears

it's a newly frozen lake to skate on
a virgin field of fallen snow
a fresh patch of spring grass

expectation from memory is less
curiosity is more
and that appeals
to our child

unshaped and uncharacterized
we feel it has the potential
to be or fit any shape
that we can imagine
or that we expect

plea

A: what is this world?
H: it is the world of your creation. For you to live in. To change, to create.
A: I have no aim. I feel no drive to do anything. I don't care. What say you?
H: Patience, love. The time still comes.
A: I know, I've heard that often. But... again? I have waited. Can it be faster?
H: The world is as it is. You know that certainly.
A: My mind wants it to be faster. My mind wants an aim. Why not give it to me?
H: Patience (as it wrapped itself around me). Patience.
A: I don't want to. I don't want to do this anymore, can someone else do this for me? I'm tired, I don't care. Can someone else take over? I'll go to sleep, let me be set free, have someone else come into this body.
H: You know it's you. You wanted to come here.
A: (sobbing). I don't want to. Anymore. Please let me out.
H: Patience.
A: How do I bear my time here?
H: Soften your suffering with mantras.

eulogy

(Written on January 30th, 2020)

He lived wanting
to live more.

To put the pieces together. Not just to follow the causeway,
but to seek the jutting rocks, the empty trails, the forbidden woods and take steps into them.

"What's in them? Why are they empty? Why don't we fill them?"

Often afraid to leave his main causeway, though, so fatefully built with whims of chance, fueled with delayed bursts of intention and willpower, frustrated by slow and unyielding time.

So afraid of rejection was he, he barely offered, and his potential was lost. Onto the huge leaks of fear, doubt, and resentment that worsened with each unkempt year, each unkempt thought, emotion, frustrated impulse.

The potential he carried was lost. And his being suffered while he lived, because of this. He felt relieved, grateful to leave this life of pain, fears, loneliness, resentments, and indelible stories.

May he never return. May his concept disappear from all existence, his memories, and this eulogy.

The love he found, he felt, the help he offered, was most often helpful, relevant, and it helped others smile at times. Sometimes his quick shifts befuddled others' slower friendship rhythms, who felt betrayed by his quick winds.

He strived for truth. Without and within. At times old lies and patterns moved through him unconsciously and he lied, and sometimes consciously. It was his aim, though, to simply channel the true and helpful information in all directions.

And to play. Intensely. He found much fewer partners to do this with than he wanted, and he found less intensity in them than he desired. Sexually, taking chances, seeking newness, seeking joy... he found others did not trust him or his intention. And he felt deeply hurt much of his life about this point. He offered quickly, copiously, eagerly, often in desperation, and most often it was rejected or mistrusted by others. Not always, though. And when and where it was not, beauty and friendship bloomed.

He died at ISTA. At a shamanic ritual. He died willingly, and that's how we wanted to die.

Lack of partnership brought him loneliness, desperation, frustration, resentment. Towards the end he found a true connection, as clear as one could make a murky merging river of contrasting emotions, wounds, lifestyles, experiences. Yes, truth and clarity, and support. He felt grateful for this connection. And yet, he willingly died.

Seeking relief, Nothingness.

nurture

I thought I wanted to be with you

and to make you happy

and to watch movies with you

and go swimming together

and go dancing together

and go creating together

but what I really wanted was to take you

to have you

to fuck you

to feel you wanted me to be there

with you

to feel wanted

to feel needed

to feel desired

not to nurture you

but to nurture my own itch

to feel important

to feel useful

and you know what

I don't want that shit

I don't want that want

come if you want

don't if you want

be, and I'll be

and if our lives match

good

and if they don't

good

Break

my heart feels dry
and I don't know why
if I meet life with my truth

or is it only mind
that displays its true kind
and hides my rest for it to soothe?

I know it's been years
since those raging tears
have pierced through my eyes unwilled

then I took control
sought to rule them all
better to know than live unfulfilled

but the heart of a child
is too tender and wild
for my being to even conceive

must I break down in full
'fore I know my true soul
and perhaps once again wildly live?

yet no plan can I make
that I sure-know will break
these old walls that still cover my depth

maybe fall, ground to heart,
let my ribs split apart,
if love still doesn't come, maybe death

Cravings

Cravings are
the fuel of my day-to-day.

crave for fulfillment
crave for food
crave for excretion
crave for sex
crave for security
crave for affection
crave for water
crave for travel
crave for adventure
crave for laughter
crave for shouting
crave for attention
crave for music
crave for silence
crave for heat
crave for cold
crave for checking off that to-do list
crave for seeing those movies I've wanted to see
crave for proving my worth
crave for reshaping my body
crave for achievement
crave for admiration
crave for knowledge
crave for discovery
crave for understanding
crave for reaching it first
crave for knowing it deeper
crave for skills
crave for passion
crave for purpose
crave for money
crave for escape
crave for reunion
crave for seeing reality match my expectations
crave for innocence
crave for energy
crave for goals
crave for company
crave for comfort
crave for utility
crave for learning
crave for betterment
crave for indulgence

all these I have felt
all these I have fed
all these have returned
none remain appeased
as life, they do not end. they cycle
then recycle

steadily as the seasons and surely as the sun
fed cravings do not die. they cry, then I attend to them.
then they sleep. then they wake.
over and over and over again

when I know the fickleness of these cravings
my drive to feed them dwindles
shrugs its shoulders
and goes to sleep

the cravings themselves go quiet
and hush, distracted with the nothing around them
remain, unattended balls of fat.

and I feel my mind darken
and I feel my body stagnate
and I feel my passion walk off
and off in the distance, takes a nap.
I haven't heard from her in a while.

My witness rejects disgustedly
that the line of harmony lies in conscious balance
in patient and tender caring for the flowers
and weeds that my life garden grows
in constant, steady effort.
In actively harvesting strength,
willpower from the void.
It stands back, crosses its arms and looks snobbishly up to its side.
"What am I, a farmer?", it spouts.

Effortless passion or quick death, either I invite.
May I be led with ecstatic torrent
or stop the flow in full.
And now neither comes.
I float in a spoiled void
I feel entitled to either. now.
cursed to not be blessed with an immediate death.
primal life energy of youth noticeably weakened.
unwilling to grow it myself.

ISTA L2 - Jan 30th

A third of a coconut freddo - cappuccino, mistakingly un-decaf, and I'm lying on my bed for hours tonight, between two and three so far. A mind in tense extension. Deep breaths, including those with long hold times, have only seen me remain awake tonight.

My face feels sun-baked and I love it. I know the skin under my beard does not get the same sunlight - I'm thinking of having it all shaved off tomorrow. Hair too. I'd like to feel evenly-baked.

capu

        ccino

Ti

        cino

Ve

        cino

Mendo

        cino

Al Pa

        cino

The Cross

Conversations in the Cross:

• Light Masculine:
• What do I do?
• Keep clarity, certainty, even in times of doubt.
• Light Feminine:
• I just want to play with you!
• *compassionate smile* of course you can.
• Dark Masculine:
• Why do you attract me?
• You have almost none of me in you. It wants more of itself.
• Dark Feminine:
• Why don't you want me? Why won't you accept me?
• When you feel me in yourself, when you take what you want, you will recognize and know me.

ISTA L2 - Jan 28th

Morning, 10AM:

Changa's exercises today touched me inside. "The way of magic is to combine a physical action and a story". "Walk, walk, just walk. That is the action. And as you're walking, you're leaving your past behind. That is the story. Walk, walk walk..."

"Open up your arms wide. Now slowly, veery slowly, hug yourself, very slowly. Until you touch your own chest, and you hugh yourself. That is the action. Now feel how here, surrounded by so many new people, you feel safe. Feel how you can feel safe in any environment. In this space, with yourself, you can always come back to it. That is the magic.