C’est La Unvie
A million monarchs lie dead, though,
No less sociological programming of
Upper-middle to rich classes with
Decadence, affluence, inclusion, is.
No less societal determination of
Middle to lower, being excluded by
Division and conquering, privation.
Yet, they, on wing no more, still fly
In our spirit’s eye, heal humanities’
Heart. While their silent cry echoes
The 33,000 species extinct each year,
A rate not seen since the last ice age
Ensued; does it move you?
Does your curiosity ask why?
Will you, on this 33rd Earth Day, allow
A tear for all life’s fallen? Consider
The losses economic apartheid incurs,
Mirrored by the divide human-centricity
Has levied? Our underlying duplicitous
Disregard for life, greed and oil fueled,
Won’t abate for our existence, will you?
( For the beautiful butterflies )
Walking through this valley grayed,
Whence mountains have been laid
Low, I follow not, nor lead,
Being unleveled, unknown.
Though, still I’m one, and the
Footprints I do not leave,
Trace none. Yet,
For every eagle feather glided this
Way, I stand. It may be our
Sister’s and brother’s last hand,
That’s if they be the family of
Man, and men be man.
It’s said, one who will raise the
Dead will come, and, as well, lead
All on. I raised but a few sights
Further, so I doubt that one will
Walk this way. Though, the Life
Is indivisible, there’s only you,
Here and now!
Life’s signs and meanings
Perceived by all our senses and
Being’s foci of attention, can
Divine from within and without.
That’s if our inner-eye
Isn’t clouded by false-ego,
Self-conscious self, or doubt.
Addressing, not addressing them
have costs, the former is individual,
the later is global, as well.
ends or means
Neither do I embrace.
Rather, the struggle well run,
Which uplifts us uncrowned,
Every moment humans race!
If you don’t exercise it,
Its Siamese twin sister, freedom,
Will wither, like a muscle, as well.
A Weaver Of Life
To a student of Christ’s and Ghandi’s.
One who had a dream that someday
We’d live in the promised land and
Took us by the hand.
Yet, we won’t get there
If you don’t break your chains,
Refusing to be a pawn in their games.
We can’t turn our back to those
Unchosen, on the outside or in,
Simply ’cause they can’t afford.
We can bring them with us, if we,
Resisting, everyday, their common
Delusions, not be a link in that chain.
The chains that keep our humanities
Growth arrested, our potentials
Unexplored; our thoughts,
Feelings, and deeds flawed.
If you don’t refuse
To be the chains that bind you,
We’ll never break the chain.
The chain that murders.
The chain of delusions.
The chain of death.
Talk the talk, walk the walk, and even
Be the be, but, if you don’t vote the vote,
You won’t ever be livin’ in a democracy!
"Love Is Not All"
They ask what they know. For, if I’m, but,
the shadow of a man, then, my life proceeds
me, no? As their psychic abomination
breathes my life, again they refrain, "she rides
on your back", I Beren be, on paths untold,
On Elbereth, of old. They mock, and harking
boast, as they’ve already drunk many a toast
to what is man’s, woman’s death, entombed,
in-crested by their seal, their ghastly host.
False-ego, the answer to their opening joke,
their precious just a parlance for,
what you grasp possesses you. "Though,
if there’s no possession, how could this be
true?" The body, phenomena too, of
elements and to elements goes. Like attracts
like, the earth beckons, as well, to her womb.
Yet, as Longfellow’s "Psalm of Life", retorts,
"dust thou art, to dust returnest, wasn’t
spoken of the soul." Nor, of spirit, the whole.
Grimace, they fear undermining life’s fabric,
the evolution, will be more arduous than
undoing a thread. I liken their mask to Eric
Fromm’s admonition, "people tend to escape
from freedom to familiar forms of authority."
What of the fullest reach of life, being
ourselves to be? There, they fade, "From
Whence…, To Wither", they go, shadow.
For, now Socrates entreats them with, "the
unexamined life’s not worth living". Defying
the tacit assumptions of their convolution,
like, winner, loser, predator, prey, sides,
the most fit instead of those that fit most
to reality. Why, you ask, do they substitute
slogans for being? ‘Cause, "the introspective
life takes more courage than soldiering." Still
ossifying, the corporate machine continues to
shape the world in its own adolescent,
patriarchal, oligarchic image, as it has God.
Here, hear, off in the distance, hearts tattoo,
Cornel West’s "Socratic, prophetic, brought
together blues." For, it’s old news that "we’ve
hardly any rights, and liberties left. Just
sounding brass, tinkling cymbals." Reigning
on humanities’ parade. You see, we’ve not
exercised our responsibility, so, its Siamese
sister, freedom, has withered as well. As
Emily Dickinson’s poem’s refrain refrains,
"Not In Vain", now, will we be this day,
what it is to be this day?
Waves spraying our faces, for, we don’t walk the walk.
The beaches edge, which ever changes, is where we,
Sky, earth, moon and sea meet.
Breezing through the strong breeze, the
Fuller our lungs the lighter we’d run,
It was to be, with ease.
As reality, she and I stalked ourselves
In those shells silences, like when
We leaped from a slip on a rock to the next, well.
Then sitting still, we glistened, the sun splashing
Through us, as the ocean’s and our salt were one.
Her thoughts and mine flowed,
Our feelings were its ebb and flow.
Nature, true, would not be unsung.
That blue gray cloudy day found us in the end.
Finding it by moons ray, our ears to waves did lend.
It was as our footprints,
Truly there, ’til waves did gently lift.
For, if it were that we held it,
Like sand grasped, it wouldn’t be a gift.
A Flute Echoes Us
A light within that has always been without
As well, grows, while life’s vultures ever circle,
Below. Why has it always been that human beings
Who be more so, have had to be exiles in
Their own lands? This time, more than any other
Before, beckons all life to be most vividly that.
As long as I can, walking the road in the world,
Which is the unwinding path within,
Will enlighten; as it does.
Listening to a song sung and un, without words and
Nature’s sing me, I’m naught, but, it’s echo and
The mountain which does not rise as that eagle’s
Talon leaves a rock perched in its eyre, I,
At the top. Singing, this voiceless rock that isn’t,
Resounds a universe’s song, which leaving as
A talon did, is felt sky bound, for, it ever plays on.
Now, a galactic wind weaves me through that
Stormless storm, on this unspeck of dust, to here.
Being filled with this songs silences,
I’m reminded of where our mundane life and
The unseen are one. Walking that balance we glean
That living is the grist of our individual mills, and
Discover that inner unfolding is unending.
As well, life is the grist of realities’ mill.
So, we’ve come to pass and learn, as well as teach,
Through life on that wheel, what it is to be,
From within and without.
Ergo, ourselves are the question we always ask,
And the answer we never find. For, when
You put your finger on it, it’s no longer there.
The Rainbow’s Gift
Blood, forever pouring
For all life, not
One drop spilt, and
Truth, never yellowing,
Though, ever changing,
Create orange, you see;
On the palette of to be!
In between words and lines,
Poetry’s music fathoms
The depths of our heart,
The heights of our intellect
Breadth of our spirit,
Well of our soul,
Alluding to the unknown;
Saliently. For, the muse
But whispers, silently;
Moving in mysterious ways.
Inexpressible and felt,
Unknowable and experienced;
Of echoing images and silences.
Even the shadow
Speaks of the light!
Shadow and Light
Growing, expression, experience,
Movement, uplifting of mind,
Then heart of dance, "To leap and
Contend", choreographed by self
Unfolding, is art incarnate;
Gestured. …As in language symbols
Letter poets words through
Their languid dance on leaf,
Thus evoked lifelines are
Freer and freed.
As well, a non-chiseled beauty
Expresses humanity in children’s…,
Only the non-sculpted can unsculpt.
Dances soul, our viscosity shadows
Its expressions breadth, realized
In depth through compassion,
Is being universally accessible
Only from inside one’s self .
Spirit, quintessential experience of
Fluidity in movements enlivening;
Muse, soma, piety, gaiety.
Earth and sky, we, as agua
Uncontainably articulated, dance!
As embryo brought to not know,
With ancient forests gone,
Obsolescence of rights,
Liberty’s torch scorched, bell cracked,
Knell snatched, how could she go on.
Yet, borne in arms drawn
From beyond man’s loss,
Though, bearing that cross,
We, midwived through the body of blue, go!
For, we hear the call resounding from earth,
As the sun illumines and springs burst,
Gaia’s silence implores, humanity
Be not my stillbirth!
Your living was a gift.
Your life taken shows us
All how we’re not being.
Taking our own lives,
In effect, by not doing
All we can.
You may be dead, yet,
Still, you give us insight,
That we’re not fully alive.
May your memory be
A constant reminder of
What we lose when
We fail to be;
That being everything.
"We will never stop
‘Til we get our freedom."
The song sings, while them that kill it,
Greed driven, avarice ridden, never
Filling their enlarging hole inside, for,
They can’t be, nor hide
Their poverty or deathly stride,
Murder to die. These murderers of life
For delusional profits and pleasures,
Why aren’t they tried?
Delusions are sweet,
Illusions sweeter. So, what do we do?
Their choosing is losing their potential
To grow, and personal power in the
Moment so, we show the growth, and
Walk towards the dream,
We’re realizing for both.
While life, here and now, is the point
Made with art, in our hearts,
Our beings are the heart of the point.
So, it is I stand and say,
The murder stops here.
Turning out back to the convolution,
We walk, evolution’s way.
"The Mouse That Clicked"
They say, "where’s your passion,
That’s why your dead."
It’s not delusional pleasures
Which brings the dew to eye,
Mind, to ask why, a bird to fly.
The life, what, is it?
…Is more to be then it is;
In potentia, evolving.
They say, "Caesar hasn’t
Gotten his due."
Reality, silently echoes,
Extinction’s on your way.
They say, "everything’s
La machine"; the
Bragging. I say,
"We", still being
The life, will!
A raindrop forms
In love’s eye.
Joy, sadness, let go.
Fire in the sky
And your art,
Entering my eye,
Going Sane, Or In?
The F.B.I. knew, but, didn’t tell. The military,
No response ’til 3/4 an hour after initial attack.
No air force jets scrambled, to shoot the
Commandeered ones down. Soon, the Central Lack
Of Intelligence Agency will dictate, it wasn’t known.
According to the Emperor, in his new threads, he
Will be "victorious in this Christian Crusade against
All terrorists and their supporters", to the 4 corners.
This while the British empire couldn’t take the I.R.A.,
Even on their best day. Yes, he really meant,
Non-Christian, non-whites, especially the ones who’ve
Been pounded for hundreds of years by war with the
Brits, Russians, et al; and eventually, all who disagree.
For, we can’t forget his edict to the world,
"Either you’re on our side, or you’re terrorists".
As if this weren’t criminal enough, they’re talking
About using nuclear weapons. So, we’ve W.W.III
Against one of the poorest countries, already in rubble,
Getting famine relief, who practice the fastest growing
Religion, Islam, to kill them and cut OPEC’s edge on
US oil; while making radioactive dust?
Then, a chorus of supposed feminists chime in,
"They’ve oppressed women and children for years.
War is good, as long as women are in leadership after."
Have we forgotten, destruction and murder are
Of no value, they just reinforce the effects of cyclical
Deprivation? There are no "sides", that is a delusion?
How could "we" be so lost, or let them lead us astray?
Is man deserted in the Middle East?
Does it bleed him as we bleed the earth,
The fouling of one sky always following?
How could the sons of Isaac and Ishmael,
So, not remember their way? Thinking
They’re choosing peacing and warring on
Each other for delusional profits, pleasures,
While sanguine sands mark their real loss
Of life, humanities’ loss of time.
Wasn’t it written, God is watching and
We are returning, as the home of heart
In a child beckons the man that becomes?
Isn’t it so, our souls call to us in silences?
Yet, the military machine rolls. What is,
Or could be, heard by any above this?
A woman martyr, 18, imploded by the lies
Taught to her from U.S. written, donated
Textbooks, explodes, taking hers and
Others lives from us. Same as the shining
Sun seems to divine famine.
Here, clouds relent, watering soil,
Cleansing spiritually, some mind’s eyes.
While the media’s constant chides of,
"You’re not the earth, reality isn’t your
Womb, rather, a tomb divined",
Though, only smoke and mirrors, divide.
Yet, the life, indivisible, defies, a flower
Blossoms, Michaelangelo’s… roll by,
An avian’s trill still rings true.
So, what of me and you.
Will we allow individual injustices to go
Unchallenged, devolving into global ones?
Our freedoms to wither, for, we didn’t
Exercise our responsibilities? Deaths
Dirge to purge our evolutionary calling?
Manifest destinies rag to drag us through
Their mud, determining the unactuation
Of life, our and large mammals extinction?
Or, will birdsong be sung
Of what we’ve done?
Let not the only tear to eye be their
Destined flood. Let our sojourns longing
Redefine the sublime in mornings
Awakening. Let life at humanities’ hearth
Grow, our being veracity and loving sow.
Exigency Or Humanity?
CIA, KGB, tell us, routine illegal acts of premeditated
Mass-murder guarantee the people’s liberty; a higher
Morality. The life knows criminal insanity guards not
Humanity, or anything else. Rather, it devolves it to
Non-existence. For, morality isn’t its contradiction.
Being humane, alive, isn’t an exercise in theoretical
Philosophy, where tautologically, anything can "be".
Because the inmates have been running the asylum
For too long, "we" can’t afford to be mesmerized by
Their mechanistic play; they fabricate as life.
No matter how much their smoke and mirrors,
Song and dance, forcibly fill our populaces eyes,
We can still teach destruction and murder are of no
Real value; and the delusion of sides doesn’t exist!
Though, they insist, "those disagreeing are terrorists,
If you’re not premeditatedly mass-murdering them,
You are them and should be murdered". What will
Come of their exigency that society meet the needs
Of their extreme religions: supposed science, greed,
Militarism, organized religions, and materialism?
What will be the price society paid in advance, for,
Not effectively separating them all from the state?
As Reich relates, supported by Adler, that descent on
Jacob’s ladder is to fascism, individually, communally
Imposed hell; easy to sell to the devolved.
Is it any wonder, this perdition will be realized by
The make believe "Christian" crusade, following in
The Roman Catholic Empire’s missteps? How could
We separate it from the state, when we failed to do so
With supposed science, materialism, militarism, etc.?
Where will the emperor in his new threads lead us?
When he states, "terrorists must be smoked out,
Made to run, and killed", he reminds me of Bacon,
Who dictated that, "nature must be hounded into
Wandering, bound into service, made a slave".
As his forbearer, and a make believe Christian too,
He equates humans to animals, denigrating himself
With fascism; while dangerously projecting it to all.
Yes, the Twin Towers, temples of doom, were felled.
Yet, multiplying our past mistaken cycles of war, will
Only reap future destruction, not prevent it.
For decades now, the Non-American, non-Christian,
Non-white world has suffered the unnatural disasters,
Caused by the technological worlds permanently
Altering weather cycles. Their blood also oiling
The US war machine. Millions of tragic deaths
To advance "America’s way of life", et al; also, a rate
Of species extinction not seen since before the last
Ice age ensued, and eco-systems destruction realizing
Our future extinction, now. When it’ll be, unknown.
Those same imperatives of extremist greed, etc.,
Dictate we use non-renewable energy sources,
Determining humanities fall on the horizon. All
While our countries crisis of perception is projected
As superfluous and supercilious, and the forces
Dividing us from within are given carte blanche.
How could we forget Blake’s admonition, "you’ve
Got to keep from the single vision of Newton’s
Sleep", detailing our need to think independently.
For, survival can’t replace evolution’s nexus, alival.
Or, Thoreau’s, that "the only necessity for evil to
Rule a land, is for good men to remain silent".
How could the extremist unending war against
Terrorisms exigency be anything more than the
Efficient and automatic societal transference from
Nihilistic-narcissism to fascisms raison d’etre,
To not be humane. Have we allowed the exigency of
The Cartesian based definition of time to determine us
To be automatons? Why allow Isaac’s and Ishmael’s
Peacing and warring on each other to determine the
Necessity of the extremism of war; and the muting of
Shakespeare’s "relations make music of the spheres"?
Can’t we, as Illich relates, "de-school society",
Before avarice determines it’s too late?
Do we just fall behind in trying times, or allow
Potentia space to realize growth by struggling,
Relating, thinking, emoting, more, not less? Will
Humanity evoke, or exigency revoke all rights,
In reality? Though Liberty’s torch is scorched,
Bell cracked, knell snatched, will we rise to
Fraternity’s call? As Blake relates, "if the doors
Of perception were cleansed, everything would
Appear as it is, infinite", in all its possibilities.
A Sign Of The Time
The emperor says, you’re either with WWIII, or again’
Us, proving, "from the mouth of babes comes wisdom.";
Just not theirs. Soothes say, here’s where it all has to
Happen, seems so; for, if not us, who, here, where,
Now, when, or possibly never? Following la machine’s
Fearless lead, Tim Robbins chimes out, "Let us war on
Violence". With enemies like these, the republican’s
Convolution’s direction of devolution doesn’t need
Friends, sure why not be a waron, instead of a moron;
The resemblance, striking, literally. Yet, like PBS,
It’s the best we have, and unlike hbo, it’s not b.o. A
Chorus, unchiming, that having’s an illusion, drowned
Out by their show, is still. ‘Cause, isn’t the delusion
Built on it, possession, it 9/10 ths of the law, a corner-
Stone of that most vacuum up economic tool of mollock,
War? They hark, what about take away game theory.
This, while the U.S. sucks up 80% of earth’s riches,
Being only 5% of its population, causing permanently
Altered weather cycles, determining unnatural disasters
That kill millions, and will billions. C’est la unvie,
They must die so the autocracy ever-concentrates at the
Top, unnatural selection, user, used, predator, prey,
They say. Yet, using is illusion, evolutionary agree-
Ment, reality. Though, the suck: lack of investment in
Innercities, unschools programming memory skills, the
Prison industrial complexes defacto-slavery, the injust-
Ice systems premeditated massmurdering death penalty,
Make believe Christianities antilife unchoices, splitting
Of atom, earth-murder causing extinction, could be the
Start of an eventual blackhole; after they trash Gaia
And flee the collapsing solar system, a losing race to
Escape their ignoring, if responsibility isn’t exor-
Cised, its Siamese sister, freedom, will wither, as well.
Now, the Oracle of Tevi illumines, Bishop Desmond
Tutu’s "co-creation" is beautiful. But, won’t the last
Guy be watching the best show the corporates could
Produce before he dies and humanity is nevermore;
‘Cause it chose it wasn’t by ignoring destruction is of
No value, murder is suicide stretched over ones future?
The way open,
Beyond time and bone of space,
In front of nose, original face.
As my breath is the one, prana,
And the life’s pulse, pala,
Reaching angelic source, sura,
So is this mind, manas, a
The eye that would it see;
Unbeckoning unto thee.
As well, this Bodhi, a temple,
Of the four and fifth, nur,
So entered by atma, a ray of thy sun,
Thus being winged, and
As such with wind;
Flying only in dharma’s dance,
Is returning to, Brahma, you.
For, there yet, by thy grace, go I.
Timeless, sublime, tonal,
Melodious sojourn into life, self.
River banks, as petal and thorn
Roll, filled by agua’s flow;
Entwining on her bed,
Know, love is. Mauna,
Silence, echoes its song;
Which no words could trace.
Thus ananda, bliss, intimates
The eternal, and details
Living shantih, peace.
One lived as prayer,
Their light adding
To the well of light,
Their every step in grace,
They left no footprints;
That will echo always.
Feeling with your spirits hands,
See with the eye of your heart,
Hear with the ear of your soul,
And know with the body
Of life’s knowledge,
We can be prayer;
Being forever answered.
While feeling sacred on
This All Hallow’s Day,
I also feel pangs of the
Hungry, so wrought by
The profane; for the food
Wasted by us could feed
All the world’s. Yet,
Betwixt, in the mundane
It’s only hurled.
Sword that cuts all ways,
Without, for, there’s no cutting;
And a pointless point.
You, a joyous lake.
Me, the mountain, underground,
Which, you fill, that holds you always.
Within and without us,
Is this love.
Like the wind moves,
Not love, nor hate,
Only everything and nothing
At all; at once.
The depth of one’s sorrow
Is the well’s fathom,
Of meanings and moments
Shared with them.
Were it a cause that
Opened those tiny arms,
Alighting brilliance, a smile,
As I hugged him back, then,
It could not be known.
For, this child towards
The divine leads goes.
Would it be that we say,
It is not the life;
Rather, we know?
As acid rain from your closed eye,
An acre of rainforest falls each
Second, and the earths tears bleed;
For, all you see is grey.
Denatured, this first,
Still, inside life’s waters rise
To Spring’s tides. We feel,
Below emotions ebbs and flows,
"…Go On"’s vernal
Raison d’etre, to not know!
Will of life’s wind howls
There is no fear.
Being all the way live, ’til.
Tree’s leaves found,
Though, they empty be,
May utter profound, and
In which doings and not doings
Are done or aren’t,
Brings life and light to them,
Or it doesn’t.
Those more attached to
Living or dying,
Are more closely death.
Another Mournful Day
Tuesday, 28th of May, 2002, they say
the last girder to survive 9-11-01, at the
base of the World Trade Center, was
being removed. Solemn ceremony in
honor of the many deceased, as well as
relief workers, and volunteers took place.
The faces of the fallen were present and
they were remembered. The New York
City worker’s silence, as that steels,
echoing America’s doubts, unanswered
questions, born of grief, hardship and loss,
reflect what’s still missing in our nation’s
psyche, answers, as to why.
Not just those directed to God, reality,
derived from existential angst, also, those
"we", as a people, silently ask our souls.
Did they not prevent them purposely?
Stanzas of Longfellow’s "Psalm of Life":
"In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, – act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!"
While still girded by cries for justice,
will "we", at least, stand on the land
of our birth and demand truth from
power, seizing the hour of our countries
need? Or, stand aside and watch as
humanities’ slide into the abyss of history
follows those 3000 lives lost, and the
Twin Towers. Will this ever again be, the
land of the free, home of the brave? Or
will Liberties’ torch be scorched forever?
They say, a
Rose by any other…,
Would still be…
Truly, yet, a
By a word, rose,
Fills the eye of mind,
Life, taller in the
Saddle, richer in
Its roots, salutes.
Her quill beckoning,
We, blossoming, hear, feel, be
Worship, bliss, love of…
Sword that cuts all ways,
Without, for, there’s no cutting;
And a pointless point.
One’s Mental Cell
Built of walls of delusions,
Made with bricks of illusions,
Is one’s hell.
Splitting of atom,
Cloning of adam, hubris;
Leads to extinction.
Hustled and bustled,
Still, hands only put to heart,
Beings, only art.
A sea of souls, one echoing all.
Clouds exclaim on the run,
Who is rolling by.
Watered thus and sunflowered,
Bringing forth abundance,
Earth’s richness furthers.
When every moment is
Struggling with every
Fiber to inspire, expire
Breath, feeling is a
Unrealizable, they say.
Yet, to feel builds emotions,
Power innate; the thread
Interweaving the fabric of life.
Though, proscience projects
Thought is power, sensing,
Just informing, to be processed
By our computer, brain, for
Yet, conscience intuits that
Thoughts are emoting, voiced.
…That fear is naught, but,
Shadows of past’s unintegrated
Experiences, cast over our
Presence and future. While both,
Integral to realizing insight,
Growth, balance and movement,
Are necessary to humanity.
"La Machine", uses them to rote
Us into unbeing an efficacious part
And parcel of it, an automaton.
More, better mechanistic survival,
The reason for human being;
In societies’ eye. Who dares to
Disagree, all in for a penny, in
For a pound; mostly, decay bound.
Sides, delusions, clouding their eyes.
Though, feelings hibernating
Emerge with strength, through
Discipline, which Castaneda relates
As, "the art of feeling awe", they
Can be concentrated. Focusing,
Realizing reality on wing,
Imbued co-creation in flight.
As well, what of our soma’s foci of
Attention, solutioning all life,
Through myriad interrelations?
What of the breadth of our
Perceptions, the depth of every-
Ones earthen interconnections?
…Of the intimacy, hearts fathoms,
Touch’s immediacy, aural artistry?
Mammon says, "what of it", being
Doesn’t make money, take control,
Projections do. "We" say, they’re
Le raison d’etre, potentia evolving,
Humane being; alival. I would be
Just for a day, as a mayfly, if I were
More me, rather, than as long as
An eagle flies, selling out, killing.
Their innerselves, stretched canvasses
On that frameless frame, the world.
They being painted by life itself,
With reality as the brush.
The painting ever evolving,
The frame continually changing,
Their beingness as gleaned meanings
For all to share; seen through,
If they were there.
Addressing, not addressing them
Have costs, former is individual,
The latter is global, as well.
An artist isn’t one who creates art,
For, all living beings do.
Palate, as you’d have it, sparce or
Abundantly, an expression of self.
The mystery of the suns grace,
Perceived by us within our eye as
An ethereal rainbow in kaleidoscope,
Always unfolding, is dabbed from and
Given to form; with reality,
The brush, holding us.
Betwixt those two we, being life, art,
Fill, and are fuller, still.
Not grasp or let go, it’s all we know,
Feeling’s reeling in living art.
"Take Me There"
Not separated from the state, mammon directs mollock to ride ripshod over life,
Replacing business with warocide, humaneness with premeditated murder.
Packaged and marketed in everything and one, it’s the extinction incarnate,
Alival undone. While the gov’t’s depts. of not knowing determine no one will,
Millenias of folk wisdom sociologically muted, will soon be genetically engineered out.
How, through la machines scientisms use of emotional de-constructivism, numbing all.
To undermine the evolution, all real feeling, relation, striving, fidelity, fraternity and love.
Arthur Miller knew, "when guns go boom arts die". What do Goya’s 82, on war, do for
You? This while, "art is a lie that tells the truth", according to Picasso. Yet, scientism,
This secular societies religion of choice, is so popular that neither its lies, nor its
Unmentioned truth, are allowed to be known; "we", must just swallow it whole.
Though, while its an accepted medium of defraction, realities light refracted through it,
Still details what’s so, without. The cost of our co-dependence on, denial of it?
They used to say, "war’s good business, invest your son", now, the price is your species.
What won’t societies whorism, vampirism, economic cannibalism destroy, only
The life, for, it’s indivisible. Viva la evolution! How about the institutions
That are meant to protect? "Naught, but, rags on the back of our country", Mark Twain.
What can we do? Know all gov’t scientists are political ones first. question supposed
Professionalism and one of its roots, Cartesian defined time; devolution in a package.
That gov’t panacea for dehumanization is old. Do you remember Rousseau said,
"Where are the citizens, I only see businessmen". Question unnatural selection.
Know, as Howard Zinn, "media, artists are determining people get in line around the
Perimeter of gov’t power, yet, it’s their job to transcend that". Remember I.F. Stone’s
Two words, "gov’ts lie". Think out of the ass. As artists, how else can we address the
Elements of war, by the struggling with supposed paradoxes as actuating artistic process,
Individuation, through creation of art. The artist transcends mundane and worldly
Society, by envisioning perspectives, subjects, mediums, styles, outside their framework,
Allows a looking glass in which the world, individual, and reality are reflected.
The devolutionary mantra, "you’ve got to be professional", is the most repetitive of their
Codes. That’s all it takes for people to justify, self censor, limit, not question, allowing all
Other, their piece of the rock too; everyone in for a penny, in for a pound, decay bound.
Yet, it’s necessary for artists to inspire paradigms in which others can struggle with
Societies mechanistic mold of professional; worn like a mask, whatever, is done behind it.
Thereby, facilitating feeling, views, discernments and questioning of exigencies, et al.
Keep in mind Mark Twain’s, "patriotism is loyalty to country, not its institutions",
Emma Goldman’s, "… is love of country, not gov’t", and Arthur Miller’s, "… is
Indifferently bestowing custody of their country to state depts.". Dumbing down most.
One of wars elements is one of the corporation’s convolution’s roots, greed. It has always
Fueled their use of the gov’t as a bat against the middle class and lower, indigenous, etc.
Whereas, "we", struggling to be, wouldn’t even bat an eye in the direction of destruction.
As ever, souls simmering in humanities hearth, spirits arising, can mean enough for all.
The war machines oiling itself with non, white, Christian, U.S. blood escalates, Proving absolute power corrupts absolutely and what Joseph Heller said, "war corrupts all
Who engage in it". Leonard Peltier reminds us that "the innocent pay the highest price for
Injustice", and "the corrupt hate them". What else can we all do, not be a link in the chain
Of murder, actuate potential, own responsibilities, including civic, and teach anyone.
If you don’t exercise responsibility, its siamese twinsister, freedom, will wither, as well.
Berrigan wrote, "cause is the heart’s beat, the children born, the risen bread".
Peltier, "we’re all related, all one". As Bob Marley sung, "could you be…, then be…".
Being unburdening; a
Path less travailed.
Search And Rescue
Terrorism, thwarting passenger jets into missiles
Of war, while horrifying, testing sinew, trying
Soul, is a wake up call for all life.
Yet, not the destruction of thousands of lives
Taken, for, they’ll live on in our hearts and minds.
Not, the destruction of the Twin Towers and
Pentagon, for, they’ll be rebuilt, not, questioning
Of our humanity and freedom; rather, a challenge
To them that Americans will rise to meet.
As the sun will rise again!
"We", volunteers in cities, rising to each others
Sides, finding the fallen, hand to hand; some alive!
Rescuers, eyes haunted by devastation’s effects,
Reply, " it’s like apocalypse now". Words,
Embedded in their countrymen’s spirits,
With the silent question, why.
No words to relate the concussive effects on the
Psyches of the living, who could’ve died.
Though, between their lines of, "luck, chance",
Uttered solemnly, shock’s echoing silence now
Hears shouts of, "acts of war". Where will the
Imploring, or could they, lead?
This calculated mass destruction, its goals,
Loss of life, liberty, humanity, reason,
Its aim, implosion of societal symbols of power,
They think they realized, may be lightning in the
Worlds eyes, yet, soon will follow the thunder!
For, destruction and murder are delusion,
Then, will we find the strength to remember,
The void realized by their delusional profits and
Pleasures, doesn’t have to be filled by over
Reaction? Which would mirror their acts and
Reinforce cycles of war; a result their twisted
Wills wished for. Can we not be dehumanized,
As desired, adding fuel to their hysteria’s fire?
Searching for our essence, can we rescue our
Innocence; eventually, waging peace to dispel
The cloud of sides? It filling eyes, lungs,
Thoughts and emotions, as those white flumes
Of ash, smoke, and fire; still rising.
Will we value life, again, as humanity?
Find the hand extended, that isn’t yet, and
Lend ours to it?
A passenger’s subdued, determined, cell call,
"We know, goodbye, we’ll try and do what we
Have to." They brought the jet down in the
Woods, short of the populated, intended target;
Saving untold lives.
Will we do what we have to, now?
When they tell you to, …
When it is, they want you to say, …
When anything catches your eye, …
When you’ve a feeling and don’t know why, …
When the words … fit, …
When living and dying are one, …
… seeing doesn’t relay, …
… being hasn’t meaning, it does, …
… what’s filling your eye, isn’t, …
… you feel nothing, feel it, …
… worrying gets in the way, …
…, not breathing or thinking, ….
"…Of…, By…, For…?"
Pondering the nature of
Some peoples character
Has led me to conclude,
Their despicable actions,
Though masked by
Purported concern, therapeutic
Intervention, are what’s so.
Stories about the one legged
Baseball player, or
The man without a face,
In and of themselves,
Are poor masks for
The premeditated malpractice
That takes place within these walls.
A woman raped in the very
Corridor she must walk
Up and down; day in day out!
A man-child grew up here
Stories to tell, they, supposedly,
Allow to curse, intimidate and
Dominate others. Giving him
All the rope he wants, then
Snapping the noose;
Strapping down, drugging,
Seclusion. Without boundaries
What client wouldn’t become
Out of hand; where’s the care?
Their fabrications told over and
Over, manufacturing psych.
Histories, means to ends,
Political, social, religious to
Discriminate for delusional profits
And pleasures; remove competition.
Their best, counter-transference,
The opposite of mental health!
A heart can be killed, yet,
Heart never murdered!
Did they ever know the
First tenet of all helping
Professions, "do no harm"?
Talk the talk, walk the walk, and even
Be the be, but, if you don’t vote the vote,
You won’t ever be livin’ in a democracy!
Looking ended and eyes
Opening, saw it for what
It was, societies’ idea of
A cured heart. I,
Awakened, seeing art.
The Abundance of
You share yourself
With us, evoking
Words so true.
It does our hearts good
To be with you, being you!
i remember fourteen some
Essene, essence of a way
Lived, there, in his day.
Spirit enlightened soul speak
Through silences; mind reach.
Of love, walking a path
Heart blazened, compassion seasoned
Studying teaches, inbetween reasons
Does sun shine, wind fly,
Water float, earth rise,
Fire spark the self
Before your birth?
Do you glimpse, within mirth,
Finding loss, holding the cost,
Seeing so, and, still,
Knowing you don’t know?
What if baby jesus was murdered
By the premeditated program
Of the day, would it be night?
We, must uncover it today,
Or, there’ll be no light!
Between lines, betwixt words,
Under the voweling,
Below the consonance,
Before "In the beginning there
Was…", un or heard,
Leaves of a tree gathered,
Blotched with His blood,
Bound by God; found
Lost, found, again
In the living human!
Worthily wrapped, a
Rain-bow unbroken, a gift
To the beholden.
Macroscopia allows a view,
Verdant brilliance, a star’s birth.
Yet, our microscopicness ignores,
The atom should not be split.
400 years of supposed "science"
Has stolen the earth’s richness,
Michaelangelos from the sky;
Is killing life as fast as
Before last ice age ensued.
Biophilia or necrophilia, choose!
Vie’s evolving song is as silent as
A stone’s ballad for being’s loss.
Yet, manifest destiny rag drags on,
Turtle Island’s shell won’t cover,
Approaching abyss on the horizon.
Vitae’s wail echoes crimson,
As acid rain from your closed
Eye falls, and earth’s tears
Bleed; for, all you see is grey.
One hundred thousand miles
Of red rivers flow,
In nature’s rythm, we follow.
That tattoo of the heart
Brings us throughout
Our inner ways, felt full.
The unbeat, rhyme,
Eternal pulse of life,
Leads us from without,
Perceived by our mind’s eye,
On our paths of heart;
From within. For,
We are the blood of life, so
Soul, freely bringing
Abundance, spirit seed
Sown, heart fruit borne!
As machinations of
Miraging, veil and mirror
False-ego, as self,
We evince to be!
To The Setting
Still, unknown to all,
I’ll let the feet fall forward;
Well meet by earth, first!
Eternally danced, I,
A whirl unending
Still, they say, "We’ve all come to
look for America", maybe, in that day.
Stark, "we", see a child, Iraqi, mangled,
blood escaping her, to sand; by our hand.
Insides, out, life, soul, returning to….
A war on the insides, yours, mine, hers,
they no good where they are, pulsing life,
surging breath, uplifting spirit; not serving death.
When will we be as ancestors, needing to say,
"…to end all war"; what consumer of defacement
lurks in your soma, to rise before? The remocrats,
dempublicans, corporate agents one, all, don’t
mind sleekly packaged, sci-fi winged, efficacious,
low body count war; just the next stepping stones
for ever increasingly centralized and cyclical
supposed garnering of delusional profits and
pleasures; realizing exponentially more real
deficits, deaths of eco-systems, species, babies
whose birthrights were ripped from them before
they were a twinkle in…. La machine’s lust,
unquenchingly oiled by non-American, non-white,
non-Christian blood, bringer of flood, enthroned
mollock, war, as none will…, or have before.
Mesopotamia, birthed civilization, a depleted
uranium dirge forever unsounding, devouring
unseen flame, the life interred in sullen eyes,
seeing, not again, know, darkness looms every…;
the half-life being longer than theirs. A heart will
have no solace, until defilement of civilization
no longer bays.
Some musings, as well 🙂 Not all those deluded by sides are squares; Grace can’t be sought, it seeks you, if you…; Winning is losing without the benefits. There is also no how you’re playing the gaming. If you’re playing the gaming, the gaming is playing you; If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything; If you don’t "turn on" politics, politics will turn on you (Nader); Music is life’s song accompanying the abundance of joy’s Spring. Viva la evolution, viva green party! Write on! "Painting is poetry which is seen and not heard, and poetry is a painting which is heard but not seen." ~ Leonardo da Vinci What do you think? As always, feel free to copy and share, as well. Enjoy a vernal eve’ as you can. I look forward to hearing from you. Ciao, for now.
james m nordlund reality (aja) 🙂
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