poetry from another dimension

Archive for December, 2010

a little light

arcs of light
thru
panes of glass
dust moats floating
in beams

//**have you stopped seeing miracles?**//
the friend asked

[no, of course not]
i responded

sipping cappuccino
appreciating the brilliance
emitted from the friend’s mind
and through the panes of glass
speckled with colors and lines

[the basil flowers
in december
every time we
chant the names of god….
…among other things

we live inside
an avalanche of miracles

however,
of late it has become apparent—

the residue of
miracles touted
ad nauseam
through these lips
for years
built
in this mind
the delusion
that
those miracles
occurred
just for me,
as if their existence
depended on my worth
and established it
value established
beyond
those who
could not see

and now…and now…
it is clear
these proprietary miracles
witnessed and claimed
occurred
not for me
but in spite
of me

dense though I may be,
the miracles happened
anyway

undeserved, not consciously revealed
or personally delivered

as a matter of fact
my existence is not relevant
to theirs
at all
they go on endlessly
without this unsung poet
shining brilliantly for outlaws
and luminaries alike
and so,
i turn my attention now
to my own foibles
that I might do some justice
to a world
where miracles are as prevalent as stars
in the sky

or dust motes shimmering
in the sunbeam
illuminating
the air that we breathe
sipping our cappucinos

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free thinking

how did i get this job?
i’m not holy
i never was holy
well yes we are all holy
but not holier than thou

i wonder
as images break down
and deeper authenticities
are revealed
who can tell really
what is happening

the image of the holy
is just that

an image

our attachment to
what
it
looks
like
causes the fun of life to go
missing

an image on the back of a milk container
“have you seen joy?”
or a sheet posted on a telephone poll
“lost: the integrity of wanton abandon”
or (may this never come true for you…)
the picture of ourselves
that we want others to see
its okay to have fun, you will still be holy

your first poop was holy to your mother

the holy image
is
just
a
container
my friends
for you to project your own
holiness
upon


GO LEFT!

GO LEFT GO LEFT
(a decade goes by, the instruction still specific)

I KNOW
you don’t know
where this leads

your blazing heart will lead the way
i promise you

the babe in the SUV behind you
drives so close to the edge
you cannot stop to enjoy
ducks resting
on a frozen pond
cell phone to ear
an important agenda, unfolds in her automobile

or her imagination, who knows

do you?
you think you’ve changed
but it’s the same old story
wearing a different
outfit

you think you are a warrior of the heart
but inside
the game remains the same

shed that armour
forge new aliiances
take the uncharted
fork in the road
that blazing heart will lead you
and love
will light
your way


jagatambe

resting in space

this singular

reality

this snake

gliding forward

slipping the confines of old skin

and old lives

shedding masks

disguises abandoned

you were…..

i was…..

and now…..

 

nothing

 

resting in space

room to breathe

beyond one way of being

it’s all new

ever unfolding

breath

pause

breath

 

the hug of the cosmos

that great spinning milky

way

arms swirling

around naked freshly exposed skin

the whisper

“i love you”

radiates through the ethers

I pretend

not to hear

 

echos of truth

love pulsating

endlessly though the veins of all beings

 

is this living

or dreaming

this quickening pulse

 

it must

it must

be living

it is moving

it must be conscious

the intentionality is clear

if not the intention

itself

 

can i work with this?

 

I must

I must

i am living

i am moving

i am conscious

my intention becomes clearer

as

I

rest in space

 

this infinite reality

requires a greater vocabulary than

i have at my command

expanding in all directions

 

my friends, she is no more and

no less than the cosmos

itself

 

 


my sharpie

there is nothing i can do

to make sure you love this

no matter how straight the lines

or true the shades

i’ve tried to win love that way before

it’s vastly expensive

and the result is uncertain

Jimmy Hendrix played his guitar

upside down, after all

why not use the sharpie

and this piece of tin foil

and if you love this work of art that is me

then great

and if not

at least they (or maybe me) got their day

out of the drawer


great art

does great art require

a broken heart

 

maybe

 

the soul

shines through

(or so it seems)

when we are broken

open

there can be

{{*no*}}

{{*contrived*}}

{{*answers*}}

 

in the house of love

 

let me be spontaneous


or sink

into the neverland

of those

whose hearts

are

free