Monthly Archives: April 2012

oeuvre 4 ~ (my)other

the work the work the work

finally climbing climbing

however fall and free

fanciful fine underneath

fallowing now can not

flow which between

underneath it spends en

capsulating for tune

wroth and blow beater

bar brushandbrush

under over over upon

sweeping past the hollyhocks

cast elate Queen source house

daisy tulip tip tap top

trim and heap swallow

cannot the cry sound clear

mixing colors meant to be(never

feeding fancy)full plates

remain(ing) stand

this was requested

request ahead before

after through and to

(an)other ǝɹʌnǝo

ɯıʍs oʇ ƃuıoƃ sɐʍ

only now to sing

Iota

thought presupposes thought

first last before after ahead behind

inner outer within without interior exterior

outer inner without within exterior interior

last first after before behind ahead

you are thinking are you

are you thinking you are

listen as a sound emerges

and then drops away

where is the start

where is the end

what precedes the imperceptible

where does anything go

as it ceases to be visible

this is the appetizer

hors d’oeuvre

for the work

ahead

time swallowed whole

time |tīm|
noun
1 the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole

living knowing

I see/foresee a medium in which some words are placed or written statically

while other words visibly rotate within their polarity

for/against

against/for

for/against

against/for

for/against

It would be a living knowing

medium

intelligent host

uplifting

the essence of

breath

in/out

out/in

in/out

such that seamless

singularity

smoothness

emanation

leaves

no

trace

and

speaks

nonetheless

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Words Behind WORDS

 

There  is   a  place   behind  the

words  that   emerges,     where

being           just is.        Perhaps

the        Void       but  even   that

W O R D                    is   only   a     

M A R K E R    appearing now

on this P A G E.  What is being

touched,  evoked         with  and

through the V E H I C L E of a

word? I find the   ‘best’    poetry

or expression  comes when  the

words    drop out   of  being  the

subject, avoid drawing attention

to               themselves,             are

e   m   p   t    y      pure     vessels

containing         expression   that

lives   and            breathes  in   or

from an    other realm.     Words-

and-telling       or       words-and-

saying live       somewhere        in

these    cells    in this awareness.

Fr ee Move ment

Bound less out side of time

Yes exist ence so clear ly bleeds

through all truth s

sim ultaneously if only

watching hap pens

happen stance ly marking s

open out the con straints

Gen uis in spirit

nev er separate d

not ever

fractal  f r a c t a l   f  r  a  c  t  a  l

what Brings it to get her

takes it a part

kin esthetics

This being Human

This being human   is rather strange

in the pause   the gap   where this thing

we call time

turns upside down inside out

into itself upon itself

and dissolves

 

When time is out of the picture

what remains   what remains

timelessness not as concept

not as something

to achieve

or arrive at

or even as replacement

 

What of the ways you track

yourself   what

do you measure according

to marks and hours and days

time and money interwoven

under   over

what carries what

 

How can you meet yourself

outside of time   what other

references no longer hold

when toys are left to rest

in the toy box

as the heart calls you full to

find your flowering   being   flowering

 

 

 

Emptying out, emptying in

Turning inside out inside out

like the cycle of clothes around

the column of the wash tub

like water cascading, interfolding

into a deep crevice of a stream bed

my cells, my being, my heart

circulate, become renewed, nourished

celebrating

holding nothing

needing nothing with everything

that is

as it is all that is

 

It is naked to not have anything that needs

building, reinforcing, protecting, controlling

 

Temporary disorientation

more abiding elation

returning to what is

what is     is what is

 

A new

anew

At the Portal

Best description I have here is that I’m at or aware of some kind of portal. I drew this portal today, which is what tells me it has some presence, some existence somewhere in my being, in the psyche that I resonate with energetically, something of that order.

At this opening, sometimes there is a force pulling me in, sometimes it is something pressing out or visceral pressure as if pushing against. It can change in a millisecond and that’s when it’s most felt, in that fluctuation. A whole other array of energies come into play in that second, as if there is an acute sensate awareness of what is both above and below simultaneously.

Yes, it’s as if the two distinct realities have gotten mixed and some alchemical reaction occurs in that instant. So much information floods through somatically. My brain triggers chemicals left and right, consciousness is in its feasting season, the Beloved has appeared and disappeared both, leaving a wave of breathlessness, insight, exhaustion, and longing all rolled into one.

What feels so appropriate in this drawing is that what is pointed to is the portal, not that which exists or is sensed or felt on either side of it, above or below or even through. It comes to me why some religions have approached the subject of depicting the image of the Beloved, of God and been unable to come up with anything but outright forbidding of such a practice. That which is felt here certainly feels sacred, pure beingness, that which remains unnamed.

And yet, the draw is so very real, the draw to see, to know, to behold, to understand, and to reemerge. For me, these actions are beautifully interwoven, such that one without the rest is essentially partial, not complete. The work of this place is work without working for or towards something. Things happen, but nothing can be done. Things come, the work is resting in What Is.

I had a dream on the evening of March 31st that throngs of people were moving toward me through a narrow passage and I was making my way in the opposite direction. If I were to continue on my way, I was literally having to walk on, climb over others or over their legs and shoulders, squeezing through with some kind of drive that seemed pure spirit. The intensity of this convergence has marked me in some way.

Where is the surrender? Surrender to the drive of spirit, to the nearly inhuman urge forward, to something that seems so single minded or certain that it can withstand such force? And may it be possible as I become one with it all, each element in its place is an aspect of this extraordinary confluence of energies as perceived by this consciousness.