Category Archives: vibrational musings

“Throw Me a Line”

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I will throw you a line

if you ask, beg, and plead

 

For that one you implore

is not only that which is

you/me/no other – us both!

 

So I am not helping you

out of lack or distinction or

tacit agreement that somehow

you are flawed or lost

 

But through earnestness

of that which we are both

 

And in that way, the very line

that I throw to you

upon finding your way

will simply dissolve in hand

 

As that hand is found to

no longer belong to any

other than Who You Are

What We Are seamlessly

 

You have thrown yourself

that very line that somehow

seemed unavoidably to come

from “The Other Not You”

 

And in that aggrandizing

how strange but true

you have increased your own

stead, but that very place

is none other than the All

 

Can you not see, but no worries

if the answer is “No” for the no

and the yes co-abide, the yes

seeming to throw its line to the no

and the no seeming to grab ahold

 

And in their meeting, both certainties

of self limitation dissolve in union

 

This Union that is no more deliberate

than exiting from the hall of mirrors

after having had our fun, our pleasure

casting shadows, shapes, and distortions

 

“Throw me a line,” you say,

and I will not refuse to play

in that sacred hall of mirrors

I say, “Throw me a line!”

•

•

~ thank you to the Gene Keys community online, friends near and far, visible and invisible
p.s. please click through to the above linked image “hall of mirrors”… did not want to publish a photo that I don’t have permission for, so it’s waiting there for you online on its home site 🙂

5 HAIKU poems

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Twilight bestows light

Amongst the branches touching

Caterpillar crawls

•

 

Winter dark ocean

Another realm submerged there

Breathing nothing drowns

 •

 

Sit-upon stone cold

Newness of life awake, dancing

The dog returns home

•

 

Light in the wood cast

Falling and also rising

I am that I am

•

 

Cherishing like earth

I soak in the springtime rains

Instantaneously

•

 

25, 26 May 2015

The Hourglass

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Something is so tired

The eyes want to close

The attention drawn inward

It is as if nothing belongs anywhere

 

Even tracing that which notices

feels like sand falling down

the neck of the hourglass

only this hourglass is timeless

 

So fall and fall again

I am fascinated that we ache to

collect ourselves in the falling

and make as if we are solid

 

What I call falling might be

indiscernible to others. But is

not that fear’s trace broadcasting

its signal creating that unknown?

 

Fear seems inherent in this falsely

time encapsulated existence

Yet we, ultimately timeless, can see

ourselves and somehow fall awake

 

A Letter as Separate Self Dissolves

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Things are just as they are

The many paper doll covers drop away

 

That which Plays does not leave, however

Only the kind of playing that was borne

 

Of striving, play acting, a wish to stand out

Somehow different, as if what we truly Are lacks.

 

No more pretending called for, although pretense

Arrives from time to time, leaving its calling card as

 

Residue, the way sour milk leaves its trace on the glass

The I can momentarily forget that it is Luminous, Empty,

 

That which Knows –and if it wears anything, it is stitched

Together entirely of Love and glows simply as Experiencing.

 

 

San Cristobal, NM

16 February 2015

 

You

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Hey, how have you been?
This question is not a question
as in question/answer,
but a contact point, an act
of connection.

It rests in the natural
space of emptiness.
Nothing pushed away
or made into other.

The pure elegance of this goes
unnoticed all too often,
especially by me, the me
thinking there is a you.

And then it appears to be too late
and this business of separateness
has already started – gotten
under way.

You is a tricky conjunction,
so mesmerizing and uncouth really,
like a hammer blow on the head,
not the head of a nail.

We act as if it were as essential
as the blood in our veins and arteries,
but do not take the time
to test it out for real.

These assumptions are
like an intoxicating drug or
vice and to what cause?
So subtle.

The empty You, the I-Thou,
is like the freshest of breezes,
a pause in the clause
of being human.

At Two O’Clock

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20140816-154800.jpg

The clouds moving, nearly
Imperceptibly closer than,
I move to the east side

The eaves shelter from
More than the rains
Good Samaritan design

Noon stands out acting
The Prima Dona except
In loneliness and reaches

Then to One and Two
For company inviting
Them early for tea

Some days no one wants
Near and turns away to
Find the most ready refuge

Awaiting their turn
Their moment in the sun
Patience is a virtue

Blessings come to those
And yet… the winds pick up
Darker under bellies seen

Two O’clock is inconsistent
It’s her way or her luck of the draw
Maybe both perhaps neither

Today she was thinking
About that tea invitation
Chameleon writ large

Seeking anonymity in
The heat of the afternoon
Hoping to get off the hook

For what others have
Come to expect of her
That “time of the day”

And yet it’s all so fleeting
Yesterday’s invitation
A glimmer, is not Today’s

El Rito – Kagyu Mila Guru Stupa campground

8-16-14 2:59pm

20140816-153924.jpg

Tenderness

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despite the pure fluidity of all things
things still seem stuck frozen at times

at times like these when reflections surface
distortions  refractions  images broken up

broken up into many pieces then shorn
as if cohesive and malleable workable

workings as if reliable and functioning
stable we take hold perhaps unawares

unaware of the tenderness of the situation
the pure fluidity of all things and more

 

 

10 May 2014

Massive Supersymmetry

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For thoughts on the writing of this poem, see below. Originally published on IMUNURI. 
decoding

natural as breathing

unseen sight

Higgs boson

unanswered question

(s)

a = morning

b = afternoon

c = evening

d = day

does a + b + c = d

(?)

apparent passage

of time

walks all over

everything

we think

($)

without time

the space

between

things would not

contain monies

(!)

as if those

spaces

did as we think

dark matter

anti matter

(*)

IT previously

not conceived of

not seen

electroweak field

strong interaction

(10−22)

of a second

disassembles

Standard Model*

shaking in its

spin-parity

(¡)

little

do we know

yet beautifully adapt

(we = cognizant)

as/within all forces

(<3)

c601461a96704d3aaa1f70a1c300196f

 

 

 

*the so-called Standard Model of Elementary Particles


This poem found its canvas and spark via an experimental poetry, group blog, IMUNURI,which I write on somewhat frequently. The prompt we were given for this cycle of writing was called Zephyr. I find the prompts can spark something for me, as in the case of this poem, that otherwise I may not have arrived at within a more familiar terrain.

I’ve had a lay person’s passion for quantum mechanics and quantum physics for as long as I can remember. Recently, I’ve been reading on the phenomena of entanglement or quantum entanglement in The God Effect by Brian Clegg (St Martin’s Press 2006). This phenomena is not a mind boggler for me, as it is something I experience again and again and seem to have a perception of rather naturally. Yet I am fascinated by its seeming elusiveness. Clegg describes the time when (some very famous) physicists could not conceive of matter exhibiting non-locality (or entanglement.) For some it was considered a joke or, at best, utterly outside of classic lines of thinking, thus impossible.

I’m inspired by the shape shifting aspects of certainty. What we once thought certain, no longer is from a different perspective. Can we let ourselves be open to new perspectives? It’s that ‘outside of the box’ possibility that inspired this poem. Playful, risky, celebratory ~ all characteristics of an experimental poetics. 

Under What If

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Oh, under it, under all the vestiges

of what if, what old boards and

dust and fragments, but these

 

That pepper the bed clothes with

less than perfect sleep, tossing

and turning under the weight of it

 

This reality, packed up in numerous

boxes ~ to-go for this, to-go for that

under packing it, as What Is is

 

So much more yet where does at-

tention, at tension, go ~ no resting.

Others instead bring beauty, grace.

 

But no, these old things beg to be

of Use. Or is it that ? Perhaps but

what if, what if, if what, if What Is

 

Were already of Use? Bizarre order.

This memory of tossing and turning

now folds into the voice of the light

 

Opening out over crystalline hoarfrost

warming and dazzling just as it is

this juxtaposition of dour and dulcet.

 

The rigid supposing, how does it serve?

As if what if were magic, elixir of

fortitude, grace, wonder, and not burden.

 

Leave it open, don’t pretend resolve.

Clustering what ifs wait in the cold

not sure of their fate. What if they knew?

I Have (Am) This Book (Life)

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The book within which my mind/fingers/perception now inter-tangles

Is a numinous window/doorway/matrix where abiding is

–

Beyond and through the inside/outside being question/answer

Nothing held back even in the current system version and nuts ‘n bolts

–

We are meeting everything we are ALL the time NO exception

Where are the reins, if there are any reins at all, once a bit ‘n bridle

–

This book unwritten and written both, abides with effortless grace

Just before its expression, as the tenterhooks of the unconditional

–

We praise those who can pull the physicality from the vision As if

Its existence were something of utterly impossible proportions

–

The way you cannot put your finger on the music itself only the score

But to inhabit or rest with that which is only you or self, vibratory-self

–

Do not go to that tempting sense of separate identity, so many filters

Must be engaged, energized -only to dumb down the very essence of You

–

What is pleasure but an awesome joining with What Is, no separation,

Which identity and falsehood claim as their territory, a cocks’ waddle

–

We take exceptional acceptance to preferences in which identity relies

Not even realizing we are doing so, we become the pecking order itself

–

I am this book, closed or open. I have this life. I am life here and now.

Many pages are there written, unwritten, erased and rewritten, evermore

–

Transparent to the phenomenal existence of the felt sense and beyond

Pages turn within pages, simultaneously flowing, multi-directional space

–

This book that carries space as the primary ingredient and we write with

The particles of our beingness, sometimes so tightly and so densely

–

Only to see in sharp contrast in those moments outside of time how we

Catch our breath on the densities, grasping and gasping in that weather

–

Worn way of guarding ourselves from What Is as if there were something

Better to have and hold even though having and holding are pure fiction

–

Just look at the nature of phenomena, what has ever stopped phenomena

In such a way that What Is is stored, saved, made impervious to that which

–

We Are. The background and foreground, look there, as they are so often

Reversed or better yet, made real in their opposites, then chosen and fitted

–

As yourself. Choosing, a kind of choosing we call living this life, takes us over

And the true choice is no choice: simply not setting yourself/other apart

–

All within these pages whether of paper of earth or pages of touch screen

Enter in and rest, as the you you know/don’t know is already resting within.

.

September 25 – 28. 2013