34

All the little ways of justifying we've come to commit to memory as necessary purpose, the ways things move here and now and perhaps have always, there was a time before when these patterns were being created, why did that age stop. The age of absolute creation. I am warmed by the remembrance of a cave, within it the flame darting with loving lustful eyes in the dark the two were loving were playing and held and wrought by a fit of momentary expression was the flame struck up by man now held, now witness to the loving in the dark And there I am we all are walking ever deeper, wearing nothing, bare, we walk deeper the temperature colder and colder though we in the amorous warmth within and held go deeper so joyful, the love making only growing with this depth, deeper and deeper more and more joyful that primal joy that ancient joy. Iwe now make sound with our throat and move it about, in other words without words we create direction, with the compass of our throats we invent direction, we make a song, and nothing is crude now, there is no such thing, this is a timeless moment and that is why it is so important, remember? There was no such thing as permission, it all was, that we were a glorious something where there wasn't nothing, was so thrilling and reason enough, for there was no reason, now deeper , the song we sing growing stronger influenced by something greater and ourselves, then suddenly it is cast, this song, and though we stop our sound it continues, and we remember that the cave did open up in this moment, and only could we tell by our sound, and so were able to then render the world larger in that moment, a song became our sense our reassurance our permission our warning to an instantly bigger world. The flame falters, and so does our song, guided in some way by this previous expression of permission, the making of the flame, we remember that we are still responsive, and that we do not know until it has come to pass, but part of us, now willing, considers there is end to every flame, wrought by man, and that we have to witnessed an end to inner man to man, wrought by man, that everything we create does end, including ourselves, and fixated we become on the lasting of that note in the wider cavern after we had stopped making our sound, what was that, why now hold fear, that we might have moments cast into and by space, that we might put some energy into a space some bigger space and that gesture may continue on, that energy might continue to power, to swim, to live, so we create. The rocks beneath our feet turn to wet sand and cake our feet. They were here before we think and would be after, our bodies remain after, that is the song of the voice of our loins, the expression the decay, should we box them then? Or submit them to a larger space to decay there and slower, an expression remained, remains, to the earth and rocks in caves might turn. We took then, in an effort to better feel the rocks upon the floor in hand, and we take it to the flame to better see it is blood red, we squeeze it with our hand and see it melt, it cake in the same way as upon our feet, and see it stains the body, the body might remain, after whatever in us now does leave, we might sing a song then through this color applied, change the way our voices did when we found direction, might make some direction in this way, so we rubbed some lines tracing our bones upon our flesh, and soon to be a rock, we move our hand and trace the bones of the cave beside us. What song might we sing. This song does not move in the same way, we might have it remain much longer, a much slower decay, for it is of the body, anchored in the substance of this cave and of these bones.

33

To ask me to justify my creating, to ask me to justify my creation, is to ask me to justify the meaning of my life. I honestly could not tell you my meaning, just that something draws me out, that something beyond what I am consciously driven to do does permeate me constantly, does tell me in that way the moon does sea, to move here to do this, play this note, write this phrase, the meaning of my life I suppose is to allow this force to always move through me, to keep myself as clear enough so I might allow this force to clearly ring me like a bell, and I am grateful for the room's reverberations. So for me, the word volume is all it's meanings all at once and life.

32

The tension is viscerally felt in this part of the world in this part of the time. Were I to describe to you the sensation of staring in the reflection of a window would then you understand what I mean, what it is like to feel so utterly of a particular moment that you can sense the past in all of it, that you might look out in front of you and see behind, all that is behind and realize that your sense of forward comes not just from the eyes and the world but that sight in sleep the song in sleep the places that might be explored in the darkness where there is obscurity, but now, since I am so keen to find shadow even in the day and able to trace with my finger their beginning, I can too use this sleeping eye beneath the sun to see the future mapped on the face of buildings from straight line to curved and more. Just now, through my many lenses, I see the world turned to sandcastles, that they might be gone by the next tide and what a relief that would be, the system that would result form such a constructive practice, that it would be known that our buildings would degrade that there would be no word for that but 'day' and 'night.' We all build sandcastles of the mind, but attempt, just like our buildings, to keep them from the tide! Why keep them from the tide, there will be many opportunities to construct, and we needn't only build once, for in the act of building is the execution of hope! The construction is the manifestation of our desire to live, we might think to continue to build, to enliven and enlighten ourselves through overcoming destruction, what would be gained by loss of fear in destruction? I say, so much. I speak to you now, with one dollar to my name, and have been struggling to eat, but no matter, confronting the destruction of my body has led me to praise the hope in rebuilding. That if I could eat, I would, that when this tide would pass, I would rebuild with excitement and pleasure. Loss is tide, and tides ebb and flow, extreme and tame, the weather changes, but sand, though moved, does still together form the beds the beaches. Stand in the shallows, feel the way it works, always shifting, this was you. This is you still. See the sand within. The little to the many make us love, the impossibility of that construction, were we to build so great a castle as all the earth.

I took time off - 31

Who dares to question God in such a way but only the most devout secure enough that there is something there having sensed it, that is why I ask, I do so feel the presence of the invisible, that is why I ask where you perceive our differences lay, and does that definition not, at least in some fundamental part, come from the realm of the invisible? That we have found a way to make the invisible visible and then to draw some definitive and separating principle from that man-made manifest. In this way our words become our flesh, when yet they spawn from the same great force the engine of the universe of which we all spin and fly fast so fast beyond our feeling. That is a force greater than is felt, and we do not find difference in so big a thing, yet, perhaps no bigger thing in terms of importance is there. Can we find a way to fear that forward motion without eachother's hands. I think the Lord's words are written everywhere but mostly in the things in life I do not understand, and fundamentally, I feel so close to them, and fundamentally I think it my responsibility to contemplate them with mine own mind, for my mind too is one of the larger amorphous yet defined, expressions of that greater plane in the realm of divine symbols, the same realm I consider our differences to be, the impossibility of my understanding the breadth of your life all the moments you consider to be important to you. You might tell me, but I rely on my reverence to the greater plane in you, I will always worship those parts of you I do not understand for that reason, you are certainly of god to me.

30

Called upon by flame to grow 

asked to move upward 

closer the gravity of the gods 

to pull from the earth a life 

to spin it with the wind and make more always 

spinning always 

 building always 

 pulling always 

tugging into life cords and stems.

29

Of this line of thinking comes a reckoning of time.

I am to die, 

and have more than once now seen the rigor mortice of my body

and have come to look upon a vast room of strangers 

and contemplate the transient space they hold.

In such moments I see it not as dark, as sad, as tragic, but as phenomenal:

That our allegories are united in our births and in our deaths 

and what we have chosen to celebrate.

28

Gunpowder was discovered in the concocting of an elixir for immortality desperately desired by a Chinese Emperor.

Perhaps it is our want to manifest beauty in such grave terms, 

A misunderstanding of the raising of the stakes: 

for making death more eminent,

surely gives rise to the importance of recognizing the momentary beauties,

of which we are one.

27

In a grander way - the calculus of the world might issue some decree of inherent and necessary separation,

The explosion of connection too great for love
and somehow not for evil;

That we relegate and discover the radical power of connection under the guise of destruction.

26

I wonder how it comes to exist: that what exists does in my mind, 

that the reality far beyond my body may inhabit it 

and in moments swell and overcome it, 

for I touch the earth and it touches me, 

I am not touched by a single thought, 

or I am only touched by thought. 

25

I look tired because I am.

24

Katie Shoer and her childlike charm would woo that part of you that wished never to move on, the seduction of suspension, the same feeling of an ant stuck in sugar water, such people make death sweet, there's that to thank them for. She didn't know, or care.

23

Collar color on the riverbed sand like stones, 

rounded beneath the heavy sky, clear then cloudy, 

in the masted bits, in the spiracles in the rounded melts, 

in the deep sea where cast upon the back of dead lay freezing, 

lay the brown to silt never stirred never stirring still, and loose, 

and yet, 

together underneath the rock and stony crabs, 

and the way they all would scuttle about, the sound, 

of seacaves:

when as a little boy I’d shout just to hear the muffle of the algeaic walls,

 these are the colors of our sphere, our dot,

and though the light may not touch us in the same way twice it's still a million years old,

and that we have mirrors to conceive it's bouncing,

the bouncing of light light and water,

playing on the surface of that river,

that river bedded with rocks rounded by time the muse

the muse is time the muse is water 

themselves lovers so eternal they've worn down all the edges of their beds with their love making

so too the sky the wind with rock 

no harder lover is there than the rock and yet, 

the shapes the make together! 

The things the wind can get the rock to do! 

So beautiful so intimate so wonderful so glorious bright and bending.

22

What are you doing here?! 

Go stand out in the wind, go let the elements carry you off.

You've always had a desire to travel.

21

Water that it might flow in a way down from on high for that is the want of god for that is the will of god to show in such a casual way that the heights are not so great that even if we fall we are returned to some greater course always becoming some greater force a part of the larger and this is the gift; that when all else is perceived to fail in the mind of man there are basic truths that give us purpose, that in the end we are fuel of some sort that is eventually and always used to advance the cause of earth. There is a built-in fail-safe for this reason there is always some greater place and that greater place is ever-present.

20

This is all of us -
bits of metal spinning around
bits of metal spinning around
metropolis.

Light from outside window breaks the tapping fingers of ferns on glass.

19

A wise mind is a mind that sees in story and has patience for the world's telling.

18

East of the Salton Sea an old Chevy Pickup - a 1953 - is long since rusted out.
Once owned and operated by the Allways (who left a pound or so of skin in the plaid cab single-seat) long since gone.
It's there - right now -
breathing with Santa Ana lungs -
sometimes whistling through it's many rusted-out lips -windchime melodies -
It's there staring right into your minds' eyes -

And then -
it's gone.

17

The single pair of headlights down an otherwise busy street,

Now made vacant by the impracticality of the hour,

All the trodding tires' scraping put instead into the violin strings of the lone car 

That now makes its way slowly up slowly closer.

All the surfaces reflect, 

Each drop of light each harmonic of incandescence, 

To think in day they do the same with a ball of flame, with photons a million years trapped within a hydrogen maze.

16

Call it dying this empty space before the dawn
Trying before the light of day
Day day day
How suddenly with just a hint of curtain
It fades away

What's now walking upon the steps
Some small creature of amorphous size
Of amorphous shape

That it doth inch
And inch by inch
Doth makes its way
Closer to its end -

What is in that choice
Is that choice different than mine?

What if:
All that does seem to guide our way
Is but made by that same impulse
That causes the creature to move forward

What if earthworms are us all
And the dictum that we do think we do control
Is but, in fact, as conscious as that subterranean mind.

15

Down and up my dear,

down and up -

all the spaces,

all the poignant spaces

the holes they are distance -

the distances,

the love,

the shared -

all the shared

swell,

with time - 

the tide of a life

the moon of death 

and the rain 

the clouds for miles 

as far as the eye can see 

Wrapped around the water, 

the horizon, 

you and me, 

 and there, 

sitting in a rock some time ago, 

now buried, 

forms some diamond chance of memory, 

and in the end these are the precious, 

these are the standards, the makings of value. 

Time, a flower blossoms, the scent of which is smelled a whole life through.

14

Bewildered and broken in some necessary way,

Pruned by the flower in your hand,

As it appears to you invisible and new and old all at once,

Some threads between these times,

Caught by a momentary

Passing wind,

To make a sound,

A harmony,

A chord.

13

In musical shoals,

The contemplator of death,

Sits swinging on the deck,

Lute in hand.

12

Daybreak in the afterlife is. Bright. 

And they walk like birds. All of them. 

I still make here; I still write. 

Though the sun and all the things I thought would make me do so are merely choices here. 

And poverty, poverty no more, and yet I do not drink I do not eat, 

I am not as you remembered think, 

remember when you played with Johnny loud, his drums cracking your ears and your guitar so fast so hard and that glow that feeling in your body of grainy power

that was me now in you then 

that is what we have become dear self

dear boy

so young 

you'll live so much longer than you think 

and you'll make so much longer than you think. 

The bell's ringing that means something.

There's a brass color, a gold to everything a tint. 

Anyway, I struggle to care, and so I am. I do not. 

So walking here is...weightless. They all walk like birds you see, like birds. 

Bide your time in body veil.

11

The feeling once inside the walls: relief of fear,

Yet even in the darkness a golden yellow yolk waits for crack of dawn,

Spaces so much larger in the mind.

10

Now I call upon You

That Your vision sent

May calm me for Your presence

Is received and not spent.

Wholly yours am I

As the world to a woman

Bound to eternal physic

Thyne body spirit woven

9

Oh what shall come

Some flavor

Bending at the waist

Of love and longing

Yearning

Lust and truth both chased

The circles they run

Are our cycle in and out,

The circles they run

Only stopped conviction doubt,

So let loose and be thyne spring

Eternal praising of the sun

Hold steady principle

Night nor day has won

So let loose and be the spring

Eternal praising of the sun

Hold steady principle

And night and day are one.

8

Call me out,

The Greater Spirit

found in the nested green

of land on edge

That place is mine

perhaps my only

there's nothing lonelier than a cliff.

7

Guiding Light

oh Guiding Light

you're with me all the way

into slow and fast beginnings

into the calm and fray

But now I call upon You

that Your vision sent

may calm me for Your presence

is received and not spent

Wholly yours am I

as the world to a woman

bound to eternal physic

Thyne body spirit woven.

6

Make thyne world about water, today, this moment, this week, this year, make thyne world about water, all the experiences one may have with water for it is said even by a rigid mind that all the world is water, all that is this world is water. What is seen, when:

Drink first from a cup of tea, prepared for you, perhaps for this occasion of ritual, for perhaps no such reason, have brought to you this cup, with the intention to pay total focus and reverence towards the experience, for then it is reverence for yourself and for the object, and then it is a metaphor see? A metaphor is a love, and so transcends any one but requires one.

Take the cup, both hands upon the sides of the vessel and close thyne eyes and imagine if you will, or perhaps listen, to the song of a flute, or if not a song, the sound of a flue, the vocal chords of the earth, slowly and like water fluidly descend upon the cup and feel how heavy the steam caresses you, how sultry it must curl, imagine the steam as this white silver, imagine it as if the size of a molecule just above your lip, see each think drop touch your skin and be absorbed, without talking you are taking in, you are being given. 

That water is much older than you can imagine, was there at the first rain, was there forever really, since the beginning of the universe, it lay in wait among stars, among the potential of our future one thousand years from now. It, and you, will be there too, then, and were together, getting together again now in the uniqueness of this current form, in the current contingencies that allow for the shaping of your matter, and you are becoming one once again, a replay of the events that preceded the explosion of the universe. 

And now return, back behind thyne eyes, and close them. Bring the cup ever closer and tilt it, and feel, the liquid silk, so similar to the consistency of stem enter you. 

The complexity of but one drop, now a million times over. 

You are becoming the water, as you have forever. 

It is given. 

Some profound truth, and for me to tell you what that truth is, is to miss the point, that it is casual, that it is not important it is vital. 

The value that holds up the world is in that truth. 

The reason we exist on whatever plane is in that truth.

5

Now I sailed, my body my vessel as it had always been, sure, but now a part of the sea. My face spread a quarter mile wide across her surface. My legs sunken and swirling in the guts of sunfish milling in the spring in the dense kelp forest. And so I return to where I was born: by way of fish, tide, and wind. Or it might be that now I am experiencing the planet as it is, as most things are moving in this way.

Then a god came to me:

"For feel thee, as thou art now in this state of non-being, and how in your disintegration you become integrated once again, but more conscious of the larger organism, the womb within which you have and always will be, for you are as much It as anything ever was and will be. There is no disintegration except in the mind, you see, no individuality except for the utter uniqueness of the mind observing the soul. To think there some holier purpose of the mind than to thirst after this, after the recognition of the parts, that thrill,to make up the soul, than noticing mindfully the parts that work within. The human does have omnition you see, in the Senses we carry and the mindfulness we can carry to those senses."

4

Feeling in your hands the heat of truth

And write now what is spoken

With as little thought as you can.

See now there is a light that cometh from a great great star

And it should be known that the star is too in the mind

For so is the universe

Which will come to be seen as the soul

The spirit 

Not in a word, but in them all

And the universe is the planet

And the planet a fig tree 

Working to grow

And without fruit still shooting forth new branches year around

To think of only thyne fruits is to neglect the workings of the natural state of growth 

To deny the extent to which we move in invisible realms is to see not the progress of the soul

But only the progress of others.

Everything inside is ultimately inside 

And everything outside may be brought in 

But there is a difference between a claimed object and a given object 

And that is the difference between truth and delusion

That is to say: the outward is always an abbreviation, 

An integration of internal parts 

It is the machine 

Perhaps in full,

One might say it is all the parts at once without meaning, 

And those objects of nature for which there are endless words 

Probe the ultimate source of natural truth

The place which is given to the being in this time,

To You.

3

Definition - Opinion

A wood of Firs,

Conifers,

and a light rain,

Written with the symbols of the bark,

like humps of m's,

and a cracking alphabet,

a story sticky with sap,

flowing slower-

The metabolism of the Evergreen,

is the Clock of this Wood,

derived from living,

It's hands are Needles,

real,

and rooted.

2

Blessed are those among men

Who carry with them the image of Our savior

for They are Him too

That we might and should hear the music of God

Amongst the prickles of the rose

and sense them in the Roots below the Tree

In the Soil unseen

for thyne lyrics and tones do render 

that which is this earth.

1

A Beautiful Chance

like a star
like a planet
like a bee

Am I ready,
ready now to become what will be after? what I am to be after?

To bring myself back,
back to the loch black the waves
gently lapping at the shores rocky Blue

Brown
Green

To become again an improvised chorus of the God
transfigured by the Music of Fate
of what has always been and never been

where scales fall away and I hear with my whole body
become but for a moment only Music:
all of me only Music and how long might that moment be

yes how long