What's left of Last Year
I took the last two weeks off,
maybe... three.
I started out being sick
and then I was just sick of clocks,
social norms, and holiday music.
I've pushed some projects through,
and let other projects lapse
as I collapsed at the finish line,
which is also the starting line
where every new day
is a yesterday waiting to be unwrapped.
I've learned
(from myself)
that when I just... stop...
I am actually just...
... thinking.
Thinking, and thinking, and thinking.
I have spent nearly a year,
thinking, actually.
Just... thinking.
Full stop.
Not PLANNING.
THINKING.
Wondering, perhaps.
Considering, surely.
Moving in no particular direction
except around my own mind,
fluttering amongst all the clutter,
muttering.
I believe so many of life's questions
can be answered by the Oxford English Dictionary,
giving clarity to the confused
and confusing
words we happily mis-use
attempting to characterize
the swirling shoals
and whirling whorls
capable of swallowing the human heart whole
in an accidental gulp
like some biblical whale.
[Click to Lick More!]
I was practically reborn
when I realized
"ambition" is a totally social disease,
whose weight and pressure
rely solely on
chasing the impression
of others.
"Motivation", my mendicant medicine
hoping to heal my whole diatribe
against myself,
falls short
although it does not require another person,
(which is good)
it is merely the mark of movement,
verbed,
initiating some incited or excited state
not needing a purpose,
it is merely an *urge*
either given or received
(or both, if you are being masturbatory)
or acted upon
but it cannot be a goal itself,
it has no **direction**
it just has *go*.
Where is the navigator?
The emotion that makes maps?
I see where I have been,
but how do I know where else I can go
and how to get there?
How do I trust those maps,
crossing deserts
aiming for oases?
I lack faith
in that which I cannot see,
or know
until I have seen it...
or known it personally
for a fact.
And although the 'future' clearly exists,
it clearly, also
does not.
It cannot concretely consecrate itself
on my consciousness
because,
each turn,
each return,
remains to be seen.
The ever-present natural Zen
I inhabit as my up-till-now Self,
I lack much attachment
(hope)
to the idea of any 'plan'
panning out
but my ideas rain from my own personal sky
weathering my whethers
over and over,
naturally running, falling, pooling,
freezing, melting, draining,
filtering through and through me
but I have no Natives to collect it
and direct it.
I have no conscious control
of my water's wandering
or the grinding of mountains into sand.
I wait for rain and play in shine
and sparkle with the lakes
where slake my thirst
when I visit
my own bounty
but that is all
I know how to do.
There is plenty of movement.
The energy I have is vast.
The cycle is physical,
meaning:
physics
AND
biology
but not:
conscience
or
conscientious.
It
simply
IS.
I.
Simply.
Am.
This makes me
(in this culture)
a near-heathen.
A practical savage,
meaning:
undomesticated,
uncivilized,
uncultivated,
untamed.
My lands are wild,
my forests ferocious,
my seasons my own,
my piques, primitive
living according to the sun,
the moon
and the other lovers
that hold my skies together
(including making them blue)
for no reason
except that they do.
Before
I have burned dinosaurs
to visit fluorescing beige catacombs
selling my savage soul
hour-by-hour
to some sour Saladin
for ink and pauper.
My pristine world
burned for a small profits,
over and over
to keep me from visiting
my whole, wonderful world
waiting for
a drink of myself,
a breath of myself,
a bite of myself
with the same relish
I feel every time
I listen
to myself.
Awhile back sweet Sailor
gave me sweet respite
from the trenches of commercial wars
giving me swollen feet and aching heads
much more regularly
than they gave me paychecks.
And call me a monster,
because from my vantage,
looking back,
looking in,
I see the scars
of softened enslavement
which made me sick
with a poison
I could not name,
but which I tried to enjoy
because I was told
it was what I was born to be.
A worker.
The only good worker,
is a HARD worker,
I so I worked,
and I worked hard,
because it was my only choice
(which, by the way is NOT a choice).
With my hands free,
my mind rested,
my time mine,
I find myself
lost
in the saturation
of
NOW.
There is no "getting through" now,
hoping for more/better tomorrow....
No!
There is a REVELING,
revealing
an expansive Now
that I do not want
to remove myself from
EVER AGAIN!!
But how to I resolve
to dissolve
my dreams
into a daily practice
of futures I don't quite believe in?
How do I look ahead,
without losing my footing
in the now?
How do I not get lost in the now?
Now-blind, because there is so much now around
I'm paralyzed
with the gift
of presence!
Everyday the future surprises me.
Time passes,
and I sip its nectar
be it bitter or sweet
it sustains me
in this moment
till the next.
You can't say the same thing
about the future
OR the past,
it just doesn't have
the same
ability
to
be real
to be REALITY
like Now does.
My New Year's Goal
is to enact
a design for my future
in the sticky
(and wild)
web of today.
Somehow.
Perhaps I cannot expect, or intend...
but I can attend to the future,
(or so truth dictates)
whether or not I can attend the future,
personally.
Stepping back into how the OED can answer so many questions,
while we quibble over works and words...
It is so easy to forget to check into the most simple meanings.
I should have looked into the future earlier (ha)
for it is a time, that is not now
but not yet come to pass...
(as opposed to past or passed)
but it is also
specifically
existence after death.
(OED to the rescue!)
Hmm,...... now there is some serious sinew to chew.
No wonder
I cannot easily swallow
future's hook,
I could just as easily be talking
quite substantively
about Death's rook!
The true and forevering
ending of now,
is the potent power of
betting on belief in the future!
Life after death
is tautologically correct
and significantly redundant
to "after now",
which is a direct alternative
to life as we know it,.. period.
Yes?
No?
Maybe so?
Let's nibble, quibble
and end up with
quid pro quo!
maybe... three.
I started out being sick
and then I was just sick of clocks,
social norms, and holiday music.
I've pushed some projects through,
and let other projects lapse
as I collapsed at the finish line,
which is also the starting line
where every new day
is a yesterday waiting to be unwrapped.
I've learned
(from myself)
that when I just... stop...
I am actually just...
... thinking.
Thinking, and thinking, and thinking.
I have spent nearly a year,
thinking, actually.
Just... thinking.
Full stop.
Not PLANNING.
THINKING.
Wondering, perhaps.
Considering, surely.
Moving in no particular direction
except around my own mind,
fluttering amongst all the clutter,
muttering.
I believe so many of life's questions
can be answered by the Oxford English Dictionary,
giving clarity to the confused
and confusing
words we happily mis-use
attempting to characterize
the swirling shoals
and whirling whorls
capable of swallowing the human heart whole
in an accidental gulp
like some biblical whale.
[Click to Lick More!]
I was practically reborn
when I realized
"ambition" is a totally social disease,
whose weight and pressure
rely solely on
chasing the impression
of others.
"Motivation", my mendicant medicine
hoping to heal my whole diatribe
against myself,
falls short
although it does not require another person,
(which is good)
it is merely the mark of movement,
verbed,
initiating some incited or excited state
not needing a purpose,
it is merely an *urge*
either given or received
(or both, if you are being masturbatory)
or acted upon
but it cannot be a goal itself,
it has no **direction**
it just has *go*.
Where is the navigator?
The emotion that makes maps?
I see where I have been,
but how do I know where else I can go
and how to get there?
How do I trust those maps,
crossing deserts
aiming for oases?
I lack faith
in that which I cannot see,
or know
until I have seen it...
or known it personally
for a fact.
And although the 'future' clearly exists,
it clearly, also
does not.
It cannot concretely consecrate itself
on my consciousness
because,
each turn,
each return,
remains to be seen.
The ever-present natural Zen
I inhabit as my up-till-now Self,
I lack much attachment
(hope)
to the idea of any 'plan'
panning out
but my ideas rain from my own personal sky
weathering my whethers
over and over,
naturally running, falling, pooling,
freezing, melting, draining,
filtering through and through me
but I have no Natives to collect it
and direct it.
I have no conscious control
of my water's wandering
or the grinding of mountains into sand.
I wait for rain and play in shine
and sparkle with the lakes
where slake my thirst
when I visit
my own bounty
but that is all
I know how to do.
There is plenty of movement.
The energy I have is vast.
The cycle is physical,
meaning:
physics
AND
biology
but not:
conscience
or
conscientious.
It
simply
IS.
I.
Simply.
Am.
This makes me
(in this culture)
a near-heathen.
A practical savage,
meaning:
undomesticated,
uncivilized,
uncultivated,
untamed.
My lands are wild,
my forests ferocious,
my seasons my own,
my piques, primitive
living according to the sun,
the moon
and the other lovers
that hold my skies together
(including making them blue)
for no reason
except that they do.
Before
I have burned dinosaurs
to visit fluorescing beige catacombs
selling my savage soul
hour-by-hour
to some sour Saladin
for ink and pauper.
My pristine world
burned for a small profits,
over and over
to keep me from visiting
my whole, wonderful world
waiting for
a drink of myself,
a breath of myself,
a bite of myself
with the same relish
I feel every time
I listen
to myself.
Awhile back sweet Sailor
gave me sweet respite
from the trenches of commercial wars
giving me swollen feet and aching heads
much more regularly
than they gave me paychecks.
And call me a monster,
because from my vantage,
looking back,
looking in,
I see the scars
of softened enslavement
which made me sick
with a poison
I could not name,
but which I tried to enjoy
because I was told
it was what I was born to be.
A worker.
The only good worker,
is a HARD worker,
I so I worked,
and I worked hard,
because it was my only choice
(which, by the way is NOT a choice).
With my hands free,
my mind rested,
my time mine,
I find myself
lost
in the saturation
of
NOW.
There is no "getting through" now,
hoping for more/better tomorrow....
No!
There is a REVELING,
revealing
an expansive Now
that I do not want
to remove myself from
EVER AGAIN!!
But how to I resolve
to dissolve
my dreams
into a daily practice
of futures I don't quite believe in?
How do I look ahead,
without losing my footing
in the now?
How do I not get lost in the now?
Now-blind, because there is so much now around
I'm paralyzed
with the gift
of presence!
Everyday the future surprises me.
Time passes,
and I sip its nectar
be it bitter or sweet
it sustains me
in this moment
till the next.
You can't say the same thing
about the future
OR the past,
it just doesn't have
the same
ability
to
be real
to be REALITY
like Now does.
My New Year's Goal
is to enact
a design for my future
in the sticky
(and wild)
web of today.
Somehow.
Perhaps I cannot expect, or intend...
but I can attend to the future,
(or so truth dictates)
whether or not I can attend the future,
personally.
Stepping back into how the OED can answer so many questions,
while we quibble over works and words...
It is so easy to forget to check into the most simple meanings.
I should have looked into the future earlier (ha)
for it is a time, that is not now
but not yet come to pass...
(as opposed to past or passed)
but it is also
specifically
existence after death.
(OED to the rescue!)
Hmm,...... now there is some serious sinew to chew.
No wonder
I cannot easily swallow
future's hook,
I could just as easily be talking
quite substantively
about Death's rook!
The true and forevering
ending of now,
is the potent power of
betting on belief in the future!
Life after death
is tautologically correct
and significantly redundant
to "after now",
which is a direct alternative
to life as we know it,.. period.
Yes?
No?
Maybe so?
Let's nibble, quibble
and end up with
quid pro quo!