Collective poem
written by Rumi, Magaera, myself, James and Mother.
You know how collective poems go... they never really make a lot of sense.
Be ground. Be crumbled so wild flowers will come up where you are.
And then the rain in soft, satisfied veinings
May dissolve you further still.
From this space, you are happening,
never mistake stillness with passivity.
Be the stillness of the stones, and from that stillness it is your
volition which moves mountains
and shifts the earth and shakes like a grappled olive
sprig. Spheres on a branch of spades turns us
and demolishes us into the smaller pieces of what
we originally are.
Like God through a sifter, a politician tumbling in the
debris of his own false promises or these pebbles,
into sand, the forces of the universe are ever polishing
us into what we are meant to be.
It is the job of the beach and the shifting tides to sculpt the great boulders
into precious gems that we might wear proudly.
Did we ever inquire of their true destinies? Their deepest desires?
But we are the beach, justly proportioned to the tide
with wave vapor energized by the compression of our love
and in love all are still everything, abundantly moving
us, shifting. We are polished by the hard diamond
light of stars.
Morphing, ever constant fluid, pebbles in the
solar soul hour, stream connecting minds
like connect the dots, old thoughts to new plots
Spinning, weaving a wet web of lonesome love
from clouds above to ground on down to spinning
core, molten score… Ah! We have always known
Unity always grows, slows, creeps crawls never coming
completely to a…
You know how collective poems go... they never really make a lot of sense.
Be ground. Be crumbled so wild flowers will come up where you are.
And then the rain in soft, satisfied veinings
May dissolve you further still.
From this space, you are happening,
never mistake stillness with passivity.
Be the stillness of the stones, and from that stillness it is your
volition which moves mountains
and shifts the earth and shakes like a grappled olive
sprig. Spheres on a branch of spades turns us
and demolishes us into the smaller pieces of what
we originally are.
Like God through a sifter, a politician tumbling in the
debris of his own false promises or these pebbles,
into sand, the forces of the universe are ever polishing
us into what we are meant to be.
It is the job of the beach and the shifting tides to sculpt the great boulders
into precious gems that we might wear proudly.
Did we ever inquire of their true destinies? Their deepest desires?
But we are the beach, justly proportioned to the tide
with wave vapor energized by the compression of our love
and in love all are still everything, abundantly moving
us, shifting. We are polished by the hard diamond
light of stars.
Morphing, ever constant fluid, pebbles in the
solar soul hour, stream connecting minds
like connect the dots, old thoughts to new plots
Spinning, weaving a wet web of lonesome love
from clouds above to ground on down to spinning
core, molten score… Ah! We have always known
Unity always grows, slows, creeps crawls never coming
completely to a…