Two weeks’ time, three months out, two moths in, clothing strewn about.
Candle flame light, inside night, outside done, genie lamp fun.
There once was a wife with a husband and a knife, an onion and bell pepper, vegetables for dinner.
Inside the whiskey bottle, a toppled over monster, a worm felt the rumble, traffic law fumble.
Swirling light of time, out into the unknowing mind, illuminate to life, to understand is to be fine.
Where to then? Forth to ahead, we traverse the dried up shore for more of the goings on. And plenty goings on henceforth, should we believe it to be possible from this point. At this point, all is here, should we believe here is at all points, then here we are.
Where to then? To the next point, inside-out from this. This is here, with all points leading nowhere fast. Ever faster towards then, without concern for when, we forge ahead nevertheless. So it goes, that’s just how you are. And I judge every movement; I am a witness to your every intention. Never mind if I want to witness or not, I can’t seem to help it.
Where to then? To witness the next witnessing of self. I witness my best intentions, and judge my initial thought without; Oh! What sprang to mind! Why did it? I traverse the dried up shore once again. It all sprang to mind across the sand, out of nowhere fast, into everywhere quickly, splashing against this rock, that rock, a piece of seaweed here, a piece of sea glass there, where to then?
So in your time of mighty weakness, thinking desperately of yourself and where loved ones may end up, you turned towards an organized version of what is and what was already there. So you did this and found no solace, found no truth, were left only with yourself again to find big questions and big answers, unorganized. Come once more, to the golden sound of love, with no judgment, for the great spirits are the only judge for speaking, and we are the great ears for listening. Beyond that, more questions—hanging in the air, upon today, upon always, upon the nearest panic, upon the next smirk.
Get down, real down, low, below, under, get way, way down, baby, submerge. Bring it to me, all of it, the whole thing, what you got, what you’re givin’, whatever you’re feelin’, as much as you need, as much as you want.
Get in it, dig deep, dig in, get up, show me whatchu got, dip, swing, twirl-a-whirl, girl, get on, get on with it now, bring it over here, take it to the next level, all the way, beyond, through here, there, everywhere, let it fly all over, let it loose, bring it around, take it, give in, throw it all over the place, baby.
Explode, burst, into a billion lights of all-ness, out and in and forever, this, here, it’s shining, a kaleidoscope of you, bombard, shower, blow-up, dig in, get down, real down, way down, baby.
If there was a two for me or you, would we believe the view to be?
A one or none can come from some, but being done is not the sum.
I guess the “yes” would best undress the mess from your address.
Nonetheless, a sound resounds from all around to confound the unbound up and down.
How many points of light reflect from a single thought that stretches out moment from moment?
The great equalizer plays mind games with himself to keep the golden octopus from toppling the whole thing down, if only more could be gifted jugglers.
To share the load, road signs were erected to say nothing in particular. So a woman honks her horn, not to warn of danger, but to tell the sign that there’s an octopus ahead - golden arms flailing in the wind; juggling a single thought.
Allow to be open,
For holding back is a black mystery,
Shrouds of confusion and doubt,
Blankets of guilt,
Showered in thoughts of dread,
Dreading the moment when the dark word comes back,
To confirm what you were afraid would be said,
Your disappointment realized,
Behold what it has inspired!
The ugly realization,
The mess of spilled over manipulation,
Treat me nice, treat me right,
Allow me to be me,
For if you won’t,
I will anyway,
Allow to be open for the love,
Allow to be open for the beauty of life,
Toil upon the truth,
Until you cannot escape,
Until the open is you once again,
Climb beyond the hung-up state of mind,
Encourage, and embrace the everything possible,
For it all is impossible,
If the open is closed, and the closed is now.
With grace, with humor, with gentle and loving assurance,
Open. Doubt weakens me. Guilt destroys me, I am here, open.
I am there, away, but open. For always, I will return, unscathed.
In order for me to lean against this, it must become a wall.
I look, it becomes a wall.
I rest my arm on it. This is what was previously known as God.
Communication is the key to us being us.
Change is key to us being us.
Language and communication change with us.
In this dimension, this is a wall that I lean against.
In another dimension, it is a vegetarian Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Upwards
and
away,
to the top,
and
back up,
spiraling
higher
than before and higher than
tomorrow, sailing forward from the pull of
the ground, shaking hands with the sky, looking
towards a star, that one, stay the focus, keep it in
sight, soaring, lifting, floating, ever faster, up,
feeding on another up, to bring more up.
