Existentially Bored

In my quest to understand the world, I am continually preempted by my own thought of what, in the meantime, I am to do in it.

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What fails to express, is best understood in the next pure pause between a perfect feeling 
and wanting word
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The Sentinel

To be a sentinel in the darkest
silence of your presence.
Soft release, a mist of hope
inward drawn as essence.

So the breaths of lovers curl
in moonlight cast aglow,
Melodic dreams to blend and purl,
a sweet diminuendo.

Wrapped in night, as you sleep,
soul stirs and comes untied,
To lead your dreams to wander far,
my heart close by your side.

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Rebuild

We can either resign ourselves to continue to destruct,

or concede defeat

and rebuild.

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Where we are now

…For some the meaning of life is murmured over dinner plates in silent torpor… it’s purpose, startled into realization between clinking wine glasses. For others, it is to see deeply into our present and to skirt the pulsing stars, to find beauty in momentum and embrace our presence in the amber-lit windows that frame the lives of others. Wherever we are heading, is kindly guided by the certainty of where we are now.


Photo: http://www.lostateminor.com/2011/03/08/surreal-storytelling-by-robert-and-shana-parkeharrison/

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Beer


And I tell you, when you get there – it doesn’t flash like a light, no backlit Hollywood hero on horseback. It mellows in quickly and you feel it, you know? It’s, uh, it’s…well anyway. There’s nothing more important than knowing you can – than knowing what it’s like to give from the WHOLE person you realize you are. You know it the moment you know yourself. Hm. And however much magical beer you – um – drink, if you sprinkle pepper on a rock, it still tastes like a rock… just more peppery.

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A Gold Dipped Metaphor


Were it not for a volcano exploding in Asia and shifting the earth for moment,

I’d not have caught my balance on a cliffs edge in North America.

So certain was I that plate tectonics was my guardian angel;
and why not, gravity has served me mercifully in the past.

I snuck behind her back to do battle with the daemons that she didn’t see hiding behind her angels.
Deep dumb blinking of trauma all around me.

Where the wounded go for comfort, to ruminate and heal, their “state of existence”
I’m not particularly dogmatic…I hybridize everything.

…and then I choose to spend a month writing on a beach.
For some reason, quality is an undertone felt more than seen. And we behave in undertones.

Jovial languages westernized for straight men. His was a plan to vanquish the human trade industry…I was a ploy. I don’t speak Chinese. But anyway, I have spent just a little time in a lot of places I didn’t want to go

and I kept quiet; there is no sense rushing a world war, right?

My grandparents were incredibly kind and generous. They have passed – dead – dead for their good deeds. They were cooks with equity in the casserole…

Standing before a great mountain skirted lake, steaming for photographers, is just a reminder of a perfect place for the fulcrum of Nirvana; one that balances the condition of living responsibly and loving uncontrollably.

I really don’t know anything at all actually!

Yes, three words in our feeble attempt to bottle the jeanie only seem to whisk it along as the world grows more tender beneath our feet.

Like philosophy seeks to destroy itself, I want a gold dipped metaphor for why NOT to write.

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Ode to the Conquerer of Great Distance and Time

Prelude:  As We Arrive

Your love found me, as if two suns rose from the east and west at the same time.  Where their rays met would be indistinguishable, and why even understand it. What we feel in touch is not skin and when we kiss it is not your lips meeting mine; it is not our bodies intertwined, nor mere pulsing words landing softly in our ears…it is not the nostalgic aroma, or the groaning floorboards beneath our ambling feet.  None of this, for what meets at the nexus is the soulful intent of a love that traces back to the timeless depths of your being – a touch that connects an infinite past to an infinite future.  This which we hold dearly, is the untamed wind between us, inhaled in a moment as a prelude to a kiss –exchanged in the warm home of the others heart, and released anew in an effervescing exhale as our lips part. Embraced, our spirits slowly wrestle along the frontiers of unexplored human wilderness; twisting in confluence like eddies playing on the surface of a still night lake; braiding banyan vines cling gently to quell our shivering…our words are sighs of relinquishment to the desperation of loves inexpressible exclamations resonating within caverns of expectation, filled with pristine imaginings.

Interlude:  As We Go

Love is where we go, when we go, how we go and why we go…it’s anguish and rejoice in a timeless dance, spiraling out lingering memories that rain nourishment on as many weeds as colored flowers.  And our lives in this way, are forever sweetly tending to the astounding meaning of subtle acts.  There in a garden we’ll pull the weeds to feed the soil which gives them life and till the dirt that receives the rain to quench the roots.  And as dusk settles in, we’ll sift the flower bed; and we’ll build a breathtaking path of byzantine patterns from the extracted cobbles of an inconvenient past set in mortar mixed from a forever blooming love.

Postlude:  As We Part

That when you feel the cold steel of disquiet awkwardness and your breath has temporarily seized – I will draw in a breath to fill us both up.  …That when words fail you, I will solemnly circle in the swirling eddies of your soul and pluck soft petals of thought as parchment and scribe your poetry with many hues of understanding and kindness.  If your heart is weary and teetering in confusion, I promise to kiss the arcing sun and moon so that as they trade their places through cycles of the days and nights, you are left with both waking and lullaby dreams.  If the circling voices are deafeningly loud or silence becomes your enemy, I will take my post close by your side as your compassionate and soothing warrior, your agile shark…to stir gentle notes on melodies until a beautiful undulating dolphin shoots the waves over sky and moon.

The shelter within, is affixed with all you need to search and restore life, tended by the passion of your own true love, with green thatches to catch and divert the rain and smooth cobbles to line the path for when you are ready to take to the road again.

Destiny worries not for you, you should not worry destiny.  It does not stand in the distance and wait for you, you should spring headlong onto its runner of endless moments and create the trail of your art.  Go, and leave behind you the signs of all your happiness and I will find you.  And if you find yourself having little to leave behind for me to follow, then look up my precious love, because I’m standing right here before you.  Take my hand, I have enough signs to cast for both of us.

Refrain and Fade Out:

For all the love in the world you need
can be fit on the tip of a pin…
as vast as the bounty of earth, wind and sea,
it will sooner get under your skin.

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All the Love in the World

All the love in the world we need
    can be fit on the tip of a pin
more than the bounty of earth, sky, and sea

    it would sooner get under our skin.
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VALENTINES DAY DIALECTIC 2012

Haecceity




it is what is of what —  it is that of what is


We always break it down to surrendering to our destiny, be that our compulsions to roll with its uncertain and vicarious plan for ALL of us – OR, in haecceity, to enthusiastically grab up our chattels and trek on in vigilance toward a quite specific future moment held firmly in our INDIVIDUAL perceptions. It would seem that we cannot surrender to destiny, but to only our choices. And for others, perhaps it’s just a bittersweet surrender to numb ourselves to the zeal of an evangelist, who’s destiny is to align toward themselves everything their path, like iron filings to a passing magnet. But then again, aren’t our choices made from the same “stuff” of destiny. 



There are infinite directions taken by infinite souls, each an individual ray of light emanating from the very center of a large translucent glass sphere; each inevitably intersects the glass at an infinite number of unique locations, in boundless patterns. The path within the sphere is variegated, streaked with diversity – a bittersweet chaos – the collective quiddity of life. The surface is a layer of self-other revelation, one encased future after another; the universe an atom. We leap like electrons to the next outer shell of realization…seeking stability, answers, or just engagement. And it is among those that travel farthest from the nucleus, those with the most energy, that best characterize their reactions with the world around them. It is ironic, yet fitting, that destiny seems to loosen it’s grip on us the further we journey from it’s center; slipping “…the surly bonds of earth…” (no, not Ronald Reagan, but John Gillespie Magee’s poem, “High Flight.” Note that pilot officer Magee was killed in a midair collision 3 months after writing this, he was only 19 when he died. His poems were inspired by his only true and unrequited love for Elinor Lyon with whom he remained friends…he wrote of her, but chose another deeper relationship… but that is another subject altogether).



The victory in surrendering (to love, to pathos, to greatness, or whatever garb your destiny wears) is that of choosing another human, both for theirs and out of your unique essence, to exclusively share in its (loves) execution before the journey ends. But does it? It is said that love never wanes or ceases to spark from the core, it just persistently seeks to reach the surface – to be seen, to be shared, to be celebrated. 

Love travels in the deep hulls of a human being; and yet we are all quite unseaworthy vessels for such a precious cargo. Perhaps our pilot would agree for those who fly with love.


THE QUIDDITY, (George Herbert)

God, a verse is not a crown,
No point of honour, or gay suit,
No hawk, or banquet, or renown,
Nor a good sword, nor yet a lute.

It cannot vault, or dance, or play,
It never was in France or Spain,
Nor can it entertain the day,
With a great stable or domain.

It is no office, art, or news,
Nor the Exchange, or busy Hall,
But it is that which, while I use,
I am with Thee: and Most take all.
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