Tag Archives: poem

My Jeans Were Clean

I was walking toward my favorite vale.
My jeans were clean.
I spotted a beautiful butterfly on the path.
I stopped and spoke to it at length.
It flew up and landed on my jeans.
I kept speaking to it.
It stayed put.
I started walking slowly.
It settled and opened his wings again and again.
I kept talking to it.
It stayed put.
It seem to like its position.
I was glad to have the passenger.
And I told it so.
Finally it flew up and flew around me
and then landed on my other leg.
I had kept walking
and I kept talking to it.
It appreciated the conversation.
It spoke back to me.
Not with words of course.
Words are cheap.
I felt claimed by a glorious presence.
I wished it well in all of its endeavors.
It is difficult to express how the small creature had made my day.
I changed from being a simple man,
to the butterfly person.
I’m still grokking that.
It’s a significant change in perspective.
I may never be the same again.
But of course when I got up this morning
I never expected to be the same anyway.
Shall someone who expects consistency and expects sameness from day-to-day from their human consorts expect to ever understand the change that has occurred?
Can I share this with my business associates?
Will my family understand?
Should I attempt consistency with my former consciousness?

Everything I encounter changes me, even dirt and stones.

I used to read a lot,
especially for the changes that humans could incur within me.
But I found I was digging in the shallow pool.

I could have eaten the butterfly, but that would not have been nearly as nutritious.
It flew away as we approached a puddle.
It said goodbye with a few flaps of its wings and got a drink.
I walked on. With gratitude.

I finally reached the vale where I like to sit and think.
A fox approached.
It gave me a look like ‘oh, you’re the butterfly man’.
What could I say?
Yes. I am.

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No Real You

I’d like to encourage you
to stop trying to be the real you.
What would you even suppose that might be?

Someday, notice how you change.
Notice the you that claims to be you when you wake up in the morning,
then notice the you that starts working or doing whatever you intend to do every day,
notice the you that stops for lunch and the you that needed to,
notice the you that watches the clock in order to go back home,
notice the you that greets whatever shares your home that makes it home for you.
Notice the you that eats dinner.
Notice the you that sometimes goes out in the evening to meet with other folks and
Notice how that you differs depending upon which folks you’re meeting.
Notice the you that protects itself from the things you don’t understand.
Notice the you that sheds its height as bedtime approaches.
Notice the you that wakes to pee before you’re done sleeping.

You can detect a different you at these and so many other times each day.
So which one is the real you?

None of them.

I recommend that you give up the idea of even discovering the real you.
It doesn’t exist.
But you can do this…
Write the old you off.
The more you write off all these old yous what’s left is rather precious.
It’s not that you will discover the real you, you will discover that there is no real you.
You’ll discover that our capacity for me-ness is huge and dynamic.
Our identity can continue to grow and grow and grow daily even hourly with the things that we see and discover each day.

I ate some snow today.
No big deal.
But I bet you did not.

The little things that each of us does
can mean so much to us,
and we may not realize how unique they are to us.

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Fractal Trees

Where I live there’s daylight on the south side
and there’s moss on the north,
And vines wind up and around
and then release near the bottom.
Some of the vines are evergreens
climbing up the deciduous.

Who does not feel this weight and warmth?

The remarkable yet hollow Tulip Tree has fallen.
You can see it is already decayed far more
than the American Chestnut that fell many years earlier.

The wind and the rocky soil make the trees fall.
All of the fallen trees become more soil
for the next generations.
While we see this readily,
we generally fail to recognize
the fractals of our minds that also fall.
They fall around us haphazardly
and become the soil for new generations.

We generally fail to recognize the fractals of our minds.
Can’t we all see this?
When we don’t it is difficult to converse.

What is more disparate than trying to live linearly in a fractal world?
I had to unlearn and relearn so much just to see this.
Deep, deep joy is here for those who learn to participate fractally.

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Bone

The bone is not the stone of you.
The bone is not the living daylights.
What will last past me will live in you.
What will last past you will live in others.

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Stresses

I remember considering stresses –

Seeing the troubles of
too little
and too much.

We too often fail to regard
how stresses form us.

Too much stress in our youth
    leads many to avoid any.
To little attracts the wrong kinds later.

It is good to attract formative and positive stresses.
They become a healthy delight.
They make it easy to avoid useless, negative stresses.

Consider your stresses,
both self-generated
and from life situations.
They are your gift,
able to transform and develop you
into a positive and uniquely formed person.

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One Day Soon

One day soon …
I’ll be gone,
Not to wake up
or return.

You may wonder
– Where is he?

I hope you forgo
heaven or hell
or such amusements.

My energy
shall be re-wrapped unpredictably.
Not lost.

I don’t recommend
rebirths or such.

Consider, that there may be
only one consciousness – everywhere,
that all beings exist as expressions of.

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Laughing Woods

The woods are full of laughter.
I’m where the limbs are fallen.
Many are around me
fallen gracefully
as is often our privilege.

Some are flat on the ground.
Some are leaning on the living.
Some are standing tall, dead, bark-less.
The variety is beautiful!

Some still alive have fallen on dead ones
which had fallen on the living
which hold up all of them, yet.

The laughter resounds!
The peaceful decay at all angles,
breathtaking !leaners

Down Dead

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Serendipity

A fugue of feathers
A tight of twine
A river stone
and totem shine

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Patterns and the Seeming Chaos

Shapes and images advancing, developing,
sometimes dissolving before ever reaching clarity.
Orphaned lines floating in the mindscape and aching for,
yet resisting connection.
It’s a wonder that anything ever manifests at all,
even more so that perceivers should arise.

Patterns and the seeming chaos are generally so subtle or so huge
that they are missed altogether.
If it weren’t for advancing perceivers
surely all the bits and pieces would lose coherence and float apart.
But, bless them full, they are, and they pursue patterns
relentlessly defining more world and
encouraging more perceivers constantly.

Perhaps patient observation is the central characteristic.
Some say it is love.
Sadly,
a few accuse them of mind-jamming or
perception manipulation
for personal profit.

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The Breeze Comes

    Yes, of course, our decisions, our choices of thought and action are of consequence, but not in a way that yields us ground for any overarching self-importance at an individual level. In fact, it is our actions which lead to the positive choices in the minds of others that most reveal our own value. It is a ‘pay it forward’ system in all aspects of consideration.

    Nothing about time or space or reality in general is linear. Absolutely everything that comes to our attention is an eddy in the currents of energy flows within a vast field of energy. What we call “life” is a fractal flower of flows that encapsulate the momentum and information of cycle flows and spin torque of smaller eddies into cooperative eddy systems.

    Snapshots reveal nothing in this fluid system. No math encompasses it. No religion preserves it. No God collects its glory. We mis-value the encapsulation aspect of life. In our passage through this momentary affliction of mere self-consciousness we stumble into a temporary falsehood of isolation. In this evolution of consciousness this sense of isolation is where we row through the doldrums seeking, hoping, believing that there will be a breeze before we die alone, detached.

    The breeze comes.

    And all along nothing has ever been more or less connected. No energy is lost.

8/6/2010

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