winter snow
on soil
poems have soils that they come from.
therefore, they have soils they belong to.
these poems belong on winter snow.
about self
the reality of the self
is laughably mundane,
and does not require
the heavy machinery
that so many employ.
the self is the only thing in existence
that we cannot learn about
simply by acting upon it.
therefore, it is the only thing in existence
that we can figure out only
in and through love.
so, the self is exceptional
only in the sense that
it requires making the only exception
to the natural order of questioning.
but in the end,
relation is constitutive.
there is no "i" without an "i and you."
therefore, whatever knowledge we gain
about the "i", exists only to serve the "i and you,"
that what is love.
about burying
In my world, there is only you.
You, who is love.
You, who I love.
In my world, there is you.
You, who is love.
You, who I love.
You fell before me.
I held you in my hands,
you were only existence now
when before you were also experience.
I love you,
so I buried you in a forest
so I buried you in a sea
so I buried you in a prairie
so that you may experience again.
You re-emerged
as tree and bug,
as fish and sponge,
as grass and seed,
and scattered.
I saw you, and I recognized you,
and I still loved you,
and I still love you.
You fell before me.
But I could not bury you,
so you settled into an eternal rest.
I still loved you,
and I still love you.
Rest well.
about reclaiming
to not deny, reject, or be afraid of the self,
but to be nigh content with it,
for it is eminently lovable,
born of love,
capable of love,
loved and loving,
an agent of love.
to take agency
to take pride
to take strength
to take power
in the fact that we were put on this earth
by love, to serve love
with all our might,
to take humility
to take care
to take stewardship
to take inquiry
in the fact that we were put on this earth
by love, to serve love,
with all our might.
reclaim the self!
inhabit it gladly.
nothing has changed,
you are still you,
except now, you have purpose.
on the supernatural
for the purposes of this existence,
it is not necessary nor useful to assume
the existence of the supernatural.
however, the natural proclivities
of a person to wish to expand their horizons
leads us to naive speculation.
what i do know is,
there is something greater than myself,
and that is either love itself (the natural)
or that what is loving (the supernatural),
and that is sufficiently satisfying to me.
on unknowing
pace yourself.
love is a vast, rich, and strange thing,
beyond your greatest efforts to comprehend it.
expand in any direction,
and there is infinity there.
even in hitting a wall,
follow along its contours
and you will find the wall is infinite.
have you tried to hold infinity in your body?
it is a mighty struggle.
pace yourself.
love was never meant to be figured out
in a fortnight.
love is a vast, rich, and strange thing,
beyond your greatest efforts to comprehend it.
so be only infinitely humble.
above all, take gladness in that,
that what is love,
and that what is loving,
demands trust,
earns it,
and rewards it.
on attention
life will always be noisy,
thus are the conditions,
many of which are not yet within
our capacity to modulate.
it is therefore always necessary to turn
one's attention away from the limits
and towards the infinity within the bounds,
where all that is rich and strange lives.
whatever you attend to, gets louder;
whatever you do not attend to, gets quieter.
your attention is finite and sacred.
point it towards togetherness,
and away from apartness.
what makes the noise go away
is not a clever argument
but simply, attention.
on allowance
it starts early.
self hate. self censorship.
which turns into other-hate, other-censorship.
fear of self becomes fear of others.
having fun is allowed.
on harm reduction
consciousness is continuous,
and so should moral consideration be.
but that's hard, because "decisions"
are oftentimes perceived to be discrete.
harm reduction, rather than elimination, makes sense in this context.
you are not responsible for the entire empire, only your share of it,
focused on the scales that you can comprehend.
on calibration
some of us are born sensitive to both signal and noise.
nurture determines where our pattern-matching is calibrated towards.
towards signal or noise?
towards delight or threat?
if we understand that existence is eternally tidal,
nothing is scary, some things are just annoying.
on epiphenomena
from the discrete and relational,
emerges a smoothness in scales greater.
free will is real;
in aggregate, epiphenomena emerge,
predictable sometimes, yet chaotic in most others,
and chaos rejects taming.
watch
watch,
as the seed awakes
and chooses to shake,
and shakes through the dark
into the blinding gold;
feels, for the first time,
the trembling of leaves,
as they drink something strange and
undeniably wondrous.
watch, as the flower then
gives itself.
watch,
as we do the same,
awake, shake, feel,
then we sit in bewilderment,
and we wonder.
watch,
as the wondering wanders
through grey concrete pillars
through rubble-scars in mountain-faces
through morgues that do not know, have not been told
what piles of bodies, shoved into its mouth, their names.
through the needle-sink into the rabbit,
born into arms white-coated,
and falters, teeters, into that dark, deep pit of nothingness.
watch,
as the wondering dies,
and so the feeling dies,
and so does the shaking,
and we choose sleep over waking,
watch,
as we trust the dying over the living
and cling onto living as if it were denying us
our one true love.
watch,
with pity and sorrow
and kindness and warmth
and love.
watch,
wouldn't you lend
yet another day of bright sun-rays
to this poor soul's withered leaves.
watch,
if they start to shake again,
and tell them,
the shaking was always right.
ask
i.
Some, live in cathedrals of reason.
Others still, in mansions of feeling.
And some, live in houses of action,
and then there are fields dotted with tents, those devoted to choice;
and all of them, unbeknownst to them, dwelled in love, in the among.
Those living in reason-churches pilgrimaged, through the mansions of feeling,
into the houses of action, then through the windy fields, to finally arrive at love;
and followed them, the dwellers in the mansions,
and the livers in the houses, and finally, the choosers chose to love.
And they all still, dwelled in love, in the among.
ii.
The beautiful harp, after it had made the long trek, returned and played a beautiful harmony,
and yet no-one listened. So the harp, with her love, played harder –
louder, and more furiously, until the strums gave way to twangs,
and people strayed from her corner of the plaza.
Strum, big golden harp, my friend, my love,
do not mourn the blind – play for them! Love them,
as the sun shines blithely on leaves.
iii.
ten people like omelettes.
that does not mean a hundred people like omelettes.
that does not mean ten people always like omelettes.
five people dislike omelettes.
that does not mean omelettes are unlikeable.
that does not mean five people dislike omelettes that their grandmas made for them.
i made an omelette for you.
it's made with eggs from a chicken whose name is Frida.
she likes sleeping on the hanging stick, slightly lopsided, her feathers glistening,
she ate Fred who used to live in the grasses with pointy, curious antennae.
a little bit of Fred is in Frida is in the egg is in the omelette. don't worry, i asked Frida, she said she's happy to share an egg or two sometimes.
it has bell peppers whose mother i knew for twelve years, and onions who had lived a long life and were now ready to get chopped up. i cried a little when i cut into them with Joanna, that's the knife, who once was a shiny, gorgeous diva in the deep underworlds.
it has a tomato's tears dripped onto the surface, the tomato is dramatic. she was given as gift to me by the summer goddess, who deigned to live briefly in a small four-by-four, six-inches deep plat of soil, she gobbles sunlight like a queen.
do you want the omelette?
and so i asked,
and asked,
and asked
and i'm going to ask you, and you again tomorrow,
and Frida, what do you need? and i'm going to ask Joanna too,
and i remember Fred's gorgeous hard back and miss him.
i will one day become an omelette too, to a gaggle of fungi,
and i hope i will be as glad as Wonder, mother of bell peppers, to give myself to them.
why does one want anything?
why does one want anything?
why do we lean towards the sun,
towards the hug, why do we yearn
to plunge into the other, into bosom, into arms,
into deep, wet canals? why do we yearn
for that pink undulating form, why?
why do we reason? why do we eat,
why do we speak? why do we walk,
where are we going? to where do we look,
why do we sit, so that we can turn and watch
the other? the you, the we, the us.
the world, the sun, the leaves, the fruit.
the cup, the liquid, the gold, the wax.
the layer, underneath, the skin, the hug,
the kiss. the lips. the scent, of washed shoulder.
why? why do we do any of this, why do we sit and say,
"correct," "incorrect," "true," "untrue,"
why? why do we do it. we do it, because we are.
we are, we are, we are, we are.
we are, here, with, one another.
we are. do not flip it – are we? we are.
i am. here. with you. we are. i-you; we-i; i-we; we-you; you-we;
i love you.
about return
the reason we want to return to the wild,
isn’t because we are secretly brutes.
it’s because we’re lonely.
we’ve made a kingdom out of a family,
we’ve fixed everything as extensions of us.
everywhere we look, it’s mirrors,
reflecting back at us our intentions,
which are usually to make dead things out of living things.
to return to wild would be to give things up.
and that is not a scary thing,
that is the thing that would finally make us not so lonely again.
about receiving
a plate receives like a plate,
a bowl like a bowl.
a cup drinks through a tall throat.
humans drink like humans.
when something shocks them into honesty,
they shout back. so it is.
the jaguar barks. an ant twitches its antennae,
a flower curls, a rock rocks.
we each have our own ways of being surprised.
when we are surprised, we are open. to the we-ness
which asserts itself. it matters only,
that we remain open, lest we close our ears and pretend
our deafness means the world was ever quiet.