Through a Crack in the Blinds

Through a crack in the blinds
I am witness to my fondest illusion,
our three dimensional existence.

What a glorious sight this planet
and all that moves within.

How deliciously tempting it is to forget-
to put aside our Eternal existence
for all the pretty pictures.

But I have peaked through another opening,
this has taken away the "blinds".
A multi-dimensional key-hole,
where I have felt Life itself,
tasted Force which has inspired everything,
painted every masterpiece,
carved every sculpture,
written the holiest of scriptures
and birthed human experience.

I do not denounce this human condition with its illusions.
I trust in our collective invitation.
I am humbled in the experience.

Through a crack in the blinds
I will again be asked to discern,
between our ordinary existence
and the eternal journey of our Infinite Souls.

New World

there's a relief inside
a vulnerable truth was spoken
carefully uttered words
held in the arms of the tribe

there was danger in her speaking
she knows the warrior I've befriended
still being tamed
turbulent and not fully mastered
but still we risk

in the immediacy of the experience
a volcano erupts
the mind scrambles to reassemble
knees buckling and innards shake

there lies the courage and opportunity to expand
the picture of our ever-changing tribe
our new world

What is man anyhow?

i'm slightly curious
to follow through
in some exploration
of what it might feel like
to say yes
to you
to a man i do not know

in the words of a great man
"What is man anyhow?"
so what and who is this man
with hidden portrait
playful wisdom
abdominal chisel
and fleshy torso
and offerings so sensual?

Avoiding

There's so much to be done,
thousands of pages,
multiplying tasks
piled on the hardwood floor.

Instead of sorting and sifting,
I'd rather be drawn
to the window ledge,
the one with cracking paint and tired wood.

I'd rather feel the massage of the trees
staring at me majestically,
or write a symphony,
or integrate dreams of popes and masturbation.

Sooner or later this mountain,
let me rephrase,
this tiny little ant hill of musical notes
will require my attention.
After lunch perhaps,
or a stroll in park.

Who Fits the Shoe? (A Secretive Obsession)

It's been an obsession,
a secretive session,
a question.
Now for more confusion.

For you my heart feels,
it's a discipline to ignore memories' reels.
But for now I can't resist,
this nagging obsession which exists.

I'm well aware of the healthier things to do
than to dream of you
or of which Prince Charming or Cinderella
could finally fit the shoe.

But for now I am here feeling slain,
nothing to gain,
rethinking my obsession,
realizing my confession.

Wounds and Dreams

there are things I wished to tell you
real things
strange things
things I never had the chance to say
about my deepest wounds
or of my greatest dreams

slowly they are unfolding
the things i wished to tell you
you will hear them without my words
they are finding their way
through creative force

my wounds
they are being sung by the Collective choir
and danced by the flowering cherry blossoms

my dreams
they are the melodies i cannot hear
and my legacies not yet written

The Tribe

in the center of myself
in the core of nothing
in the void of everything
a vibration enters

this is where I become the vulnerable virgin
being raped into consciousness
ripping and tearing
feeling the pulling and stretching

the gift is this life inside of me
birthing me again and again
into an unconscious jungle
guided and held by my tribe