The Wild Wild Past

The Wild Wild Past

For me
Finally understanding
Is a cold comfort
Sad event
Seeing myself
Portrayed as often idiotic
A bit actor
A roll player at best

You can almost hear me
If you listen
In the background
In a whisper
Telling great tales
Of lost treasure
From the wild wild past

Romans 12:9-16

Romans 12:9-16

Brothers and sisters:

Let love be sincere
Hate what is evil
Hold on to what is good
Love one another with mutual affection
Anticipate one another in showing honor
Do not grow slack in zeal
Be fervent in spirit
Serve the Lord
Rejoice in hope
Endure in affliction
Persevere in prayer
Contribute to the needs of the holy ones
Exercise hospitality
Bless those who persecute you
Bless and do not curse them
Rejoice with those who rejoice
Weep with those who weep
Have the same regard for one another
Do not be haughty but associate with the lowly
Do not be wise in your own estimation

St. Paul

Foolish Desires

Foolish Desires

Before I fuck something else up

I leave it all to You
Not because I’m humble
But because of my unintended ignorance
And my not so unintended ignorance

What do I know?
In our pursuit to attain
Some imagined magical happiness
Sure
But the candy can be taken away

Like an ant
Attempting to use its great understanding
Of ant mounds
To understand existence
And the complexities of sweetnesses
Spinning on a cooling molten rock
Of cotton candy
Abandoned on the sidewalk
Billions of galaxies in
Trying to decipher the universe
Trying to avoid the ruthless necessity
Of pain,
This is what I’ve deciphered:
Existence is indecipherable

Our only hope is love
That great
Ungraspable, inescapable,
Indescribably
Awesome
Thing

When I was a baby
I used to cry loud
Even from the womb
In my mother’s kingdom
Demanding what I wanted
Purely desiring what I wanted
And that was
To be

Now as an older man
I no longer demand
I barely even want or pray
I try to think of simple ways
That I might help
For opportunities from GOD
To be of aide

My foolish desire these days
Is to bring GOD’s Kingdom
Down into my apartment

And move on from there

The Source

The Source

To cherish the individual
In someone
To honor their difference
Their sameness
Not only outwardly
But on an inward plane
Where no one’s lost
No one’s played in vain

The hallucination of oneself
Is what they see
The hallucination of oneself
As we assembles our egos
That hide our true beauty
With what we imagine ourselves to be
Protecting it, fearing it’s loss

Camping out in a sleeping bag
Disregarding the stars
That flower from the source
Of the “Nothing”
So lucky
For the source of the “Everything”
Is very very good

Highly Realistic Apparitions

Highly Realistic Apparitions

I can’t dunk

I’ve dreamed that I could dunk
(And I don’t mean fake dunks
To give someone
The virtual reality
Sugar Tease Gate
HRA’s (Highly Realistic Apparitions)
To appease the still struggling;
Who always awoke highly disappointed
Yes, exactly ten feet

Of course Dr. J (Julius Erving) can still dunk
Aged mid 60’s
As of now (Youtube)

I try to think of it this way,
Einstein couldn’t dunk
Nor Mahatma Gandhi neither
(This is where Jesus would
Normally come into my poem,
But seeing that he can walk on water
I’m not so sure he couldn’t dunk
So I’ve excluded him from the list
(No disrespect intended)

Abraham Lincoln was tall
But still couldn’t dunk
Martin Luther King couldn’t dunk
But had a heart
That could shout
From the sacred hollow
“I Believe!”

Oprah couldn’t dunk
Jimi Hendrik’s could dunk
With or without acid
But not with those bell bottom blues

Elenor Roosevelt couldn’t dunk
SpongeBob SquarePants couldn’t dunk
Unless written into his animation

Let’s face it
Only 1% of people can dunk
OK, maybe as many
As 2.4% of Americans

Don’t feel bad

But jeez… wouldn’t it be great…..?

But then again
If everybody could do it
I don’t believe I’d dream about it much
Anymore

DAAMAN

DAAMAN

Obedience is a fountain
From which all virtues
Originally sprung
Obedient to the will of GOD
Above all else
Obedience
As was the strength of abram

How do we distinguish
Between the will of GOD
And the incessant ranting
Of our own superego?

We ask GOD for help
Especially we ask
To be bathed in GOD’s abundant mercy
And forgiveness
And wrapped in his protective mantle
Of infinite wine, of holy blood
Grasping tight to the hem His DAAMAN;
Brushing the fringe
Of His infinite cloak

Grizzled Warrior

Grizzled Warrior

In a world
Where reputation is everything
Remove that
And you got yourself
A broken humanoid

Admitting failure does not omit facts
Staring failure in the face 24/7
And who’s to blame for that?
Now that they’re talking
Blame and fault and failure
According to the intergalactic bestseller
“The Game of Love”
Compared to the games of law
On earth
Surprised!
How can one be so dumb
Shocked!
How might one be that wise –

O Baba
You’ve made me well aware
Of my own insignificance
Sprinkled with the drama
Of making my own errors
As a career move
As an inner dimensional tutorial
As a true blessing –
Am I ready now
For your greatness?

…But I’ll take mercy,

Your grizzled warrior

Grovelers At The Gate

Grovelers At The Gate

All gussied up for the soiree
Please help me be a good man
But not a fool
Help me help you
Open the hearts and minds
Of our blessed commanders
Of commandos

A tip of the hat
A swig of wine
Storming the shorelines of heaven
Bringing out the infantry

Of grovelers at the gate
Ner’ dismissing
Each and every
Ataman’s fate

I believe in one GOD
A GOD that gives me free reign
Within its own free reign

Our redemption is the existence
Of the now conscious source of the universe –

Our liberation is in the vast unknown
We live now and experience always

Prostrate

Prostrate

Satiating desires doesn’t create happiness –
It just makes more desires
Desires etched in sand
In stone, in glass, in diamond
In flesh
In palm tree ash
Smoke and mirrors
Glitz and cash
Nose to the grindstone
Spewing the grist
Of super hard carbon
Nano laser razor tantric
Honed insight
Bit – light
In particle beam
Waves of the quantum time rolling in
Wearing down those charms
By the will of love alone
All levels of consciousness
Simultaneously
Through many million heroic human
Phantasmagorical lifetimes gone
All being etched
And again and again undone
Sorted out
Written in stone
Written in the sand on the shore
Written in the body and the blood
Written in the passion
Written with the power of GOD’s own hand
Until only beauty
Within structureless consciousness
Exists
Where untold ecstasies awaken

Prostrate before the source
Of all creation