:

My photo
:, Indonesia
I do not speak my truth to antagonize you.... I share this swollen river running -- This waterfall of faith-- because it flows from me like lennon's endless rain.... --my paper cup: this poem-- to which an endless string of words spill out and on to... I stain the sentences with abundant articulations that boil inside of me... I thirst, I starve, I crave. and all that quenches... all that can satiate me is to open the faucet and allow the words to run... They skip and dance across themselves... They formulate on their way out like fireworks deciding which way they will face when they open and sizzle in the night air... And when they do... it's a sight to behold. It shocks me like the boom, and takes me aback to see what has emerged. And Keroac knew. He knew all along... that I was one. As my words explode like spiders across the sky... I watch in staggering wonder at my truth revealed and know that I am home here. I have taken my vow... signed in blood... solemnly sworn myself in... been hazed and pinky promised... and I know... without the shadow of a doubt... that I am a mad one. ...and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

art of the healing art

The perpetual edge I find myself upon...
Tip toes on the tip of 'I've got it. I'm there.'...
Forever at dawn.
Into breaking light, I stare...

Finding a key and unlocking a door...
We enter to find just ten thousand more...
Creation in life, the constant metaphor...
Unparalleled beauty, and yet always more...
I find myself dumbfounded by each truth I explore...
Reminding us to remember what exactly dreams are for...
The brush has that painted from the very earth's core...

The selfsame hand has sketched our souls...
Written poems in the sky, in medicine, in all beings born...
A loosley tied bow holding life's fragile form.

All it takes is a gentle breeze...
Someone to sneeze...
And the next mystical mystery is released...

I let my mind swim towards the enigma and try...
To quench this insatiable thirst for the "why"...
Clarity so clear, yet so clearly awry...
Abstractions in the science of why birds fly...
Lessons abounding that beg us to try...

Books written... songs sung... prayers chanted...
How could anyone ever take this life for granted?

The elation of creation.

We are creatures of this magnificence upon an unseen canvas ball.
It is the prophetic, anonymous poet who is writing the ALL.
With gratitude and awe, on this earth, my tears fall

But does the "why" even matter?
For that's all we are anyways, right?
Just matter.

So, know that YOU matter.
You ARE matter.

the perpetual pun is probably intended.

No comments:

Post a Comment