I need not reach behind the stars
To live my sunny and starry and cloudy days.

The Rustling of Personhood

An ex-girlfriend’s brother once mourned over the end of Zeus et al’s reign, and insisted on praying to them. He believed that they, too, deserved followers. What a beautiful astray-ness, and a farce of youth! The pity of a sensitive soul, so often hijacked, directed towards long-dead divine beings. And do we not all fall for this at some point?

————-

Writing by candlelight: proof that what needs to come out of me is more important than sleep, that it is driven by fire.

Three is a community.
Two is a future.
One is a universe.

Remember that humans, like plants, rustle until you touch them.

The Frenzy of Nature’s Pen

The days in the Amazon are going faster now. The days feel full and rich, my inner world feels grounded and in pursuit of something.

The trees in the Amazon: They say, “I am lofty and proud — and as I shade you, I take in my sun! —” Is life not supposed to be this way?

That moment the sounds of the forest drive your pen. —

 

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What has fallen into my well is still falling —

“Now I see myself beneath myself.” As you get higher, does your shadow below you not also get bigger?

In my every smile is a drop of malice — the power to coax tectonic shifts in you. This power — look away if you fear it! Or, better yet: Get out of my way.

The dragon — not “simply” Thou Shalt — one must leave their world, all the reverent and holy spirits in it! — a social death one must overcome as much as a spiritual one to be a lion. What a mortifying maze with no obvious way out! And yet — and yet the path is so unexplored, so undeclared, that with all my body I declare it beautiful. Something in me — is it the power of flight? — has been awakened. “Now I will not be pushed before moving from my place.”

Continue reading “The Frenzy of Nature’s Pen”

Shipibo on Facebook

“The maestras and maestros have facebook too, and phones that are better than yours.” — at last the unseriousness of life opened itself up to me! And I’ve been misunderstanding that feeling as a smallness — but no: it is the wholesome, “miniscule” nature of understanding! Laugh and be uplifted friends! For we are human, all-too-human.

On Fire & Burning

Inner teetering
Is like scraping match to matchbox
& inner suffering
Feels much like gasoline

————-

“Alone we go faster, but together we go farther”: Is this not also a double lie? For a group moves and burrows, in truth, as far and as fast as its weakest member. The strongest solitaries go eons farther — and faster — than many a great group on its tall and fragile human pyramids. And the catch? Solitaries are held back by being in a group. Community is not only not for them, it is not for the community to welcome them.

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“These bugs are loud!” Yes: They found space to be alive. Continue reading “On Fire & Burning”

To the Tall & Lofty Who are Pained & Desperate, As I’ve Been

6-17-18

Man has only jester. — There’s so much tragedy in me.

——————-

Laughter can be
The cry before the
storm
Or the light
before the dawn.

——————-

Welling up from the deep
Great once-loved meteorites
Abundant
Filled quickly my small caves
And pushed themselves down
With new & silent force
In place of voice. Their glimmering colors
Matched the sky. Continue reading “To the Tall & Lofty Who are Pained & Desperate, As I’ve Been”

After My First Ceremony:

6-16-18

Last night: I greeted the Aztecs — & met the cleverest animal.

The beginning of my ceremony went like this:

A knock on the door from myself to the wisest man:

“She’s here.”

He gets up, picks up his walking stick with a swift grab, and steps out of his room-cave onto the edge of a cliff-side, where a great pink tidal wave approaches them all — and, with circular vibrations profound, brushed them aside. Maybe these people aren’t high enough! Or need more strength! —

The biggest lesson from the experience: Celebrate. I don’t celebrate enough.

——–

May I find my truth! Damn all “universal” truths!

——–

The serpent finds home,
The eagle flies beyond —
Can you hear the ringing tones?
Can you see transcendent song?
To throw stones at our past
And to journey before dawn,
To have walked a thousand miles
And found yourself — here, before long;
The end found me before I was found,
The ‘Devil’ in me!, as “divine” resounds.

Is “Source” A Cosmic Joke? Perhaps a *Human* Joke?

Wrote this on 6/15/18 — before my first ceremony working with Ayahuasca:

I look at some people & see ape-jesters, wearing holy garb — that only they can see; and yet true as that certainly feels (for me), I wonder how ape-jester-like I appear with my love of where Nietzsche’s walked, my near & far misses, my ardent clinging-onto, my love of verbalizing truths that every so often I see as being barely a dent in the universe.

I hope I see Source — & see more than “Source” in it! — just as in “I” lives far more than “I” (let alone my or your “I”, and the “I”s of our “I”s!) — may will as much as feeling guide me.

Thoughts in Dis-Array

Where meaning traps most people: Truman Syndrome!–or, when we are threatened by lights shining at or towards us. When we long for meaning as darkness.

When stars take a nosedive: They forgot which direction was up. Loneliness gone desperate. Also known as: The Shooting Star. We often tend to place our wishes upon those who are burning up before our eyes,–don’t we?

When the desire to write is not matched by words worth uttering: There is always music. Unless — for deafness there are always — gradations of silence. The truth-seeker does, after all, go deaf to hear these different silences, to hear the force of some, the pain of others, and the ecstasy of still others. But this happens only in places where one can be deaf — those places where there’s never too much to see, and where each sound has its space to live and die and be born again.