Poetry, Uncategorized

The Cottonwood Stars

Here they are today, these cottonwood stars –

this is my body, borne adrift

on a wind of sunlit motes

these are the stars

in the rarefied breath of angels

with sentience inspired.

I am this way, as one of these

headstrong and earthbound.

Perhaps the wind will lift me

up and through grandfather cloud

I will pass into the deep sky…

Else, I shall drift my day

purpose supplied, motive unsure

and drift given wind by patterning wind

I and my spirit, we are spirit

and spirited on.

And then, as we were once

before the roots bore us up

and the sun gave strength through

time until our parents we fly

back unto the body we are still

and our children may be stars.

Uncategorized

Karmic Poertal

It is always the right thing if you know it is. You can reach a consensus of your being and know. We are all Boddhisattvas, great and small. Acts of kindness pay the greatest dividends that the Great Investment Bank of Heaven pays forward. To All.

Technology is a sense intensifier. Our world is globally connected. It is possible to transfer everything we value to anyone and anywhere almost instantaneously. All the positivity and all the ramifications exist simultaneously. The absolute duality of physical existent becomes front fold and ramifications multiply exponentially. How many factors duality can multiply up into is a mystery to me.

As are you, as am I.

I’ve tried to be kind. Sometimes that is not easy. The Universe offends if that is the language you know. It is obvious. But you may learn to remain your world from a place of positivity, and those messages will change. As will your life, possibly to your benefit and control. This is our waking dream, we are each and everyone of us expanded across Time co-creators.

This was a gift from the heart. A MF840LL/A MacBook Pro (Retina, 13-inch, Early 2015)

And it is a new space. New technology, a new interface. I need to have a good chat with Siri someday. Can you interview her, and can she interview you? Typing on this keypad is like frogs dancing on the tops of silicone lily pads. And, a publisher as radical as Gutenberg.

It is Love when the Universe dances in collusion with its sweet self.

I am worthy. Worthy of my thoughts. Worthy of my soul, and worthy of my being.

Thank you and Bless You.

Calligraphy, Poetry

Siddha Moralz

Siddha

 

Siddha immortal

Legerdermain

Cosmic Syllabus

Interpretation

Sanguirant

Discipline

 

In sequence delineate

Bulletin blue sky

 

Elvis

 

Sanscritualsits

In essence ally

Unchainging

Elevertate

Yerselph

Y

 

 

Feder und stichel

 

Opening sequestrationality

You make a kitchensinkingdom

Of nonsequitieturingpoprises

In northern alignment with

Southern Discomfitureniture

Unhinged the moorings

From the drift of every

Day from our purposality

Enmatrix accorded

Gracious propensity

Offer honored up

Side

s

Calligraphy, Poetry

Luminescent

Poema3

Effervescent unguents indoctrinate inordinate

Oftentimes the wonder of this all astounds with simplicity, all the

Insane elementalists exclaiming antithetical

Order conjoined by a single number divisible by zero with no

equations symbolizing the intense nature of

probabability of an errant response of an answer to all urgent, earnest

nothingness exponentially misspill please don’t

hopes of seeking a whisper of yet another question to come unbidden

cry because your revision burns and stings and

unasked, just who is it who asks? Which voice of whatever ghost

sings of the sweet loss of tomorrows yesterdays

in my mind chooses to rant about the fall of dusk and the shifting

reverberate with the acuity of torrents

of the winds of change small change at that accumulated in the dusty

of a migraine crashing vicious surf breaking

pockets of time, whisper me the smell of the hot, dry desert on an early

bad against the occipital ridges of full-frontal

summer night as the red sun sinks slow, fix me with the same green

density in absentia the heart grows fonder of this

flash of intent as the sun chooses the horizon so far out at sea in a

sweetest pastime of obfuscation and alliteration

phenomenon so rarely observed that it fosters legends. Please don’t

abbreviating the obligatory rituals of casually upended

point at the triple rainbow wishing to share your awe, or speak of the

overarching concerns cited by authorities to

Beauty of my babies. I know it is not of our base belief in our nature,

vilify there errant mongrels that bay at nights

But I wish them to be demon-free, with promise and incidence and a

silvery moon sentinel in the starlit sky filled up

Radiance peculiar to those who are god-touched. Half-cracked and a

like a bowl of argent cherries spilled out across an

Little crazed from the gentle awakening touch of his fingertip on your

ebony black tablecloth of dark matter waving final

Forehead – surely this insight will be with me always aware and answering

potentiality back to the mirror of the maker of

In the obviousness of grace. But there are days that I sleep the day away

the multiverse is speaking the sweet language

And notice not a single breath or question a single thought or thinker.

of love to you, whispering sweet everythings into

I am the multiverses in all their glories – I contain decadence and splendor

your virginal ears, fine and elegant, graced with

Enthalpy and entropy. Dry winds and leaky pens, resistant finger

cascades of diamond shooting stars streaked

prints that push the cognizant trails of ink away from my purpose

with ardent fire arcing out against the splendid

The least and most of which is to love you so greatly that I come to

sky so full of destiny and mysterious

Realize just who it is that loves. There is no why. It is all that

pathways to wildly probable destinies interwoven

There is here. Only the love of what unfolds in our divine presence

with orbits and intricacies unknown by the

What we mistake for actions and reasons in the passage of time and

hearts of those that dwell in the strict confines

Our reality streaming past the steady windows of our magnetic

of time after time entrapped by retractable beliefs

Chosen perception, our vision and chiming revisions of each and

intractable to those who choose to close

Every belief in each and every moment we think a gift in our time

any number of options gifted to our kindred.