One Soul Saved

 

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One Soul Saved

To believe that climate change can be averted is to believe that humanity can rapidly improve itself morally. Maybe it will, I can’t say. For me, it is better to believe in an ennobling vision and pursue it for a lifetime, even if it fails, than to submit to a tawdry comfortable slavery, which is the cause of that massively popular failure. Aspiring to better humanity is lonely work easily inundated by oceanic inattention and unconscious ingratitude. All that you may gain could only be the bracing realization that you at least kept faith with the honorable in nature during your brief twinkle of living consciousness: one soul saved.

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Translucent

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Translucent

I found myself in a cloud of unknowing,
surprised
after journeying with intention for so long.
Everything had fallen away,
renewed emptiness gave life clarity ahead,
bleached of the past,
a wild tropic strand glinting in the blazing dazzle
of liquid crystalline awareness,
the light of day alone in its pristine expanse,
a surviving castaway whose old world drifted
as ghost mist evaporating far out at sea
while fresh footprints in the sand
led from moist cool to dry warmth
up to beckoning verdant meadows deeper in.

It’s a kindness to remember the old moorings,
but I’m no longer there, unnoticed still by long habit.
People don’t annoy as much when not around,
and there’s no reason to explain what isn’t needed,
unthrottling time, dilating space,
receding horizons, demisting vistas.
Things all have their times
and all times fade to nothing
beyond the reach of entangling rescues
by urgent nets of anxiety and possessing wants
left echoless in the wake of this absorbing quiet
filled with possibilities of thought.
Don’t worry to reinter me into old illusions,
I’m not lost, I’m free.

4 March 2019

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Two Worlds

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Two Worlds

There are only two worlds now: the Included and the Excluded; and there are only two kinds of people: those who care about it, and those who don’t.

The Included World hastens to fortify its walls, gunmen, and accountants enclosing its select archipelago of oases defining its territory of secure consuming obliviousness, against the straining pressure of the rising flood from bursting Exclusion, compressed against its own outflow by Inclusion’s higher thicker dams holding back that impoundment of anguish swelling with frigid impoverishment and churning into boiling panicked stampedes toward the fabled cervixes of Inclusion, like turbulent torrents of delirious sperm racing up narrow clogged fallopian tubes, hurling themselves toward feverish beatific visions of higher bountiful fruition, while all around everywhere those exhausted in body, mind and spirit by the blind rush for survival fall out unseen to stagnate in the worlds’ gutters littered with the failures of luck and the refuse of compassionless inattention, to wither in the open, waste away in the dark, and be picked off by soulless scavengers.

Beyond the age of three, unless they thereafter ferociously resist the dissolution of their personal integrity by the ambient mass psychosis, the potentially Included increasing devolve into zombies absorbed into generic personal fogs of indoctrinated illusions roboticizing them to mesh into enslaving gear trains of unconscious commercialized self-absorption as redundant units in the anthill pyramids of petty-minded potentates contending for greater leadership in Inclusion’s assault on the future. The waste heat of Included thoughtless excess rains down a desiccating coldness of heart onto the Excluded whose wellsprings of vitality are parasitically sucked out by remote greed, inundating the castaways with a desolation of uncaring, and garrotting them by the concentration of their bombarded fecundity.

Day after day the buoyant Included step with practiced ignorance over the unnoticed corpses of expired Excluded, fallen in their parallel isolation from within the descending crowd, across the pathways of Inclusion’s unrelenting drives of politicked ascendancy toward higher rungs of privilege and prestige, toward ampler harvests of enriching sales, toward wider presences of blaring advertisement in the electronic fields of automated rent-seeking, and toward grander delusions of self-worth measured by volumes of automated vapid exaltation, and looted cash.

In time the violent dams erected by Inclusion will collapse like the ice dams of the Pleistocene, with ensuing floods scouring to scablands the now plump islands of contentment, homogenizing the muddy sea of humanity. When? How? Who knows? But Nature eventually balances opposing forces, levels steep-sided heights, and equates differences in the time-unravelling chaos of entropy. The personal you, and all of your stuff, will be carried off by time’s unceasing undercurrent of dissipation. All your scheming and all your dreaming will be dissolved away, like everyone else’s, and the only fleeting remnant of any real worth you as a conscious organism may have had will be the fading memories in succeeding generations of if you had cared and how you had shared. Be happy, this is good, it means we each can know how to live enlightened and then come to die with an honest self-respect free of regrets.

Indifferent Nature dictates the Two Worlds must merge into One, but by the whimsical randomness of evolution our human species has uniquely been granted the limited power of deciding, soon, if that future One will be alive for all, or dead for us. Be happy, this is good, it means we can collectively know how to live as a socially enlightened species in harmony with all life, and with honest self-respect free of regrets — if we chose to.

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That Radiant Feeling

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That Radiant Feeling

I love cool, crisp autumn days after a rain
when the sun etches the clouds into the sky,
the quavering crimson-golden leaves,
and every luminous blade of flaming green grass.
The limbs of trees cast textured shadows
— on white vibrant walls,
and glints of light burst out of puddles
— exploding into space.
Strands of spider silk streak flashes of light
— in the breeze
as jays and hummingbirds arc through that
— electric breath of day.

I walk with my jacket open through this celebration,
feeling the coolness brush against my face and chest
as light soaks warmth into my body.
Birds twitter and chirp out of view all around,
while breeze pulses through the leaves
expiring like tidal foam evaporating on a tropic strand.

How good it is to be alive,
to feel this refreshing radiance,
to savor the shifting collage of cool, moist autumn fragrances.

I am so fortunate to experience this,
and so happy to realize it.
I think of you darling, of the love we share,
and the walks we have taken on days such as this.
I carry the warmth of your love in my heart,
its radiant grace refreshing my days.
I savor my moments of living with you,
be they softening sleepiness or sharp surliness.
Come — let us walk together, you and I,
and explore far pathways in the ripening sun.
Let us be with each other alone for a day
alive in the present, in love and at play.
I find peace in your love, and I look for no other,
you offered me freedom my darling sweet lover.

17 November 1988

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Your Love Is My Challenge

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Your Love Is My Challenge

I must say “I love you” two hundred times a day
and every single one of them is heartfelt and true.
I must say “I want you” a hundred times too
for every minute of every day my body yearns for you.
There have to be some other ways to show you how I feel
besides bouquets and hungry hands whispering my appeal.
What more can I find to offer, and what else to accept?
How can my creativity expand my love for you?
Can I ever hope to open up the mystery of time
to let you ramble that braided weave of all your dreaming lives?
Can I ever hope to lead you back to the hidden spring of life
where you can tremble with that flow, and melt into that light?
You touched me and I came alive, reborn to live with you,
now let me open up this world so your love flowers through.
I rise to meet the challenge of championing your love,
my heart is open, my spirit full, my vision clears to you.

2-22 November 1988

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Looking Back I See

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Looking Back I See

I could’ov lived a poet’s life
roving ‘or the world of my dreams,
but wives ’n kids would not’ov stood
for unplowed furrows ’n nights unseen.
Hitched-up horses and dogs on leash
reassure more than mottled gleams
of moonlight shadow rippling ‘cross
tomcat’s wandering wild screams.

Longing’s fear in ignorance
threw chains on artist caperings
with love and safety held so dear
one’s spring and sparkle cooled and stilled.
An unburnt candle casts no light
nor wax-drip sears the hand ’holds it
but blaming others I cannot
for all my grasping at the wind
to root unlikely chance to ground
as time invisible slipped by.

Freedom’s mooring to throbbing life
is owning choices one has made
both all the triumphs and regrets
breath and heart have passed through beating
out life’s stream of incidents that
flow words thoughtless ’n wordless thoughts,
rising smoke in forgetting’s night,
mist burned clear in oblivion’s light.

Trust can be a rock secure as
haphazard happiness drifts by,
each man’s an island on his own
every woman’s a hurried sea.
The randomness of time and tide
lap eddies onto shores of mind,
a poet’s life must always be
lost starlight glinting on the sea,
harmonic chaos elegant
is understanding clarified.

Money is all evils’ flower,
evil is all money’s root,
Commodifying, life’s reduced
to lowest cost at highest price
in great lovelorn America
misled by those who make you see
the poetry in guillotines.
Why weaken truth, dull clarity
placating insecurity?

Poetic thought dissolves at last
in old hens’ prattling done and drowned,
Dylan Thomas died one night
from swelling of the brain, infused,
and so doth booze insight expand
the oft crabbed musing consciousness.
A failure I would bound to be
if questing life eternally,
but be assured this won’t be so
of me being free curmudgeonly.

12 February 2019

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The Western Desert

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The Western Desert

Wild
expansive
empty
dry airless heat
choking windblown dust
the forgotten dreams of forgotten souls
now grains of salt
left by a lost ocean of tears
their songs now crunching tracks being laid
by chance wanderings of fleeting life
shifting from the unseen to the unknown
evaporating in time to ripples of light
and fallen crystals of grit.
My sunset will emblazon a vast horizon
for I jettison stuff in trade for space
and I jettison illusions in trade for time.
Tranquility, a timeless peace, is time with space
reconciled to casting away fear, desires and friends
illusions imprisoning bits of time
liberated for mindful living
all too soon just dissipated heat
the forgotten dream of a forgotten soul
empty
expansive
wild.

9 February 2019

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