POEM: Commander-in-chief

Just
Say it
Three times fast
He/she/it
Commander-in-chief
Presiding over
No unwounded soldiers
As sum kind
Of used scars salesman
Master of what we auto do
Protector of awe we car about
As if
Some amored vehicle
Good grief
Shock and all
Giving won’s right harm
As pumped up append age
And sport scar
As buy gone youth
The fodder of proclamations
And canonizing
A bout
How offal sorry
Know longer jumping
Through hooplas
Green to pain for grave deeds
As herein now
Head stoned
Or even
Missing inaction
That piece that passes
Awe
Under standing
An immeasurable ruler
Of the highest
Nay heavenly
Rank

Wars Don't Kill People Presidents Do--ANTI-WAR BUTTONOwed to the Commander-in-chief.  He/she/it.  Weather a man, a woman, or merely a cog in the office of the President, war is hell.  All else is propaganda.  The commander-in-chief serves as the high priest of nationalism, offering up blood and idol words, mocking the sovereign goodness of God.  Selling evil as necessary is affront enough to a loving God.  GOD: The Mother Of All Soldiers (and civilians) PEACE BUTTONOverselling military service as a sacred duty cements our feat in an ocean of hurt.  Trust in the power of war, military might, is the fodder of much of the Old Testament.  This is nothing new.  However, the power and workings of God are ever anew.  There was a time when people believed that he earth was flat.  There was a time when people believed that monarchy, the rule of royal elites, was an absolute and unchangeable reality.  I DON'T ALWAYS KILL PEOPLE, BUT WHEN I DO, I WRAP IT IN MY HIGHEST IDEALS ANTI-WAR BUTTONThere was a time when people accepted slavery as a normal, desirable, even God-sanctioned, fact of life.  God created us free.  Free to do evil.  Free to do good.  We don’t need to kill to be free.  We may need to kill to mold creation into our image, of a world free for those closest to us, and a world of shit for those far from us.  We worship a god chopped up into little peaces, and we have the body parts to prove it.  May we cast off the vicious cycles of violence and war, and dedicate, even sacrifice, our lives for a world where one side fits all.  This is awe that God asks of US.  Make it sow.

Anything War Can Do Peace Can Do Better PEACE BUTTON If we were willing to pay the same price for peace that we pay for war, we'd have peace today PEACE BUTTONI Want You To Work for Peace [Uncle Sam] PEACE BUTTON

Our Grief Is Not A Cry For War PEACE BUTTONPACIFIST - Someone With The Nutty Idea That Killing People Is Bad PEACE BUTTONNothing enduring can be built on violence. Gandhi quote PEACE BUTTON BUTTONS-Peace-Q-NECB

Peace hath higher tests of manhood than battle ever knew. John Greenleaf Whittier quote PEACE BUTTONWeapons are like money; no one knows the meaning of enough. Martin Amis quote PEACE BUTTONSupport As Few Troops As Possible PEACE BUTTON

Violence - The Cause and Solution to All of Our Problems PEACE BUTTONYou Can Bomb The World To Pieces But You Can't Bomb It To Peace PEACE BUTTONgot militarism? PEACE BUTTON

I Support Everyone's Troops [Grim Reaper] ANTI-WAR BUTTONThere Is No Such Thing As An Unwounded Soldier ANTI-WAR BUTTONWAR - Your Doody To Humankind ANTI-WAR BUTTON

 When You Fight Evil With Evil, Evil Wins ANTI-WAR BUTTONStop Taking Life Literally--ANTI-WAR BUTTONPeace is Patriotic ANTI-WAR BUTTON

Truth is the First Casualty of War - Most of the Rest Are Civilians--ANTI-WAR BUTTON I Want You To Die a Meaningless Death To Sustain a Lifestyle that Will Ultimately Destroy the Earth-ANTI-WAR BUTTON

Browse all of Top Pun’s anti-war button designs and peace button designs.

 

POEM — His Whole: Life

His whole
Life
Flashed before his ayes
Too living
In singular moments
And unrepeatable joys
Awe the more
In whatever may
A peer
As extra ordinary

Life shrinks or expands according to one's courage --Anais Nin quote POLITICAL BUTTONThis 26 word poem is an example of one of my short poems crammed to overflowing with philosophy and theology.  This poem represents well the wholeness sought in life, ever more full life.  What is sought is a fleshy and flashy process encompassing both the ordinary and extraordinary.  Life is sensuously palpable and profoundly effervescent.  The experience of full life is unique and unrepeatable; there is little room for contrivance or artifice.  Rich inner experience gilds apparently mundane and routine happenings with a freshness and newness.  This whole life opens up before us when we answer our quest in the affirmative: YES!  And to complicate matters, this process is squared round other people presenting their own sinewy inner experience.  Life is messy!

Fear does not prevent death; it prevents life --Nagub Mahfouz quote POLITICAL BUTTONIf the messiness of life is not parlayed into awe the more, then certain inescapable lessens must be confronted.  Inconveniently complicated people (and life itself) are demoted to manageable factions of who they are.  Fear and control creeps, into a dominating existence, relegate living in the shadows of all that matters.  In such abated breath, the nemesis or antagonist of life enters the stage.  But, alas, that is another poem and another blog entry.  May it suffice to say: may your whole life flash before your ayes, and that life be yours.

WALK Around Like You Own Yourself, It's YOUR Life, Take Control Of It POLITICAL BUTTONDon't take life too serious. You'll never escape it alive anyway. Elbert Hubbard quote SPIRITUAL BUTTONLife is what happens while your making other plans. John Lennon quote SPIRITUAL BUTTON

What Conservative Came Up With The Ridiculous Notion That Life Begins At Incorporation?! POLITICAL BUTTONThe Best Things in Life are Not Things - Faith, Joy, Mercy, etc around border-POLITICAL BUTTONPeace n. the whole of life ANTI-WAR BUTTON

 

POEM: An Aesthetic Hope

In anesthetizing hope
A certain author
Did what he thought was write
Sow cerebrally saying
Hope is not a feeling
Rather hope is an action
To wit I despond
This brakes down positively
Why I get
The extinct feeling of hope
Reading such erudite scribble
Just happening to be
The lowest forum of action
As well
A supposed righting tool
Leaving in action
In deed on arrival
Too such a tome
Many fold
Falling short
To feat in the real world
Such fealty faltering
Without lucid dreaming
As a plying hope
And as leafing threw
Made up mine
To ink for myself
A stroke of genus more hopeful
An aesthetic
I’m willing to minister

Got Hope SPIRITUAL BUTTONHere is a poem about the benefit of feeling hope.  This poem was inspired by my reading, many years ago, of “God’s Politics,” by Jim Wallis.  This book had little resonance with my soul.  I had an epiphany as to why this was the case, far into the book, when the author claimed that hope was an action not a feeling.  Thus, his viewpoint seamlessly resulted in me not feeling hope when reading his book.  Of course, I have since then done the impossible, feeling hope, on a daily basis.  Hope is a common theme in my writing, and I hope that this remains the case.  Everything that is done in the world is done by hope--Martin Luther King, Jr. BUTTONThis poem also plays with the notion of writing as one of the lower forms of action, mocking somewhat the irony of the author’s assertion in the lowly act of writing of lifting up presumably more hopeful actions, as well as a little self-parody as a writer myself.  I have little doubt that hope incarnates in both feelings and actions, propelling us toward our dreams.  As a recovering abstract intellectual, I can relate to the author’s cerebral assertion.  Nonetheless, my whole body of experience informs me that hope exists as a feeling, as well.  I have an activist friend who consistently behaves in a way that gives me hope — including feeling hope — yet she often does not experience the feeling of hope herself.  How dreadful the truth can be when there is no hope in the truth. Sophocles quote SPIRITUAL BUTTONI do not understand the grace behind some people feeling hope when behaving hopefully and those who behave hopefully despite not feeling hopeful.  I think the latter case may be what Jim Wallis is addressing, perhaps reflecting his own experience.  Interestingly, I actually feel great hope in witnessing people behave hopefully despite not feeling hopeful.  What an odd, though beautiful, blessing to the world — not having to feel hopeful to behave hopefully.  I’m not sure I could do that consistently.  I wish that those behaving hopefully would have the congruent feeling of hope.  Still, I surely can’t complain that I get a double portion of hope, my own hope plus theirs!  Ah, such is my lot in life.  May you experience hope, one way or the other.

We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope--Martin Luther King, Jr. BHope Trumps Despair PEACE BUTTON

POEM: Flowing Inevitably Threw Us

Our hearts were broke
A cache sow, well, spent
In solvent
In life
Long
Yearnings
Teaming tsunamis of solidarity
Of the largesse kind
Poor
Over us
Torn as under
A heavy wait
Pre-seeding
A compelling yield
As if
Some bank erupt
Reigning
The affluence
Of won another
In tsunamis of serendipity
Having pre-pared us
Seeing in owed daze
As broke
Open
As chambers and vessels
Suited fore rivers of love
Flowing inevitably
Threw us

This poem is about what seems to be a necessary heart-rendering process of our hearts breaking before they can fully pour love out into the world.  I strongly suspect that this is the way our heart of hearts is built.  Much like soil, our hearts are tilled til compassion gives root to patience and grace-filled kindness.  This too fold process is upending to our less mature and superficially romantic fields of dreams.  Real Miracle to Walk on Earth--PEACE QUOTE BUTTONThe hard edges of injustice cleave us as surely as the serendipitous realities of unmerited kindness and generosity.  While the specific injustices and grace that we each experience is unique, our heart of hearts flourishes in solidarity with others.  The companionship and mutual support that flows through those who recognize themselves as being in the same boat binds us in one accord and harmonizes our souls so we can walk together as won people.  Only when our love pours out into the world, not bound and limited to vain vessels of our own, do our hearts function at full — nay overfull! — capacity.  OCCUPY EVERYTHING (Heart) - OCCUPY WALL STREET POLITICAL BUTTONWith love flowing through us, we are never broke; we have become holy, awe together, and udderly teeming with plenty.  In the process, our mortal hearts, like many earthen vessels, are thrown for a loop, only to be torn as under.  And for awe that, our heart of hearts is fashioned for sow much more.  Hearts united beat more than blood could ever dictate.  May our hearts never brake, pouring into the world with awe of our untamed hopes.

POEM: To Be Read Or Not

Her life was written
In the margins
Tolled in fine print
Subject to lexicons
Beyond apprehension
Not adorned by elegant types
Or gaudy cursive
In fancy addresses
Wear truth is stranger then fiction
More than won could possibly ink
Never the lass, a worthy tale
At any rate, without prints charming
Repulsed by such false hood
A version true
To the hands she was dealt
Never to be red
Bye patron eyes
Perhaps only to be recalled
By awe that made her
More than quiet right
Or left
To live free how
Ever out of bounds

This poem is a story about a woman whose life cannot be captured by any conventional telling, dominant customs, nor any mere man.  got feminism? political buttonThis poem is a testament to women’s tenacious endurance, creative expression, grounded sensibilities, unequaled solidarity, authentic presence, and bold healing they bring to the world.  She centers an off-kilter world in unremitting celebrations of life. Still, my words can only fail in awe of the sacred silence from which she speaks. May my shutting up be an honorable beginning.

Man who says it cannot be done should not interrupt woman doing it. SPIRITUAL BUTTON

POEM: Having Her Weigh With Me

The muse had her weigh with me
And it was sow right
There was nothing left
Accept light

This short poem is about the love affair between an artist and their muse.  The grace-ridden gifts from beyond our doing and understanding are transformative, provided that we not ignore their presence and look a weigh. Deep love makes it difficult to align one’s life with the conventional prescriptions of the world, with all of its handsome formulas and fine-tuned scales.  Love overturns.  And delightfully sow.  The world bids us to write that report, finish that job.  The muse, as any good lover, is accomplished at outbidding us to winnow away ours making love or simply “being” together.  May your muse faithfully rip you from the sow called productivity of this world and promote you to times and spaces where joy is your only wage.  And if, perchance, you don’t have a muse, lighten up, and like a fairy having taken flight in this sometimes abyssal world, they will land where the run away is lit up.

POEM: Plodding Vivacious Nature

While I was busy
Doing my busyness
Over taking
My competition
Nature was successively
Undertaking my previous busyness done
Supplanting my decomposing legacy
With crop worth feasting on
In treating me
As patience heel
Going
Won better
Nature calls
Barely distinguished from my sorry solicitations
Yet as summon to love
Plodding nature never climaxes
Nevertheless, it will undoubtedly come for me
In my ruin us substitute for vivaciousness

This poem was inspired by working in my backyard this Spring and being struck by how much nature marches on, particularly if you haven’t been paying that much attention to it for a while.  The bulk of nature seems painfully slow compared to the fast-paced lives of highly evolved, huffing and puffing mammals that we call humans.  Man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself --Rachel Carson quote POLITICAL BUTTONNature has a plodding patience that meekly, yet overwhelmingly, with grate irregularity to many, surmounts our well-kept yards and fields of concrete.  There is a gentle awesomeness as nature unassumingly yields our very lives.  Though, if we are too attached to sow called civilization, nature may creep up and out like that proverbial monster painstakingly slow but steadfastly only a step behind and foreboding.  The veneer of our suppository importance is made bear as we do our busyness in the woulds of life.  As we routinely pooh-pooh nature, nature brushes aside, as over bearing, such inattentive buy products.  As nature’s patients, such hospitality and heeling is often times not welcome.  Wile we unwittingly billed our own creation, nature rejuvenates with an irrepressible vivaciousness.  Without won assent, nature secedes in making us hole.  Perhaps it’s time to buy avowal or a singular consonant, that which would be, a whole.

Feel free to browse my nature and environmental designs here:

The Environment Is Over-Raided - FUNNY POLITICAL BUTTONA Savage Is Not The One Who Lives In The Forest, But The One Who Destroys It POLITICAL BUTTONDo Not Worry About The Environment - It Will Go Away POLITICAL BUTTON

LOVE MOTHER Earth POLITICAL BUTTONEvery Day Is Earth Day - POLITICAL BUTTONMay The Forest Be With You - POLITICAL BUTTON

POEM: In A Family Weigh

The future looms
Sew large
As we seam
Sow singularly stranded
In the present
Weave heir
A parent
With know designs
Beyond
Sum won ails
And grater still
The mine wandering
Too what end
As life goes
On and on
In and out
Adding up
One’s soul contribution
The pit or pattern
Of little feat
Never apart
Of the family busyness

This poem is about solidarity and hope.  At times, each of us may feel alone, facing an uncertain future.  This poem sets such worries and fears in the context of being part of the human family, children of God.  You are not alone.  While our individual actions may seem futile, they are an undeniable thread in the fabric of the future.  Even when we feel screwed, the future is pregnant with possibilities.  Not Your Obligation to Complete Your Work But Not at Liberty to Quit--PEACE QUOTE BUTTONThe Talmud wisely states, “It is not your obligation to complete your work, but you are not at liberty to quit.”  Change is ongoing — such is the nature of life.  Works worthy of the human race (versus the rat race) cross generations — even races!   Worthy hopes and dreams often need to live on across generations; thus, our hopes and dreams must pass the test of being in a family weigh.  As native Americans might put it: the arc of our lives should be aligned with the lives seven generations from now.  The moral arc of the universe bends at the elbow of justice--Martin Luther King, Jr. BUTTONFurther, as Martin Luther King, Jr. assured us, “The moral arc of the universe bends at the elbow of justice.”  Wherever your journey takes you, may you find courage and hope in the company of others, and do your part taking care of the family busyness.

 

 

Feel free to browse courage designs here.

The Opposite of Courage In Our Society Is Not Cowardice; It Is Conformity -- Rollo May quote POLITICAL BUTTONCourage - The Other National Deficit POLITICAL BUTTONHatred is the coward's revenge for being intimidated. George Bernard Shaw quote PEACE BUTTON

POEM: The Curator

I am
The curator
Of your infinite beauty
Privy to collections timeless
And in real time
Streaming glorious tributaries
To the art of who you are

This is a poem about the glorious privilege in close relationships of having unique access to the beauty of another, particularly a lover.  Inspired by my muse and sweetheart, such beauty is an unending — as in head over heels — source of teeming enthrallment.  Joy is Most Infallible Sign Presence of God--PEACE QUOTE BUTTONI genuflect at the mass of wondrous moments and shared memories.  Mere reminiscence of our first kiss is lost in the wake of our most recent kiss.  Every new kiss shatters the inadequacy of my imagination with the surpassing reality of beauty ever anew.  In the face of such beauty, my poetry pales.  The irresistible invitation to shut up and kiss me blissfully wins the day, holy inseparable.  Only when apart is my poetry birthed, orphaned of such beauty, hankering for those unrivaled tears of joy.

This poem, while a testament to the beauty of human love, offers a parallel connection to an even more holy love. As so aptly stated by Victor Hugo in Les Miserables: “To love another person is to see the face of God.”  To love another person is to see the face of God. Victor Hugo, Les Miserables quote SPIRITUAL BUTTONThis should surprise no one who sees God as love.  God revels in your infinite beauty, even if others may not witness it.  You are an ongoing work of art only adequately appreciated when one subject experiences another subject, not merely for what they do or look like, but who they are, both a work and source of ineffable art and artistry.

In my poems, I frequently use “I am” in a single line.  This is meant to allude to God, “I AM.”  In Exodus 3:14, Moses is instructed to tell his fellow Israelites from whom he is sent: “I AM.”  The long version, “I AM WHO I AM,” speaks to the sovereign character of God.  To the less discerning this may simply appear akin to Popeye declaring “I am what I am,” or Forrest Gump simply affirming, “Stupid is as stupid does.”  However, in the pedagogy of God, such tautologies are unhelpful.  Whatever Popeye is, is what he is.  On the face of it, what stupid is, is what stupid does.  Still, whatever I might do, or however I may appear to you, does not fully define who I am.  Your unduplicated set of personal thoughts and feelings, hopes and desires, experiences and perspectives, confound explication and formulation.  And, as for you, as for God (or vice versa).  You, as an authentic subject, are not fully experienced if only related to as a thing that looks a certain way and behaves in a certain way. The sacredness of being beloved is not the same as merely being witnessed or even appreciated for what one is or how one behaves.  The sacredness of being beloved encompasses a reverence for our ongoing artistry, the chosen project of our unreplicable life, what ever that may be.  This reflects the love a parent has for a child, regardless of what they happen to be at any given moment, or how they behave.  This reflects the love one has for their beloved, seeking their beloved’s best, even when it may be in parent conflict with what is best for them.  Similarly, God, as an authentic subject, is not fully experienced simply by examining, however closely, creation, and what the universe looks like or how it behaves.  Such data sets, however extensive, and formulations, however complete, cannot capture the living God; just as you are not defined only by how you look to others and how your behaviors are perceived.  Two subjects meeting, experiencing one another: this is the stuff of gods and goddesses, where new worlds are created.  Theologians, philosophers, and even scientists, talk about God, but this has little resemblance to experience looking God in the I.  And if this peers inaccessible, find a good lover, have a child, maybe both.  You assuredly will be surprised!

POEM: A Choiring, Raw Youth

Their raw youth
Was tenderly witnessed
By age owed eyes
In awe
Their awkward glory
Surpassing polished learning
More than could ever anew

This poem is a reminder to both young and old about the raw beauty of youth, the vim and vigor, dream-filled ebullience, and grace-filled awkwardness.  This poem can be understood without additional context, though the title — A Choiring, Raw Youth — is perhaps both a clue and enigma.  This poem was inspired by a high school choir performing at the retirement community where my dad lives.  I was youthful in compare to the rest of the audience, but, I am at that age where high school kids look look younger every year — and eventually either they or I will be issued diapers!  The experience and perspective of age — age owed eyes — may be uniquely able to appreciate the stunning juxtaposition of adolescent awkwardness and untainted talent.  For me, this elicited great compassion and hope.  It is a rare day that I would trade age for youth.  Though I frequently quip that youth is wasted on the young.  Still, even this quip is a cloaked compliment at the glory of youth, in awe of its awkwardness and blooming energy.  Their performance made a home for joy.  And as they headed out into the world, I trust that their freshness will continue to make this place we call earth ever anew.  I was bettered by the presence of their performance.  May people of awe ages give way to their fresh hope and awkward glory.

POEM: Re-lying on Day-old Knews

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
The news drones on
Massaging and spinning
Disembodied heads a top
Heartless ‘n titties in dis cursive and desultry means
Temperately flailing to wake us
From our terrorific slumber
Our tired and true rejoinder
Hit the snooze
Yes! In the land of nod
Obey the well-dressed anchor
Around your neck
Nothing to see, hear!
Accept properly-placed comas
Overlooking a legion of meanings
That might
Arise from our side
Maddened more
By head lines in-grave
As face each mourn
Not up to catching forty hoodwinks
Before rolling over and playing dead
To any smooth promise posed
To have done with the etched of the earth
Penned in stone
Fashioned to suture self
With the bounty of some spell binding medium
Ripped at the seem
Quipped with stupefying farce
As the wise crack
Humanity snapping to a tension
‘n snare with each punch line
It’s how the net works
Naught
To see the catch
Re-lying on day-old knews
In abiding wore
For flagging ardor
And uniform fatigues
Am bushed
And each recurring brake of daze
Pared with a new assault
To be taken
With agreein’
Ennui start all over agin

The news as imperfected by the American media conglomerates may represent the most distant information and perspective in acquiring and harmonizing with timeless truths.  Drowning In Information But Starved For Truth [TV] POLITICAL BUTTONThis incongruence between timeliness and timelessness is a form of endemic violence perpetuated on the American public.  What bleeds leads, and awe is vanity.  Flittering from superficial story to superficial story leaves the cursory public interest unattended too.  The veil of objectivity alludes responsibility.  The conveniently hidden agenda of corporate interests routinely protects itself from authentic critique.  Useful as chain mail, amid evil sensibility is safeguarded for the lords of the manner.  Civility hijacks dissent.  Of coarse, vulgar opinion poses handily as master debating.

I find an antidote to such blindness-producing jerks, listening to Democracy Now (DemocracyNow.org) every weekday.  If you're not careful, the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed and loving the people who are doing the oppressing -- Malcolm X quote POLITICAL BUTTONThis bastion of independent media provides in-depth coverage of real issues and real people, speaking truth to power every broadcast.  Also, I relish the launching of Toledo’s own independent, noncommercial radio station, WAKT 106.1 FM, this July.  This radio station will provide locally-produced content free from commercial interests.  My public health show, Just for the Health of it, will take on corporate health interests to aid and abet local folks in powering up their own health, the health of our community, and the health of our planet.

May you find meaningful and uplifting sources of news and information, good for awe.

Check out my dozens of Fox News/Faux News parodies here.

Faux News - Unencumbered by Truth (FOX NEWS Parody) - POLITICAL BUTTON FAUX NEWS - Making The World Safe For Stupidity (FOX NEWS Parody) - POLITICAL BUTTONFaux News - Preferred by 5 Out of 4 Rednecks (FOX NEWS Parody) - POLITICAL BUTTON

POEM: Forging Another Plan It

Politics
Is just
Another plan it
Plutocracy
The best
Money can bye

Hey Corporations, It's 'BY The People' Not 'BUY' The People POLITICAL BUTTONThis short poem is about money in politics, the ultimate manifestation of which is plutocracy.  When money is king, you can say good buy to democracy.  Do you feel like you are living on some different planet: planet Plutocracy?  The plan it is from rich folks, the 1%.  Invest in America. Buy a Congressman! POLITICAL BUTTONYou can call it oligarchy, kleptocracy, or corporatacracy, but, in our synonym-spiced political system, money trumps people, and corporate persons trump human persons.  There is little comfort in having the best political system that money can buy.  As presidential election season rolls around, the aristocracy steamrolls what’s left of democracy in a rigged system, offering only the illusion of choice.  This bankrupt system, not surprisingly, produces a billionaire megalomaniac where authoritarianism is the default and all of our problems are somebody else’s fault, and a Wall Street abettor with imperial ambitions. 	 This is the Only Bill Unanimously Passed in Congress (100 Dollar Bill) - POLITICAL BUTTON Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton, represent the surreal diversity of aristocrats.  Señor Trump will build a wall and the Mexicans will pay for it — because they love him!  Commander-in-chief Hillary Clinton will put the finishing touches on the Death Star by providing its minions and minionettes paid maternity leave and affordable debt sentences.  I’m sure the winner will be whichever cult can round up and sacrifice the most chickens running around with their heads cut off.  As for me, I’m going to vote for the candidate favored by our great, great, great, grandchildren.

POEM: Present Daze

God invented the eight hour day
But buy popular demand
Parently beyond what could ever be yearned
The ardor one tries
Only leaves won
With more or less
Wanting more our
In their daze
With each re-quest
First off with nine hours
Fallowed by ten
Bye and bye 11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
And sow on and sow on
Till 24
As sum backward count
Down with freedom
Until divine enough
As full, filled with presents

This poem is a bit of storytelling regarding hour ever-present knead for more time in our daze.  God is portrayed as a permissive parent granting immature children the never-enough request for more hours in the day.  This poem is an object lesson about “divine enough,” where both God and humans have to set boundaries and limits to move from merely an adequate quantity of time to a full, filling quality of time.  	 They deem me mad because I will not sell my days for gold; and I deem them mad because they think my days have a price -- Kahlil Gibran quote POLITICAL BUTTONThe freedom we seek requires adequate time but can only be “enough” when we learn to experience a sufficient quality of time.  This is the transcendent freedom emanating from mastery of experiencing the “eternal now.”  Of course, humans need a certain amount of time suitable to their nature and the tasks before them.  This poem plays with the notion that this amount of time may be somewhat arbitrary — a storytelling device to accentuate the governing importance of the quality of time — but humans were made, evolved befitting to a 24-hour day.  And of note, in our weakly existence, God instituted a Sabbath day to set apart the wrest.  Rest and re-creation are as integral to life as any work set before us.  This poem first imagines God as creating an eight hour day.  This is not arbitrary.  The eight hour day alludes to the successful workers’ movement in response to nearly unimaginably exhausting work schedules: “In 1890, when the government first tracked workers’ hours, the average workweek for full-time manufacturing employees was 100 hours and 102 hours for building tradesmen.”  Work, Buy, Consume, Die (repeat as unneeded) POLITICAL BUTTONThe eight hour movement’s slogan was “Eight hours for work, eight hours for rest and eight hours for what you will.”  This movement was deeply rooted in the hard work and sacrifice — boundary setting — necessary to respect our human nature and human rights.  The defining moment in this movement, the birth-pangs of American labor, were police killings of strikers:

“On the evening of May 4, 1886, thousands of workers gathered in Chicago’s Haymarket Square to protest against the police killing of six strikers that had taken place a day earlier. As the rally wound down, a bomb exploded among a phalanx of policemen who had moved in to disperse the crowd. In the ensuing melee, seven policemen and an unknown number of civilians died.

The ‘Haymarket riot’ triggered the first American red scare. Media reporting was one-sided and vitriolic. Even though most casualties resulted from policemen’s bullets, the event was used to condemn the labor movement and its cause. Authorities quickly moved to pin blame for the event on Chicago’s working class anarchist leaders, who were arrested, tried, and convicted in a case that made a mockery of jurisprudence.

After the trial, an international campaign was waged for reversal of the death sentences, led by literary figure William Dean Howells, a close friend of Mark Twain. Of the eight defendants, four were hung on “Black Friday,” November 11, 1887: Albert Parsons, August Spies, Adolph Fischer and George Engel.

Will Work For Worker Rights POLITICAL BUTTONHaymarket is of enormous historical significance. It was the bloody culmination of the eight-hour-day movement, which had mobilized hundreds of thousands of American workers. And it was the direct origin of May 1 as the international holiday of the working class—celebrated virtually everywhere but in the land of its inspiration, the US.”

The trinity of work, leisure and sleep may be rooted in our human nature, yet there are many who would rob us of such a birthright.  The struggle continues in our culture of busyness and work/money as the alleged determiners of our identity and worth.  May we find a more balanced way, in harmony with our nature.  And in each moment, may you “divine enough/As full, filled with presents.”

POEM: Enough Awe Ready

He saw
The future
In have
Like sum carnival game
Destined to win
As if
In sane
As blown two bits
Caught looking
Like a fun house mirror
Mirror on the wall
Axing who is the fairest
Of ummm awe
Busted by what is shard
With no won
As too haves
Make a hole
Unfull
Filled in
Presence intact
With twisted knows
And everybody stretched
Beyond recognition
Of what is awe
Ready today

This poem is an ode to my experience of life becoming increasingly surreal.  I am perpetually befuddled at how we humans can bypass the ever-present awe freely available in any God-given moment for the cheap, gaudy prizes hawked by the carnival barkers of our so-called civilization.  Money and possessions possess us.  Having trumps being.  Our fixations on imprisoning security, superficial celebrity and vain distractions, ego-catering status, and national power distort our worldviews like a fun-house mirror, a broken won at that.  Denial fuels us into believing that our common cents whirled is accurate, or perhaps inescapable, if not necessarily healthy.  Acceptance is not about pawning hope or cynically tolerating “necessary” evil; rather acceptance is simply seeing things as they are.  I strongly suspect, and hope, that my befuddlement emanates from the gap between seeing things as the really are versus the circus of awe-consuming American culture blowing through town and this flicker of human and planetary history.  May we all see things, and accept things, as they really are, making it most possible to fulfill our most deeply real dreams.

POEM: Chains of Command

A juggernaut of freedom
He proudly served
As the weakest link
In the chain of command
And above
Awe
Due no harm

This poem juxtaposes the contrasting notions of freedom achieved through tight, even militaristic, ventures versus embodying freedom through default nonviolence and decentralized decision-making.  This is a command and control model versus fostering non-hierarchical and autonomous action.  Free Range Human Being - POLITICAL BUTTONMy experience is that directly practicing freedom and modeling this for others is the best means for manifesting increasing freedom.  Most succinctly put, this is a matter of means and ends — or rather a madder of means and end for the militarist or militant fundamentalist.  Subcontracting out freedom by wholesale consenting to others’ directives strikes me as a fundamental bastardization of freedom, particularly in large militaristic bureaucracies dedicated to the end of freedom — through ever-escalating means.  This is part and parcel to anarchist practice and philosophy.   Anarchists value direct, unmediated experience as both a way to live and learn, in contrast to imputing authority (via consent, and ultimately responsibility) into impersonal human organizations or other impersonal social arrangements.  Humanity is best experienced and served through smaller-scale, personal relationships, where the creative expressions of voluntary association and the personally uplifting experiences of mutual aid flourish.  The most common way people give up power is by thinking they don't have any -- Alice Walker quote POLITICAL BUTTONThe title of this poem, “Chains of command,”  is a pun — a double meaning — directly linking the shackling of freedom to systems of command and control.  Anarchists are renown for their issues with authority.  Less well appreciated is their fundamental critique of large, impersonal ventures which are viewed as the primary threat to our individual and collective humanity.  Anarchists seek to live on what is considered a human scale, which is necessarily smaller-scale — you can only relate personally to a finite number of people — and decentralized in that your set of relationships is an organic, even alive, entity that is guided by free association and mutual aid.  While anarchists are often portrayed as dangerous (perhaps to many forms of social order) and cavalier (perhaps revealing how foreboding freedom can be), there is a certain humility built into the anarchist worldview; there is a profound lack of ambition to control others (and be controlled) through the bulk of social arrangements in modern, so-called civilization.  The hubris necessary for violence is for me the best example.  Now, the brand of anarchist practice that I would ascribe to might be referred to as green anarchism, where violence is not understood to be an integral and necessary part of being human.  So-called black anarchists might view the violence inherent in the present social order as necessitating violent responses.  My view of freedom does not consider violence as necessary to being human, though the choice to be subject to violence as opposed to inflicting it remains a difficult and necessarily challenging one.  Clearly the current world order considers violence as merely the order of the day, a necessity, outside the realm of free choice. The last lines of the poem are a tribute to a pacifist green anarchism, and the deep humility it engenders: And above/Awe/Due no harm.  Of course, this is a take on the Hippocratic Oath: Above all, do no harm.  Plus, the “Due no harm” alludes to the vision of a world where the cycles of violence are broken and there is no longer the cruel divide of victim and perpetrator.  To go full circle, we must cast off the chains of command.  May you find the freedom and courage to pay the cost of boldly adding your beautiful human life to the mix of humanity where fear and misunderstandings and inertial privilege stand in the way of our individual and collective humanity.

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POEM: Unbroken

She snapped
Too a tension
As shot
Wrung out
And as her life left her
Realizing
Won does not die
By bled alone
As neither does
One live
Buy bred
A loan
For giving
Awe that is
Unbroken

Fear does not prevent death; it prevents life --Nagub Mahfouz quote POLITICAL BUTTONI have awe ways been a fan of epic themes of life and death, heaven and hell unearth.  This poem is yet another meditation on the reality that most of us most of the time simply do what is most urgent, not what is most important.  What is urgent is often not really that important in the long haul, and what is really important often doesn’t present itself in the clothes of urgency.  This poem employs that apocryphal moment at our death where we are delivered in a flash our whole life.  The much denied inevitability of the end of our life on earth is rife with potential epiphanies adept at properly ordering our seemingly shorted lives.  The tragedy of life is not death but what we let die inside us while we live --Norman Cousins quote SPIRITUAL BUTTONWhen the grim reaper harvests us, will our death reflect a life well urned?  Will our life be better characterized as meticulously saved or gloriously well spent?  This poem plays with the daring metaphysical math than one good death may be infinitely more valuable than innumerable small deaths threw out life.  This poem confronts the moribund multiplication of lives either simply buying bread and just getting by or vainly seeking to multiply a life irreproducibly created.  Buy what calculation can we justly trade the breathtaking awesomeness of life for a little, less, death?  The real question is not whether life exists after death - The real question is whether you are alive before death --Osho quote SPIRITUAL BUTTONIn the end, facing death alone and a loan in life, whatever may truly matter is inseparably bound to whatever we’ve for giving awe that is unbroken.  May you live a wholly life.  Even sow, if you cannot find such a weigh, and it be hooves you, may death be dammed, just the same.

POEM: Trump Ink

The man
Who rant for President
Commandeering in chief
Playing his big invisible hand
Dealt by his Daddy Warbucks
Showing himself off
As a selfie made man
A Monopoly™ man
Blowing his stack
Of get out
Of jail free
Cards
Of a reel sort
Knews to none
Trumped up phallus reasoning
As a fraud of nothing
Too Marvel™
Upon his titanic deck
Firming he’ll make it
Lady Liberty this time
Subsumed as Trump towers
And country men sow desperate
Miss leader
Willing to inure
The rank
And file
For moral bankruptcy
Wile the emperor reigns immunity
Heiling from the empire state
And big heir poses
As the bust wee might due
In a second
Rather forth coming
Such blustery daze
Like taking out
A worthless assurance policy
A verbal contract
Worth neither the ink nor paper its printed on

99 percent of Republicans give the rest a bad name POLITICAL BUTTONIn news from the presidential raze, the presumptuous nominee for the Republican party, Donald Trump, having blown his stack, has tissued another lode of verbal contracts fitting his hand size.  Mean wile, Republican party elephantine sycophants pick their collective knows about how to undo their freakish creation.  They efface the inconceivable, as know won wants to take responsibility for fathering this disavowed bastard.  The truth exposed!  Butt the show must go on!!  I Don't Care Which Party Is In Control, I Don't Want To Be Controlled POLITICAL BUTTONHillary Clinton will have to add “joining the circus” to her resume — perhaps her only way to know a veil of her own freakish candidacy.

As Donald Trump inks to hi heaven, even the rigged binary of immanent electrons indulges the truth of this poem published exclusively online:  Donald Trump ink, like his sundry verbal contracts, are not worth the paper they are printed on.

CAPITOL PUNISHMENT: Those Without The Capitol Get The Punishment [capitol building] POLITICAL BUTTONAll governments suffer a recurring problem - power attracts pathological personalities; it is magnetic to the corruptible -- Frank Herbert, Dune POLITICAL BUTTONIt is not in the nature of politics that the best men should be elected. The best men do not want to govern their fellowmen -- George MacDonald quote POLITICAL BUTTON

If God Meant For Us to Vote, God Would Have Given Us Candidates POLITICAL BUTTONRepublican, Democrat, Not Playing Your Silly Games Anymore POLITICAL BUTTON

POEM: A Constipated Citizenry

Not so deep
Within the body politic
A constipated citizenry
Yearns to be free
Crying out
In a full groan democracy
Mourning the dearth of moral fiber
Humanity squat
An abject lessen
Lo expectations
As number too
Clinging to far-fetched promise
Toil it issues
The cant of superdelicates
The sulky left over
And faltering last rights
Uptight a bout
Weather we have it
In US

Stop Repeat Offenders - Do NOT Re-elect Them POLITICAL BUTTONThis is at least the turd poem of mine that has featured the metaphor of constipation.  As a trained nutritionist and poet, I can’t help but notice the metaphorical parallels of Americans having the smallest poops in the world and having a constipated democracy.  The highly processed American political diet, dangerously low in moral fiber, has created an unhealthy buildup of whatever it is that makes the American electorate want to let loose the half-digested pablum of which it is fed up too hear.  The bowels of American democracy are grumbling.  Perennially high cynicism with mainstream, centrist politics has reached new highs.  APATHY - The Deadliest Weapon of Mass Destruction POLITICAL BUTTONAnd lo, the constipated political party elites have built up blockages creating no sane path to a functioning democracy, that is, a democracy that actually reflects the will of the people.  The bankruptcy magnate Donald Trump and corporate-owned aristocrat Hillary Clinton have the highest negative ratings of any two presidential candidates in modern history.  The disconnect that they represent between privileged power and the will of the people captures most of what is poopy about American electoral politics.  Don't Laugh, He's Paid For [politician] POLITICAL BUTTONHillary Clinton is beholden by corporate persons of the unhuman kind.  Donald Trump trumpets his freedom from a moneyed world precisely because he was born, raised and romps in a moneyed world.  Irony futures must be having a field day!  Still, the citizen-consumers of America are scared shitless of being number two in even the littlest weighs; and bounteous demagoguery is the cheap consolation price afforded voter and non-voter alike. While it’s easy to moan and groan about the lack of inspirational candidates in electoral politics, this is a function — or dysfunction — of non-electoral politics. The sum total effect of non-electoral and electoral politics is as Thomas Jefferson stated: A ballot is like a bullet. You don't throw your ballots until you see a target, and if that target is not in reach, keep your ballot in your pocket. Malcolm X quote POLITICAL BUTTON“The government you elect is the government you deserve.” Of coarse, this hole constipated citizenry thing won’t change until citizens give a shit.

BOTH Parties Are Revolting, Why Aren't You? POLITICAL BUTTONMay you find an outlet in irregular politics to make the world a better place.

POEM: Another Martyr Bides The Dust

Another martyr bides the dust
And I was a stray
Beside myself
In the fog
Of yet another mourning
The missed over my heart
Feeling only that ephemeral beaten
The wait on my brain
Fueled into thinking of the dread only
And the little I no
Of what remains
As the truth is bared
In ash holes with names
Temping to soil
Won an other’s life work
Un-till arising from hour grounding
Ready ourselves for a human race
Wear blood is thicker then water
Tearing at our soles
And water thicker than heir
The salt of the earth bides
It’s time
Too clear the weigh
Of what thou dust
Ahead razed for awe
As be holding the sons rays
Bringing a bout of sunshine
An enduring lightness
Out shining
Any faux
How ever clan destine
In efface of such shrouding allowed
In countering any illicit clout
Ever looming
Whatever we’ve
Got together
With standing any in thralling strayin’
Rapping up awe that is frayed
For whatever may seam
Know longer

I wrote this poem a while back, but I’m publishing it now to honor the passing of Father Daniel Berrigan who died over the weekend at age 94.  Father Daniel Berrigan was the first priest arrested for peace and anti-war civil disobedience — or holy obedience.  As recounted in the National Catholic Review:

Berrigan undoubtedly stands among the most influential American Jesuits of the past century…

A literary giant in his own right, Berrigan was best known for his dramatic acts of civil disobedience against the Vietnam War and nuclear weapons. He burned draft files with homemade napalm and later hammered on nuclear weapons to enact the Isaiah prophecy to “beat swords into plowshares.” His actions challenged Americans and Catholics to reexamine their relationship with the state and reject militarism. He constantly asked himself and others: What does the Gospel demand of us?

“For me, Father Daniel Berrigan is Jesus as a poet,” Kurt Vonnegut wrote. “If this be heresy, make the most of it.”

“Dorothy Day taught me more than all the theologians,” Berrigan told The Nation in 2008. “She awakened me to connections I had not thought of or been instructed in—the equation of human misery and poverty with warmaking. She had a basic hope that God created the world with enough for everyone, but there was not enough for everyone and warmaking.”

In 1963, Berrigan embarked on a year of travel, spending time in France, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Rome, South Africa and the Soviet Union. He encountered despair among French Jesuits related to the situation of Indochina, as the United States ramped up military involvement in Vietnam.

Berrigan returned home in 1964 convinced that the war in Vietnam “could only grow worse.” So he began, he later wrote, “as loudly as I could, to say ‘no’ to the war…. There would be simply no turning back.”

He co-founded the Catholic Peace Fellowship and the interfaith group Clergy and Laity Concerned about Vietnam…

In Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander (1966), Merton described Berrigan as “an altogether winning and warm intelligence and a man who, I think, has more than anyone I have ever met the true wide-ranging and simple heart of the Jesuit: zeal, compassion, understanding, and uninhibited religious freedom. Just seeing him restores one’s hope in the Church.”

A dramatic year of assassinations and protests that shook the conscience of America, 1968 also proved to be a watershed year for Berrigan. In February, he flew to Hanoi, North Vietnam, with the historian Howard Zinn and assisted in the release of three captured U.S. pilots. On their first night in Hanoi, they awoke to an air-raid siren and U.S. bombs and had to find shelter.

As the United States continued to escalate the war, Berrigan worried that conventional protests had little chance of influencing government policy. His brother, Philip, then a Josephite priest, had already taken a much greater risk: In October 1967, he broke into a draft board office in Baltimore and poured blood on the draft files.

Undeterred at the looming legal consequences, Philip planned another draft board action and invited his younger brother to join him. Daniel agreed.

On May 17, 1968, the Berrigan brothers joined seven other Catholic peace activists in Catonsville, Md., where they took several hundreds of draft files from the local draft board and set them on fire in a nearby parking lot, using homemade napalm. Napalm is a flammable liquid that was used extensively by the United States in Vietnam.

Daniel said in a statement, “Our apologies, good friends, for the fracture of good order, the burning of paper instead of children, the angering of the orderlies in the front parlor of the charnel house. We could not, so help us God, do otherwise.”

Berrigan was tried and convicted for the action. When it came time for sentencing, however, he went underground and evaded the Federal Bureau of Investigation for four months.

“I knew I would be apprehended eventually,” he told America in an interview in 2009, “but I wanted to draw attention for as long as possible to the Vietnam War and to Nixon’s ordering military action in Cambodia.”

The F.B.I. finally apprehended him on Block Island, R.I., at the home of theologian William Stringfellow, in August 1970. He spent 18 months in Danbury federal prison, during which he and Philip appeared on the cover of Time magazine.

The brothers, lifelong recidivists, were far from finished.

Swords Into Plowshares, Isaiah 2:4 PEACE BUTTONOn Sept. 9, 1980, Daniel and Philip joined seven others in busting into the General Electric missile plant in King of Prussia, Pa., where they hammered on an unarmed nuclear weapon—the first Plowshares action. They faced 10 years in prison for the action but were sentenced to time served.

In his courtroom testimony at the Plowshares trial, Berrigan described his daily confrontation with death as he accompanied the dying at St. Rose Cancer Home in New York City. He said the Plowshares action was connected with this ministry of facing death and struggling against it. In 1984, he began working at St. Vincent’s Hospital, New York City, where he ministered to men and women with H.I.V.-AIDS.

“It’s terrible for me to live in a time where I have nothing to say to human beings except, ‘Stop killing,’” he explained at the Plowshares trial. “There are other beautiful things that I would love to be saying to people.”

In 1997 he was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Berrigan’s later years were devoted to Scripture study, writing, giving retreats, correspondence with friends and admirers, mentorship of young Jesuits and peace activists, and being an uncle to two generations of Berrigans. He published several biblical commentaries that blended scholarship with pastoral reflection and poetic wit.

“Berrigan is evidently incapable of writing a prosaic sentence,” biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann wrote in a review of Berrigan’s Genesis (2006). “He imitates his creator with his generative word that calls forth linkages and incongruities and opens spaces that bewilder and dazzle and summon the reader.”

Even as an octogenarian, Berrigan continued to protest, turning his attention to the U.S. wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, the prison in Guantánamo Bay and the Occupy Wall Street movement. Friends remember Berrigan as courageous and creative in love, a person of integrity who was willing to pay the price, a beacon of hope and a sensitive and caring friend.

While technically, Fr. Berrigan is not a martyr, he sacrificed much and lived courageously in the belly of the beast called the United States of America of which he called its militarism and imperialism.

While I wrote this poem with a male character, this may not be truly representative of the martyrs in this world.  Soon after penning this poem, Berta Caceres, whose activism reverberated around the world, was assassinated by a Honduran death squad, shot in her own home.  This poem is dedicated to her as well, a well of hope deeper than any dam corporations.  As recounted from Alternet:

On March 3, assassins entered the home of Berta Caceres, leader of Honduras’ environmental and indigenous movement. They shot her friend Gustavo Castro Soto, the director of Friends of the Earth Mexico. He pretended to be dead, and so is the only witness of what came next. The assassins found Berta Caceres in another room and shot her in the chest, the stomach and the arms. When the assassins left the house, Castro went to Berta Caceres, who died in his arms.

Investigation into the death of Berta Caceres is unlikely to be conducted with seriousness. The Honduran government suggested swiftly that it was likely that Castro had killed Berta Caceres and made false statements about assassins. That he had no motive to kill his friend and political ally seemed irrelevant. Castro has taken refuge in the Mexican embassy in Honduras’ capital, Tegucigalpa. He continues to fear for his life.

Berta Caceres led the Popular and Indigenous Organisations of Honduras (COPINH), one of the most important critics of government and corporate power in her country. Most recently, she and COPINH had taken a strong stand against the construction of the Agua Zarca dam on a river sacred to the indigenous Lenca community. This dam had occupied her work. It was not merely a fight against an energy company, it was a fight against the entire Honduran elite.

Desarrollos Energeticos, SA (DESA) is owned by the Atala family, whose most famous member is Camilo Atala, who heads Honduras’ largest bank, Banco Ficohsa. By all indications, the Atala family is very close to the government. When the military moved against the democratically elected government of Manuel Zelaya Rosales in 2009, the Atala family, among others, supported the coup with their means. They can cut all the flowers, but they can never stop the spring -- Pablo Neruda quote POLITICAL BUTTONThe Honduran sociologist Leticia Salomon listed this family among others as the enablers of the coup. They backed the conservative National Party, which now holds the reins of power alongside the military. Berta Caceres’ fight against the Agua Zarca dam, then, was not merely a fight against one dam. It was a battle against the entire Honduran oligarchy. Her assassination had, as her family contends, been long overdue.

May we be inspired and encouraged by the fearless lives of those who have gone before us.

POEM: The Iconoclassism of Godliness

She was in
A class by her self
Staring at her teacher
In a too room school hows
By two mirror subjects taut
Assure as three
Bound by know
Student lones
Only that body
Of know ledge
From the school of hard knocks
And missing class

This is a poem about the necessarily eccentric and lonely aspect of life in relation to the unique set of experiences we each have and the personal, subjective experiences we each have with the mystery of mysteries sometimes called God.  Each person’s unique place in life bids a certain iconoclastic attitude.  Every class room we are placed in is constricting in some fashion or another.  Any body of knowledge we amass is ever facing a ledged uncertainty.  Staring into the abyss or the eyes of a loving God is subject to doubt.  Learning is a humbling enterprise, requiring perpetual re-righting of our ideology of any given day.  The spaciousness of our souls bids us forward and outward into necessary uncertainty.  This may very well be the built in adventure of life, both exhilarating and exasperating, inspirational and overwhelming, profoundly satisfying and deeply unnerving.  Whatever hope we may have for a common humanity is bound up in each of our unique, irreducibly ineffable, and inescapably iconoclastic take on life.  There is no formula that works for awe.  The joy full life cannot dance mirrorly to an algorithm.

The line in this poem, “Assure as three,” is a somewhat obscure reference to the Christian concept of the Holy Spirit, the third person in the Trinity, the counselor and comforter.  The reference is from Ecclesiastes 4:12 (NLT), amidst sacred text extolling the advantages of companionship and the futility of political power: “A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.”  The Holy Spirit is more resistant to rigid theologies and ideologies than The Father and The Son.  The Holy Spirit is more of a wild card, unpredictably navigating us through the apparent vagaries of life, ever shifting yet creating life anew.  More secular folks may refer to such as conscience, some gestalt of awe that we are, accessing something profound yet palpable to those open to its guidance.  The iconoclastic nature of conscience is informed by the direct experience of our deepest realities, which often doesn’t neatly match where others before us, or society as a whole, happens to be at in any given moment.  I see this as the deepest life force itself, making evolution, and when needed, revolution, possible.  We are in this holy mess together.  I strongly suspect that a deep appreciation for each others’ iconoclasm and eccentricities is a necessary foundation for a good life which grows awe the better.

May you find a lucid relationship with that small, still voice, your conscience open to the deepest rhythms of life.  May you find blessed companionship in your sojourn through this holy mess.