POEM: Pick Pockets

More reliable than a GPS
If surrounded by plenty
And struck by want
You are in a shop
As goaled to led
Buy that invisible hand
Only wanting
Too pick
Your pockets

You can’t buy happiness — but not for want of trying!  Chasing wealth is a perennial favorite for robbing us of our deepest human potential.  Life is what happens while your making other plans. John Lennon quote SPIRITUAL BUTTONThis poem employs the allusion of alchemists pursuing changing lead to gold; or, in this case, irony, as the reverse is procured (As goaled to led).  Money changers gruelingly posit the more-difficult-than-need-be question: you’re money or you’re life?  Money changers yen for that pen ultimate exchange rate wile yielding nothing, a part from their life.  Money is perhaps the least accurate representation of life, which is given and taken so freely.  What a barren prospect that our human evolution is chiefly picking pockets that are madder-of-fact productive or beguilingly reproductive.

There Is No Gift Like The Present SPIRITUAL BUTTON	 Pardon Me, Are You Sack Religious SPIRITUAL BUTTONThis poem is timely amidst the heavily commercialized Christmas season where the human spirit seems entrapped within mass produced stuff rather than flesh and blood.  May you find yourself, in good company, wear that most precious, is given freely as received.

POEM: As Far As One Kin See

As far as one kin see
It is a sin to crush some one’s body
And infinitely greater sow to crush some one’s spirit
In sum vain temped too raze awe questions
Can God
A-bridge
Between infinitude and soully you
Make piece with that which is wholly
Eternally now and to marrow
Not trading
In sin
As just
Some won
Violence
To that which is ardor
Too due
And infinitely greater

This poem is a tribute to the oneness of humanity, body and soul.  This poem recognizes the brutality of crushing one’s body through violence — whether through weapons or crushing needs.  This poem also posits that crushing one’s hope and dreams is udderly worse, steeling one’s soul.  This poem is an ode to those who accept that the hard work of creating justice on earth, here and now, is in seamless alignment with practices of the spirit in seeking evolution and enlightenment.  The inward and outward journeys must find some parity, or ails be subject to earned cynicism or learned helplessness.  The hopeful, those fuels for justice, must join up with awe those down in the trenches, those on the margins of cagey and fuel of street whys. Humanity has a shared destiny, and the key lies, not to cell, each other out.  For won humanity, there must be won love.  Sow let’s get together, body and soul, and cut to the chaise!

POLITICAL POEM: Buy Partisan Ship

If you knot for me
You agin
Me
Oh my
They would halve US
Believe
In a New York minute
Weather 60 second ads
Or master debating in public
For ours
To won party
Or buy partisan ship
That teeming lode
When in realty
Wee are left harboring
To a T
Our weariness
In the wake
Of the dearth of trust
And in the daze
Long after
The election
Has Petered out
There are know
More mock promises
And crock tears
Until hour rejects
Sow board their ship
And bring about
See change

This poem is about partisanship and weather we should take any partisanship from anyone.  The is nothing like — nothing like — a presidential election campaign to stir up partisan emotions and partisan posturing.  As someone who is chronically politically active, and someone who has frequently experienced the short end of long partisan sticks, I have become increasingly aware of my deep distaste for partisanship.  In America, the conventional wisdom would have you believe that political activity and partisanship are the same thing.  This is not true, and the seemingly inescapable enmeshment of politics and partisanship is distinctly dysfunctional for humanity.  In my view, both the spiritual and political project of life is to ever expand our consciousness and participation in our collective life.  Our spiritual enlightenment is necessarily communal, and political freedom is only authentic when our participation in our collective life is shared equitably.  As Martin Luther King, Jr. so aptly observed, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”  Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere--Martin Luther King, Jr. BUTTONPartisan in-groups, that parcel out power based on membership in anything other than our shared humanity, is a barrier to our spiritual and political evolution.  This mine-blowing realty is the ground for radical politics as necessarily counter-cultural and, as a rule, marginalized by the status quo and powers that be.  Nobody likes to be marginalized, which is precisely the shared basis for such a radical politics!  A paradoxical corollary to this is that marginalization, by happenstance or design, is the engine for radical politics.  It is no accident that marginalized people are typically the leaders of radical political activity, just as it is no accident that inasmuch as anyone stands in solidarity with marginalized people, they too will be marginalized.  Working through our own marginalization is synchronous with working through all of humanity’s marginalization.  The consciousness of intersectionality, that all areas of marginalization and injustice are inescapably linked, forms the antithesis and antidote to partisanship.

There are many overlapping in-groups and out-groups jockeying for power.  This is interest-based politics, and often identity politics.  For better or worse, each of us is marginalized in one way or another.  Hopefully, this can serve as leverage to increasing consciousness to the marginalization of others, especially those currently in an out-group.  The tricky part is that empathizing with out-group members is decidedly more dangerous than making any variety of internal criticisms intended to make an in-group a better in-group.  Making better in-groups is the lifeblood of partisan politics, though the seemingly easier job of undercutting out-groups, often scapegoating or even demonizing them, is what truly makes politics a bloodsport.  Haters hating haters is cause for plenty of bloodshed.  Nevertheless, to add insult to injury, and injury to non-violence, love of enemy prompts much bloodshed as well, though it is the lovers who are crucified, their own blood spilled.  Transcending narrow self-interests and in-group privileges is a costly endeavor exceeded only by the pricelessness of justice for all.

Beyond Democratic and Republican partisanship, is a unifying in-groupism, that corrosive beast called nationalism.  Nationalism Infantile Disease Measles of Mankind--PEACE QUOTE BUTTONThat ever-popular divide between Team America and Team Non-America (or Un-American).  As a nation, we are blind to the hubris-ridden assertion that what’s good for America is good for the world.  On occasion we may see clearly, yet we are at least as likely to fall for similar hubris-ridden assertions that are in fact against even our narrow national interests, such as “what is good for General Motors is good for America.”  Such endemic blindness is what Jesus was referring to when he spoke of the blind leading the blind, caught in a bind of our lack of awareness or consciousness.  Only higher consciousness of our shared humanity can overcome such lower ordered thinking and partisan warring, which is doomed to eternal, unsolvable conflict between “competing” interests.

Partisans inevitably think that anyone not for them is against them.  This is not the secret of the spirit of unity.  Interestingly, welcoming as, with, and for the least (those marginalized) is the greatest — “For whoever is the least among all of you, he is the greatest.” and “for whoever is not against you is for you.” [Luke 9:48,50]Jesus: What Happened to Least of These - Christian POLITICAL BUTTON

May we be willing to pay the price for unity among all of God’s children, which is breaking free of being beholden to in-group power and privileges, and fervently welcoming all good things for the least among us.

POEM: Reject

They took out a social contract
On her
In what might as well be
Too her
Too be
As good
As dead
From their point of you
Her response sow questionable
If it’s awe the same
Too you
I’ll strike
Oppose
Whatever
You have
Status quid pro quo
Ad infinitum
With slick prose and dodgy idioms
Foreign to me and my kind
Only wanting
Too ax me
Where unseen ahead nod
And invisible
Hand
Shake
Down
I reject

A weed is a plant that has mastered every survival skill except learning how to grow in rows -- Doug Larson BE A WEED POLITICAL BUTTONNever forget that only dead fish swim with the stream. Malcolm Muggeridge quote POLITICAL BUTTONThis poem’s title, Reject, can be read as both a noun and a verb.  People, too often treated as things, often end up as rejects of a dehumanizing status quo.   The humanizing response to being relegated as a reject of a dehumanizing status quo is to reject that dehumanizing status quo.  People, and their vital humanity, are better characterized with verbs than as nouns.  People rebelling against being a means to an undignified end, being treated as a cog in a machine or so much fodder, is an indispensable beginning to becoming more fully human.  May your rebellion against that which is dehumanizing manifest many fine beginnings.

Feel free to check out more designs about rebellion, resistance and revolution:

Thou Shall Not Take Shit POLITICAL BUTTONThe Opposite of Courage In Our Society Is Not Cowardice; It Is Conformity -- Rollo May quote POLITICAL BUTTONTo learn who rules over you, simply find out who you are not allowed to criticize -- Voltaire quote POLITICAL BUTTON

	 Love Is Our Resistance POLITICAL BUTTONHumanity Has A Bad Case Of 'Just Following Orders' POLITICAL BUTTONDo Not Mistake Us For A Movement Without Leadership - We Are ALL Leaders POLITICAL BUTTON

The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion -- Albert Camus quote POLITICAL BUTTON

POLITICAL POEM: Pick You’re Genocide

Pick
You’re genocide
Won side or the other
Gun to head
Ahead to gun
Aliens pervade our atmosphere
As whirled wore thee
Restless natives no so slight
Wear homieland security rules
Redcoats and bluecoats
Everyday cover ups
Of fuzz overruling
Wile privates everywhere
As wee divine
A bomb in nation
Knot our own
As they get
Our scapegoat
As if too give
Pour excuses
Tired pleas
And huddled asses
Wretchedly refuse
Their teaming shore
Up walls
In efface of stranger contentions
Reproving those
Fresh off the bout
Or slaves too buy gone ways
The wiled West
And marshal law
For sum of the people
OK, corral most of the people
Distantly droning on
Pining a bout boots on the ground
As pay no tension to boots on the neck
Of silenced know bodies
Fueled into thinking
It’s awe we Cain do
As we might be Abel
Too win with a faction of the vote
Seduced by sects
Of phallus choices
And foe alternatives

This poem sticks to my recent theme of radical change needed to the U.S. electoral system posing as democracy.  More specifically, the national or federal elections system needs a complete overhaul.  Ranked choice voting would be revolutionary.  We the people should end money as free speech, with its tsunami of money from the rich and corporate “persons” overwhelming voters and voters’ choice of candidates. The electoral college should graduate finally to something else.  An actual representative congress, akin to many European parliaments, would better assure diversity and fuel true coalition building rather than simple domination of one party over the other.  Still, this poems strikes a deeper and immediate chord.  Voters could benefit much in the long run by refusing to negotiate with terrorists.  The two-party duopoly holds voters hostage to lethal choices for the planet and humanity.  Believe it or not, billions of non-voters around the planet have a stake in the health of American empire — that stake is often through their heart!  Plus, the growing internal inequalities and ghettoizing of America could use some serious care and attention.  It’s time to demand freedom to choose sustainable, life-compatible candidates and political parties.  More directly, voters could exercise power more productively by demonstrating such freedom rather than simply wishing for freedom to be granted to them from above by the powers that be.  How many cycles of abuse do we the people need to endure to muster the courage and fortitude to demand nothing less than fair elections and candidates that both represent and are responsive to the people?  Corporate persons selecting corporate candidates is unacceptable.  But, alas, we teach people how to treat us.  Find out just what any people will quietly submit to and you've found out the exact measure of injustice which will be imposed on them. Frederick DouglassAs Frederick Douglass so shrewdly pointed out, “Find out just what any people will quietly submit to and you’ve found out the exact measure of injustice which will be imposed on them.”  Actually, the powers that be don’t really mind if we put on a good show with whiny grievances or articulate analyses, as long as we don’t change our behavior.  In this context, that means our voting behavior and the long, disciplined work of non-electoral political action.  Change takes time.  Healthy behaviors often take years, decades, sometimes generations, to manifest themselves visibly in the body politic.  If we don’t have the patience, the fortitude, the vision, and the faith that we CAN do better, then we will end up with the same old crap over and over again.  This crap may have improved packaging.  This crap may contain 25% more crap.  Butt, in the end, if we take it, it is ours — all for the price of a mortgaged future!  May we vote without fear.  May we vote FOR love.  May we vote with a hope that transcends tried and true naive optimism of the same-old, same-old delivering the same-old, same-old.  Let’s make it so.

Anti-Trump, Anti-Hillary FREE POSTER: Newsflash — Stockholm Syndrome Renamed Washington Syndrome, Voters Held Hostage

This free Anti-Trump, Anti-Hillary poster announces the sad, traumatic news: NEWSFLASH — Stockholm Syndrome Renamed Washington Syndrome.  Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton are the presidential candidates with the highest negative ratings in modern U.S. history.  Voters are held hostage in an election where a record low proportion of the electorate are excited, or even mostly content, with the coughed-up candidates of our dysfunctional, so-called two party political system.  The deeply compromised rationalizations of voters’ “have-to-vote-against” him/her is worthy of re-naming Stockholm Syndrome as Washington Syndrome.  If you feel like a voter held hostage, you probably have Stockholm Syndrome.  If you don’t feel like a voter held hostage, you may have Stockholm Syndrome.  WARNING: Washington Syndrome may have side effects of continued global militarization, economic colonialism, and endemic human rights violations.

What if American leftists went GREEN with envy FOR a truly progressive presidential candidate?  By the way, that would be Jill Stein, Green Party presidential candidate, and her amazingly progressive campaign platform.

Anti-Trump, Anti-Hillary Free POSTER: Newsflash -- Stockholm Syndrome Renamed Washington Syndrome, Voters Held Hostage

Stockholm syndrome is defined by Wikipedia as:

Stockholm syndrome, or capture-bonding, is a psychological phenomenon described in 1973 in which hostages express empathy and sympathy and have positive feelings toward their captors, sometimes to the point of defending and identifying with the captors. These feelings are generally considered irrational in light of the danger or risk endured by the victims, who essentially mistake a lack of abuse from their captors for an act of kindness. The FBI’s Hostage Barricade Database System shows that roughly eight percent of victims show evidence of Stockholm syndrome.

Stockholm syndrome can be seen as a form of traumatic bonding, which does not necessarily require a hostage scenario, but which describes “strong emotional ties that develop between two persons where one person intermittently harasses, beats, threatens, abuses, or intimidates the other.” One commonly used hypothesis to explain the effect of Stockholm syndrome is based on Freudian theory. It suggests that the bonding is the individual’s response to trauma in becoming a victim. Identifying with the aggressor is one way that the ego defends itself. When a victim believes the same values as the aggressor, they cease to be perceived as a threat.

If your democracy looks anything like Stockholm Syndrome, then it’s time for a political revolution.

Feel free to browse Top Pun’s designs on democracy, political revolution, and green politics.

FREE POLITICAL POSTER: Incremental Change, Heads Up!

This free political poster posits that the conventional wisdom of incremental change can be lethal to paradigm shifts needed for humanity to evolve to the next level.

FREE POLITICAL POSTER: Incremental Change, Heads Up!

Devotees of incremental change may view death by degrees as safer, or at least postponing the inevitable, but it is often merely a fearful reaction to the vagaries of life rather than fulling embracing that which we hold most dear in life.  Incremental change is the preferred mode of neoliberal politics, often under the guise of inevitable progress.  The shadow side of incremental change is that it can acclimate us to unsustainable practices and also be easily co-opted by reactionary forces serving any particular set of privileged elites benefiting from the status quo.  In the current presidential race, this shadow is solidly represented by the Democratic Party and its candidate, Hillary Clinton.  Of course, not all large change is a positive paradigm shift or revolutionary evolution.  Sometimes it’s just chaos, which can also serve those who have a better position to profit from upheaval (e.g., war profiteers, prison profiteers).  In the current presidential race, the apparent chaos of Trumpism reinforces reactionary interests more so than creating human evolution.  Donald Trump is the poster boy for devolution.

So, what is a revolutionary to do?   rEVOLution is the Solution (LOVE) - POLITICAL BUTTONIf it’s a revolution of love, then cast out fear — which includes not casting a ballot riddled with fear.  Of course, limiting ourselves to electoral politics, relying simply on voting in a deeply dysfunctional and rigged democracy, is the surest way to maintain our status as sheep.   A sustainable and evolved humanity will be built it must be built on the bedrock of mass resistance and noncooperation with evil. Find out just what any people will quietly submit to and you've found out the exact measure of injustice which will be imposed on them. Frederick Douglass quote POLITICAL BUTTONCompromise is the art of politics.  Noncooperation with evil is the truth force that sets healthy boundaries enabling the good to flourish.  Compromising one’s values is a luxury of the privileged who don’t directly experience the daily onslaught of an injustice.  Bigger Cages, Longer Chains - FUNNY POLITICAL BUTTONCompromised incremental change is the privileged managing the underprivileged.  Revolutionaries have their own skin in the game — nothing to lose but their chains.  In liberation theology, developed out of the experience of oppressed peoples in Latin America, God’s “preferential option for the poor” recognizes the reality that God’s values are more directly accessible by the dispossessed, those not compromised by worldly power.  This revolutionary theology understands that the salvation of the world rests in the hands of the dispossessed of the world, not supremely triangulated politicians or populist (sic) billionaires.

Please feel free to check out more of Top Pun’s designs about resistance, dissent, and revolutionary politics.

 If They Won't Let Us Dream, We Won't Let Them Sleep POLITICAL BUTTONNice Day For A Revolution POLITICAL BUTTONProtest beyond the law is not departure from democracy; it is essential to it -- Howard Zinn quote POLITICAL BUTTON

Activism Is My Rent For Living On This Planet -- Alice Walker quote POLITICAL BUTTONI am as desirous of being a good neighbor as I am of being a bad subject -- Henry David Thoreau quote POLITICAL BUTTONNever offend people with style when you can offend them with substance. Sam Brown quote POLITICAL BUTTON

POEM: A Bout As Helpful

He axed
Are you a Christian?
Sow bound to answer
I am
Though that is a bout
As helpful
As siding the fact
That I am American
When in truth
Such a confining chide
Might only be a parent
As eye more fully scene
As a planetary citizen

The secret of contentment is the realization that life is a gift, not a right. SPIRITUAL BUTTONGandhi famously said, “I am a Christian, a Hindu, a Muslim, and a Jew.”  He understood the ever transcendent claim of religion to that which is beyond, including beyond any single religious tradition.  Being raised in a particular religious tradition is quite assuredly not the primary form of divine providence.  Similarly, the end all and be all of our existence is not simply defined by accidents of birth, whether it be nationality, gender, race, etc.  While the particularities of our life on earth, in this solar system, in this universe, provide the delicious details of our story, our special conditions are not only lessens to be learned, confining us to a shadowy prism in a rainbow of creation.  Faith is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase. MLK QUOTE BUTTONThis poem alludes to the childish nature of making life a bout such parochial commitments.  This poem presents a more mature vision of mere nationalism as better scene in the light of awe being passengers on this planetary citizen ship.  There is nothing wrong with celebrating our particularities in life, as long as it is not used as a justification for devolving into egocentrism and tribalism.  Evolution has more to do with than sects.  May we learn to both relax and experience the exhilaration of skydiving into the bigger whole, sow big that it may rightly in compass life and death.

Stop Taking Life Literally--ANTI-WAR BUTTON

EPIC POEM: As Night Watch Man

In the deep
Of the knight
Watch man
Finding one self prone
Where singular stars obscure
As perpetual high noon
Where time stops
Straight up
Where the sun don’t shine
Like a broken time peace
With patients in undated
Wear dreams forgotten
In their wisdom nocturnal
Giving weigh
Too dark truths
For like a sentry
Only look out
For what is best
For all won no’s
Awe that it seams
A mist their act
In side
There elementary
Recesses
Of their mine
Uniformly capped
With unforeseen foil
As dread to them all ready
With tin pan reflections
Too mirror dusky shadows
Pre-pared
Too skill or be skilled
With shattered arts
Leaving won stiff
A post to the last man
A testing to peerless mail bravado
In
A remote job
So only after ours
In defense ably doing one’s doody
Incriminating nature’s coarse
All the wile
Without looking up
Just as speculative figure
Bad
Whether who starred it
Hoodwinked by grope think
Having
Out groan
Constellation prizes
Fumbling about
On which even you Depends®
Pooh-poohing it
As a conjury of their peers
And mutual convictions
Of that right before you
A void seeing
Sow proudly dedicated
And right fully committed
To full hardy belief
Going where no won has gone before
And highly ill logic
All Klingon too
Their frayed comforters
And sheer sheet
Amor gauzy shield
As bull work
Oh posing
Things that go
Bump in the night
Or worse yet
The not so light of daze
That everlusting grind
A cannonized weigh of life
No’ing the least of all
Surrender
Taking up arms
Accept as a lust resort
As dissembling mime
A forged silence
In farcing
What might
Be pro-pounding
As juster
Buy a majority
A con-script for the wrest
Safeguarding their camp
Helter-skelter
Sounding all arm
Pitting laughable fauxs
As our enema’s enema
In fashioning new fiends
Intimating familiarity
With won’s dark side
In is culpable evil
Only knot see
The twinkle in the I’s
Of every won a mother
Slumbering a bout
So far aweigh
To be
Raptured
In that stare way to heaven
Untold stories a way
Of what might raze
The dead of knight
And shrouded rays
Pre-veil over such pricks
In mortal pitch
And feather light
That mother flicker
Projecting the torch erratum
Flying that beacon
In witch
Our enemies
Cannot consume
What hell’s at stake
Ill luminated by fires bellow
However super intending
Divine assent read
The wholly smother
Jilted by pin holes of darkness
And heads as dead wringers
What’s under the desert
More gripping
Than hearts bared
And glistening from above
Calling out
Too arms
And a pare of feat
Swearing evolution
As erect brothers
Punctuate posterity
In memorial
Just ahead stone
As others lie
In truth
As plane to sea
What would work
To out fit
Such titanic under-takings
Of what still
Remains
To be
Seeing
Putting on the crowning touché
To a juggernaut of nods
Assure as the cock crows
Mourning will come
Graveyard shifts end
At the brake of daze
To the relief of fodders and mothers
And in the wake of the moment
We will score the skinny
That rarefied crack
In lightening this orchestral ball
Dawning upon him
A most well come vocation
Know more job
As the reel work begins
As fissures of men
Bring us to reguard
Catching ourselves
As part of each wholly lessen
A mist every calumny nation
As in deep
The knight made a parent
Calls it
A day

This epic poem, in both length and theme, plays within the abyss of skepticism and bids a certain openness prerequisite to fully experiencing mystery often hidden in the shadowy places of the heart.  Spiritual discernment can peer as but a pin prick in a dark and distant heaven, or it can peer as a guiding star, even blazing sun.  In your life as a spiritual being, may you find guiding stars in the deepest, darkest nights, and blazing suns purifying you with fire during your high noons.

POEM: Trump U

What are you
Fraud of
That witch trumps university
Coaching that imperceptible deference
Between ignorance and apathy
Knot knowing or caring
Students funked
Never to be
Defunct
Taken by the Don
Bankrupt in every way
Never graduating pompous circumstances
And his conceded tautology
Let buy gones be buy gones

The fraud of Donald Trump continues unabated.  Trump University has allot to teach US, as the Don bequeaths his hardily gratuitous lessens.  The supposably honorary third degree from doctored Trump rations his bizarre quotas to ravenous mediums chomping at the bit to   divine truth so easily christened.  Donald ducks insubstantial quests in a bout his caricature of humanity.  Left or riot is any won’s guest.  He is red, the rite act.  Everyman is crowned and every whoa man is frowned.  Never the lass, he may be throned, of the porcelain variety, regularly off color.  And with that seat up, he will jocularly screw maiden America, or any daughter, of the American evolution that is.  Shirley, there will be no hippo campus at his highbrow collage of cosmetic cosmologies.  King Trump mightily Depends™ his unpronounceable cymbal formally known as Trump U.  And not with standing, God loves him, giving him a big hand, as edict among us, unveritable whopper delivered to burghers cross the nation.  Don't Blame Me, My Vote Was Thrown Away POLITICAL BUTTONThe King dumb of God is up on US.  Can some give me an omen.  For awe of this, will only, come to ahead after pain much tuition in the poison ivy league, reckoning that doomed scratch and ran dumb itches for all they are worth.  As good as bust, and skirting, ruin US, laying odds on Night Mare in the fifth raze.  I don’t always drink Dos Equis (XX), but when I due, I have a third party.

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.

POEM: Going, Going, Gone

Scores of politicians
Going for green
As peddlers of pabulum
Powered buy vicious cycles
Going for blue
As admirals of addled ad mirers
Sailing cynicism
Going for red
As wore, wore, wore
Posing as knew
Gone adieu this
Until nothing left
Gone adieu that
Until nothing right
Going, going
Too too mulch
For tender truths to sprout
Gone
With the win
Un-till effacing larger truths
Over taking
And out with the owed
In with the new
Re-coup-ing
Awe that was lost
A hearty evolution
And overdo revolution

Here’s another election poem taking on money in politics and politicians who use deceptive and hypocritical generalities to engender just enough support from party loyalists, ironically called the “base,” and from the remaining few who vote, enough support from those who dislike the other candidate more.  I will pass on such centrist and cynical electoral politics that serves few except those already in power.  I vote for a hearty evolution where citizen activists create the change they truly want to see the world, with unrepentant idealism.  We can do better!  I pledge to work each day to create a life for myself that when overdue revolutions arise that I won’t be hesitating between my current privilege and a better future for all.  I will plant and cultivate tender truths amidst the excrement that passes for mainstream electoral politics.  Hope is in our nature.  And Top Pun never sells out!

POEM: More Than Just, A Tinkle In The Pants

Sum people say
Show me the money
Only taking
That folding
Money
Maid of paper
Illegal to ink for won self
You’re money or you’re life
Weather helled up
Or razing heaven
Our soles speak
As bodies of evidence
And life stiles of the rich and famous
Calling out
Be the change
Beholden to common cents
More than just
A tinkle in the pants
Pissing off the powers that be

In my book, any poem that can incorporate wetting won’s pants and pissing off the powers that be can’t be all bad.  This poem taps perhaps the most fundamental divide in moral life: do we serve God or mammon, the worldly powers, the powers that be.  In this poem, I don’t mention God per se, but instead referred to “you’re life.”  I’ll give a tip of the hat to those uncomfortable with any notion of God.  “Life” or “love” is a synonym-spiced confection more palatable to some.

In this crazy postmodern milieu that we live in, the revered field of of science, with its deep commitment to smoking out causality, has mysteriously led to widespread convictions of randomness.  This perhaps began its accelerative phase with the genius of Darwin pinning his monumental theory of evolution to the notion of randomness.  Concrete evidence has proven the theory of evolution as a powerful scientific tool for accounting for the origin of species.  Of course, explaining things backwards is much easier than predicting the nature of future evolution, other than predicting that we will evolve in some random (sic) way.  Randomness is a notion at least as resistant to a coherent cosmology and worldview as the notion of God.  More troubling, randomness, that which has neither antecedent or predictability/causality is exactly the mythology that science is designed to debunk.  While inserting a “miracle” that cannot be measured by science by either observation or in principle may be irresistible if you can convince others to go along with it, but it is not science.  Randomness is no more a scientific principle than God.  Randomness is not a scientific principle — as God is not.  This facet of the philosophy of science can only be ignored at our own peril.  Quite telling, the field of mathematics has failed to identify any form of mathematics that gives adequate support for the unproven assertion of randomness.  Randomness can rightly be pursued as a hypothesis within metaphysics, the realm in which God is explored.  Still, randomness strikes me as antimatter in the matter of coherency.  We do know that any complete coherence MUST contain more true statements than ANY possible logical system can contain within itself.  This is a space that is in principle incompletely accessible by science and mathematics.  This is a space big enough and unknown enough for God and free will to reside or originate.  Is such a neighborhood the zip code for randomness?  At best, it can not be proven by science or mathematics.

Here is a little more on Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem, the mathematical proof under-girding such thoughts:

“In 1931, the Czech-born mathematician Kurt Gödel demonstrated that within any given branch of mathematics, there would always be some propositions that couldn’t be proven either true or false using the rules and axioms… of that mathematical branch itself. You might be able to prove every conceivable statement about numbers within a system by going outside the system in order to come up with new rules and axioms, but by doing so you’ll only create a larger system with its own unprovable statements. The implication is that all logical system of any complexity are, by definition, incomplete; each of them contains, at any given time, more true statements than it can possibly prove according to its own defining set of rules.

Moving to a cultural level, the affection for randomness has brought us to an infection with randomness in everyday life, reflecting both some nihilistic sense of life and sense of humor: “That was so random.”  Our sense of life and humor has been moving from being centered in an elegantly interconnected system to a severed existence plagued by events “coming out of nowhere” — the antithesis of both scientific and religious worldviews.  Is it any wonder that we are possessed by notions of a zombie apocalypse, a world populated by those who are both dead and alive — or is that neither dead nor alive?

I think that Bob Dylan may have stated it about as bluntly and poetically as anyone, in his song, Gotta Serve Somebody (full lyrics below).  “It may be the devil or it may be the Lord/But you’re gonna have to serve somebody.”  Of course, the popularity of the devil or the Lord seems to be in decline.  So, for many, the love triangle between self, neighbor, and the mystery of mysteries is reduced to self and neighbor — and perhaps nature (creation).

Well enough, such truth is still great enough to fill many lifetimes. Wee fight for one another to a void being reduced to a mirror monetizable entity.  Most have a palpable sense of what money is, what worldly power looks like, and the rules into which it invites us into its service.  And still, what is the opposite of serving money?  Is serving money just a vain vocation for the terminally unimaginative?  Perhaps the opposite of serving money involves living a life free of attachments to material security or cultural status.  Whatever there is in life that money cannot buy, I see as that which is truly valuable — able to bring a present with authentic integrity and a future that cannot be bought, only given to one another.

To me, money seems to be one of the least interesting things in life.  Personally, I am in wonder at both the abundant curiosities present in scientific discoveries to date and beyond any imagined horizon AND the mysteries of the heart, my own and others, which inspire countless souls to risk life for more life, and to go where no mere scientist dares.  Can we serve awe and give that which can only be proven to exist by giving it.  Life and love awe weighs fine a way. Serve it up!

Gotta Serve Somebody (by Bob Dylan)

You may be an ambassador to England or France
You may like to gamble, you might like to dance
You may be the heavyweight champion of the world
You may be a socialite with a long string of pearls

But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes
Indeed you’re gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody

You might be a rock ‘n’ roll addict prancing on the stage
You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage
You may be a business man or some high-degree thief
They may call you doctor or they may call you chief

But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes you are
You’re gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody

You may be a state trooper, you might be a young Turk
You may be the head of some big TV network
You may be rich or poor, you may be blind or lame
You may be living in another country under another name

But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes you are
You’re gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody

You may be a construction worker working on a home
You may be living in a mansion or you might live in a dome
You might own guns and you might even own tanks
You might be somebody’s landlord, you might even own banks

But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes
You’re gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody

You may be a preacher with your spiritual pride
You may be a city councilman taking bribes on the side
You may be workin’ in a barbershop, you may know how to cut hair
You may be somebody’s mistress, may be somebody’s heir

But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes
You’re gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody

Might like to wear cotton, might like to wear silk
Might like to drink whiskey, might like to drink milk
You might like to eat caviar, you might like to eat bread
You may be sleeping on the floor, sleeping in a king-sized bed

But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes
Indeed you’re gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody

You may call me Terry, you may call me Timmy
You may call me Bobby, you may call me Zimmy
You may call me R.J., you may call me Ray
You may call me anything but no matter what you say

Still, you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes
You’re gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody

FREE POSTER – Black Lives Matter: Devolution of Blue Lives Matter to Corporate Lives Matter, NOT Evolution, NOT Revolution

The Black Lives Matter movement has been successful in spawning reactionary movements.  The latest of these is the Blue Lives Matter messaging going national through billboards as a so-called public service.  Here is my take on such reactions:Black Lives Matter Devolution Poster

Black BLACK LIVES MATTER [black background] POLITICAL BUTTONThat police are threatened by nonviolent social movements is perhaps the only evidence needed that the police are not simply defenders of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  Police Everywhere, Justice Nowhere POLITICAL BUTTONFor no good reason, gunning down black men in the street puts in serious doubt the defending life claim.  The police as the front line of the racist and repressive criminal justice system betrays any just claim as leaders and defenders of liberty.  The police take their orders much less in the pursuit of happiness than as per suit of property owners.  Police are far better suited to protect corporate interests than human rights.  Respect Our Existence Or Expect Our Resistance with African American Flag colors POLITICAL BUTTONThus, the logical and deathly devolution to “Corporate Lives Matter,” codifying the rights of property over people.  The police serve as tools in this regressive hierarchy.  The Criminal Justice System is CRIMINAL POLITICAL BUTTONUntil that hierarchy is turned over, to the people, and a revolution completed, the police can never truly be peace officers, and they will face the honest and just resistance of masses of people.  Until police stand up to challenge their own impunity to justice and the dehumanizing criminal justice system, they will neither get nor deserve the full respect of the communities they have sworn to defend.  White Silence is Violence POLITICAL BUTTONMay the seed of Black Lives Matter take root in our hearts and lives — Let’s root for a criminal system that is just, for people, not simply persons of privilege and their monied interests.To Protect and Serve The 1% [Policeman] POLITICAL BUTTON

POEM: Halving No Interest

Wile a capital idea to sum
I halve no interest
In how you make a living
Rather
That which
Makes you
Come alive

I would dare say that most of life lost is in the chasm between making a living and doing that which makes you come alive.  I would even dare say that being distant from having to worry about basic needs — “having it made” — is a greater threat to coming alive than what life palpitates within us when we are connected to struggling for basic human needs.  This narrative runs counter to the liberal, artsy dream of not having to worry about money so you can be free to pursue “more important things,” presumably art as luxury rather than art as necessity.

The art of living is essentially doing that which makes you come alive.  This is where art is a necessary reflection of our overflowing aliveness, or, in less flowery language, art is a basic human need.  Art lives coequal with our basic material needs of food, shelter, health care, an environment free of violence and full of affection, and the long litany of human rights inalienable to humanity.  Art flowers in our connection to others and creation.  Revolutionary art serves as a critique of alienation and destruction, which often comes at the hands of money first — sometimes driving a cruel bargain for our humanity; more often offering a seductively easy price for our humanity.

Personally, my art is rooted in both the privileged experience of a first world nation and the surrounding larger reality of vast material deprivation more common than not on this planet we share.  I was literally born into this conundrum.  As a helpless baby, I was not helpless.  While I was born in Haiti, the poorest nation in the western hemisphere, I was not fated to live a life anything like the countless babies born within a stones throw.  I was born to well-educated, white Americans — a doctor and a nurse.  As a toddler, I would fly off in an airplane, already then cementing myself solidly within the experience of less than 1/20th of the world’s inhabitants.  My rant above is perhaps one of privileged hope.  I may never know for sure.  However, as I grow in my art of living, I find it much wiser and productive to root for humanity, not money.  The truth of any above assertions is probably best demonstrated by the fact that Haiti has the largest concentration of artists, predominantly painters, of any nation on earth.  Perhaps art is a necessity, not a luxury.

 

 

POEM: How Ever Dumb Dumb Dumb Dumb

In his rock
Solid doubt
Thomas
Had herd rumors
Of unflailing love
Abuzz of hope so high
If only
To find himself
Quite
In the dark
Wear time stops
To the ever sow gentle
Beating
To a singular conundrum
As sound as it gets
In the artlessness of won’s
Perpetual searching
Where awe is aloud
And know license kneaded
Yet so long
Due
Over
Come
Warming to the extremity
In a hospitality of patients
Still
Not sure
What he thaw
He’s frozen code
Hesitatingly lust
Pulling out
Aplomb
The surest proof
Of assurance
Yet knot enough too
Drink the Kool-Aid™
Turning to whine
Taken in
Bred of skepticism
Only willing
To live on
Crumbs
That will
Surly re-seed
In annoys
Of the daze
The quest in
For gotten
How ever dumb dumb dumb dumb

This is another poem on a familiar theme of skepticism of skepticism.  In this poem, skepticism is juxtaposed with a simple and profound reality at the center of each human life: your heartbeat.  In fast-paced, postmodern society, we live in a precarious and constricted mental and spiritual territory.  We are, well, maladapted to ask “What have you done for me lately” a-long-side routine strings of epic fails to live in the moment.  In a triumph of evolution, we walk a mathematically constructed line that every mathematician knows doesn’t exist except as a mental construct.  And then we complain about God’s ethereal nature — with a periodicity much less regular than a heartbeat, in between ignoring God’s good creation.  I can’t help but note that the bulk head of such complaining seems more fitting on bar stools than in poem or song.  Of course, I don’t recommend sobriety when it comes to being drunk on poetry.  In the book, The Life of Pi, by Yann Martel, the main character tells two stories: one hauntingly mesmerizing and another as a police report.  When asking another character which story they prefer, not surprisingly, they choose the captivating story; to which the main character replies, “and so it is with God.”  I, for one, would much rather be captivated by a good story than limit my reading — and living — to police reports (though many good stories include police reports).  I strongly suspect that God wants us to make epic stories of our lives, for our hearts to beat captivating rhythms, to grow bigger and fuller today than we were yesterday.  For this to happen, at some point, we have to make stuff up as we go along.  This process can be analogous to scientific discovery, proposing stuff that we are not quite sure are true and then testing them out with out lives.  Not surprisingly, scientific-minded folks are greatly disturbed when religion hypothesizes great truths and then fails to adequately test them in the here and now.  Not all shit is worth making up.  Fortunately, most any shit can be used as fertilizer.  Even cautionary tales are indispensable.  Nonetheless, as Native Americans traditionally began their storytelling, “This may not have happened, but it is true.”  Or, as I might put it: God is the coolest being I ever metaphor.

But back to the even more palpable.  Your heartbeat serves as a metaphor, gentle reminder, and literal lifeline to, well, life.  The heartbeat is both a shared human reality and intensely intimate and personal tether to life.  In astounding irony, the common ground of a heartbeat at the center of each human life seems to be easily taken for granite, that is, common ground.  There may be a fine lying between common ground and complicated dirt, but I suspect that the road less travailed makes awe the difference.  Akin to breathing, our heartbeat is a great center for meditation, that is, simply centering our life (see my poems, Breathing and The World’s Shortest Meditation).  I find the persistence, reliability, unobtrusiveness, and effectiveness of both breathing and our heartbeat as a wellspring of metaphors and insights into the deepest nature of life.  Still, may your life take definition by those moments which take your breath away and that which makes your heart to skip a beat.

POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense

Her innocence
Was immune to their dis ease
As be wilder
And a tempt
However tempered
Only to be
Dis missed
As just
A guile

His innocence
Deified awe bravery
In the face
Of accusations summoned
As subdude
As never a cur to them
Posing the quest in
Guise will
Be guise

Her bosom leaped
Skipping to a beat
As sir passingly chaste
Giving birth in maternal rapture
Nun the lass
Put out
By those racking up
Scorn points
Holy to be allayed

His heart sang
As here the music
Faced
Temporal forces
Craven reseeding
To proper gate the race
Certifiably birthed
In a heil of ballads
Or castrating scores
Of bullet points
Writing
Him off
In tom foolery or gaiety

Sow
There it is
In a sense
Light as it may be
Worth the wait
Up till
Abated breath

This poem, an ode to innocence, addresses the default cynicism and mistrust in contemporary modern culture.  Innocence is suspect.  Original sin has much more effective branding than original blessing. The unguarded are as likely to be blamed for violations as violators.  Plus, passionate living is often viewed as potentially dangerous.  Freely following one’s passions can often be inconvenient or unnerving to others who might prefer a more staid, predictable environment.  Exercising freedom, by definition, limits the predictability available to those who live alongside you.  Exercise freedom enough to challenge the socializing forces of any given culture and you can expect these forces to provide sanctions designed to exorcise your freedom.  Shame and punishment is a poor trade for the inevitable vagaries of free and passionate living.

This poem, with alternating female and male subjects, also confronts gender roles and their over-sexualization, particularly of women.  Hyper-sexualization is a major means of reducing free human beings to controllable objects, for the proper gating of the race.  Viewing others as free subjects in a shared humanity rather than objects in a controlled environment is essential to the evolution of humanity.

Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of innocence is the shame-free liberation it unleashes.  As a child responds freshly to the world unfolding before them, harmony and positive change become more accessible.  The maturity of experience can bring a disciplined freedom committed to an innocent wildness and natural generosity, even in the face of powerful shaming and sanctions bidding us to sell our freedom for a slice of the take.  May you successfully dance circles around the forces of shaming and punishment, ever inviting others to joyfully join the dance of freedom.

POEM: Paying In Attention – Owed To Mind Fullness

I under stand
You are on
Some kind of in
Stall meant plan
As long
As you still
Pay attention
In do time
I’ll pay for such in deference
Hopefully not the final time
Having been
Pre-disposed
In the passed
And per severe
Beyond just us
And awe claims
Sow gossamer a ledge
Holy prone
Sacred out of my wits
With that owed time religion
Bard none
U of life
Won
As in daze of your
Still
In the hear and now
As I right
A tone
Sublime volume
For all too here
It is
My willing
As well
For give
The ineffable scene
Wear knot all is destined
And only that be
Which under stood
Hear after
That awe in life
Sir passing the grave
Life meeting its maker
Coming a cross
In attention
Out pacing
Thought fullness
Fated to outstrip
Getting just desserts
And given
The wrest is history
To whatever extant
I am
Sow
Inclined
End lessly
App’ed
Too think
For what is mind
For what is yores
In-during-ly
A where-ness
Bequeathing real eyes

This poem is about mindfulness.  This poem is about acceptance, seeing things as they truly are, with a minimum of preconceived notions.  This poem is about intimacy, vulnerability, living openly and freely in a whirled that often runs one over unconsciously, even at the hands of those with good intents.  More specifically, this poem is informed and inspired by my experiences over recent months as a regular bicyclist, since I became car-less.  It has dawned on me that riding my bike amidst distracted and unaware drivers of huge masses of metal, glass, and plastic — formerly known as cars — is a powerful metaphor for my worldview.  Even if highly aware, the power differential possessed by unaware car drivers reliably results in them imposing the cost of their lack of awareness on those less powerful; in this case, a biker.  They are insulated from the feedback, the costs, of their own mindlessness.  I see such mindless, abusive power differentials wreaking havoc on our world most anywhere I look. Only Thing Necessary for Triumph of Evil is for Good Men to do Nothing -- Edmund Burke quote At best, these mindless abuses of privilege (privilege as being on the stronger side of a power differential) are maladaptive.  At worst, these mindless abuses of privilege are the foundation upon which evil can successfully manipulate the unconscious aspects of humanity to its own ends.  In regard to intimacy, I would say that in the car-bicyclist relationship the car-driver represents the antithesis of vulnerability, literally protected by a huge wall of metal, glass, and plastic.  To which the bicyclist offers their bare skin and an oft-ill-fitting plastic helmet for one’s consciousness-bearing noggin.  You can draw your own particular picture of the implications of this larger dynamic played out in our social and political life together.  In the world of urban cycling, let it suffice to say that good intent is not sufficient.  Most drivers who violate your legal right-of-way are palpably repentant after they realize what they have done.  I take great pride in offering my existence as a biker to drivers to help them learn about the existence of other people who are made vulnerable by their mindlessness.  Still, it is I who pays the greater price for this potential evolutionary relationship.  Thus, this poem.

If I am to be run over and killed by a mindless driver, please read this poem at my funeral, and offer this poem to the manslaughterer.  Similarly, I offer myself up in the path of mindless (and mindful) political forces, in hopes of expanding humanity’s potential for evolution.  If I should be run over and killed by some overtly political force, I am sure their are plenty of my other poems appropriate to be read at my memorial.  In any case, wish me luck — if you believe in such things.

I view consciousness, or mindfulness, as the primary force and indicator of human evolution.  I view most of the bad things in this world as a byproduct of a mindfulness deficiency.  Quantitatively, having no one at the wheel allows many, many bad things to happen.  Qualitatively, having people who are aware of their destructive choices and yet still choose them — one definition of sin — is a scary situation because mindfulness alone is insufficient for self-correction.  This is an active disease of the will.  Still, the passivity of the will, of active mindfulness, carries most of the day in most of our everyday lives.  I see that our lives are lived for us, as passive beings, to a larger degree than we live our lives consciously, mindfully.  The epic showdowns between conscious evil and conscious good make for great, even necessary, storytelling, but does not reflect the less sexy, more mundane bulk of our own struggles for increasing consciousness, the prerequisite for any life truly lived.

In the order of consciousness, self-awareness is a prerequisite for any fruitful other-awareness.  Without self-awareness, we will be mired in unending unconscious, biased projections of our self onto the world of other people and things that make up our shared reality.  My love of science is congruent with a desire to have an accurate understanding of our shared reality.  Still, science falls disturbingly silent in addressing one’s inner life, and the ultimate, inescapable assumptions or projections onto other people.  My working assumptions, based on my experience of my own inner life, is that people want to be accepted for who they are, positively appreciated, and want to contribute to a better world, our shared reality.  I willingly project empathy and lovingkindness into the world, in hopes of a better world for all of us.  If this is not what you want, feel free to let me know.    	 Better To be Slapped With The Truth Than Kissed With A Lie -- Russian ProverbIf I stray from these working assumptions, feel free to gently remind me of my deepest commitments.  If I stand clearly apart from these working assumptions, feel free to tell me like it is in no uncertain terms.  As the Russian proverb goes: “Better to be slapped with the truth than kissed with a lie.”

 

 

POEM: Joining That Mystical Union

Having
Evolved
Too keep
Every last won
Of this sophisticated specious
Under opposable thumbs
Like a perch
In a stream of consciousness
Executing my porpoise
The best
I can do
A thwart on the phase of humanity
This avowing
That it is
Just us
And by what means
Can we make a diffidence
Of that a ledge
Too due
Joining the crowded
Signing off
On that
Collective bargain
As wee
All a greed
As far as we reckon
Bunching up
In a scanty throng
Of self-proclaimed wizzes
In the brook of life
Where awe is swill
In our out standing potable potty
In the heat of august
Quenched
Buy the patently falls
That is
Not so
Crappy
Requited in terminally wading
Who gets
The last ward
From what sores then
Only then
Where naught else fallows
To find oneself
In silence
A loan
Yet not feeling solo
In fact
Feeling unrivalled
Caching in
Empyreal cents
Fore that which is
Unfallible
Without rank
Revolting
Caste a side
Even without
Empty congregation
For going
As it is written
Upon stationery
In place of life
Wear awe is won
In a corporeal merger
Of all that is ardor
With all that is light
Enrolled into one
That mystical union
Joining arts
And boundless trades
Uniting awe
In a baptism of matchless flare
Emerging from water
Besting the supposed fin
By no less than two feet
Upright
On wholly ground
Accompanying sound sole
In the rarefied guardin’
Of one constitutional
Heartwarmingly vein to sum
Countless succeeding
With heir to breathe freely
Living in
The hear and now
Beyond what can be herd
No longer weighting
Only to expire
That which is fleeting
Trafficking in exclusion
Flailing to sea
The catch all
Recognizing each
To be won
Of a kind

Here is a poem that plays with themes of the oneness of consciousness, the oneness of humanity, and the merging of the spiritual and physical realms.  Of course, it begins with recognizing the sea of vanity that passes for much of so-called civilized life.  Seeing past this pollution is a necessary precondition to more fully experience life’s ever-present gifts and freely give our unique selves to the world.  This requires mastering letting go more-so than grasping.  Letting go prepares us to receive the perpetual, dare I say eternal, stream of gifts available to us at any given moment.  This process of freely receiving this veritable tsunami of presents is only possible when harmoniously matched with freely giving, letting go, which continues, reflects, and magnifies the true abundance in which we are awash.  The difference between this process and the close-minded, close-hearted clinging and collecting of much of daily life is the difference between heaven and hell — perhaps even heaven and hell!

Giving and receiving is one of the central yin and yang of our lives.  Much of the pain in life can be traced back to the felt need to keep account of all of the giving and receiving that is going on, and then expending precious energy (sometimes called ‘work’) attempting to make sure that the receiving side of our ledger is adequate.  Then, when we have ‘enough,’ we can be gracious on the giving side.  I suspect that how we answer the question with our lives, “how much is enough?” lies at the heart of how well we contribute to our shared humanity and shared reality.  The harmonious yin and yang of giving and taking is often befuddled and turned upside down by a predominant (and ultimately dominating) focus on receiving, aka taking.  This conundrum rests on how we answer the proverbial question of “which came first, the chicken or the egg?” — in this case, giving or taking.  As any practiced Taoist would realize, these yin and yang questions are ultimately incomprehensible without a deep appreciation for balance, or, as the Taoist would say, complementariness.  I think this is also why Buddhists are not big on origin or creation stories (‘egg’ stories); what we have at any given moment is much more important than accounting for where it came from.  The Christian contribution to this dialogue is a focus on grace, that any giving on our part is only made possible by something outside our selves gracing us with anything to give.  In the human experience, grace, and the gratitude that evolves from living in it, quite universally leads to more harmonious (happy) living.  Our natural propensity toward accounting cannot escape the balance shit completely!

There Is No Way to Peace, Peace Is the WayAs a devotee of social justice, the problem of the balance sheet often consumes — or at least dominates — any conception of justice.  I prefer to frame justice as harmony and injustice as disharmony.  Both the way and the goal, the means and the ends, is peace (harmony).  As one of my favorite pacifists, and fellow Hope College alumnus, A.J. Muste proclaimed, “There is no way to peace, peace is the way.”  I see the chicken and egg argument about which comes first, peace or justice, as the divide between self and other; that is, injustice is typically described as conditions of disharmony outside one’s self, amongst the human community and our shared reality. The role we contribute to bringing justice into the world is one of bringing harmony.  And as most any human would agree: you can’t give what you don’t have!

Activism Is My Rent For Living On This Planet -- Alice Walker quoteIf you are still convinced that justice is fundamentally a balance sheet then ponder this: how can you possibly experience injustice if you came into the world on no account of your own, experience a measure of life, and return to nothing (or at least certainly not something less than something) — how can you ever be in debt?  The only “debt” that we have is the positive reality that we have been given anything and everything we have.  This is well captured by Alice Walker who declared, “Activism is my rent for living on this planet.” I see this debt as the foundation for any ethical system, a shared debt owed with each and every human, setting up solidarity as a fundamental shared human reality. This was eminently stated by Albert Schweitzer: “The first step in the evolution of ethics is a sense of solidarity with other human beings.”  Injustice can be viewed as some having more than others (earned/unearned more than others?) but any conception of this is still rooted (and must give just due) in the harmonious relationship between giving and receiving.  The first step in the evolution of ethics is a sense of solidarity with other human beings -- Albert Schweitzer quoteTaking away, WAY different than receiving, is dishonoring the mystical ying-yang of giving and receiving, in whatever brand of accounting one might ascribe too.  Any thought that re-framing your account of justice as “giving” justice to others might be well served by meditating on your dependable feeling when others want to give you their justice.  While there are immature forms of resisting others actions “for our own good,” I suspect that resisting others taking our account is rightly and justly rooted (a gift of human nature) in the shared and absolute nature of each and every human being’s life as a sheer gift beyond merit.  Fights about whose debt is bigger are probably best resolved by demonstrating the recognition of our own immeasurable debt.  Albert Schweitzer also infamously said, “Example is not the main thing in influencing others, it is the only thing.”  Be the Change You Want to See in the World - Gandhi quoteThis is a close cousin to my favorite Gandhi quote, “Be the change you want to see in the world.”  Hopefully, amidst such ponderings you will find this awe difficult to take!

May you join this mystical union, and whatever dues you may pay, may they be well worth it…

POEM: To Not Mirrorly Be

The powers that be
Screw you
Then you screw me
I don’t blame you
Do you blame me?
Either weigh
We don’t have
To be that way
An open secret
For awe to see
And not mirrorly be
Everywhere I look
Far and near
Strange and dear
There’s power in me
There’s power in you
It’s up to you
It’s up to me
Much the same
The powers that be
A tempting
To possess awe
But a clue
Of sow sow much
That is
Really
Too due

Eric Hoffer said, “When people are free to do as they please, they usually imitate each other.” While in many situations this may be perfectly acceptable, the evolution of humanity and each human depends upon exercising a judgment that transcends the reactionary forces of an equal and opposite reaction for every action.  This judgment, or will, is by its very nature counter-cultural, that is transformative of any given set of cultural conditions, oft referred to as the powers that be.  Any set of rules present in any society are not inclusive of our fullest being.  It is this fullest being, or perhaps a glimpse or shadow of it, which haunts our highest hopes as part of humanity.  The notion of human rights is rooted in this vision.  This perpetual journey toward fulfilling our fullest being unites us as actors on the set (a shared reality) of a play defined partly by the powers that be.  The more space we carve out in our collective and individual lives for this fuller being the more we act freely, not simply having our lives written for us, and following a script handed to us.  Shakespeare’s take on this metaphor outlines the typical stages in which we act, albeit more morose than my own:

“All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then, the whining school-boy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with a good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”

from William Shakespeare’s As You Like It, spoken by the melancholy Jaques in Act II, Scene VII

May you find yourself acting freely amidst whatever stage you find yourself, and not mirrorly be made in the image of simply an amassment of whatever reactionary forces operate upon your life.