Category Archives: Not Two

Turning (my) World Inside Out

I am not a poet ~ the world, as I know it, is.

Everything everywhere.

 

I am not a woman ~ this world is a woman’s domain

and I am in it and of that.

 

Nature does not surround me ~ I am nature itself

and I live within  my own sphere.

 

I am not someone imagining what the world might become.

I am that becoming or that emergence in the making.

 

Hesitation ~ where and what are you? What is this task?

What are we creating as this conversation,

not much different than gestation, something earlier conceived.

 

Looking out is no more ~ it is not even looking within, it is the active principle

such as breath and breathing ~ continuous and life evolving,

does not need to be named to continue.

 

Approval ~ what are you ~ takes a unique set of circumstances

to make you relevant, to make your existence, to map the terrain

in which you stretch and wallow and bring forth your experience.

 

[There are many things we regularly turn inside out (socks, clothes), some even surprisingly, but when it comes to turning this world inside out ~ what of it? What not of it? When can I not do or see or perceive that is so when I receive that calling? Like birth, it comes of its own accord and in its own timing ~ such that we have evolved something we call death. Is that the world turned inside out, birth becomes something reversibly irreversible?]

 

The world is not me, I am the world emerging and forthcoming

~ only perception forms and forms and forms again.

 

Sometimes it takes listening to these things loudly, not quietly as some might suggest.

Turn the volume inside out and there is the advantage, the preeminent seeing of what is.

 

Turning the world inside out, I turn myself out into a world that has

not once yet rejected me or scorned me or humiliated me, but

has me at its very crystalline heart beat, pulsing as aliveness and ardor.

 

The world as poet opens her domain to the wide spread arms

of welcoming ~ laughing itself awake to itself, hesitatingly unhesitant.

 

Facing East

 

 

 

ah na ne ah ne 

ah na ne ah ne

ah na ne ah ne

ah na ~~~ ha ha ha

 

 

Perhaps not what comes to mind

when I say “facing east”

but I am facing east as I write

 

I’ve returned to facing east this morning,

within my small abode, mi casita,

within the place my body rests at night

 

There are three windows facing me,

facing east ~ even from the north

window I also look east

 

There is an unbroken line formed

by ridges, ancient rock, many footsteps,

& raven calls over ages & millennia

 

We can think we know of these,

of these ages, of these open wings,

of these breathing hearts

 

The call of the dove filters in

with the early morning sun fall

certain things are lit just so in the morning light

 

For me, facing east is just so,

taking in a perspective not quite my own,

but one offering nuances now welcomed wholeheartedly

 

And for as much as it is worth, I am in my own retrograde it seems

I find the inner landscape (here) filled with my own footprints

once traveled and laid by me to see (now) from this vantage

 

The gentling calls of the magpie to her mate

or her young & sometimes to me

soften these inner reaches

 

qua lia mia mo, qua ta te ah mo

qua lia mia mo, qua ta te ah mo

 

And now hummingbird joins, her wings one of the most

exquisite percussions that sounds, like a long awaited remedy,

breaking up the tightness of the heart, my heart

 

I say, “I have returned, my friends!”, facing east.

“While tending to the southern fires, I did miss you!”

And we rejoin now bringing calming & homecoming within.

 

If you have never tried or tested out

the malleability of time and timelines,

I heartily recommend it so. Move within.

 

This morning, before waking or parting the curtains to welcome the day,

I washed my earlier self, the one with certain struggles & bumps in her road, with a vibrant mix

~ the perfect spectrum of light and tonal vibration to let her know I am with her all the way.

 

Don’t take my word for it, you too can meet your own selves,

those that now seem long forgotten or destitute in that timeline of Ago.

For we each have such perfection of unique remedy and resolve,

 

Some of which we can share. And some of which is so precise

and unique to each one of us that it may be for us alone

to steep in, to take in, to sing openly.

 

[ sing to this moment now ]

 

This morning, before waking or parting curtains to welcome the day,

I washed my self, the one with certain struggles & bumps in the road,

with a vibrant mix: the perfect spectrum of light & tonal vibration

 

Letting myself know ~  I am with you all the way.

I am with you all the way ~ facing east.

 

 

Aperture

[This poem is #1 in a series dedicated to revisiting poems that were written by me as part of my participation in a collaborative and experimental poetry blog: IMUNURI.blogspot.com. Aperture was written and first published 31 December 2014.]

 

These that are things and not things both
They pepper the landscape
The landscape that is so and not so both
I walk amongst them
The I that is not an I after all, yet somehow is

It’s not that I wonder about this apparent conundrum
As in feeling troubled or some kind of loss
Rather it is there or with it that I belong
Nothing of this casts me aside
All things that I am and am not Rest here

Whose favor would I garner
To look upon this any differently
Seeing is a communion after all
That each and every one of us
Has within the very fabric of being

Ultimately there is no such thing as compromise
And yet how often is there a sensation
Of All of This somehow tangled
Around my ankles that I possess
The I that has no counterpart

As we see through this aperture
Closure is a function of clarity
Focus celebrating the visual spectrum
Saturating this field in the unseen
An exposé of brilliance and crystallization

oscillation of sight

 

 

this is what I ponder

considering what it is

what I co-author*

sometimes without even

realizing the very footing

I take as my own

 
image

I look and I look out

looking out, might I

bar that very pristine

ground of being,

which I emanate as,

simply unknowingly?

 
image

when I look

and in the looking

I dissolves

that I mistaken

once as anything

other than pristine

 
image

and existence reveals

itself again and again

oscillating almost

imperceptibly between

and in that between

there I am

 

not necessary to

catch it (!) no

as it is casually &

(seemingly) furtively

carrying on carrying on carrying on

birthing / rebirthing

 

gently, as if

I am gazing

upon a newborn fawn

breathing in the delicacy

and knowing it

as myself

 

the pristine I am

the pristine we are

emerges as visible

spectrum out of

hum and spin

oscillation of sight

 

 

* to choose either the co-authoring of misery & unworthiness or co-authoring of joy and worthiness ~ I have Mario Martinez and his seminal book, The MINDBODY Code (Sounds True, 2014) to thank for these profound insights and deep experiential touching into this “healing field”

 

inter

-weaving
as we go
unseen character
infuses lesser known
gods of titration
and arbitration
snow crystal
monument
just under foot


Interweaving ground:sky

Coyote Blue

We walk our usual traces

along the back fields, now quiet

 

Once we had conversations

of a bovine-canine nature

 

Blue amongst the blue

sky and young ruminants

 

But today  there you stood

catching my eye and my breath

 

And this conversation was all

there needed to be    In pause

 

–I stood with you in kind

What order of listening is this?

wpid-wp-1447101059056.jpg

 

 

 

When you chose to take leave,

I found you had left something

 

With me  –a grace that not only

touched but held my own Wild

 

While Blue reminds me of the life

shared within walls I call Home

 

You today –show me we walk together

what once were walls, dissolve into vastness

 

Veiling/Un-veiling

What will it take

this journey that is already fulfilled –complete –honored

what will it take to begin this journey

as if there is no end

 

And what will it take

to live within each step

as if the placing of these feet

on hard or soft or bogged or bright ground

 

somehow will right me –restore me –save me

from what I am and am not

as if there is a confusion there

carried through these eons of loss and gravitation

 

There is None No-one who says

what can be done or not done

There is no one marking the way

not as yet as I can see

 

And yet there is an encounter

something real and palpable

and perhaps mistaken for real

–the light can cast in myriad of ways

 

In the mists veiling my own Silence

words curl around the nooks

of my bones and flesh –lighting down

making a landing, offering solace

 

These words here now –parched –dry

picked up as breadcrumbs

but it is simply unknown who or what

left them here –was it me? –was it You?

 

This quandary calls out the insight

the timeless continuity of All That Is

what comes before when there is no beginning

and in no end –what conclusions might arise?

 

Taking it off –taking it on

covering and uncovering

placing and wait as grace returns

Emanating Silence –this brilliance like no other