Would you find yourself performing all the same actions all over again?
What do you most regret? Sometimes grief lies in wait for us at our happiest moments. What would you change, if anything? How about altering your Soulmate, fellow traveler on life’s journey? Would you roll those dice again?
Skeptics say a stopped clock is right twice a day, but whatever the causation, sometime prophecies come true. A creeping suspicion bubbles up out of nowhere – manifesting as reality. We guess restlessly at “The Truth.”
This glittering gazing ball at the center of our garden reflects our hopes, wishes and dreams, one of which is that it confers the gift of prophecy. We know we must be right about some future event; but if we share our knowledge too often we are discredited or disbelieved.
Perhaps all we need is to cultivate our gift; forget “knowing”; concentrate on the blur of memory and project it forcefully into the future. Think about past, present and possibility, making all our choices with our Wisdom Eye fully open. It could be that the answer to the question we seek is already known to our Soulmate if we can only learn to trust and understand.
What fresh new worlds might we create with our clear shared minds?.
YOU ARE NOT LOST
Do forests think? These trees know where they are In spite of all our attempts At subjugation We are all still here In spite of prophets who Calculated chances of survival With the eye of a murderous god Every one of us Who has ever been Is still here
Thorns = The thief = DISPOSSESSED “On Being Disinherited”
“Could you steal? Have you?”
The rose attacks; you are cut, pierced. Thorns signify “Don’t mess with me or you’ll be sorry.” The Garden itself has the capacity to cut you to the quick.
What if the garden itself is under attack? Ravaged? Despoiled? Extinct?
Dispossession is much more complicated than mere loss. It means something we thought was ours isn’t. “Thorns” remind us of hidden dangers. Ownership may be quietly transferred behind the scenes, or they may convince you it never existed at all. What is “ownership”, anyway? Are we entitled to the Soulmate’s love?
Entitlement of some kind is at risk. Property? Dignity? Expectations? It can be very modest; a chair, a single room, a blanket. Not yours anymore. Nothing you can rely on. We must ask ourselves; are those we trust to act for us are fundamentally untrustworthy? Who or what do they represent?
Contracts dissolve. In a class based society we suddenly find ourselves divested, plummeting down, down to the despised and the ignored. This is frightening and disorienting.
The rules have shifted; the law has changed. We are looked on as an interloper at someone else’s party. Now we are viewed as dishonorable supplicants in danger of capture and incarceration.
Thorns remind us of a wider meaning; a warning that ultimately we can “own” nothing: everything we use is shared. Even our own body, this ship we use to forage through the seas of life, can turn against us, behaving in completely unpermitted and unfamiliar ways.
Feeling dispossessed is a shock to the system. Hustle culture places pressure on us to take, take, take, grab or “lose out.” When ‘Thorns” appear in your daily meditation it means it is time to have some serious thoughts about the nature of “ownership”; what you want versus what you can have; what you can control versus what you can’t and ultimately, who you can trust. Who’s feathering their private nest instead of honoring a contract?
How can you gain through losing? Does real freedom lurk behind these dispossessions? The hermit crab carries his house on his back. When he outgrows it is when he shops for another house. It clearly wouldn’t benefit him to be dragging two houses around; he wouldn’t be able to move.
But some of us are so burdened with junk we’re completely immobilized. Yet being robbed not only isn’t any kind of relief, the sense of violation lasts for years. The only person who can rid us of our stuff is Us. We just must set to it and figure out what’s baby and what’s bathwater. It’s a lifelong process. But being light and free can be intoxicating and addictive. Maybe a contract needs renegotiation, or shouldn’t exist in the first place.
Sometimes a Soulmate fails the test or sharing, caring and giving. Or we fail. Maybe it is just once, and after a recovery period we will be better communicators. But maybe, like the hermit crab, we have outgrown this particular shell.
After all, we’re planning to end up with wings. Maybe once we’ve soared we won’t want to live any other way.
ON BEING DISINHERITED
These are the tasks Performed without feeling; The snipping the Slashing The shredding Bundling into bunches You are the remote ogre And I the crying child. Why do partitioned pieces Melt before they touch? You fear to give; I am helpless to receive. Imagine we change places. Would that explain Your fear of me?
Because we’re afraid of snakes, we attract the deadly columbine. We can’t recognize danger and we don’t know how to summon real assistance.
In the language of flowers the Columbine means “Anxious Folly. Resolved to win.” Our folly prevents our winning.
As for snakes, there are many of snakes we depend on in the garden. But every now and then a poisonous one wanders by. How do we tell the difference?
How can we win when we poison ourselves? It’s to lessen that anxiety, to get back to what we assume is “baseline.” But it isn’t. We just haven’t found our baseline yet, and by mimicking the baseline of others we get farther and father from ourselves.
This is why recovery from addiction involves finding ourselves. We can’t find a soulmate when we don’t know who we are.
Our toy-box of pleasures is quite pathetic, but that’s not our fault. We are wired for addictions, with a biological view to turning such basic pursuits for food, mating and recreation subconscious so we can use the front of our mind to think about other things.
You can tell addictions are destructive (and not all of them are!) if they crowd out human flourishing and ruin sharing and our ability to share. “I want to feel pleasure with you” becomes, “Let’s cycle through my tragic past of suffering before I found you.”
Not good. To get out of this mess we cultivate the gift of change, of evolution. We will share and learn to tolerate discomfort. Hold tight. Often the addictions gained their grip over us because we were seeking to escape change or discomfort! The good news it, it’s never too late.
The better news is, this re-discovery and re-creation of the self is one of the life-transforming experiences to share with a soulmate and if you have no soulmate yet, here’s a crucial step to getting yourself ready to present to the world as the Real, the Essential, the True You.
Always look for help. Set up a program and a feedback system for accountability and efficiency and spiritual support for the inevitable withdrawal that’s coming. It’s only giving birth to your stronger, better, best self. You know it’s time.
HAIKU: The Columbine
Gambler’s inferno Dissolves will Slavery Wrecks pleasure- Luck? Loss? Choose.
Illusions are VERY attractive. We WANT them to be true. In my childhood Superman leapt tall buildings in a single bound – all us kids could recognize the fun, the power, the joy in that.
Limitations are unpleasant. We can work to expand them, or…we can dream. Every culture warns the dreamer against getting lost in fantasy. The Tulip is a historic emblem of delusion – impoverishing generations of otherwise intelligent Dutch merchants in a fruitless gamble. Now the Tulip warns that you may be counting on something – or someone – that is false.
Our society has been fueled by misinformation ever since Edward Bernays, founder of modern advertising, wrote his book Propaganda in the 1920’s. Since then legal beagles have defended the right to “puffery” and “spin”, even to saying something manifestly untrue; “miracle pills!”
Advertisers are very honest about manipulating us through wish and fear. We are eager to buy the illusions that seem to promise a warm social life, a happy home or radiating beauty. Lately misinformation has taken a distinctly evil turn as billionaires base their fortunes on convincing us that pollution isn’t dangerous, the climate is fine, science is untrustworthy, the election was stolen and oligarchic rule is what we really want.
The question to consider is, what is our benefit in believing and propagating obviously harmful facts? The rifle-toting man who broke into a Washington DC pizza parlor thought he was a heroic savior of children. He’s now serving a prison term.
Why is violence such an attractive answer? Forget stockpiling bear mace and bullets to abuse your fellow citizens. We need some other way to soothe our raggedy self-esteem apart from clinging to grifters and liars.
On the other side of illusion lies reality. We need to take a look at it, savor it. Often it’s a kid tugging at our clothes begging us to stay, focus, share; not lose ourselves in a fantasy world.
The need for illusion prevents us from finding, seeing and keeping a Soulmate. We must work to make reality less terrible, so that we don’t become dependent on illusion as a pleasure source. Illusion rushes in when life seems meaningless. Joining groups of honest seekers directing their paths with love can save us. When we are surrounded by love we will attract love. Check the philosophy of the group you hang out with. Is it “Let’s you and him fight?” or “Let’s seek joy for all.”
GOTHIC NOVEL
A woman alone is open – gaping, Button hole without a button hook. She carries her muff held stiffly Out before her like an offering Flic, flic! The eyes of strangers Slit the pause like razors. This railway carriage stinks of creosote, wet fur. “I prefer the window up, thank you” “I prefer it down”. She lights a Sobranie to remind her Of Devon in the haying; the gentlemen Lean forward, reading the initials On her morocco case.
The Firefly lights our dark with his luciferous magic. In some species it’s only the male, but in others both genders use this cool heat to signal to each other and we are all beneficiaries of their romantic opera.
And it’s a complete drama with every plot twist you can think of; some fireflies impersonate desire only to attract and then kill the hopeful lover. Other fireflies deliberately use a poor impersonation to warn away competing lovers and decimate the field.
If attacked, fireflies use “reflex bleeding” to literally poison predators with their blood. This last fact generates warnings never to feed fireflies to your hungry pet reptile! What are we to make of this mix of beauty, falsity and carnivorous intent? Fireflies may be beautiful impostors, but they are never to be envied. They exist only to mate, lay eggs and die. Some fireflies live lives without nourishment. They never even get the chance to dine.
We are all attracted by fantasy. We each have or think we have – a list of “musts” and “deal-breakers.” Danger waits when we meet someone who actually matches all our specifications! Probably they are lying. Maybe you are, too. Possibly you didn’t even realize it until this moment.
Maybe you want one thing on the page and another In Real Life. Maybe you want one thing in the dark and another in the light. Maybe you don’t know yourself very well! Lust hardens, love softens; how solve that essential inner/outer conflict? We need to melt – together – into a glorious plasticity that allows us to undertake the “experiment” of entering the life, desires, viewpoint of another.
But this is only “safe” when goodwill and honorable attentions are present. If someone’s looking for a hostage, a slave, a mimic or even worse – prey – they will falsely claim anything to entice us. How can we tell the difference?
Sometimes their presentation is TOO “good”. A “pediatric oncologist” who “volunteers at an animal shelter?” Really? Is the attraction a “problem-free” relationship without any of that scary sandpaper of conflict that molds our rough edges to fit together more harmoniously? Or is this attraction just “high-status” and “bragging rights”?
As your grandmother warned, any salesman trying to hustle you into an instant decision is up to no good. Predators try to convince the young that by taking time to choose and trust we are ruining the experience! Don’t buy it! You’re getting smarter, and stronger by the minute! You’re within your rights –you owe it to yourself – to demand that deeds match words, and that intentions line up with performance.
Allow yourself time to discover, evolve and revel. Live!
BED & BREAKFAST
“That wing of course is closed” said Magda whose venomous green eyeshadow matched her voice; “I’d have that lanced if I were you” thinks Reni Who never says exactly what she thinks. “Wrong word: wing” Thinks Andreas “to use about a house tethered toad-like to the lawn”. But Andreas never says what he thinks either. It’s too late now. At dinner, they quarrel about Ezra Pound; Pretending to agree. Squeaky bedsprings bastardize this sad romance; Hopeless beds mandate sex is standing up. ( This butler may be deaf and dumb, But knew the best way out: He was in for the tip of a lifetime.) At breakfast the debate about Plath Turns violent; the biggest danger Of murdering yourself with a kitchen appliance is: They’re everywhere. Refreshing holiday, says Reni. We should do it more often says Andreas. Truth never spoken once. Mission accomplished.
The Fruit is the sweet result of day after day of concentrated sunshine. The Fruit is a summit of achievement; centuries of unique conditions ending in delight for the senses poetry for the tongue.
Raspberry, Strawberry, paw-paw, pomegranate, banana, apple, pear, cherry; so much nectar; so many wines. Together they symbolize for us the moment of celebration: Harvest, when there is nothing left to do but relax and enjoy. But Fruit has even more to offer than that.
We revel in the concept of a storehouse full to bursting; a pleasure-palace of magical alchemy where the very humblest fertilizers such as dirt and sweat are transformed into visible, taste-able joy. The blood of the planet becomes our blood and the most potent chemicals of its deepest mines flood our aching emptiness with repletion.
The Tantric Garden Harvest concept says you are about to enjoy the fruits of all your yearning, planning, efforts. You are looking into the eyes of, touching the hands of a potential Soulmate. You are close, close. The Harvest invites us to just revel in the bliss – actual and potential – of this moment. It is critical that you not “numb out.” The temptations will be there. There are plenty of chemical fast-tracks to ‘letting your guard down.” But you don’t want to do that. You want to explore that very “guard” and not make a dash for a mythical “finish-line” because the essence of Tantra is there is no finish line.
There is only the Now, a universe of infinite possibility which has just been doubled as you gaze into the Soulmate’s eyes and hold the Soulmate’s hand.
Sweet Family
I want you To deliver our children With your tongue That deft baker’s paddle would Lever them out Warm & fresh In their marzipan coats Trailing the pineapple Blood-rind Traced with poppy-seed adornments Marking them as ours. A little boy with a pastry-tube Rosette between his legs A girl as hard & round as A hot cross bun Petals furled on her Crystallized convolvulus In whose depths lie stored All the honeys of the future.
Suddenly we see the way! Breakthroughs look forward, never back; we are different people afterwards. Often, we feel they have been “building up” for a long time; we are amazed at what we didn’t see. But what we see now cannot be unseen. We should congratulate ourselves on our new pair of eyes, our new pair of legs. Our new life.
You connected! A potential soulmate is now present and real. We explore our soulmate, past and future, psychically and physically. Each moment feels truthful and intense. You are on Cloud Nine.
However, new understanding raises us to a lofty plateau. We now see that how a relationship develops over time is as important as who the relationship is with. We understand that some Soulmates are not able to back up their promises with behavior. They “want” to but are weak and feel helpless.
Don’t get drawn into “fixing’ them – this keeps you away from finding your REAL Soulmate, the one who can deep dive all the way with you as well as ascend the highest heights. There’s no reason to be angry or embittered, the failed Soulmate already realizes that their fear and poor self-knowledge are keeping them back. This is a journey that asks the most of every one of us.
VALENTINE
I sent myself In a letter Heart-creased Like a glove, like an Anecdote Too much told Dear stranger don’t Lose me I forgot The rule; Hold back a copy.
Mysteries lure us in; we are born puzzle mavens. It takes experience to learn that not every Mystery has a solution; or that some solutions only redefine the mystery into even larger questions.
Sometimes by the time the answer comes back we find that we ourselves have changed. The answer to “Who’s out there?” as could well be “Who’s asking?” as well as “Why ask?” Problems tend to be solvable only as far as we can define them. Framing the question frames the answer.
We turn a corner philosophically when we learn to enjoy Mystery for its own sake and welcome its presence in our lives, salute its effort to instruct our limitations and listen to whatever message it can deliver. There is the majestic silence of the universe, the explosive power of a single cell, the eye that looks upon us from the forest. We are part of the Mystery. It can’t be processed, absorbed or put behind us; it can only be lived. The Mystery is Us.
Our Soulmate can’t be “solved” any more than the tiger can cease his “burning bright” or the hound of heaven his pursuit. There will be things about our Soulmates that we never know, just as there are things about ourselves that we will never see.
This realization is an important one for Love, Acceptance and Ecstatic Communion to take place. Realize that “solutions” and “explanations” are language and time-bound, but you and your Soulmate meet in a place beyond language and time.
When you touch, you speak a deeper language, you meet in a timeless place that is eternal. Arguments and misunderstandings fade away – they are captured in Language and you, your Spirit and the ecstasy your union engenders are not trapped by words. You are free of promises, mistakes, even aspirations.
You are two rivers blending, two clouds merging, exchanging psychic atoms of thought and feeling that alter the definition of Being. You are One, you are Two In One, you are Whole.
The Bridesmaid
Yes, I know everything. You’re my poor relation. I know of your daddy’s desk where you Fucked with formaldehyde fingers Heard you tell your sad Rosary of abortions, I know everything. We made love on your letters undisturbed As two icons. She’s imperfect He told me. Unseated by hierarchy We two take our place With the king’s crazy mistresses; Brewing menstrual blood coffee And mandrake root tea. Swim away, little bridesmaid, You’re too young I’m in love – we’ve got Too much in common ever to meet.
Persistence is about not giving up. How could we accomplish anything without it? 99% of life is “just showing up” Woody Allen advises. “I didn’t fail,” said Edison, “I found ten thousand methods that didn’t work.” In other words, “trial and error” was a life style for him, a “modus vivendi.” He considered existence itself just one experiment after another. You can see that for somebody like that, “success” is, by definition, right around the corner. What a happy way to live!
When passion flags, when courage fails, when even grit founders, there is only determination. We will keep going. Our Other Half, our Lost Self is calling us and there is no going back. If we gave up now we would be at a place of cosmic distrust. It can’t happen. We may groan. We may collapse. We must sleep, the better to summon dreams to our assistance.
Sometimes we have to ask the uncomfortable questions: what am I missing? WHO am I missing? We summon up a distinctive song we want our Soulmate to hear, perhaps a song that ONLY our soulmate can hear. And we buckle up and keep on going.
VIRGINIA WOOLF: The Membraned Sieve
O bliss to be red admiral afeast Upon a rotten apple in the grass; she dreamed that guiltily Woke to Leonard bringing milk Nessa dancing bear-like on the lawn, woke To pain; cylindrical as seasons Burning white and burning blue like friends. The words fell fast, the blood fell faster; Split the membraned sieve. She raced the whitecaps out to sea Parting the waves with her mother’s hand.
Passion is the fuel by which we live. It can warm us, it can inflame us, it can destroy us. Without it life is dry and pointless. We are born with majestic passions that seem ungovernable.
Our specific passions may seem strange to other people, but no one’s yet been born with none at all. The trick is managing them and making them work for us. A complication is that our passions change and evolve. Fantasies that kept us warm in childhood seem empty to us now. Sometimes in the busyness of life we find ourselves working so hard for other people’s goals our own seem to vanish and life becomes dry and tasteless.
What do we really want? What makes us happy? What ignites our best self and completes our growth process?
It isn’t too soon to imagine how our eulogy should read! Explorer? Poet? Dreamer? Lover? Person?
Passion gives us courage. Courage is hard-won. Whenever it seems to come “naturally”, that’s because we didn’t assess the possible consequences of our actions. That’s not courage, that’s foolhardiness. When we understand the dangers and move forward anyway, that’s true courage.
When we contemplate sharing our deepest self with another, what do we risk? We risk exposure, humiliation, misinterpretation, minimization, stigmatization. Those are serious risks, but the only way forward is through. Don’t pretend you don’t care or it doesn’t matter; hardening ourselves only devalues the very prize we seek as well as our ability to enjoy it and be transformed by it.
To seek depth we must give depth. The secret is self-compassion, to accept our own humanity. Once we can do that we are given the key of seeing deeply into others. We are not interested in those pretending they are less than human – they can neither help us nor themselves. We resolve to keep going – courageously – in our search for The One.
Diaries
I don’t remember anything – Amnesiacs Write everything down Stuffed in my closet Among discarded gowns (Smelling just the same) Useless but Too beautiful to throw away. How I recollect & treasure The act of writing An up and over downtime scrawl Recall the surgeon Cutting at my flesh Tugging splitting sweating Recall liftoff – finally Airborne ; my Hawk’s-eye vision sees Backwards & forwards – Past into future. Too much dig is spoilage; Freedom mined is Priceless.
