Tag Archives: Play

In My Head..

Breathing. Inhale two three four. Hold two three four. Exhale two three four. Hold two three four. Inhale two three four. Hold two three four. Exhale two three four. Hold two three four. Inhale…

To consciously halt breathing is to experience a conscious moment of how it is to be dead. Consciousness is still here observing.

I am sitting at the table, my arms resting on a yellow tablecloth. Yellow in 4 second awareness is symbolic of sunshine, of daily gratitude to this breath.

Gratitude opens the door for those who are materially dead to be in our head . I pour myself a gin and 4 seasons highfructosefreee tonic water. My parents are breathing with me. Along with tea, It was mum’s social drink. I also like scotch, and brandy, like my dad. To say “I like scotch and brandy also, like my dad” , would change the meaning.

Who cares about such linguistic punctiliousness these days. Who cares what my Dad drank. Desperately escaping burdens of the day’s requirements. How hard it is for spirit to live in a material body here. Spirit which is eternal finds no difficulty in anything, it is only humans who forget to breathe. Spirit is breath. Spirits relax the natural soul which is burdened here, but must deal with it.

Inspire, inspiration, breathe in breath. Expire, expiration, breath out death. Breathe in life. And hold for a count of four for awareness.

We are spirit here. And those realists who say, “oh shut up already. Just get on with it”, don’t and don’t have to experience the spirit realms where mind, mind has mountains cliffs of fall, sheer no man fathomed…… oh my dead, my beloved are in my head. and on that four count of stopped breath i feel them encouraging me:
“yes yes yes. It is paradise here where we watch without input and it is hell here when thou’rt unhappy. Be Free we say; “Iree”, says Pun, “Free. Freedom itself, freed for each to frame their own concept, their own game.

Breath is spirit. Luscious awareness of light and dark, life and the mark you make. Breath in for four; hold for four; breathe out for four; hold for four; breathe in…..



On Skin Color

On Skin Color.

This adorable story crossed the internet waves and warmed many hearts.

One little boy  wanted his  hair to be cut like his friend’s  “so our teacher can’t tell us apart .”
Here is another – I was speaking to a woman from Africa who commented on her husband’s predilection for light colored clothes. He was walking towards us past a white walled building. His wife said, “See, its like he’s in camouflage, he blends right in with the building!” I hoped my surprise and delight was concealed within my chuckle. For me, with my culturally heightened awareness of my whiteness – there was no way this very dark skinned man blended in with the building.

The beauty of melting pot cultures is that eventually, in the words of Haille Selassi, as mediated by the divine Bob Marley – “the color of a man’s skin is of no more significance than the color of his eyes.”

This can be that day; the dream of lasting peace grows world wide. We are sick of war.


poetic note for Lucie de L.A.

Sol rose rouge, en levant le signal jaune.
Le mot qui s’enscribe ici, toi et moi, “pronk” like pronghorn lambs, pour joie y Lila;

Pink pink pink – rhymes w stink stink stink
my little boy mind chortles,
blue my color, i redefine girl
beyond gender limitation
tho coming in that box.

Le mot qui s’enscribe ici, moi et moi, dans l’vresse d’orgeuil regressa y lo dire a la vida.

Eve sors de ses pentiments divine. Hissed off au viper.

Bliss and techno birth.

I am ancient. I am a toddler in the world of technology. I strive to forget my ancient’s ways of whining that it is too hard, and to fall, get up and try again. I do have bliss on a daily basis, bliss that comes from nature. Divine nature and my divine mind exulting in its moment. This video poem is the currently best effort of a techno feeb in an alien world.





Multi form riff.

Goddess Speaks in streams which join and separate and join again.
Everything Falls
Into place.

Moon sees herself writing; the photographer and his chest-high tripod, bending to focus through a window on her surface, to record her mirror ego, Lib out walking in full moon early morning. Lib sees him there on Moon’s surface.
Lib sitting typing; memory bliss, sure of this, life in the slow lane here on Quest St.

What is wrong with this movie synopsis, told by Kivana.?
“ Post coitally, she said she was thirsty and he got her a glass of water. She was aggrieved and they fought.”
The story incomplete, denigrates women.
Lib, who did not see the movie,  retells the tale, to make sense to her righteous moonwoman vision:

Post coitally in dreamy bliss, he heard her languidly murmur,
“ I am thirsty as earth’s poisoned rivers, and dry like earth’s barren streams.”
He leaped to be Aquarius in her dreams.
WAAAH!” the baby in her wakes and cries, “he cant even listen to none of my sighs, my sweet story dream, when it was …it  did seem … that I and Earth are one. I blessed my dear luck, shivered at how we can fuck.  I sorrowed for others less bless’d, and my mind dressed, in their sorrow…the sorrow of Earth, the hunger and thirst..”
He brings her the glass, naked still his bare arse, and she yells at him crossly
“ You left me! just when i’m expressing my most sensitive thoughts. You ought to know when I’m riffing, and listen, just listen; our moment was shattered, my  vision all got scattered and here you stand with that horrible glass, I wish you put it in the crystal one. thanks anyway.”

Sadly he looks at her – wondering . “Whaat! Is this what I get? “
She looks so glum, he says, “what now”? She sulks, “ you wouldnt understand and dont care anyhow.” He sighs a grim shudder and settles back in. Pulls the sheet to his shoulder, thinks, “where is my sin?”
We are learning to comprehend that we do not all experience the consensual evidence the same way. Love is the key, how we wont go astray. When we love ourselves – and others as us –  we avoid fuss;  let it go – old injuries surface don’t you know.

I create my own story of love and forgiveness. The suffering and pain will come again and again until our part in the story is the glory of fearlessly living our truth. That is the seed which freeds* youth.

* Freed- free and feed, Care for the children produced, so they are Free from the need for Food and  shelter, when  birth control or safe abortion are unavailable. Society must provide Food and shelter for their bodies and Education for their souls. p.s. Here,  mind and soul are the same thing.

Freed – Family Reproductive Education Enterprise Department.

Benefactor Orphanages as an artifact of High Society. Sign up now. Mother Teresa is an example of that model. Can we do better?

Planned Parenthood tried.

Where is our sin? Judgement is mine Saith the Lord and I am the mirror of the the lord’s mind because I am coterminal with Moon and Sun. I name  Ahura Mazda by any name: sun, son, Ra , soleil, sol. Ra is my daily joy and worship. This earth, sun’s garden.
Human kind the seed sower, creator;  woman kind of like Mary – archetypical.

Sehnsucht – longing even for that which is impossible.

My impossible dream – to wake up to who I AM.

Done. Over and out. Hear me shout—- hallelujah , hoasanna, my mind clicks it heels with a jump to the side, ooooh i love to rifff. a mental masturbation stiff, of rhyming and running out of timing. Yoga very soon. Come down from the moon, mind. Find yourself here, in ME my dear. We are one. Fun has begun. Leave it, drop it. Wake up and get the ^$%&*()on with it…..

Healing done, Yoga practiced. Day awaits.


Dual-Duel and the Common Good

Before the beginning, Charlie Seurat Nomen Silene, Cis for short, was no thing. After the beginning, Cis existed. At the end, – well there were many ends and that was both the challenge and the hope.

“That Cis, she’s really something!,” people would say. When Cis was born, her mother nearly died. Cis grew and flowered, and became a right little animal. beautiful and temperamental and unmanageable. The problem was how to teach her to manage herself.

Her mother was exhausted and could only cope by strapping Cis into the stroller and waiting for the screams to stop. As she grew up, Cis learned to take her tantrums into her bedroom voluntarily, and would stay there wailing until she fell asleep curled like a foetus on her little bed. Her grandmama thought a leash would be a good idea so the toddler could run but not far and explore with subtle supervision. Dogs were taken on leashes and given limited freedom to explore their independent choice of stimuli – surely parents could do at least that much for a child whose curiosity and love of life were like that of a dog, the nonverbal taking in and processing of stimuli being a vital part of exploration and growth.

Before the beginning, number did not exist. Once one precipitated out of nothing which is all potential, there was some thing. Once there was something, there was that which was not that something. There was duality. When there was duality, there was number, for between two things is the space between and around them and that makes three.  Australian Aborigine’s used this numerical system: “one two three, small mob, big mob”, when they talked about sheep or cattle to the manager of the estate.
Chimps in a research institute were given pellets of food at the push of a lever. The Chimps were taught to count. Then the researchers had to count the pellets as they put them in the feeder, because the chimps were now fighting over who got the most.
Words create identity. Numbers are words. This, not this; this and that; one two three many.  Identity creates possession – mine  and yours supersede a wordless ours.

“What do you think of global warming… these chunks of the ice cap as big as Delaware falling off into the sea…? ”
“ My friend who is a scientist says it is a natural phenomenon….”
Siouxie and Felina exchanged inconspicuous looks of disbelief on hearing this opinion from their good friend, whom they had included in their yoga circle some years ago.
“… but it is terrible the way man doesn’t respect nature; the forest where I grew up has been completely destroyed for housing,” opined Anika.
“Let’s not argue about the percentage of influence humanity is having on climate change,” said Siouxie – looking for constructive  synthesis – “ if we can view the evidence, we can support the actions taken to ameliorate the harms.”
Democrat, Republican – we can find a common good, and cut deconstructive arguing.
Climate change deniers and god deniers – we can focus on the evidence and leave interpretation to each for themself. Can a thing be named if it doesn’t exist? All things are “thinks” . Something must be thought of before it can exist. Naming it separates it from the flux. The namer and the named co-exist. That which is denied is still that which is named and therefore has existence of some sort – even if just a vision in someone’s head. The stories we tell ourselves create our world. The square root of minus one is an absolutely fictional number, and yet fictional numbers enable calculations which create bombs and MRI’s, World Wide Web and Fit Bits.
No Thing became  everything, and change is inevitable. We can learn to ride the change or be swept away by it. We can be the Meme or the meme rider. We can harness the horses of paranoia or succumb to negativity. We can know ourselves as CSNS. (see next)

Consciousness, that which is No thing, can be mythologised as the Cosmic Egg of All Potential.  Consciousness, will be hereinafter known by the tetragrammaton  CSNS, the four letters of the name of Consciousness.
CSNS became and is becoming and is now and ever shall be, for Now includes the past and the future which are now No Thing.

Siouxie thought of her mother, who was nothing again, dematerialised.  How is it to know oneself as No Thing while still Something? It can only be done in the mind that is present. The love is, was, and always was a part of her. Apart – not her, as well as a part of her.

JOY. Theanthric joy.

Have you ever noticed how your spine can conform to the trunk of a tree; how you feel a great solidarity and unity when you lean into its life? A friend, diagnosed with cancer, found herself driving distraught on the highway and turned off into a forest park. The healing she experienced among the trees was at first a spiritual calm, it saw her though the process.  An Indian guru describes refusing to listen to Robert Frost’s poem because he thought “in a yellow wood” referred to a tree as “wood”  – a word with connotations of usage. Later, he made his followers sit in the sun as he spoke on and on, then finally let them get up and move into the shade of the nearby woods. They appreciated trees then in a whole new way.

A man sits cross legged on the dock by the river, clearly meditating. I wander among the trees and over the grass, my inner being singing “glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ria, in excelsis deo…” as i look up into the glory of sun risen and clouds and blue.
I am the delight of humankind in its natural surroundings. The man is experiencing bliss without words, I experience bliss loaded with story. My story is my experience of  divinisation. I am my god concept. Imagine a consciousness that was only potential ( the cosmic egg) – once we all were this. Imagine this consciousness forms organs of sensation – foetuses reiterate the journey of life, starting as slime and evolving moveable parts and senses. Imagine this consciousness, now highly endowed with spider eyes and human eyes and skin and bark and scale, feather, fin, able to sense and move  in myriad ways – is aware in this moment. That is the case.
Imagine this consciousness is aware of itself as the universe; imagine this universe being aware of itself as a human being. That’s us !!

Imagine the cells of your body living and dying, coming and going, co-operating and creating and fulfilling their role in the greater whole. They do this. Imagine if humans comprehended that we too could live in co-operation as a larger whole. We would fly like birds and swim like fishes – all moving in ways that do not harm others, and yet create a collaborative dance – have you seen the murmuration of starlings? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eakKfY5aHmY its really worth checking this out.

We DO do this, our lives are co-ordinated largely and partially. Here we are. We are here to play – that is the emergent property of babies and baby humanity. Woop woop , rock on. Some tears, some stumbling. “People dying people crying. happy birthday” . May those in pain be comforted and those in need of help be helped. Our own conscience nags us to contribute if we listen to it. So much joy.murmurations5

The photo above is an excellent artist recreation – the only still image I found. The artist, Alain Delorme says, “far away you imagine starlings flying at sunset, but if you got closer you would realize that I have actually digitally assembled thousands of plastic bags. These “Murmurations” suddenly become “Ephemeral Plastic Sculptures” and their beautiful, almost calligraphic shape, a threat, hiding our horizon… and polluting our dreams?”

Look into murmurations – scientists “cant imagine why ” – because we are not allowed to anthropomorphise. I divinise. I see JOY as the fundamental source of Life’s effusions.

Theanthric – my coinage. Humandivine.


uman divine.