Wrinkled and Wired

intelligence
a wrinkled forehead
ripples through a briny pond
awash in a lake of acetylcholine
waves and wells
drowning in grey matter

superconducting
in a cosmological
spacetime ocean

convergence
yes, we agree
you must be right
because otherwise
I'd be wrong

divergence
let's just concur to dis-occur
I can't afford the loss of quotient points
keep my membership
among the high brow, high-wired
bespectacled and bemused
self-identified smarty pants

I recommend rubber soles
beneath your wing tips, Icarus
that way you stay grounded
avoid electrocution

why the frown …
why the sparks …

concentration
consternation
remembrance

don't you like to think
beep, beep, static, beep

Wrinkled and Wired could have easily been titled confessions of a compulsive thinker. Oh my goodness, but can my thoughts run away with me .. all the way to a future full of fears, phantoms, foes, and things that will never happen. But boy, can figments of my imagination have me afraid they will indeed manifest if I do not wake up at three in the morning and figure out how to defeat them before dawn.

To the body, it is almost as though those fears have manifested, that those imaginary tigers and lions are chasing you down and leaving cat air all over your duvet. The body goes into hormonal flight mode and the mind gets ready to rumble. Our point of attraction, the spaces between thought that allows divine energy to pass, that allows healing and appreciation; it closes up and the pain, as much as it is inspired by the make believe, well the pain, the physical pain, can be very real, when we get into these states of psychic suffering.

So just stop thinking says wisemen like Eckhart Tolle. Solve all your problems. And indeed for a spell, mindlessness does the trick, but eventually you do have to come out of meditation and face a world where the call to fear and/or mentally suffer abounds. We have been told, time and time again, you have to face your fears to conquer them; and if you don't, they may just come up and bite you in your feathered tushy.

The Ostrich and the Lion

An ostrich thought to believe in lions deranged
Until he saw one …
strong, true, and magnificently-maned

And so what was our scared little darling to do

He couldn’t run; four legs last longer than two
He couldn’t fly, having grown so tall
so ridiculously plumed

Fear not, for he knew the power of self-prophecy
Dig a hole, take a breath …
stick your head within, entirely

The breath on your neck remains a terrible itch
But you can pretend it’s just the wind
Lions don’t really exist

That’s right …

Keep your head buried in the sand and the grass
Get devoured feathers and all …
just like our stupid little ostrich

I used to think I was the lion in the Lion and the Ostrich, and sometimes I am like a lion, the bearer of truth and courage. And sometimes I just want to rest even if it means closing my eyes and letting illusion run away with things. It is nice to think that like Exkhart Tolle, I too, could be delivered from suffering, for the vast amount of my ego to dissolve; and then I could just get to bliss out, until closing time. But at times, I still get emotionally messy and incoherent, angry, heart-broken, or fall into fight in flight with no real lion bearing down on me.

I am sorry when you feel like that too; it can feel as though an angry cat has indeed been set loose in your heart, tearing the place up. Hold on. Cause even the most ferocious predator within, will tire and eventually give the clawing a rest. You will find your stillness and feel good again. You are not alone; you will feel the energy that binds us all. That is my wish for you. Love and trust .. again. You will lift up that ostrich noggin, stick our your neck and realize you have wings. You will take flight. Who knows who or what you will find up there. Maybe someone as brave and loving as you.

Brave Aviator

your wings are strong
your wings are efficient
finely-built and enduring
but the universe is vast
and you are minute
with exploration beyond migration
will you prove yourself grand
my brave aviator

flowers are earth-bound
fragrant and plentiful
nectar is sweet
petals are always inviting
dew is cleansing
but seasons are short
soon blooms wither
leave you alone and aloof

boredom and decay
there must be more
to having wings
than minding a nest

orbs hang in the cosmos
beckoning aurae
gravitational fascination
you want to see them close
see pinhole lights expand
pulsate and explode

icy prismatic jewels
immense chromatic ores
molten gaseous marbles
such beauty, no warmth
or too much, but always
so far away

the cat’s eye glows in the night
so alluring and tempting to touch
an inflamed hiss forbids intimacy

in your star-gazing
your atmospheric sailing
remember
stellar lighthouses …
no matter how remote
no matter how radiant
... strobe an invite and a warning
to admire, but only at a distance

don't fly too high
don't fly too far

brave aviator
soar near
remain
aloft
with
me