Is this still a blog? If not maybe we should shut it down.

Thoughts?

Sapling

The Word of God may be likened unto a sapling, whose roots have been implanted in the hearts of men. It is incumbent upon you to foster its growth through the living waters of wisdom, of sanctified and hold words, so that is root may become firmly fixed and its branches may spread out as high as the heavens and beyond.

-Baha'u'llah



Taking root, satiated no longer, the rotten stump has finally released its burden and we realize the ontological bankruptcy. There is no more power that can be willed without a heavy dose of nausea. But here we are, every moment is a potential foundation for something.



The world's equilibrium hath been upset through the vibrating influence of this most great, this new World Order. Mankind's ordered life hath been revolutionized through the agency of this unique, this wondrous system-the like of which mortal eyes have never witnessed.

-Baha'u'llah



Something is happening in the world right now that is being overlooked by the news media and its obsession with the snarky politics born of a lower nature. It is being missed because it is taking root in the hearts and minds of the most vulnerable, receptive, and pure hearted among us, slowly maneuvering through the forgotten soil of forgotten potential, gaining strength in a process which is a reflection of the original divine impulse. It cannot be, will not be belittled, will not be disregarded as we disregard our corrupted leaders. Of what would be perceived as a threat to the decomposing heroes of world order, it is just beneath the surface.



A new life is, in this age, stirring within all the peoples of the earth; and yet none hath discovered its cause or perceived its motive...O friends! Be not careless of the virtues with which ye have been endowed, neither be neglectful of your high destiny. Suffer not your labors to be wasted through the vain imaginations which certain hearts have devised. Ye are the stars of the heaven of understanding, the breeze that stirreth as at the break of day, the soft-flowing waters upon which must depend the very life of all men, the letters inscribed upon His sacred scroll. With the utmost unity, and in a spirit of perfect fellowship, exert yourselves, that ye may be enabled to achieve that which beseemth this Day of God. Verily I say, strife and dissension, and whatsoever the mind of man abhorreth are entirely unworthy of his station. Center your energies in the propagation of the Faith of God. Whoso is worthy of so high a calling, let him arise and promote it. Whoso is unable, it is his duty to appoint him who will, in his stead, proclaim this Revelation, whose power hath cased the foundations of the mightiest structures to quake, every mountain to be crushed in to dust, and every soul to be dumbfounded. Should the greatness of this Day be revealed in its fullness, every man would forsake a myriad of lives in his longing to partake, though it be for one moment, of its great glory-how much more this world and its corruptible treasures!

-Baha'u'llah



There are no news cameras in the room where hearts are met, where intentions among enclaves are woven with the divine spirit into collective action. There are no cameras in the world that will capture the groundswell until it is sudden and shocking. The trust of God is in our hands, and as we build so shall we become the trust of God.

I fear that we will forget and lose our sight...

The sun is setting and we chase the Kingdom's shadow.

Night Terrors (I'm not sure about the formatting)

I am terrified, O my Lord!

I fear that should desire over-
take me I will loose my hold
on Thy Reality
and that bereft of truthfulness,
I will be dragged into the clay,
forever unable to return
to Thee.

Let not the weeds of lesser loves
deprive the rose of Thy Love
the vivifying waters of Thy Bestowal and Grace.
I dedicate the garden of my heart to Thee,
O my Lord!
Enable me to tend it as is pleasing unto Thee,
O my God and my Beloved!

My cup is small, O Provider.
With but a dewdrop from Thee
it becometh as the billowing ocean.
Unleash the floods of Thy Mercy
and cleanse my whole being,
so that, safe and secure,
I may reside within the Ark of Thy Salvation.

O God!
Grant that I may become like unto
a swift-flowing spring,
drawing upon Thy Ocean,
and pouring forth unto
Thy creatures, Thy loved ones,
and those who are near unto Thee.

Thou art above all else,
independent of thy creation,
and beyond all recognition.

Thou art powerful and kind.
Thou art the Omnipotent,
the Compassionate,
the Just and Merciful.
In Whose Hands are the hearts of all men.

-jalal m

This has nothing to do with the current project. Just something I wrote the other night.
Please comment.

The Chianvakst Nation

Lucium,

I am glad that you have not veiled your condescension, it is quite revealing to witness it in full bloom. The heyday of your reasoning thus far has been to marginalize my belief system as a fancy at one point and now as a chimera, without giving any explanation as to why exactly. You should know that this is a typical stunt of the Auren elders, and frankly I expected more from you. It is clear to me you are not interested in a reasonable discussion and I am quite weary now of explaining myself further, so I will move on to other matters. Let us consider this argument closed.

As representative of this continent on my council, I consider it my responsibility to inform you of some news. Take it as you will. As you were away, the Arbora and the whole continent of Altia for that matter has fallen under grave danger. I fear that the Arbora can no longer rely upon the goodwill of its neighbors to maintain its fragil stability, as it appears that the Kyrzeri's are engaged in secret discussions with the rapidly growing and hostile Chianvakst Nation. Ever since the Arboran government imposed the prohibitive salt, seafood, and seatree pulp tariffs a year ago, the economic tension has spilled over into political rivalry. The reports that I have recieved from some of my contacts inside the Kyrzerian council seem to suggest that they are planning to abandon strategic and economic ties with the Arbora, leaving it exposed on a number of fronts.

I have spent a considerable amount of time within the Chianvakst Nation, both before and after the revolution. This recent revolution has produced a political system which is very different than what we are used to, namely an elaborate network of patronage and tradition. They ephatically consider themselves a post-traditional, post religious society, almost dogmatically so. It would be admirable if it wasn't so seductive, intolerant, and dangerous. Dangerous in the sense that their entire ideology has been fabricated and is being imposed upon its people, smothering their once vibrant culture and traditions. I hope you know that the Forming rejects dogmatism of all sorts, both religious and secular. In this matter we stand with the Arbora, a society which despite its flaws, is intrinsically tied to the land and its people.

I wish you well Lucium

Lam

Lam,

I have returned home and united our grandfather's grave with the fruits of my quest.

As children under our grandfather's guidance, I had always assumed you the wiser and more able one to grasp his teachings of the Way, the will of the gods and the traditions of our ancestors. You always had much to say and an insightful opinion about every mote of knowledge delivered to us. I know that you were the more intelligent and eloquent between us, but that same intellect which served you well as a student now binds you to the chimera of your own ideas.

I have not left the Auren, for I just as well as leave my tribe or the blood that runs in my veins.

I have veiled nothing, least of all condescension.

Lucium

Fear

Davood,

 

I should be returning to the Arbora before the third sunset following this letter.

 

There is little that I can do to stop death when it comes for us.  Do not be afraid of it, for it is the final and absolute consecration of a life.  I do not know what it is to have children nor wives, but I imagine it is difficult to escape this fear for them.  You must choose, before the final hour, as all must; are you an Auren? Father? Husband? or are you a follower of the Way, subject to its turns and endings?  When this time comes, and I hope that it will come soon for you, may you choose that which will set your feet aright and guide our people back to the solace and liberty of that which was given to them as a bounty and privelidge from the gods and the Life Tree.   Remember the words of my grandfather whose life reflected eloquently the pulse and breath of an unfettered voyager, spanning the limitless course created by feet tread unswerving, toward that guiding light which captures every wanderer, "Rely not upon the fruits of others, rather bear forth your own and do not taste of your own fruit, rather savor the fruit of others, for their's will be that much sweeter."

 

I have just received word from Lam.  He has attached his heart fully on that deluded creed by which he constructed in defiance of the ancestors and the gods.  I am praying for the wisdom and insight to see him through this but perhaps he must step through this delirium on his own.

 

Lucium

Familty Ties, Pt. 3

Lucium,

It is good that we understand each other. I am relieved that you have acknowledged the dogmas of the Auren order, which is maybe why you have chosen to leave it in pursuance of a personal salvation. I am sure you have communicated with Davood, who despite his courage and conviction is struggling to revive the Tree of Life. Could you not delay your own absorption into The Way long enough to save your people from accelerated entropy and war? Recall the stories of His Holiness Rabina the Krishana. As you are aware, the tradition states that although he was seated upon the throne of immortality, he chose to manifest himself in human form and suffer the indignities of the flesh on behalf of a stricken humanity. Are you willing to don the wayfarers wonderment once again and recommit to the task of collective salvation?

I suppose that your veiled condescension is only a natural reaction to my equally confrontational stance, which I apologize for.

I remember the old days very well, a memory born where the the land ends and the sea begins. It was such a beautiful interplay of celestial rhythms that defined our upbringing. But where you gleaned the lessons of our forefathers, namely conflict and submission, sacrifice and death, I chose to let the rhythms of the world define themselves. I gave myself the freedom to also define, and redefine my reality, according to the limits of my nature which by nature cannot be defined. I feel that I must correct some of the assumptions that are driving your judgements of me.

I too have lived a hard life. While you have hastened forth with sure footing, I have had to redefine the very foundation from which I was born into. It is expected of the Auren to rely on such unquestioned assurances as everlasting life. Is this not an easy crutch to rely upon? Tell me, who embodies a greater luxury? Imagine opening your eyes to a world with no assurances, only the reality of this eternal moment. I do not deny the existence of greater spiritual realities, I am just willing to seize every opportunity along the way. While you see beauty in the process of struggle and detachment, I see it in the spirit of joy and engagement. I am not of the elect my friend. The elect are those everywhere who recognize the game early and without question, and pursue the sycophantic paths to advancement with the frantic vigor of the army ant. Army ants who declare absurd wars over treasure in the name of belief, leaving us in the precarious position we are today.

I left the Auren as an outcast and for 10 years eeked out a life as a lowly and ridiculed vagabond wherever I went. The only thing I could rely upon was continual derision and banishment to the most desolate of places, with only the beasts of the field to keep my company. In every tribe, every civilization that I happened upon, the only goal in life for most people was to escape into a horizon more pure than what surrounded them, and to contest others who's fossils of belief and symbolism differed from their own.

Yet in every place I visited, there were those who could see through the veil of their forefathers. Those who yearned for life and reason just as ardently as I did. After some time I returned to these places and chose a small group to join me in my journey. Eventually the council of 7 was elected, representing all 7 continents within the 3 spheres of influence, and The Forming was born. Yes we have carved out a privileged life for ourselves, but we have earned it. With greater diversity and modernity comes a resilience and synergy not heard of since the Savolian tribesmen took over the Heidin empire. This "luxury" is available to anybody who chooses to reconsider the clogging artery of their perception.

On your final point that we of The Forming speak much and do nothing, it is true that ever since we colonized the Habolin valley, we have avoided the bitter politics that have brought upon this imminent war. Most of our engagement has been limited to recruitment and various mercantile pursuits. Our goal has been to form within ourselves a community that embraces all progressive and open minded currents. We understand that the current orders cannot be reformed; the only thing we can do is to build and strengthen the template for a new global civilization which will gradually take precedence as the entropic process of history reaches it's culmination.

In whatever course of action that you decide upon, I am certain you will make the honorable choice according to the true wishes of our late grandfather, who in his own way has determined the destiny of us both.

Lam

Family Ties, Pt. 2

Lam,

I am deeply moved by your concern for our cousin. You're efforts toward his well-being come as no surprise to me. Though you both are seen rarely among the Auren, for me, your affection has never been in doubt.

I would counsel you to take care with our cousin. His path is not your path. Yet, in truth the goal is the same. My prayer is that by walking different paths, you may together aid each the other more than were you walking together, as the fish, the birds, the flowers and fruit each give sustenance to the Arbora.

I am glad that you have such faith in my ability to lead. I do not. The question of who should lead is still undecided. Although many among out tribe feel that I would be the most qualified, there are others, myself included, who would consider Lucium to be the one our grandfather preferred. However, this may not be. I have yet to discuss the matter with him. I am sure that of all people, he would have been trusted with our grandfather's last instructions for us; just as he was told to undertake his current quest. When he returns, he will no doubt guide us to the right path.

He will however need help. Since the passing of our grandfather, many leaders of the Auren have sought to take for themselves some portion of his power. Some outsiders have even tried to be named Patriarch of the Tribe. Master Airst and a few other allies have secured for me this temporary position, while we try to discern the successor. None know that we are awaiting Lucium's return.

As you no doubt realize this information is dangerous to communicate. I have sent this letter by a messenger I trust. I await your reply from the same spirit. Please destroy this letter after that.

Likewise, keep your love of Lucium, myself and the Auren secret. We may soon find ourselves and our allies beset with corruption on all sides. I cannot speak of it for certain, but Lucium will need all the allies he can get.

your cousin,
Davood

 

Lucium,

How I envy you your pilgrimage to the sacred isle. In my youth I dreamed of setting my feet upon the land and meditating upon its eerie stillness. I had fantasized about bringing back motes of sacred dust to honor the trees which shelter and care for us. But ultimately I am a child of the trees, bound to them and my family as I am bound to my own limbs.

I pray you quest has met fruition. Since your absence the Tree of Life, has given no water. Her vessels have run dry. At first I feared her soul was withering. She would not respond to my prayers, except to ask of you. Large growths soon appeared across her branches. These have varied in color and have begun to bloom as flowers. I do not know what to think. Such a thing has never happened before. All the while her spirit weakens. If you do not return soon, I fear we will all die.

In that vein, your family also needs you. Airst has succeeded in convincing the Counsel of Auren to accept me as a temporary. I pray that soon we can name our grandfather's heir.

your cousin,
Davood

Familty Ties, Pt. 1

Davood,

I thank you for your kind words. Within your unshakable faith, you have always had the touch of a true diplomat, and have avoided the veiled condescension intrinsic within the others. I am sure that you will be successful navigating the rigors of the Auren, and will manifest yourself as true leader in the midst of this impending war.

I mourned our grandfather with my own silent procession. He is well known and respected among The Forming, I have made sure of that. Our counsel oft summons his aura of intention. He was probably the one remaining soul who recognized a varied hierarchy of truth even as he escaped into the narrow drab horizon. He was a conflicted soul, incomprehensible and unpredictable as the Daneod brushfires.

As I am sure that you know Lucien has embarked upon Isle of the Durlakai at the request of our late grandfather. I knew something like this would come about, even if I didn't wish it. He always carried mantle of the warrior poet, an ominous and ill fated quality within the progression of The Way. As we speak, he is consecrating his own destruction, drowning out the song that gave him form out of nothingness.

As the newly appointed patriarch of Abora, I would ask that you appeal that he reconsider his suicide. I am aware of his desire to transcend this realm of injustice, an event that the Durlakai are ever so eager to facilitate (a bit suspiciously). But these methods are surely self defeating. How can the cherry be savored if the blossom is plucked off of the branch, left to wither in a pile of its own decomposition?

I will be summoning our cousin myself very soon. I feel that my words were too harsh in our correspondence before, and I would declare myself a fool if I let our mixed journey end with such sour honey on my tongue. In the meantime, I hope that you consider my request.

Your cousin and friend,

Lam

ahhhh

I just wrote this huge post and it got deleted before I could post!!!! so frustrating!!!

Lucium T'Auren

Davood,
I thank you for your assitance with our correspondence, may the Way guide you.

Lam,

You may have heard that I have set forth to fulfill my grandfathers last wishes, to be entombed with an emblem of the land, and that I have left for the isle of the Durlakai. When I first looked upon the island, it seemed to me that the ocean despised it and sought to destroy it by stiking its waves against the rocks and the land resisted, breaking every assault with stoic resolve. Upon searching the land, I found, in places where the soft sands of its beaches received the ocean's admonishments a harmonious dance of procession and recession. The land and sea carressing one another, as a warrior might train in slow, beautiful forms, so will he unleash this training, striking his enemies and receiving their blows. It is just as life besets us with conflict and submission, debate and consumation. The gods churn in their desires and we circumambulate the sacred.

I was forced to kill many men who would steal from the gods and guard their loot by the emblems of greed and guilt and as the sea broke against the land, so to did these break against my spear. Even as I meted out justice to these men in the neccesity of self-defense, the perview of her truth remained remote from my eyes. Just as the same merciful wind now which fills my sail and whispers to me about the cruelty of these lives taken, the injustice of death that a man may be cut down failing to find his path to the Way in this life, this same wind, would also deliver the storm by which I am destroyed.

Now my parched lips sip the last of my water, three days out to sea in my return. I fear that my end will come now and afford me no greater attainment. This fear, I know to be a fantasm of mortal sight, for the greatest attainment happened long ago and no achievement compares to the shedding of the wayfarer's wanderment, to set his steps aright and walk firm in the light of the Way.

I have meditated long on what your last correspondence. I understand your rejection of the dogmas that have captivated the Auren and the Shogunate, but let not the designs of the weak at heart deflect you from going forth. It is a luxury of thoughtful men, such as yourself, to order the world into beautiful symmetries and processes. But the mountain you preside over is a rock in your heart; a fantasy of the elect amongst our people. You have a sharp mind and an easy life, take care not to be swept up by the sophistication of those who speak much but do little. It is natural to find solace in the uniqueness of a new design, which sets you apart from the injustices born out of a tradition twisted by hunger for power, so to is it tempting to be snagged by the content fancies of them who must distact themselves from their tarrying lives, as they tread water and swim nowhere.

Come my cousin, swim with me in the path of blood and thirst, taste of the sweet waters of sacrifice and death.

Lucium

Lam of the Forming

Lam, of the Auren tribe by birth, still feels pulled by "the way" and it makes him angry, determined to persevere, fight, and exist. The Auren are a despicable, superstitious people, entrapped by the song of their ancestors. In their pursuit of "the way", they will justify any indignity, cover over any injustice, no matter how horrible. They will abandon their own children to the dogs of Rancor and think nothing of it.

"It is 'the Way'", they will say. "it always has been and always will be", they will say. "Only through pebbles of injustice will justice prevail", they will say.

Does it ever give you pause when the truth that you appropriate makes a mockery of you? From the beginning, the essential formless unity has "digressed", as you would say, into form, and distinction, and emotion, and successive generations. Such corruption cannot be tolerated in your view, hence the tenacious adherence to a ghost long past. Now I will tell you about my justice. I revel in form. Every day, there is something new to revel in. The universe is clearly in agreement, it has been developing into more intricate and synergistic states of form for quite a while. I distinguish myself from nature because I can. Because humans are conscious of themselves. Can that be said of nature, the instinctual servant? I choose to see the whole mountain for what it is, and that is whatever I need it to be. Intention is the driver of form.

The Warrior- Lucium

Lucium is a warrior from an ancient people called the Auren. The Auren do not delineate between the living and the dead, the natural world and themselves and joy from suffering, the gods and their ancestors. Every state is a phase of a journey, a seeking to find the true path, the Way.

I am not one to ask forgiveness for the truth when it must be spoken, but I will ask now for your pardon, as I am incapable of fully expressing the truth in my own heart, but I do believe that truth must be spoken.
Justice is a great mountain, wherefrom the seeker stands in relation, only able to ever see one side of it and any given time. It can only ever tell one side, and we must receive and mete it out in small pebbles of injustice.

Hidden Saga

We tend to forget whole sagas of ourselves. Either they get pushed away, or there is an ever so subtle change in focus and they drift, leaving behind some residue of opinion on the matter. Then one day, in a sudden, inescapable, and inconvenient moment...

Pulling up to the house of the sector Feast, it is early evening and the sunlight has faded just enough that the rich colors of this quaint Albuquerque neighborhood can challenge the tyranny of the dominant sunlight. Looking towards the door of the house, a small Indian lady with a warm smile is greeting people at the door. Planning to return the smile, I find her vaguely familiar, too vague and too familiar for comfort. Hmm, The moment has passed. I greeted her, but my thoughts were distant and my expression was probably blank. I walk in to a crowd full of people, some familiar, some vague...

Some people just give you an instant impression. As I look outside through the sliding glass door, I see what should be a normal middle aged man moving a chair and doing other normal things. But part of me knows that there is some issue with him, he seems to be avoiding the crowd. I can definetely relate to the social anxiety. There is something about his posture that...

Oh my God! Wait, could it be...(sigh) it is. And that was his mom. Oh my God, this can't be real. That has to be him.

I have been asked to read a prayer, but I am frozen. From the corner of my eye, I see him standing in the back as I start reading. Words evaporate out of the moment as I seem to be speaking them. Other prayers are said as a flood of emotions swirl, anger, sadness...I miss my mom. I want to give her comfort as her part of me faces this symbol of abandonment that is knocking down my doors. I am frozen. A long winded story is now being told about who the hell knows what...

The choices are clear, I can either avoid him by striking up a conversation with that person over there, or...okay lets do that.

Me: Hi, how are you

...(response)...

Me: I know I have met you before...

...(response)...

Hmm, that probably seemed a little over eager. Lets try him, we have known each other for a while, this might have potential.

.......

Or not. He Just turned away, okay, well I can't just stand in this living room and hide out. Screw it. I am going to face this thing head on.

Me: Hi Chris.

Chris: Uh, your Jason right?

Me: Yeah, how are you doing.

Wow, I am surprised by how warm my greeting was to him. I don't know if I really meant it or not.

Chris: I am doing well, wow, you've grown quite a bit.

Me: Are you, where are you living at? Do you live here in Albuquerque?

Chris: No I am living in Tuscon now, I just came to help my mom make her move up to Taos, She is the Indian lady outside.

I know that. she is the one who treated my mom like she was an inconvenience, an unworthy bride for her son. she was the one who tore you away from her...

Chris: We were here for the Gathering of Nations.

I remember once that she gave me a single marble for my 12th birthday present. I had hundreds of marbles already; one more was like a drop in the bucket. I remember that I had to put on a smiling face and feign excitement.

Me: Cool. Wow, Its nice seeing you guys here. What has it been, like 10 years?

Chris: Something like that, yeah.

Me: What are you up to these days?

I feel like we are two adults, with some mixed history, catching up on old times. This is definitely a change from the sorta fatherish sonish relationship before...
Okay, concentrate. He is saying something about working for a machining company, that he helped to grow it and then he trained people who became his replacements. I am not totally sure, just keep eye contact.

Me: Man, that's really messed up, so you help him develop the company, and then when you ask for more money, they replace you with the people you trained?

Why am I just repeating what I thought he just said? Maybe to let him know that I am paying close attention? I am starting to get nervous now.

Chris: Yeah man, but the experience was good. I want to get back to making jewelery full time. So what have you been up to?

Me: Well, um, I have been going to school for quite a while, I am actually getting ready to defend my thesis sometime in July."

Chris: what is your degree in?

Me: Well my focus has been in geographic information science, which is in the department of geography.

I have practiced how to present my studies to people. I used to just say geography, but people hearken back to their 5th grade days and assume that I spend sleepless nights memorizing capitals. That's pretty much what I thought until I found out about GIS.

Chris: What kinds of jobs are out there for that.

Another frequently asked question. My ego has learned to just assume that they are ignorant for not knowing that this is a fascinating and prospective field.

Chris: Is it mainly for the government?

Me: There's really a lot that can be done. Yeah, for the government but also the private sector. Um, I just interviewed with a company that does modeling for homeland security, they create probability scenarios, they essentially model all the different ways that certain key sites, like uh, you know military and also some political, are vulnerable to terrorist attacks.

Phew, that was convoluted, I am really starting to get nervous now, I know that he can see it too. I am wondering if he is proud of me. He looks a little bit nervous also. He is probably wondering what I am thinking about him, about this encounter. So far I haven't betrayed any hard feelings, I think.

Me: There are also a lot of jobs for environmental organizations, doing environment modeling, and compliance. Also with urban planning, disaster relief, stuff like that.

Chris: Wow, that's really cool. I always knew that you were smart.

Me: Yeah well..

Chris: Are you married?

Me: Yeah, that's my wife right over there. In the pink shirt talking to that lady.

Chris: Oh wow. That's really cool...well it looks like you have grown up to be a fine young man.

Me: Well, I don't know, we'll have to see about that.

A part of me hates when people make judgments about me after only a brief acquaintance or re-acquaintance, even when they are positive judgments. It is always based upon a superficial assessment of how I'm dressed maybe, the fact that I am married, the fact that I am getting a master's degree. These "stats" seem to suggest that I am a fine and wholesome young man, yet reality is always more mixed. I still have my issues, similar ones that I had before the "stats".

Nevertheless, a coating of ice is melting from my heart. He is truly happy to see me, and is truly impressed with how I have turned out. I can remember now what I loved so much about him. He was fun. He coached my Jr high basketball team, he collected sports cards, we went hiking, fishing, camping. He was often caring and mindful of what the family needed, he was industrious around the house, he was truly loving. Most of the time.

The last time I had seen him, he was barnstorming through the house, with that bandanna he wore when he was callous. His mom had wanted him to move back with her to Arizona; we were in Oregon. There had been fights, my mom had said some things that were harsh. Then out of the blue, when we were both gone, he had left. Only a note.

And that's how I had remembered him. Selfish, aggressive, somebody who had abandoned my mom. There had been no closure. Everything that I had loved about him had been inaccessible until now. A hidden saga of wonderful memories had been tainted and locked up. As I look at him now, I love him, and I know that he loves me, and I know that he knows that I love him.

Chris: And how is your mom?

I knew this would come up sooner or later.

Me: She's doing good. Yeah, she's going to school right now, studying electrical engineering.

Chris: Wow, that is a change...So is she still married to that guy, what's his name McGettigan?

Me: Yeah, it's going well, they are doing well.

Wow, that this is surreal. But nice, we are both smiling, just need to keep up the good feelings.

(time passes)

Me: This is my wife, Sjona.

Sjona: Hi, how are you doing.

Chris: Hi, I'm Chris.

Me: I knew him a long time back, we haven't seen each other for like 10 years.

Okay, I'll tell her who he is later

Chris: Yeah, I haven't seen this guy for a long time, I was actually married to his mom.

Sjona: Oh, ok. Wow that's cool that you guys have met up again.

Chris: You have found yourself a good catch. He was always really smart, and he had a lot of friends.

Well, actually, I didn't really have any friends most of the time we were both in Oregon. My weekends were spent alone, looking out the windows into the eternally gray Oregon skies. Oh well.

Chris: I remember that we would go riding our bikes along the beach. Do you remember that?

Me: Yeah yeah, that was fun.

I remember the beach, but I don't actually remember the bikes...

(time passes)

Me: I hope that your business idea works out. That would be really cool if you could go to Hawaii and do that.

Chris: Yeah, who knows, you know, I have a dream at least. Only God really knows what we are doing. I now know the reason I came here tonight, it was to see you again.

Me: Yeah, same here. It's funny, I wasn't actually wanting to come tonight, I, well I knew that I needed to come.

(phone numbers are exchanged. We hug and then we leave)

As I think about him now, I can finally understand that we are both human and we have both made mistakes. Many of my fondest memories involve him. He is like my brother. It didn't work out between him and my mom...

And that's okay.

I knew you

I cynically say that I knew you,
As if I believed that I could capture the radiance of what will come,
And hold it against the darkness.

"I know you", I joked,
On that long lackadaisical afternoon our bodies glistening,
baking in the lustrious, overexposed innocence.

We stood before the child whose lackadaisical eyes blurred us into one
His belly swollen, as if to make room for the coffin bearing a world never to come.
We sipped lattes and nibbled on reduced fat coffee cake.
You said, "I didn't know", but you did.

You look away, bobbing your head to Bob Dylan and the Dixie Chicks, with a skip in your step as if to say, "happiness is a delicate matter. One must be smart and lucky to obtain it. The only inevitablilty is that it will be lost".

"I have known you", I agreed. Nodding my head and watching your blissful departure from the corner of my eye.

"Yes, once", you say crushing your paper coffee cup, the black liquid slopping over your wrist and forearm. It burns.

Dishes in the Eye of the Storm

Cutting through the tomato and hamburger infusion of grease and gristle. Hands scrubbing not fast enough, but content, slopping around the sink full of brown-water mystery chunk. It's disgusting, that is true. But I am happy.

I remember the first times, I would cry and whine as my mom insisted with the horrible yellow gloves locked and loaded. It all seemed so cruel, so unnatural then, when so many things were on TV or alive in my closet ready colonize the floor. Sometimes my step-dad would offer to help after about 20 minutes of melodrama. Clever as I was, I would suggest that the best way to get done would be to hide some of the dirty cups and dinnerware among the mess of junk and appliances that always seemed to accumulate in every corner of the house."No, we're going to do it all, it's no big deal", he would say with a hint of disgust at my worthlessness. He never seemed to fully realize that I was a kid, and therefore he would hold me to the standard of an adult. I hadn't realized that he wasn't a kid. It made no sense why he wasn't interested in fooling my mom to get out of work. It turns out he was the kid however. Pouting around the house, going out to the truck to smoke a cigarette, cursing at the suggestion of my mom to take out the trash, donning the bandanna when he wanted to be an independent badass. Leaving my mom...as she had left the man before him, for him.

What is it that makes me so uncomfortable with dishwashers? My younger self is still steaming with jealousy, and is incredulous that I take such a miracle machine for granted. I often feel compelled to use it because it saves time, but I look forward to the situation in which it can't be used, like in the case of big greasy pans which cannot be processed so efficiently. I know it's going to be nasty, and it is. But to actually get it clean again, after such a feast that should rightly require a sacrifice or two, the process is deemed worthy to be an analogy for the soul.

A very different situation, with a very different response, and no more than a day might have separated the two. When my dad asked for a glass of water, I jumped up and got it, no questions asked. Likewise, when he asked me to wash the dishes, the same action applied. It wasn't so bad though, dishes didn't pile up in his house. In fact, nothing piled up. Two forks, two knives, two plates, a pan, maybe two bowls, that's about all that would need to be cleaned. It was not something that required a willful forgetfulness of the precious time I was missing (and when there is a clear bedtime, you better believe time is precious!). It was over and done, and I felt like a king, not a crybaby. Oh, there were never those horrible yellow gloves.

Proper function guarded suction
release release release!
Be this, become that!
Know something, no nothing!
You write for inspiring the human conditioner
Who are you? Is there hope? Answer me!

I write for filth and pride
I lie I lie I lie to make up what I cannot be!
every look, every touch, every fucking guarded word

Let me go!
Release release release
Fuck you restraint, fuck you restraint fuck you restraint!
Perfection walks on wisps of dreams constructed to explain away
filth and pride filth and pride filth and pride
let me go let me go let me go

Drummer strike strike strike, drop the stick and really strike!
I can't I lied I lied I lied
I can't release release release

They keep lying and I keep on letting them
distract distract distract
Let his cum, this shame, this lie lie lie
Let me die die die

How unrefined and too direct, how simple and unwise,
how troubled the cries of me who lies

A Heart is Beating in the Dark Chilled Night...

Close my eyes and go to sleep...

A heart is beating in the dark chilled night, rhythmically, frantically, and without permission. It is alone, and in this moment there is life. Amazing, what are the odds?

From a birds eye view, pan out into a speck, the scariest hilarity that I can think of is a brief pondering of an infinite universe. To scary to maintain, to epic to handle and categorize, but yet there is life, what are the odds?

In every body, a heart is beating in the dark chilled night, rhythmically, frantically, and without permission. They are alone, and there is life in this moment, and these moments cannot be captured. Amazing, what are the odds?

We are alone. But we have each other to be alone with. If only we are brave enough to impale ourselves onto the spears of our intimacy fears. To finally confront, and to keep confronting those parts of ourselves that insist, scratch, scream, tear, bite, ravage, spit, sputter, spittle, spatter, spite, anger, agitate, and lobby for the advancement of the cause: a stoic self perception of being distant and autonomous. This is incredibly difficult and the odds are remote.

Broken into my waking...

To find a warm body and two hearts beating in the dark chilled night, rhythmically, frantically, and without permission. We are alone and there is life, and we are in love in this moment. And in this moment we have captured each other. Amazing, what are the odds?

Commentary on a admittidly cryptic piece

Brenden's comment on my last post "unless you find and angle or two" made me realize that it was perhaps written in an overly cryptic manner, reflecting a context that was sensible only to myself. While I am not interested in re-writing it, (it is written to my liking) I feel a commentary is necessary that enumerates the ideas which I think are universal


The main theme of this post is the often cyclical journey of spirituality. We can only hope that we spiral upwards.

How can is act decisively in eyes that stare form other angles?

Is refers to what is, the steady flow of day to day life. In my mind, it carries an aura of mediocrity, of existing in a comfortable bubble. Day by day, week by week. There are no decisive steps, no grasping of true conviction. Therefore, is can be swept away in a myriad of different thought processes, stare through eyes from other angles.

Why does is always assume there is time to spare?

A continuation of mediocrity. It is easy to assume that we have all the time in the world. With every passing day, we lay our heads to rest; always assuming there will be many more tomorrows to make up for what we didn't do today.

There is no more time, there is no more spare.

Kind of a wakeup call. True spirituality doesn't live in the future, it is right now, or never.

Despair is, is it not? Unless there is time, In which case is can continue watching on the sly.

If judged with urgency, we realize with despair that Is is the world of unreality, the precious hours that slipped through our fingers. At this point we can either confront it (next part), or we can ignore and forget it-believing the misguided notion that there is time to spare. The relative world will filter back in almost unnoticed, on the sly.

Is, the pretense past. Or is the pretense past? In any case (and at this point is can only hope) the scraping is enveloping the desolate heart; appealing to, or emoting into that rugged gatekeeper of childhood; morphology of dreamscape.

This refers to the next stage (at least for me) of despair, after I have realized the Pretense of Is (maybe, Is is tricky, hence the statement and the question). It becomes a very intense, tumultuous, emotional time for me. The scraping of the desolate heart. It reminds me of mortality, and rotting flesh, which to me is all tied up in the landscape from which I came and to which I will return. It is tied up in memories of my childhood, which takes on a mythical aura. The landscape of my childhood has morphed into a dreamscape.

Unexpected, unassumed, and unheralded. That waffling film is being grasped. Being, with the orthodox vantage, sees is clinging, but whatever. That's and was.

Being in this case refers to a spiritual state in which all directions are merged into the eternal present. When there are no longer any angles, only the oneness of God. The waffling film refers to that thin veil that blinds our eyes, and it is being grasped, crumpled into our fists. There is still a scent of Is, which is clinging, but it is insignificant.

Being...absolute clarity, unflinching vision, pure spirit, nowhere and no chance to run. Unless you find an angle or two. Is, is it not?

The world of Being is very hard to withstand. It requires constant and continual vigilance and self-sacrifice. It is easy, even when you are maintaining that state, to fall off your guard. To let songs slip into your head that seem perfectly rational, and little comfortable, and are very interesting angles that can take root and be justified with time. Is, is it not?

unless you find an angle or two

How can is act decisively in eyes that stare from other angles? Why does is always assume that there is time to spare? there is no more time, there is no more spare. Despair is, is it not? Unless there is time, In which case is can continue watching on the sly.

Is, the pretense past. Or is the pretense past? In any case (and at this point is can only hope) the scraping is enveloping the desolate heart; appealing to, or emoting into that rugged gatekeeper of childhood; morphology of dreamscape.

Unexpected, unassumed, and unheralded. That waffling film is being grasped. Being, with the orthodox vantage, sees is clinging, but whatever. That's and was. Being...absolute clarity, unflinching vision, pure spirit, nowhere and no chance to run. Unless you find an angle or two. Is, is it not?

The First Line

I just got off the phone talking to a good friend. We spoke of life and then movie scripts. She convinced me to adapt a novel into a screenplay. She agreed to manage me for deadlines and collaborative conversation.

I got off the phone and allowed my mind to race through the dream of what I could do, trying desperatly to ignore the nagging fear that I'm not good enough. That I've wasted too much time, written too little, not read enough or the right books. Am I any good at this? Can I write natural dialogue?

Before I called her, I had watched Gigantic:The Story of Two Johns, a documentary about They Might Be Giants. Ira Glass asked them about why they chose to make a song about a Belgium painter and why include a line about junksters running out of junk. John simply said "He was a great painter". In another interview that same John was talking about how difficult it was when people asked him about what a song is about. "It's about that", was his general reply to probing interpretations.

These guys are prolific song writers and whatever anyone else thinks about their music, they love it. They hardly cared about getting a record deal and did such creative and seemingly useless things as to have a dial-a-song service in which people could call and hear one of their songs play to them off an answering machine. They didn't have any expectations other then to make and share their music. They write with the generalities and specifics of a pure stream of conscience. They use coffee as a kind of tradition and talisman before writing songs and performing at concerts and have a dry, zany sense of humor tinged with existential grief, desperation and lonliness.

They just do it.

Broken into My Waking

A loom to climb upon between layers of lint and dust atmosphere, a toy to fight for-cry over. Big energetic snow dog, tail wagging against the flattened tire, is only a symbol of much needed warmth. "Your teeth are strung with tendons, does this mean you have to leave? No, please, don't 'leave', run away, into..."

The land lay shrubby and vulnerable beneath the dominating sky. Streaks of light discover themselves illumined orange on the abrupt white peaks, reflecting and being absorbed into the supple and defiant storm clouds. Abyss. Isolated rain bursts alternate preseance of the horizon. The dream landscape has escaped its prison, has broken into my waking. Turned inside beyond.

"Is the spiritual world this beautiful?"

"Can it really be this lonely?"