credit to the findhorn foundation for this picture.

 mother Earth is so careless, scattering things like seeds, shed leaves and people to the wind, leaving things out in all weathers to fade or bake in the sun, shiver, become brittle in the killing chill or to be drenched in drowning downpour.
 
naturally, we who are a little lower than the angels, run away from the lightest rain shower, sprinklers timed to water our lawns at strategic and convenient times. or we cower before the malignant sun, lying in tanning beds for brief doses of man made improvement while creating the most ironic consequences; being dedicated only to our own will and comfort, we tear sardonic holes in the sky by refrigerating the air, hairspray made contraband while the prime offender goes off scoffing, scot free.
 
we whitened, weary weaklings hide inside, huddle near our fear and curse Her for Her will power, antibiotically intent never to challenge our anemic (or self-effacing) immune systems, which in truth are overburdened by carcinogenic toxins. we avenge ourselves against an image of a less-than-human enemy, brute, naked, matted hair, homeless, stinking, filthy, savagely ignorant, a tarry heart clad in ashes, knee deep in a very gritty reality, he never inclines toward cleanliness, which is clearly next to godliness. but we eat crude oil, which catabolizes the carbon soot-charred marble of masterpieces with insidious carbonic-sulfuric-acid byproducts of our infernal combustion. and truth be told, the brute is in us, paragon of animals, culmination of evolution, prime mover of the sixth mass extinction. and loss and degradation mount a glorious peak of triumph.
 
who is laughing for argument's sake? what rhetoric will take us down? only our own momentum has the onus and impetus enough. divided against itself, the argument is resolved.

who is laughing?

i feel
a need
to say
something
about magic.

control is an illusion,
their control
your control
our control.

this is magic
and yet it is not,
at least not yet.

when is now?
when then?
and what is the strange difference
between the two?
some occurance...
that is,
another illusion.

why did i ever say 'there is no magic?'
because control is an illusion
i harbor.

a sweet dream
greets the dawn
kisses her on her sleeping cheek.

her breath
awakens a dream,
in beauty, 

beauty
where truth and happiness meet.

it is the nightengale
singing in the night.

no, it is the lark
hastening morning.

sleep for the sake of sanity.

this is,

being

as happens when senses still.

form, vision, feeling sound,

subtle, sacred, awakening in our sleep,

and vigilance only serves darkness.

alone

we are not.

language in noise,

voice in silence,

meaning random,

release control you never held

to the realm

you will not to hold.

learning ,

ignore this,

learning
in loss.

some are given,

not that

i am.

i am
work
no profit
no repeat.

no.

perhaps when the matter of my living body dis-coheres in the fire, undoing my creation in my cremation... perhaps there will remain a finger, a toe or a tooth, a universe in a grain of sand, a link in the causal chain unbroken, a remaining remnant, a relic. do not revere it. no relic is there. do not tote it back with you, carrying it back into the city on the back of an elephant accompanied by celebration. this multiverse invites new creation of new verses, universes, sarva stotra, verse after verse, sarva shastra.

let go. let me go.

or go with me.

come. come with me.

come in.

or go.

if you hear me clearly, i invite

invite you in.

or out.

APPONO ASTOS

"Beware the bearers of FALSE gifts & their BROKEN PROMISES. Much PAIN but still time. BELIEVE. There is GOOD out there.We OPpose DECEPTION. Conduit CLOSING (BELL SOUND)".

imagine
you are a bird in a storm.

is this not a storm?
where is its eye,
clear with blue sky?

leave the wheel of birth and death.
is this not a wheel?

go to the center with insanely hard work and a remote hope of a worm hole
in the black hole.
or, be thrown clear as if by centrifigul force.

our planet is on the edge.
perhaps there is opportunity.

but it requires
release
release
release.

imagine
you are a star.

if our bodies live by creating heat and light,
imagine
how brilliant
the life and bliss of a star must be,
whose body,
even one as modest as our sun
loses tens of tons of mass each second,
converting it directly into light and heat

and life

and death.

be thown clear.

when we're struck by the truth
how can we not be livid
or unbearably mournful?

why claim for yourself that this negative energy
is so negative?
why should it be self-serving?
please,
speak,
if you will claim i do you some wrong.

when
will
this
dark
love 
come
thru?

redirect
deflect
what you can.

face the sun
and ask her,
"how can we
have done
this to her,
this earth,
our mother?"

what truth comes with happiness?
what happiness comes with truth?
why should it be self-serving?

only beauty shares truth with happiness.

again, ok.

there is order in chaos.
life emerges from something that seems to be unconscious and unliving.
this apparently unliving substrate in which you live is not at all unconscious or unliving .

now, you ignore what anger might come your way, even though the earth is crying  -
screaming like a stuck pig, as my father used to say.

now, we judge what ever comes our way, and we ask "will this serve me?"  
what?
...serve me>serve me... serve me? serve me, now.
what?

This is insane - sanity replaced by self-interest.
but self-interest is so deceptive - self-deceptive,
as self-deceptive as any insanity is.

now,
you
won't
reply
to this.

now,
now
this
is.

this
is
this.

now, this is not a tautology.
actually, it's a lie.
the "nature" of syntax speaks an ambiguity in our language-intoxicated minds.
the second "this" is not the first "this."
therefore, it must not be the same.
or is it?
you think it is, but you know it's not.
you know it is, but you think it's not.

this is
not this.

this seems like it must be the lie, but it's not.
ignore this ":reality."

ignore this.
ignore this this.
ignore this "this."
ignore "this."

now is the time. now.

the grand lie is laid open,
yellow,
like a patient etherized on a table.
[thanks to t.s. elliot for this simile.]
actually a corpse.

four.
4 square.
four corners,
4. four.
a cross.
a crossroad,
either way,
you choose
this is a path
to
destruction,

a dead end.
dead.
dark.
deaf.
death.

either way,
this path is a lie.

kill the christ.
kill the cross.
there is no guilt
in killing evil.

kill the christ.
kill the cross.

that demon plagues our lives
with evil.

i will.
i will choose.
a circle
rather than a cross.

worship that miscreant
all you want.
see where it leads,
either way it's a lie.

i will complete a circle.