the apple never falls too far
from the tree…
because the tree never lets it fall;
lowering the apple gently toward
the ground,
giving it the space
and gentle permission it needs
to figure out the rest.
…apples choose their dents.
the apple never falls too far
from the tree…
because the tree never lets it fall;
lowering the apple gently toward
the ground,
giving it the space
and gentle permission it needs
to figure out the rest.
…apples choose their dents.
I always feel a slight sense of discontentment
or disappointment
when
I find myself saying or thinking, “next time.”
Maybe it’s because I’m frustrated with myself
at how it always seems like I’m trying to squeeze too much
into a single day [or sentence];
setting expectations for myself that are way too high to climb
and I also wonder whether I have
(but hope I haven’t)
placed similar expectations on the other people in my life.
I honestly don’t mean to,
it’s just that I’m tired of justifying to myself why
“there’s always next time,”
when I don’t want next times,Â
I want right nows.
So what if my writing sometimes refuses
to go any deeper than surface level
and touch all the raw, sore spots,
the gaping wounds,
imprinted onto me
by the egopinions of everyone but myself?
Maybe I’m just tired of pain, and
the remains of my own ego
seek to shield me from the traumas of reality…
Because the entire truth has always been
I’ve never had too many chances to go deep within –
until now;
There’s always been someone lurking over my shoulder
and buried underneath my skin
or permeating, redirecting, usurping my energy
for their own.
Though I’m always surrounded by others
I’m also still very much alone.
Not tragically so;
Even more honestly,
I prefer it that way
solitude and silence are greater friends;
animals and nature I enjoy more
than the animalistic nature of humanity’s majority.
My vibrations tend to stay higher
than the clouds in my flowers.
And yet;
Most interestingly, the toxicity, isolation, and imbalance
that’ve defined the most formative chunks of my experience
have been my greatest educators
in this world’s institution;
My most cherished tutors in the realms of
boundaries, trust, serenity, and gratitude.
I’m a scholar of life, I must teach as I learn…
The first lesson of fire, and its true power too
is that it doesn’t know discernment, it simply is;
it will not be tamed or controlled
and willfully burns everything and everyone exactly the same.
Consciousness is reality’s general
rule of thumbprint
Each is unique and different in how they touch the world –
but all have identical purpose.
Though my approach is the most elemental form of paradox,
I remain open to nuance.
I’ve yet to make my own mark,
continuing to explore brave new worlds of words
and dimensions of thought –
strange pioneer of enigmatic territory.
I wander within
among the fields and mines of my mindscape
to find my own [inner] light.
I choose not to battle, still I bear the brunt of its scars,
staying this path only became a struggle
when I set aside my will to fight.
Courage, be strong, and consequence be damned –
like the tides of time, I am infinite and, as yet, undefined;
And,
the limit does not exist.
There are times I wonder
if the ocean is my true home
it soothes my heart
and replenishes the salt
in my soul;
But somehow I always
end up living far from the water
and I find myself more often than not
in salt baths
and hard-water showers
just to feel closer to home.
Sometimes
you gotta cross things out
even when you write in pencil
because they don’t always have erasers
and neither does life.
How’s life?
I don’t really know, I –
Can I get back to you on that?
I’ve been writing about it in my mind
of what it is, what it could be, what it has been
and there are vast imbalances
between its scales.
But this story isn’t done yet
so I just keep writing it.
I’m not chasing reality, I promise…
I’m just –
manifesting the consciousness
I’ve awakened into;
And oftentimes I enlist the assisted awareness
of imagination, intuition
The Divine, Higher Self, Spirit.
My angels whisper to me in dreams – those byproducts of the superconscious –
telling me to share my story
with the world.
I keep trying
but it ain’t done yet,
is my excuse.
I’ve suddenly realized
I am my own narrative;
Refinement isn’t necessary here,
only truth –
Raw, unclarified, unfiltered, authentic honesty.
And honestly, I’m not perfect, I may never be.
So this is me, maybe,
I haven’t completely found myself yet
but there’s still time – there’s always time.
I’ll just keep writing until this all makes sense,
and in the meantime, I can only hope (but not really care)
that you’re as cool with me
as I am.
120421
Have you breathed breaths today?
How many?
Did you even count?
Does youth still anoint your temple
with the waters of its fount?
Your heart thrums and dances to the beat of life’s rhythm;
Isn’t this still true?
Your lifeblood wells from these vibrations, flowing in the richest rivers,
through the hills and valleys of you.
Is your mind still firing thought and synapse
that tell its body what to do?
Don’t (m)any of the sights your eyes see
evoke expressive reaction untold?
How many times did they blink, or roll;
itch, or blur, or close?
What about the scents that so blithely drift
into your curious nose?
Are we also breathing what we smell?
If there’s a difference, can any of us tell?
Doesn’t your tongue shift to taste the flavors
of food, as well as words?
Your ears, they hear, the Spirit listens –
is it sound or noise they heard?
What ignites within you when you hear your own name?
What of it defines you, and do any two lips utter it the same?
Do you actually feel all you touch
or are the sensations of feeling just way too much…
to process?
Can you remember your memories – are they sensual, vivid, soundless?
Are they still lucid, and bright?
Or, have they become time-worn and faded,
fleeting as the sudden, silent wings
of migratory birds startled into flight?
Do your senses teach you anything about your world?
Or are they simply an involuntary, passive, unconscious swirl?
Do your instincts guide your steps?
Does intuition illuminate your journey through life?
Or, is your current reality too mired in confusion, and in strife?
Is it too much to ask for you to stay true to your purposeful path?
Don’t you know that dividing – rather than divining – yourself
adds up to imbalanced aftermath?
A planet’s only center is its own axis;
Mindfulness is only a word
until honored by practice.
Time doesn’t slow, or hasten;
In fact, it doesn’t move at all –
unless acknowledged, measured, or wasted…
Yet we confine ourselves to its call.
Love, harmony, and patience are the soul’s crowning glories,
Stardust and light the ink writing our cosmic stories.
Gratitude and serenity are the shining keys
that unlock the doors
to self-mastery.
Being of light
that appeals to the lucidity of my dreams
came to me the other night
and said
the world needs to know your story…
Funny,
the other night I couldn’t even
remember –
When I woke up
grasping at twilight’s fading straws;
But today,
it was clear as the bell
ringing my subconscious
and asking me to heed
its tinkling
truth.
Everything is a possibility.
My body is not your home,
you can’t just leave all your…things here,
and come and go as you please;
They leave with you if you’re leaving –
they only stay
if I choose to agree.
My mind is not your dumpster –
You can’t fill it with all your junk
and expect me to save us both
from the toxic spillage of your detritus.
Besides, there’s no room in here for nonsense;
It’s no place for trash.
My heart is no trinket of yours
You won’t mistreat it like some plaything;
Amusing yourself only until the “newness” wears off,
only to toss it onto the haphazard pile
of other discarded toys
thrown recklessly aside once
you’re bored with them
or tire of playing foolish games.
My soul is not your lighthouse;
It can’t shelter you from the storms
you refuse to face,
there’s no refuge here for your darkness.
My spirit is not your luminary –
I’m not responsible for banishing your
shadows.
The currents you row so avidly against may
float your boat –
But they won’t capsize mine.
210902
Poetry, story and real life. Once soldier, busnessman, grandfather and Poet.
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