Kayfucius

A collective of thoughts, poetry, writing works, blurbs, and other randomosity

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.

 

120621

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.

 

20112021

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.

 

291021

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

Just like that, it happened

so swiftly I didn’t even realize

until after the frenzy faded…

My fingers stopped moving,

and thoughts failed to make coherent

sense.

An eyeblink, fallen lash, the speed of gravity –

An unexpected winter’s cold arrival;

everything froze, maybe surprised as I was,

and then there was…nothing.

A sudden, stark white world;

A shocking lapse, like reaching a lone blank page

in a full journal

or like the jarring loss of signal, sound, color

with only staticky snow for company.

I sit here,

stuck in the grasp of

what was just there;

Struggling to regain inspiration

But it’s gone, and

I can’t fathom how I so quickly

lost my creative flux…

Watching it slip gleefully through my fingers

only to disintegrate into useless ash as I tried to catch it,

unsure whether it’ll ever recover

its former glory.

Writing is always such a right thing

Yet, it’s flighty like a potential new lover;

Always courted, but never kissed –

That is, until imagination ghosts

And the writer finds themselves

blocked.

9221

It’s cool how

when we find lulls in our conversations,

neither of us feel the need to try to fill the spaces;

To rush to be the first to say…something…

We never have those awkward moments

where hasty words crash into each other.

We don’t stumble over silence,

instead simply sinking comfortably into it…

It’s awesome that our interactions

are just so…easy

even though they’re so rare.

And they end so organically,

our chats –

both of us seeming to sense the exact moment

when it’s time for us to drift apart

on our parallel tides

each of us returning back to our own path;

Knowing eventually, maybe even soon

they’ll cross again anyway.

But sometimes,

I’m a little disappointed

when that has to happen.

 

82721

Each drop of water is precious,

Each has been here before.

Every drop of water is timeless,

they are souls that return again and again

not to the worlds they know,

but to the worlds they are, that are within them.

Always here, whether as rain, dew, lake, ocean, sea –

Whether they fall from the heavens

or spring up from the Earth; gather as bodies,

or in pools…

They know not what they are,

only that they are –

And all are just one form of the same being.

As are we –

We are each every one of these drops of water,

as infinite, as vast as the Universe.

Contained in a single form, and yet…

without form at all.

We are always here, we always return.

We are always transforming, evolving, changing all we touch

changed by all that touches us.

Every phase, every cycle water flows through

are also ours too.

All part of the entire Universe

as much as it is not just part of us; it is us.

We hold the memories of water,

because we are the memories, just as it is the memories

of us.

We are not all different, not so much as we like to believe;

We simply are.

We are one and we are the same –

I am you, are he, is she, is they, are them, are we,

part of the same whole, created from the same love;

Freedom is our destiny, even as destiny lives in our freedom.

Still, despite our [separate] perceived bodies,

interconnectedness is our truth, as our existence brings life

to the world it finds itself in, and the spaces it occupies –

Because we don’t live in the world;

The world lives

in us.

 

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johncoyote

Poetry, story and real life. Once soldier, busnessman, grandfather and Poet.

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Kayfucius

A collective of thoughts, poetry, writing works, blurbs, and other randomosity

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