Reflections Released…

If deities are androgynous and we created, are creations of fantasies dreamed and beamed to radiated radiation we spirit-dance sounds without vibrated vibrations or derivations, anarchy there be, then we see and be both the life of songs and silence and as societies, discover these to be good. Falling trees in dawn lights at the center of creation’s place vibrate notions and sounds among illusive illusions and illustrated illustrations. We! Gods and Goddess of these creations do find these to be also good.

Run with the wolves of Sity Park and appreciate days of oiled rain with a cougar’s heart. Beware of visceral humanoid hordes, those scorching rights and those torching wrongs. Fights: both frenzied and terse, with bursts of peace too short to notice sun-scars and dusted forests in green summers too, with tumbling leaves. Giveaway hoary with unfamiliar, the contentions of earth-speak and a necessary sadness, necessity weighted in heavy burdens too fierce and too varied while multiplied by the conditions of humanities’ weights and survival’s moments and greed.

Through digital discharges worlds clash as commodities and perilous capitalism rushes to extinguish itself; greedy and selfish with bodies, purchased and sold on blocks of zero and ones. Fearing the spaces between and shivering within the world electric, no silence can be purchased by ‘anybody out there.’ Either ‘yes or no’ is always the wayward reach of all commodities, unknown and found and consumed and never understood.

Is it better to flee or better to dig livelihood from the bottom of one’s own grave?

What of sparks that move into the light of joining living inside and outside the days of past’s present’s future. Behold Spirit Dancer and remember when warmth was without fire and strength was absolute without the science of dimensions and senses and all was: nonsense-hallucination-superstitious and religious without names.

What is the measure of air between the dancing of leaves and fairy’s dust; tossed or gently sprinkled then forgotten? Puppet painted faces sold to entice ninety-nine percent of the unwanted, received never enjoyed and never knowing the way of knowing why or contemplated within unavoidable silence. Imagine a steady fall of snowflakes soft, of silent nights and early dawns, of inside just before birth and tiny spaces just after death. Gentle raindrops are correctly spaced ‘cross a springtime meadow.

We are the daughters and the sons of earth and of the starry heavens. Our history is alive simple and true except when suppressed and distorted for unnecessary gains and a perversion called wealth. We are the eternity of spirits no need beginning and never ending. Such is the sweetness of life. Symmetry with no form except wind and rain and careful storms of chaos and figure. Go figure the here or the now and still history is not preformed or manufactured save by the controllers of spins and twists and the thrill of the lie. Or! Go figure with the smile of Leonardo or the Lady’s laugh or the chatter of many minds or just a few hearts.

“All speech, written or spoken, is a dead language, until it finds a willing and prepared hearer.” ― Robert Louis Stevenson…

Do humans learn through perception’s ability or is perception an imprinted program already etched onto our brain’s chip? And! Does this ‘perception-of-perfect- imperfection slow our computer selves? Thinking that ‘I am’ often confounds knowing that ‘We be’ DonChaSee?

Class problems are classically human programming and machines of survival ‘we be.’ Electric outlet and pin equals shock and artificially ‘we be’ learning, not to place pin in outlet. Another example that is not intelligent computation, however; survival necessary…’Been-there-Done-that and Oops’ we learn something all the ‘live long’ day…

Classes of problems requiring intelligence do include inference based on knowledge. Everyday uncertain and incomplete information with varied forms of lessons learned and perception’s twirls and swirls along with those applications required to classify and predict and control chaos often require the optimal optimization of Yes—No—and ‘yep that will work maybe’ and ‘once-in-a-fashion’ we may survive to ‘Oops’ another day.

Intelligent computation may depend on biological processes and issues to gain solution. Genetic Algorithms and Networks neural—Wowzer. Teach a Robot to compute issues not seeming to be ‘intelligent’ and Artificial Intelligence is created. And! Robots walk not into ‘the valley of death’ because the appearance of Us; planet-wide-carbon-based-squeakers, are not for ‘the faint-of-heart’…Be aware and be very-very-afraid…

And! Beautiful you are…

Blue Planet Waste

3025

“Heart is a Drum”

‘Free as a driving wheel
Circling around your iron will
See only what you feel
Keeps you turning when you’re standing still
You tried to run from trouble when it comes
You followed the drum keeping time with everyone

High as the light of day
You’re falling down across your lost highway
Pain – does it hurt this way?
To come so far to find they’ve closed the gates?
You’ve lost your tongue when you fall from the pendulum
Your heart is a drum keeping time with everyone

Everyone, if they drown from the undertow
Need to find someone to show me how to play it slow
And just let it go

Your eyes get stung by the rays of the sinking sun
You follow the drum keeping time with everyone
Going beat beat, it’s beating me down
Beat beat beat beat, it’s beating me down
Day after day, it’s turning around
‘til all my days are drowning out’…written by Beck Hansen

What causes us to be happy? Who dares control happiness, a government or person, or a religion? Our innermost voices clarify what and what not to do. Just listen! Mind washed since birth; tis the survival of ‘a’ pack. However, all packs ubiquitously run same, eat same, same be-we; fast-slow, weak-strong-hungry-not-smarter than a what and still love our young ones. And! Maybe only reason ‘We’ be, donchaknow. Imagine! Just make believe that when we wake-up, Love-Peace and Understanding is always the world of reality and we have accidentally been watching a horror film in a theater from hell and for our entertainment only.

Illustrate now those pictures; of these caves and these walls and these tribes of we and me and us and them and before the storm and after the end of rains of winds and bumping things and silent shrieks, once loud and now absent from ear and fear and tear. Sounds of life understood ‘cross a million miles of rock ‘n’ roll till another day of storms and another night of passion shadow dance beneath a star-lighted ceiling. Again! Share moments and lives and the sovereignty of animation. Blood and love are the matter of the matter and the survival of survivors from whatever gods and from wherever storms.

Steve Biko, the South African activist who was murdered by the apartheid regime while he was in custody—once said, “The most powerful weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed.”

We labor in these fields beneath sing-song wires and lengths of wave grain toward the forever of sight while out or in and back again. Brushed wind and white tunics and seagull wings waving over soil black and breeze, seeded with hands to-bags-to-sky-to-flip ‘cross ground rich, water ditch to return again ‘til tunic loss shapes and disappear into the bluest evening mist of planet wash and evening spin.

We circle now toward forked roadways beyond sighted-righted places and our stars of guiding trails twisted, misted, shakes and quakes push-pull us toward left trails or right paths. Guiding compass, lodestone or stars point the way in only one direction to go and to return toward this direction taken always pointed and pointing toward us…

Spin World is celebrated. World is good; as is balance of wheel, syncopation true, symmetry of cut grass-to-lawn-to green-grow-too-to- ‘from’ then cuts again to match eye’s sight either wrong or right. Needs to cheat each-to-other, one or two then more too many score before others-do-to-you survival required to win to lose too many to count or rout before the ‘over-of-out’ begins again? Then spin us twirls of balance-speak of world perfections of balance squeak when one thing dies while others survive the lies of imperfect Gods’ whirls, imperfect twirls from nothing losses and nothing gains. Then ‘we all’ again remain…

“The family is the natural and fundamental unit of society and needs to be protected by Society and the State.” (Article 16 (3) of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights). Slums are the creations of Capitalist Elites…And! Maybe Truth is a Fiction of the Mind?

And! Beautiful you are…

Home Waves Ahead…

A universe of angular momentum is turbulent from dust to black holes. Notches of rotation are slight, are massive and just happen. What splendid adhesive preserves the whirl-of-the-twirl?

We and the dust of us are voyagers. We are scattered ‘cross places of everywhere? We are not timed or blessed or wonderful or gifted or fortunate or meant-to-be ‘something else.’ The dust of us is without a price-tagged-branded-commodity of enhanced steroidal surgically modification. We create cartoon fashions and lip-stick mouths pouted and picture perfect when replicated glossy imitations of sport models swish as a dish of corruption and a wiggle of splash-dash hope and fanatic fantasy.

We build twelve inch wide maple shelves inclined and staggered up a soft and painted wall. Upon this vertical presentation, we place flea market choices, colored jars filled with copper and stones discovered. We decorate and we change as season alters sight and sound and scent.

We travelers internally detect or obtain from ‘reliable sources’ a sorta source sorted through search or lurch internally through structures only to reach and teach or bleach amid many throngs of wrongs as ‘sure truth’ is torn from snow-bright-right to lies-lily-white. Deceits detected or accepted or rejected or corrected from inside-out applicability is not workable until altered internally and externally prior to exposed or imposed upon the confusion of mass-squeak-speak. What a righteous cycle; when whispers, smiles and sighs and quiet nods could or would be better?

“So, does that mean we’ve got to rest contented

And say, ‘That’s how it is and always must be,’

And spurn the brimming glass for what’s been emptied

Because we’ve heard it’s better to go thirsty?” by Bertolt Brecht

This time of days of times ago and today, may the old man vision touch those other ones and whisper, “Not this time and never this time, will our children ever go to war.” Others know that this time of times will not be the time for dead families and metal touches-to-body-madness. For these flashes in time, fighters are not compulsory.

A rational response to a rational insanity. The whole world appreciates humanities’ finest minutes. “Love and Peace and Touch and Trust” with no controls or advances or imaginations. Just connecting the realities of reality and sensing those sweet spaces, just an instant before lips touch with co-mingled breath and the cold nightfall warms. A second when no one stares into empty space without noticing starlight’s star bright and star-ships’ passing between light-speed and arrival, silently appear.

When all and sundry realizes that what we do not have-does not mean anything. When hearing a lover’s voice touch our heart before substance becomes words of meaning-or-reason-or-another notion. When silence completely fills all senses with rumble and clatter and music and notes, chaotic or symphonic simplicity. Then duality ceases and singularity melts into universal polarity and truth.

The love-of-man and the love-of-woman must not be divided by the capital of greed. Consider! All are fashioned by the equal blending of us and beyond the borders of a-wherever-boarder for non-reasons and steeped in-the-fallacy of color, big guns, ‘atomic destruction’ and the perpetual diatribe of isolation, individuality and fear. Remember that we have the right to be Everywhere.

Love reminds us of the equality of equals! Of woman and man and the spirits of all trapped and living sentient sentences inside body while minding body.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

A Lower Winter’s Light…

The word “solstice” is derived from the Latin words “sol” (sun) and “sistere” (to stand). Winter solstice is also known as “The Day the Sun Stands Still.”

Goddess and Gods dance inside snow fall, desert sands, hills, moors and within soft lights tonight. Beiwe and her daughter Beiwe-Neia, Tonantzin, Bheru, Horus, Louhi, watch while the Kallikantzaros count colander holes and return to somewhere underground.

And! Maybe once or twice a modest breach in our Universal Vault emerges and, on that star-filled night, magic happens. The ‘Witches of Nature’ gaze upon this Worldly-Twirl and pause for a second to watch lights dance across the heavens. For that moment they smile, and one-plus-one equals two.

And! Beautiful you are…

Feeling Profound Tempo…

‘Morning Song’

“Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your foot soles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I’m no more your mother
Than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind’s hand.

All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.” by Sylvia Plath

Sighted! Righted to view the shadows’ tuck within surfaces and specters and secret spirits in mirrored swirls of stellar light and lighted night. Is it true that if we build a shelving unit created with shelves structurally made to sustain heavier weights than the object we just purchased, should we avoid putting the object on that unit? Is a waste of strength practical? Earth is around (4.03 +/-) billion years old. Since initiating moment how extensively has our Mother Ship journeyed? Voluminous narratives have begun and ended. Conceptions constructed and inventions innovated. Dispositions devastated and creations confounded. And! Always life simple and vivacious and confidently dynamic. Awareness ascending and realization’s reputation is regularly rearranged as required. Senses appreciate countless choices. Dawn’s calm minus bend and sans movement of the gentlest woodland sprays offer delight.

Higher than the tallest mountains, impressive birds descending from the outermost sky reaches our rain-soaked shoreline in the here and in the now. In a domain occupied by fantastic fowl, to surround yourself with tall folks and well-built large houses is a “good thing”. Thoughts clear and precise. Additional editorialization and quantification if necessary, allowed when thoughts become translated into the fashions of truth or fiction both substantial and ethereal.

It is Ok! When scented moments mind trick memories through start-stop and pause-causes light-years ago to change to present places and races to mind front and almost touch-tease slight, flight-of-forms to know love-touch-spirit twirl. When love is mind’s eye strong and after-kisses taste, last longer when form-is-warm and need less than want is long and lingers until night cease-crease softens into sleep-sweet. Remember?

Taste of you in mind rhyme our time and ever-dream moments deep twilight keep and never-ever traces of endless touch no rush just together ‘us’ and the harmony of ‘We’ remembered. Walk and talk and now us; hand reached, and fingers clasped inside near Needles Park, and beneath Bent Bridge’s dark hedge and ridge where green grass gone brown cooled, and the waves below lake shine bounce moonlight.

Stop and later measure and scatter across accepting simplicity and the variances in relativity, either linguistically determined or silenced by downpour louder then those gentle beginnings, the whispers of fire-fly wings and lighting with no sound. Wait! Eyes tightly closed and heed thunder rolling across separated skies as unseen flashes knight the ocean’s night, and crashes boom into those silent spaces between raindrops and life. Science eternally dances with superstition. Once or often either momentarily wins, something-of-else or another choice-to-follow toward those crossroads that matter. Chances to spark and destiny always flirts with other up-and-about perhaps. Real Sea we will see and another and another of water-ships and places far away.

‘Recessional’

“If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,

Such boastings as the Gentiles use,

Or lesser breeds without the Law—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget”! by Rudyard Kipling

This is here and between landings by another beach reach as quickly discovered then thrown away. Dragging the lines of surf’s fall and rise as waves dash high into moonless sky and crash along miles of sand and shoreline. Sea inhale and exhale and breathe again and time marks nothing when endless and everlasting. We are animals and fish and birds and reptiles and trees and flowers and skies and moons and suns and stars and planets across many miles inside universes of many smiles.

Forget to breathe. Fog horns groan and moan within cones of hearing on evenings rare without fog or mist. Held inside, air rushes into throat and through nose and mouth. Sea odor and eyes tear. Bridge time is fine and darkness safe. Search Sea! The Line shifts tighter to shore and ships disappear.

The share of poet-touch and story-spin and exile’s faith and disaster’s private pain; as speech native fails creative spirit, and often maims creature-speak and confuses the never-place-of-everywhere.

And! Beautiful you are…