Tuesday, April 01, 2014

April & Poetry 2014

Character of a Happy Yogi


Please read this poem after reading William Wordswoth's Character of the Happy Warrior


Who is the happy Yogi?  Who is she

That every being with breath should wish to be?

--It is the generous Spirit, who, when laughing

at the tasks of real life, hath abandoned

the plan that pleased her ego’s thought:

Whose every breath feeds the inward light

That makes the path before her always clear in sight;

Who, with a natural instinct for grace

What Prana can move, is diligent to manifest;

Welcomes her practice, and stops not there,

But makes her radiant being her prime care;

Who, destined to go in company with Grace,

And Ecstasy, and Elevation, blissful train!

Turns her necessity to ecstatic chanting;

In face of these doth take a cold shower,

Which is our human nature’s highest dower.

 

Monday, December 02, 2013

Practicing Yogic Alchemy

Embrace complexity.
Radiate simplicity.

Embrace duality.
Radiate neutrality.

Embrace the finite.
Radiate the infinite.

Embrace struggle.
Radiate grace.

Embrace grief.
Radiate compassion.

Embrace service.
Radiate gratitude.

Embrace chaos.
Radiate peace.

Embrace the radiant.
Radiate the embrace.

Embrace space.
Radiate nothing.

Embrace nothing.
Radiate all that is.

Wednesday, September 04, 2013

Mr. President, Please Do Not Bomb Syria

Mr. Obama,

If you bomb Syria, you bomb as president. 

When your beloved American people voted

you into office,

they did not vote

you Commander in Chief of

Violence in the Middle East.

The greatest tragedy will not be the expense

to taxpayers. 

The greatest tragedy will

not even be the loss of human lives.

The greatest tragedy will be the victory of

violence,

when the preferred victor in this situation should be

Silence

(Silence--Mind you--is not the same thing as inaction or turning a blind eye.)

(Silence works wonders for those practiced in its art.)

After all, who would want to be remembered as

President Oh Bomb Uh????

But one who is well-versed in the

Arts of Silence

shall be remembered as truly human.

Friday, August 23, 2013

smoke that wok

Please read this poem after reading Jason Schneiderman's sugar is smoking.

Like Schneiderman's, my poem is dedicated to Mark Bittman; but, my poem is also dedicated to Albert Chang.

there's every reason to be
but the reason is
gratitude for that fire you flipped in the pan
and the quick toss of burning oil onto
grandpa's shoes as your fire shine
gives new meaning to the words
bootblack, whiskey, woman, and caramelize
but for all the cigar bar litigation
what did the doc say: too much garlic?
sunlight? white-collar crime? heartless judiciary?
turducken?
it is okay to loosen your bow tie
while cooking salmon with lentils
but do wear it tighter for stuffing
the scallops with basil
yes many wives agree
you are more handsome than
Chow Yun-Fat
so smoke that wok
and sue on!

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Now Love

Please read this poem after reading Michael Blumenthal's The Difference Between a Child and a Poem.

And if you are neither terrified of death nor
have you accepted it,
you may want to dance
with a child, or
read a poem
to your parents.
Your name in eternity may not
undo the oracles of flesh.
Your seed in the wind may not
fail at love in a field at night.
Your voice is now.
Your flesh is now.
Now is eternal.
Now love.



Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Summer Solstice 2013


A great soul hides in the Games booths at a new theme park in Southern California. 

The theme park is called Financial Crisis Land, and Dan Burite is one of its Full-Time-With-Benefits employees. 

From looking at his outward appearance—sturdy build, 5’9” 165 pounds, dread locks dripping with Rasta beads—one would never guess that Dan B. is God.  

Every day he performs miracles.  

Today is no different.  He stands at a game booth called “Asset-liability Match.”  The challenge involves “withdrawing money” from a “Bank” before the bank can receive the proceeds of its loans.  The "money" is symbolized by a roll of toy paper currency that a player unrolls, similar to the way one would unroll toilet paper.  "The Bank" is an image of a bag with a $ symbol on it.  The moneybag rises higher and higher on a golden pole.  If the moneybag is too quick to rise up to the red Liquidity button, an alarm sounds and the player gets All Wet when a bucket dumps water on the loser.  But if the player removes all the money from the roll before the moneybag reaches Liquidity, a bell rings.  And we have a Winner!  

Dan Burite is the guy who collects three bucks from theme park patrons who want to play this game; he presses the game’s Start button, and says, “Go!”  If the player wins, he bestows a huge, plush Moneybag into the winner's open arms.  If the player loses, Burite encourages the loser to use the “withdrawn cash” to wipe water off his or her wet head.  Outwardly, this seems all there is to Dan Burite’s job.  He performs these simple tasks, with enthusiasm, day-in and day-out throughout the entire year, even on holidays.

But also every day.  Before work.  Dan wakes bright and early to perform cleansing, breathing, and bodywork rituals and meditations that strengthen his nervous system.  For the past forty days, he has been chanting this mantra:


Repeating this mantra as many times as he has has given Dan Burite the ability to Recognize Any Other Person He Encounters Is Himself. 

What does this mean?

For Dan Burite, this means that every time he looks into the face of a theme park patron, he merges with the divine essence inside that other person.  

What influence does this have on his interaction with total strangers from every walk of life?  

When Dan Burite and a game player exchange cash, when he hands over the toy "money roll."  When Dan distributes a prize to a winner, Dan makes sure that his fingers brush ever-so-gently against the other's fingers.  In this moment, Dan Burite charges the other person’s biomagnetic field with the pure vibration of divine intellect and higher consciousness.  

Any theme park patron who plays the “Asset-Liability Match" game is certain to leave Financial Crisis Land at the end of the day with a sense of heightened well-being (which of course they inevitably attribute to the experience of visiting a theme park in Southern California as they almost totally forget their interaction with Dan).  But now, dear reader, you know the truth.

Dan Burite knows he is god.  He recognizes every person he encounters, and he encounters over 1.4 million people per year, as himself, as God.  He treats others accordingly.

Dan Burite was a regular guy when he moved to Southern California from New York City five years ago.  But after practicing this particular, 40-day meditation, Dan Burite can proclaim, with confidence, he is a Wise Guy.  He's gained wisdom.  As far as Dan can describe it, this First Sutra for the Aquarian Age Meditation is a learning tool for the Ascension Process.  

What does this mean?  

Sure, the old adage of treating others as you would like to be treated holds true; likewise, love your neighbor as you love yourself is still useful wisdom.  Hell, we've mastered all that.  Time to Amp It Up.  How about for the Aquarian Age, and for humanity's continuing evolution, human beings push themselves a bit further?  Treat one another as you would treat your god. 

And if you do not believe in God, or a god, or Creation; and perhaps you hold the view that Religions are at the root of all the world’s problems; in any case, treat other humans with the same kind of reverence and awe you have for your car or your cock, your smart phone or your donkey. Oh, Dear Ones, whatever it is you hold dear, whatever is you--You be you begin be me become because believe beget be good bebop bepop bepop by golly be God…!

And if you hold nothing dear, but feel you are a dizzy, unworthy, hag with a heavy drinking problem, then you deserve a vacation.  Play a game at Dan Burite’s booth.  Ride the thrilling Housing Bubble Bust.  Visit the Fun House for Economic Reform.  And enjoy the rest of your day here at Financial Crisis Land, California!      

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

April & Poetry 21


When
When succumb, umbrella.  When whole, help.  When marked, make off.  When wordy, cut the rug.  When whimsical, roar.  When om, joy.  When home, tidy up.  When reading the news, scratch.  When feeding the cat, hum.   When blank, bank on it.  When blink, blank.  When bored, borrow.  When bare, beg.  When baffled, steal.  When broke, break.  When busy, blink.  When finished, flip.  When tired, seduce.  When scared, succumb.  When numb, reach.  When nervous, cockroach.  When pressed, press.  When wrong, rise.  When write, rose.  When moral, empower.  When ravaged, beget.  When refinanced, fornicate.  When ever, where ever.  When yawn, bathe.  When laughing, lust.  When fruitful, forget.  When officiating, occupy.  When over it, sit tight.  When agony, ecstasy.  When logged on, encrypt.  When bathing, bite.  When bird of paradise, fountain grass.  When Earth, worship.  When moon, wax.  When sleepy, orgasm.  When weightlifting, swindle.  When banking, breed.  When up, up.  When sensual, celebrate.  When eager, exhale. 

April & Poetry 20


The Mark
There’s no doubt that the mark she sees on the exposed brick wall is a cockroach.  She thinks about it for a while.  She’s never really despised cockroaches as much as she has always pretended to.  She doesn’t mind them crawling on her while she nurses The Master’s child.  She doesn’t even mind when the infestation grows so out of hand that the government declares a state of emergency.  She remains calm.  She nurses the child.  The infant continues to suckle with quiet passion.  Her eyes open and close.  Her tiny, pink hand rests on the woman’s flesh.  The woman uses her long hands to brush the creeping vermin off the child’s head.  She chants the thousand names of the divine mother over and over.  After forty cycles of chanting, the roaches enter into fits.  She watches their brown bodies shake as if charged with electricity.  She chants the names of the divine mother over again in rapt quietude.  The room fills with light—the nation fills with light—and the insects burst like soap bubbles; bugs burst up and down every coast.  A remarkable sight!  And the sound is like a billion Zen E bells ringing out over the purple mountains majesty and above the fruited plains.  The government lifts all warnings, all sanctions, all curfews.  Though the woman becomes a national hero, she doesn’t move from the rocking chair.  She continues to nurse until the child decides she’s had her fill. 

April & Poetry 19


Blameworthy
It’s trendy these days to take the blame
For spreading il-, ir-, un-, im-, mis-, non-, ex-, dis-
It’s cool to take responsibility, 
and body slam it on the pavement of the
information superhighway that I built in your mind.

If one places responsibility on oneself,
points fingers at oneself,
voters will enter Samadhi
and whatever will lame will b-. 

April & Poetry 18


I (dot) com
I, eyes.  I, mouth.  I, crisis.  I, aching.  I, startled.  I, desired.  I, awake.  I, humanity.  I, ecstatic.  I, she.  She, leaping.  She, composing.  She, ruling.  She, mothering.  She, divinity.  She, exploring.  She, he.  He still hangs.  He climbs mountains.  He proves.  He can smolder.  He rises.  He denies his womanhood.  He, I.  Ex-I, re-I, un-I, ir-I, in-I.
I, first.  I, person.  I, narrative.  I, is.  I, overrated.  I, and.  I, like.  I, so.  I, passé.  I, rejoice!  I, re-juice!  I, juice!  She, juice!  He, juice!  We, juice!   

April & Poetry 17


Desert Grammara
Listen to Les chant about Chance’s choice.  North.  South.  East.  West.  Send.  Press send end call press pressure gong sound send sand through throat.  Her Ex- exposed her extra explosive excitement.  Now she’s here, shoving me into this desert, which is really nothing more than an Ex-plain.  Why does she shove?  She used to press, but now she wants to hush love.  Shhhh.  Love.  Shlove.  She tries to ex-press love.  Shove and shout to get the shhhh out.  She’s as impulsive as she is pulsive, as impossible as she is possible, as irritable as she is ritable.  She’s excessive and cessive, exciting and citing, excruciating and cruciating.   

She is static. 

She is ecstatic.  

April & Poetry 16

Vacationing at the Post Coast


Postman boyfriends me.
Postmodern dating site described him as into lip service.
Postcard image promises
Post-apocalyptic panties.
Says he’s completing a post-doc fellowship as the
Selenoplexia poster child.
We go to that trendy, post-war place.
Later, post-kiss, we
post an ad on craigslist.
He asks me my plans
post-life.
I shrug, and say maybe
I’ll blog.
He shares a secret,
wishes he could
hold
postage hostage.

April & Poetry 15


Egoista

Whip Cream tells me her ego is made from milk.  Contrary to popular suspicion, Ego does not affiliate with Igor.  In fact, polls support Ego’s lead in Ohio.  While U.N. speeches lack ego of years back, Greeks protest ego measures.  Ego hits Syrian military headquarters.  Wall Street turns egomaniacal.  Ego deaths rise in New York City.  Investors high-speed trade their egos for data-enhanced servers.  Egos dissolve off the shoulders of drug-enhanced egomedia moguls.  On Friday, we met to ego all night long at the egothèque.  After the morning yoga class, we tossed our egos into the Chalice Pond.  When they broke through the water’s surface, they made ripples that sounded like this:  long, long ego an echo of ache glow inflated and let go.  California allows ego-less drivers.  Radio waves send these words: Have you seen the new spy thriller Egoland?  Download a new ap for your ego.  Enter the freeway and drive West at light speed.  When the sun strokes your ego, ah!  Be burning delight!  Be naked wonder!