These old songs I want to remember are an ancient doorway - an entrance to life's house where melody keys are a puzzle and perfect repetition illuminates the unlocked rooms of the mind. In ritual chant, a flood of consciousness flows almost seamlessly into the darkened corridors of the forgotten and unconscious; music is the soul's keyhole to insight. Spirit deftly sings through these songs - they're the spellings of life become animated, where swirling galaxies become the soup of seas and the backbones of DNA made spines that uphold on strings the world we get to see by dreams. Here, the incense smoke of life's flame is rippled by the breath of wind from the lips of shamans living in the eyes of animals who stalk these wild moments. These liminal moments when we sit in prayer, in trance singing the elder's songs, channeling the alchemical wisdom of ages. These songs that weave the patterned fabric that covers the hearts of every human, like a quilt. You'll hear this patterned fabric if you remember - so remember, this is where we're from! The songs that grandma sings & babies cry, that dolphins make and insects create with legs on wings, that runs the symphonies of forests and makes blaring in the silence of deserts. These songs are played in rush of blood through your own ears, almost hidden, but listen! The primordial beat of something we almost forgot; these old songs, I want to remember.
Can you only know immense suffering after it touches personally? Will compassion only be skin deep until the mortars break apart everything you´ve known? Who builds the walls between "us" and "them"? A wall is a division.
On windy nights, my cheeks touched with the freezing frosts of horror, I am left stumbling and gasping at endless hate Still warm to life’s goodwill, though growing cold by the second, and though my own hate cools, too, I try to catch what life remains with peace throbbing through veins.
Is it true The Wall Will Fall? Whose wall? I wonder when will bullets echo, and finally shatter into emptiness,
ceasing, and no longer hitting human shields carried as hardened human emotions.
What crumbles in the softness of tears?
Vulnerability is a human thing.
Every pool of blood,
it laps at eyes and hands and feet,
but festers only in those who swear it isn't theirs.
Buddha said breathe it in:
every scream, and fear and pain,
every ache and sob and shudder - every mortar, every dead child.
all of this is ours to breathe in and out, released beyond the borders and walls of experience. For each of us have these walls insde. Each constructed by every division. And renewed we will be, to go past these walls in ignorance laid, past the headless graves, where concrete turns soil. Here flowers grow again despite what they know - despite what they saw. Between the hard places and the soft. Heart. We don't have to try to heal the pain from these walls. The pain is too great, too deep in our viens. But Listen! What throbs! Memory touches deep into our cells. Life enduring through every imprisonment, every death and every ricocheted dream. Because oh! how our hearts keep persisting. Know we could be free. If the wall falls. All walls are just as high.
Poised between Heaven & Earth is life.
Humanity – pulsing like a heart at the hearth –
the sternum cage holding us in breath.
There is a better way than what we think we lack,
a way of being in service to that which we belong to.
Here, in the centre of all we know, of all we are.
Knowledge originates from a verb – honour & doing -
An inner explosion of Awareness to follow the journey, weaving
In & Out: a thread that joins together all frames of perception & experience.
The Compass, and a Sense of Purpose are tools from within.
Humour of sweetness; Sword of Precision; Map of Mindfulness;
and Honed practice of listening to what draws us here,
into the enormity of Heaven on Earth,
where we stand or sit or lay.
Our Mother is holding every story
of why our compass points towards reconnection with the web
we only thought we were no longer part of.
Never Separate - only in various states of re-membering this state; embodiment,
poised in life between Heaven and Earth.
in the world of dreams
i come to me, hanging on a thread of reality
- a spider dangling in the frame -
connected seamlessly in simple relation.
Eight legs for the eightfold path.
Cast up between heaven and hell, mountain and sky
in the centre of every duality, within and without,
I am in my own doorway
and my precious sleeping body is in bed.
The eye that sees I recognizes
my own fear, and i wake up
screaming from the spider,
and suddenly so aware of myself.
When is the last time you woke up,
unstuck from the glue of unconsciousness?
Hanging ,
I am seen so clearly and vulnerable
left exposed in the dark of bright corners
and light of hideous shadows.
Afterward, in the mirror, I see my my face,
carved in fine lines turned canyon
by all my relations.
The fabric of paradox is relational
and the confluence of merging
is emergence.
Everything that shall be, and is,
is here between us,
cast in the centre of duality,
dangling.
disgracefully we're too big to crash and yet the wall's coming on unpredictably fast coupled with natural capital decline we won't last because the cash cow is only cash past the slaughter house and with such a narrow focus we're too blind to see that to untangle this economic mess we need a different policy about what has value its fiscal responsibility to have measures of progress beyond GDP something easy to communicate with indicators that demonstrate human behaviours for true wealth to finally become non-disparagingly poor in money or health, mental we're masters gauging green transition to the new solar tech position economy past the debt and the lack the famine and the fat balance THAT spread sheet beyond the math, intangible love economy to value the fact that we're relations because what is measured matters Let this be inspiration to align with the abundant metaphor of the sun Run renewable run! its death-life-death-life full circle close the loop ride the cycles and harness the conveyer of the natural capital coup d' tat flexible platform and new lifeforms that grow eco-imagination solutions for a smarter planet are navigation to our future
we need investments time, energy money and heart, passion and spirit for this state of the ark don't skip a beat mr Bank and private sectors should rank natural value its a big bang for your buck to catalyze a green economy revolution is not speculation or luck with 4.3 trillion a year to kick start humanity past fear into the golden age let's live to turn the page to build societal trust clean tech, smart grid and leave the guns to rust no more fighting over fossil fuel we're free for mama earth to grow us true wealth as a self fulfilling prophecy if we see management of oikos as strength and what matters drop our ego identity with what will shatter when the bubble bursts Because It's survival of the fitting that fits us in the systems nested in systems in systems
we are enough, and we know when enough is enough but greed says this a hard one, it's tough a debt based economy means enough is never enough unless our consciousness shifts acknowledge instant gratification does not equal happiness multiplication of patience is the flow of life slow money is the economy so slow down and enjoy delights of this Earth's Garden, but to enjoy it right we have to be stewards keep wealth going keep money flowing because money is energy and stagnancy is disease and we'll certainly, most certainly never be free if we don't feed the cure which is pure return of exchange ease the pain use our brains reciprocity to gain back each other and trust all relations, all roles, all hands on deck so we can do our very best together humanity, drop the vanity thinking we're better than everyone and everything else because when we're trying to hoard only focused on self is a ditch beside the low road with risk of sinking on lower than low.
well-off is abundant and not narrow money minded abundance is the means and the end so let's intend that money be byproduct directed by socioecological sustainability to extend economy after all this pseduoscience is our super power ability so let's make adam smith proud with endless growth and grow life to infinity.
Ancestors whisper to me, I am on my knees. Show me. Swept off my feet, I wept with my head held high You, the colourful breeze swept by and I could hear in my ears the secrets of life in the wind, whistling and embracing me again, the breath of my ancestor kin. Remind me of my birth a dream of me on this earth created before our time prepared and planted my heart, my lungs, my mindI live and dance for the seed of what will become flourishing in collaborative deeds, past, future, and present , I am forever present in my breath. I want to sing with you the turtles to the sea, gather the sands of the desert and be a cloud nourished by the water and sun. Ancestors, I am dissolving into your breath, the wind, as one. Now I dream of you, as you dreamt of me, undone, becoming truly free. Oh, ancestors whisper to me, I am on my knees Breath to wind Tears to sea Personify in me the trees that grow like my hair and nails, your sunlight eyes have not failed to fill my heart. Whisper to me , Whisper to me Tell me again how you used to dig clams, I don't remember what they taste like. Tell me again what it was like to love. I am not forgetting, I am just evolving trying to remember myself.Tell me again, Who are we again? I cry on my knees. Whisper to me, Whisper to me, Whisper to me…. Ancestors in the breeze.
Inspiring words, spoken and heard
Old stories that freestyle me, tongue in cheek, rice and wheat.
Feed me, earth, we want to be free
Dreaming to be what you are, bring us back again
Full circle
way of the SUN
Club moss and tree ferns
We come from, I learn, a primitive seed
but I ask you,
how did we evolve into the greed that blinds our mind's desire?
Color me,
GMOh no oh no
Is this true, the path we go?
Off the land the water flows and into the cities the farmers follow and go
But by whose hand will the food grow?
Am I alone?
not Killing nor trashing, wasting nor smashing, nor creating any sort of do-dads
Because do dads and moms know
It's at our head that points the this time bomb gun?
Why do we think that making the bed isn't fun?
Grandma tells me in my unmade bed I'll lay
but damn, I cry!!!
These lessons I learn are hard for I
know there is only one way,
full circle, the way of the sun,
Either that or become
the void that exists in a clear cut forest.
Lessons to learn.
Fed me, free me, I am now thinking I would love to be,
Undone like the miles of genetics we think we control
Oh no
Mother earth, what is your word on this grip hold?
It couldn't possibly be that we control what took you billions of years of mastery to unfold.
Elder, tell me that this story has be already told
For I feel bold in this mystery
Awakened by the plight
and I know the day always comes after the dark cold night
To shine a new light,
Sun rise to sun set
The answer seems so simple in this circular mind set....
Full circle, I return to that
And the grip doesn't seem so strong.
But it still feels wrong.
We're at canter now, full on.
Running for the edge
Thinking science will fly usd past our broken earth an to the moon
But I am telling you another flower is in bloom
One that challenges us to embrace the bird
Don't identify with the shell
Instead listen to the bird, the one that hasn't spoken yet
but if a moment's breath is taken, can be heard.
And get to know your neighbors at that.
No way am I going to the way of the genetic patents.
I got too many years of genetic history to fall back upon...
Please, let us search our base pairs,
The answers must be in here somewhere!
We just forgot it
Harvesting and loving and struggling yes,
but at least we'll have pride on our breasts
because we have worked the land far much longer than we have ever eaten GMO
and word on the street is that changers are coming a lot faster than slow
so embrace the coming changing floods
because those masses spinning in the heavens know.
And be ready to go,
On a moments notice.
Why do processes of fragmentation persist when paradoxically all systems becomes more interconnected? Is it that the bridges between riverbanks, between us come second? How can change go beyond restructuring, and towards re-conception? Remember that the angle and angel that lets us free is the power of perception. Freedom is to maneuver, and we're losing mobility everyday when there is a patchwork of pieces that don't fit Together we'll weather anything. But we must start seeing the bridges between us, this is the social genius of our genus. Homo sapien Grow our brains again, so that we're many minds in the Mind frame, connected by intention of interconnection, when the bridges matter again.
I want to be a better person; a better friend, worker, partner, environmental steward, child, sister and better to myself and all my relations in my world. By referring to “better”, I do not use it as a standard of comparison made up through ego or society’s cultural norms. Better is not something consumable, nor something I accomplish so I may sleep more soundly at night. I do not use better to refer to some model which I want to live up to. Rather, I use better to refer to how much I participate in all of my relations. To me, better refers to my level of presence as I am being present in my life. I visualize this as the brightness of my true self shining and illuminating my relations through my light of living.
I describe presence as a mindfulness, or focused awareness. It is to look at life with an open and nonjudgmental attention and see our darkness in order to develop insight. He suggests it is the basis of all Buddhist practice and is the key to liberation. As I show up for my jobs, school or other relationships, I am being present. In showing up, I see my presence as attentiveness to life’s expression. Further, I see it as a simple and important gift which I can give. Giving my presence is what “betters” me.
Living my intention of being present, mind and body, in all my relations, I have become increasingly aware of myself and my surroundings. Moments when I “slip” into an less-present state now appear to me more obvious, like cutting myself badly while day-dreaming during the use of a sharp knife. I see these “slip” events as indictors of my presence and also as subtle (or not so subtle!) reminders to be more present in what I am doing. With more attention, I would be less likely to cut myself and could also practice using my knife with more precision.
While this simple example is true, I use it as a metaphor to suggest the path of presence can provide an opportunity for deeper personal work. As I am alive, I have an opportunity to participate within many complex relations. Just as I have a relation working with my knife, I have relations with myself, my family, larger communities, organizations and systems, like cities or ecosystems. I see that through my participation in these relations, each provides feedback to inform how I may become better present within them. My relations are like a mirror, providing reflection so I may see myself more clearly.
As I begin to see myself more clearly, I notice my “slip” events taking specific form through inner conflicts, burdens of my emotional baggage affecting my relationships and the challenge of facing parts of myself which are unfocused “rough edges”. I call these parts of myself by many names, because they have many faces; greed, self-absorption, guilt, shame, fear, gluttony, aversion, hate, laziness, apathy, and on and on. Collectively, I refer to these parts of myself as darkness, because they seem so opposite from my light. Though, I believe this perceived duality is only an illusion, because I recognize these parts of myself as extensions of a basic lack of presence. Furthermore, when I react to the challenges of darkness from a place which is not centered, they become even more sticky, crunchy or challenging, and often spiral into intense stress in my life. This stress manifests itself through physical or mental sickness and conflict with others.
My darkness is not only a source for conflict, because I also acknowledge that with the intention of being present within them, facing these dark parts of myself are true opportunities for transformation. As I do so, I become better informed of how I can participate in my life with greater awareness. It is not my intention to cast away darkness and promote only my light-self, for this is likely impossible. I acknowledge in myself both sides of these perceived dualities, and each provides significant information to re-form myself, to unfold myself, and to explore the mysteries of my true self. By experiencing this polarity of presence within myself, I further refine my presence and walk my red-road and spiritual path. Better.
These old songs I want to remember are an ancient doorway - an entrance to life's house where melody keys are a puzzle and perfect repetition illuminates the unlocked rooms of the mind. In ritual chant, a flood of consciousness flows almost seamlessly into the darkened corridors of the forgotten and unconscious; music is the soul's keyhole to insight. Spirit deftly sings through these songs - they're the spellings of life become animated, where swirling galaxies become the soup of seas and the backbones of DNA made spines that uphold on strings the world we get to see by dreams. Here, the incense smoke of life's flame is rippled by the breath of wind from the lips of shamans living in the eyes of animals who stalk these wild moments. These liminal moments when we sit in prayer, in trance singing the elder's songs, channeling the alchemical wisdom of ages. These songs that weave the patterned fabric that covers the hearts of every human, like a quilt. You'll hear this patterned fabric if you remember - so remember, this is where we're from! The songs that grandma sings & babies cry, that dolphins make and insects create with legs on wings, that runs the symphonies of forests and makes blaring in the silence of deserts. These songs are played in rush of blood through your own ears, almost hidden, but listen! The primordial beat of something we almost forgot; these old songs, I want to remember.
