NOWING IS HALF THE DANCE, KNOWING, THE OTHER HALF

THE CHILD IN THE MIND

The child anger is seen.

You are given permission to play in the mind.

There is no need to hide in the unconscious.

Nor is their a need to unmindfully express your self in the outer world.

Why burry yourself underneath awareness?

You know that will only reek havoc to the body and psyche.

And the unawareness of your nature is bound to cause harm if expressed outwardly, unless it is done with great care.

Do not worry my child, I know you want to be seen and acknowledged.

I will watch over you while you play in my mind.

And then one day when you are ready to grow your wings for the ascent, I will spur you on, and after that

transformation, when you aim your being to the height of the rose of love and enter it’s full bloom becoming love

it’s self, you will then be let out into the world to express you goodness.

A FRIEND STOPES BY MY HOME TO SAY HELLO

Often thought drops into my mind to say hello.

Sometimes for a minute or a year or a lifetime.

I think it to be who I am.

I momentarily take that which I think I am to be that who I ultimately am. “I think therefore I am” or perhaps it’s

“I am therefore I think” or “I am and I think” I don’t really know, but I do know that this is just a thought.

Or is it?

THE SILVER CROSS PEN

The silver cross pen does not know how or what to write today.

But That’s ok, because it now is content looking back on these few words written in blue ink.

And perhaps the reason that its contentment seams to be so, is that its expectations are low.

And simply gazing upon this seeming order of words brings this pen joy.

Joyfulness not in the ordinary sense.

But joyfulness that leads to more joyfulness.

This supposed pen which is stringing together supposed words in a supposedly orderly fashion, had a supposed

teacher, supposedly once upon a time that said… “There are two types of suffering, The first kind leads to more

suffering and the second kind leads to the end of suffering, in order to transcend the first, we must surly

experience the second.”

So finally after 3000 years of this silver pen beating it’s self up because it cannot find the words it desires, it is

taking this lesson to heart, and it finally pays attention to how it has been confining it’s self.

.

MISINTERPRETATION

You feel something.

You think something different.

Than you say something different than that which you just thought.

I here the words that you just spoke.

I think about those words and my thoughts move in a direction that does not reflect your words.

I emotionalize my thoughts about your words.

Are our thoughts about our mothers who are mothers actually are?

Your misinterpreted thoughts and emotions about me turn to words that my ears here.

I think about these words.

I emotionalize these words.

Now I can define my self?

Are our thoughts about our selves actually are selves?

I have a friend who I think I know so well.

I tell you all about her.

You take in my words.

You digest them.

They taste a certain way to you.

You think about and emotionalize them.

You interpret the fragrance of my misinterpretation.

BLOCKED?

Blocked to write anything of meaning or value.

Or is the block a figment of my imagination?

If anything, perhaps it is an imaginative block.

Wonderful in it’s nature, showing the flip side of inspiration.

The negation of the cognized.

No more but also no less important than that which can be perceived.

THE STEW OF ME AND THE STEW OF YOU

Mix it well, the stew that is you.

What ingredients has your past provided you?

What ingredients are you currently adding?

What ingredients are to come?

What is to come of the stew that is you?

Are you afraid of some ingredients?

Are you afraid to mix them up in the you stew?

I know I am, sometimes.

We are constantly stirring up, to the sides, and all around, the devils and angels, saints and sinners.

The judge within that is determined that it knows the difference.

As the time traveler said to the second in command on Star Trek; “SUCH WONDERFULL AROGENCE”.

Should we go on lying to our self, telling our self that the arrogant ingredient isn’t in the stew.

Perhaps all along we have been unconsciously adding a pinch here and a sprinkle there.

We are stews that are full of lies and full of truths.

Wonderful, filled to the brim with wonder, fully wondrous are these lies, these truths. So then, wake up and taste

the stew!!!

WE HUMANS

We humans, we humans, Sometimes we humans want to love one another.

Sometimes we humans want to kill one another.

Sometimes we humans want to help one another.

Sometimes we humans want to hurt one another.

Sometimes we humans want to talk about one another.

Sometimes we humans want to talk about our self.

Sometimes we humans want to express our self.

Sometimes we humans want to experience another’s expression.

Sometimes we humans care so deeply.

Sometimes we humans don’t give a shit.

Sometimes we humans want to get our two cents in.

Sometimes we humans are so spiritually, emotionally and mentally broke that we don’t even have one cent to give.

Sometimes we humans give all our sense away, and then we look back on our action and cant make any sense of it.

Sometimes we humans get a cold and lose our sense of smell and tast.

Sometimes we humans get our self into quite a zone, which can enhance the sixth sense.

Sometimes we humans just cant make sense out of anything.

Sometimes we humans make perfect sense to one another.

Sometimes we humans open up new doors in our life or in our psyche.

Sometimes we humans close doors.

Sometimes we humans look very deep into the dark and what we find is brighter than the brightest sun.

Sometimes we humans reach into the cookie jar for a cookie and what we don’t realize is that there is only one cookie.

The rest of the jar is filled with a thousand needles.

We happen to be lucky the first time, and that cookie tastes wonderful.

So wonderful that we go back for another, only to discover that when we pull our hand out of the jar, there are needles sticking into it.

But sometimes we humans are very stubborn to learn, and not until we lose a finger or two or worse do we stop trying to find the cookie in the places that cause us so much pain.

Sometimes we humans are very intelligent.

Sometimes we humans are so dumb that we make a pile of bricks look more intelligent.

Sometimes we humans get intensely used by our own minds.

Sometimes we humans muster up the knowhow to make good use of our minds.

Sometimes we humans are completely enslaved by our own minds.

Sometimes we humans have a wonderful relationship to our own minds.

THIS, THAT, THEN, AND THERE

There is a time and a place for this, there is a time and a place for that.

But we don’t let go of that, how can we experience this?

And then, when that comes we are stuck on this.

And sometimes this is so sticky, that we cant even go over there.

When we finally do get over there, its to late, or its not to late, but instead there becomes the fly trap, because the fly trap smells so dam good.

YOUR PEARL

My friend, just like the oyster lodges an irritant in it’s self, so have you.

And it is very painful.

Because it keeps rubbing against you.

It is lodged in your psyche.

It is very uncomfortable.

And it doesn’t go away.

What are you going to do?

If you know, are you going to act?

If you don’t know, are you going to try and find out?

WHERE IS SHE

Inspiration is here for us.

Let us hold out our hand and wait for her to fill it up.

And when she comes, may we not form a tight fist.

Not that she can be strangled.

Can water be strangled?

May we cup our hand softly yet mindfully.

Softly so she has a container.

Mindfully so she may be used wisely.

This is all she wants, to be held softly and used mindfully.

No sense in chasing her.

Where are we to go?

She is not just around the corner.

She is not in the next job.

Nor the next mate.

Do I know where she is?

No.

But I do know that she is closer to me than me.

And she is closer to you than you.

THE CAUSE

It’s not a subject in the mind.

It’s a feeling in the heart.

No, not quite a feeling in the heart.

It is, pre feeling, pre thought.

But it is a cause, for the current dance of this pen.

THE COWL NECK SWEATER

Your finally knitting yourself something.

All those years of knitting something for someone else.

Now it is finally your turn.

And now I have the material to knit you a sweater made of words.

CONECTING A FEW DOTS

Thank not just the chef, but also her teachers.

Thank not just the teachers, but there parents.

Thank not just the parents, but there friends.

Thank not just the friends, but there sons and daughters.

Thank not just there sons and daughters but also there pets.

Thank not just there pets, but also there pet food suppliers.

Thank not just there pet food suppliers, but also the inventors of such supplies.

Thank not just the inventors, thank there teachers.

Thank not just the teachers, but also yourself for being able to contemplate the interconnectedness of everything.

Who

This mind sais to this breathing body to write down these words.

This mind sais to it’s self in a somewhat subtle way that it is clever for doing so.

These emotions inside this breathing body emote a tiny sense of satisfaction comingled with a faint understanding that this is a mask that shields a face.

Who is the face behind the mask?

TOE GRATITUDE

The Lyric may affect your entire being, your whole life.

Watch it’s affect.

It may lift you out of misery.

Will you remember to thank that lyric, that poet, that ink.

Or will you blink, blink, blink, and keep blinking so quickly that you will overlook that aspect of yourself that is gratitude.

I Have two pinkies and two pinkie toes, which is a miracle in itself.

They are there all the time.

Stubbed!!!

Ouch!!!

Maybe that’s why we stub our toe.

But we miss the point usually, and become furious.

Furious over what?

Our toe for getting in the way?

Or better yet the wall for getting in the way of our toe?

Theirs another option.

How about, O shoot, thank you toe for reminding me of your existence, your assistance, and your lack of

resistance when my mind asks you to lend my foot a hand in walking me down the hall.

Windows

Windows are looked through.

Things are perceived.

How easy it is to misinterpret the scene.

What is it, to look and see?

What happens when the false is thrown into the fire,

and all that is left is the truth?