My face is boiled in a frown.
Now my face is cool and free.
What is it like to be relaxed?
I'm bushwacking through life.

my crown is a circle
my gaze, full of calm feeling-but
how can I follow a plan
with this history of caution and suspicion?
a voice of bold seniority,
a mind paused in a stern stand-off
will thaw into fluid and sure action.
I am the mystery across the river from the town,
but high society will bend to kiss my hand
Looking at youth well spent
and approaching something more
a moment at the gate, under the grand feather.

reflection, boldness, the magic act.

possible new years resolutions

Always reading poetry and novels
being a home body
piano lessons
letter writing
relentless expungment of imagined judgments
remembering"who wags the dog" or Apply Your Mind
Shambala study
Build House
Plant cover crops and spread compost
go to new york more
daily plans and lists

I look out the window, enchanted by the falling snow. By enchanted, I mean-my heart is suddenly eased of its reactions to my preoccupations, it feels simplified. My present problems(meaning the things I feel defensive and uneasy about) are with people who are angry or contemptuous of people who don't believe the same things that they do. I guess that everyone must be a little guilty of that, because I am feeling angry that so many people don't value the ethic of minding their own business when it comes to matters of personal belief and inclination. I suppose the people who I am angry at have every right to believe they should come out with axes swinging, and it's my job to care for my own well being by sidestepping them and not angrily trying to convert them to the belief that they should leave me, and everyone else who thinks differently, alone.

Whenever I flood feelings in strange dark purple suspicion, I swoon to life entirely.

friend, how common it is
for us to work side by side
every day at ease with our labor
but to reveal my murky depth
alone before the world
is sad and serious
I dreamed of pretty poses representing romance
but a wall of hard sense
set its stick down.Wanderers, your drama is played out in real cold
and death is a relief
around the corner
all I do is worry,
will strength make me distant?
life is a rush
outside the eternity
of benediction.

The smiling Sun sees everyone as a child
but night time too sparkles in daydreams
the woman who looks out at the world from her home
has achieved so much,
but cranes to see distant visions, and the arrival of powerful allies.
Beauty as it is, beckoning and human
must never force itself forward
To hide somehow in all that is safe and good,
or to fret over the spindly growth she has worked so hard over?
The holy water that heals is near,
I'll just take half a cup.

Here we have it
and it makes a pedestal
and a fence with garlands
in former times we were rich
in love
yesterday the mind
and now we gather guns in
the rubble.
The brooding moon sends
dashing bats
and mysterious bottles
a path is clear
and a heart alive
if the nightmare ends
will I have to wake up?
my searching and spying
are one thing
the tune I play for the angels dance,
another.

The work of the day is always well within my reach. The strange strain I’m under is entirely of my own devising. I just need more oxygen. What is the cure for a metallic feeling? Caution is my problem. A physical feeling that the strings are too tight from organ to organ. On the up side, myself contains a wonderful vast blue plain exactly like the sky. A truth so beautiful and bright that it could become the sun of a universe. Oh strain, how I hate you. I was created without patience. How can it be fair that God created such fools and expected them to be so wise? I think I want to be a parasite on some great source of strength. Sometimes I feel that there may be a parasite draining me! Some people make me think such complicated thoughts that I hate them, because I am a simpleton. But, there’s always the vast blue sky to sooth my mind. Here’s such a laugh for me: the mistake people make in the quote “music soothes the savage beast” which is really “music soothes the savage breast”, and what makes me laugh so hard is the idea of some poor fool trying to play music for a savage animal and getting ravaged. There aren’t too many angry beasts that music would calm down. Maybe snakes. I would say the premier aspect of being me is my response to beauty. Oh how I love beauty and color and intelligence and comedy. I think I’m like David dancing before God. When David danced for God, God struck dead the people who laughed at him. How wonderful. Beauty washes over me like the slow motion lover of my dreams. Just my front yard affects me that way. I live in the country, but what I liked in town living was rainy warm days when the house was clean and sanity united the indoors and outdoors. I like how beauty holds me still. I feel almost obliged to be more than I actually am, so you could imagine the strain of that. Guilt over things I can’t control and could never control. That gnaws away at a person. I need all the comfort I can get. I‘ll enter another dimension when I die, and be relieved of self. That dimension is like math made of feelings. Like a musical silence. Proportion there makes any pain orgasmic, in the sense that feeling ripples through you with no analysis, and that makes it bearable. I think there are many other dimensions, and the movie Holy Mountain hints at the nature of the difference between realms. One thing dimension speculators seem to share is that animals can talk in other worlds. It seems funny that this could literally be true. I feel like a talking animal. I think trees exist in many realms at once, and all the dimensions exist in one location. Here is a phrase I read today, ”sweet danger”. I wonder if that’s the meaning of our world. Here’s another fun fact about me, I encountered real demons and they are so horrible they sent me running like a stark white shock with hair standing strait up on end. They’re so much more than humans can handle it’s like vicious timber wolf with rabies vs. sleepy kitten. I wonder if other people I know have encountered this. My friend James said he met the New Jersey devil, and it was no joke to him. I suppose these are the beings behind human violence of a certain sort. Humanity isn’t to blame for certain things. People never seem to know what’s hit them, but they take on blame like abused children. I wonder if this is the meaning of the apple in the Garden of Eden. Beings not equipped to understand right and wrong got exposed to information about existence that made them blame and resent and analyze. Maybe these functions were never meant to be. My pain feels exactly like a creature trying to carry out a process it was not designed for. Gurdjieff wrote about that in Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson. He misunderstood some things though, because I read some more compelling explanations for things by an anonymous monk who wrote essays about the major arcana of the tarot. Deeply I’ve felt the assurance that things will end well, but they aren’t seeming right yet. I feel like I could kick my mind to make it work like an outmoded machine. Maybe if I took every act as a symbolic ritual I could escape my normal mentality. I would sure be acting strange. Of course my troubles don’t amount to much more than a few aches and pains. There’s no urgency to change since I’m so happy. There’s just that nagging vague notion that I’m functioning without key information. Like a horrible awesome flat suspense just hanging there forever. Blank…Something like that.

When beings move in heaven, they don’t need to create momentum, but only float from their inner directive, always lifted in the buoyancy of that dimension. That’s why dancing there involves a choreography like giant flocks of birds or puffs of pollen in a breeze. Everything in our sky reflects heaven as trees and wind connect worlds.

Heaven is in the sky, just as the conventional wisdom says, but it’s dimension is sharing the space of our sky. Heaven isn’t far away! It starts where our feet touch the ground, and the ground is its’ anchor.

Sometimes I feel like I’m on a spinning wheel looking at things from every angle, or on the swinging ship ride at the fair. For example the view that by living with my parents I’m in a frightful nosedive, is the counterpart of the view that I’m part of a miraculously successful social experiment where all members of this extraordinary household are combining elements in balance with skill that would defy logic and gravity. The view that I’m in an ordinary situation also lurks nearby. The whirl around these points of view and every nuance in between, is one of 1000 streams of comparison that spins me in this monotonous perpetual identity crisis with no concerned party but myself, and sometimes not even myself.

I wonder why it seems I see the world through rose colored glasses when I’m stalked by such insidious demonic hecklers. Maybe because I see them through rose colored glasses. I know that life is hard. Hard as a rock.
Do you like puzzles or not? If you don’t you may as well die. Well, not if you can turn your mind off, but a mind that works unhappily at it’s essential function is doomed, I think. Have we been dead, or not? It seems plausible that before our births we were dead.
Radiant red music that can’t be turned down. Long sustain relaxing into rhythm. Sudden quiet. The wild rattle pounds out after, with that suggestive pulsing pounding keeping something steady.

Many times as I drive by another car I imagine the ACTUAL crash. You can do that too.

What I wanted to do was walk into the heaven I’d been imagining in the back of my mind. The opposite of the many hells I could tolerate easily. My tolerating skills would lie there limply. Some new shape of me would remain with the agony dissolved away.


I work on a street of dream-houses. All day I do easy things in a beautiful house. The inhabitants of the house are charming. They’re very thankful to me. I like it that they treat me as if I had worked magic. I like it that they’re beautiful and well to do. Being a housekeeper is good because you become very important as the only one who can find things. I think that people love significant and insignificant importance just the same deep down. I look at all the horrible judges on tv and if those people are important I would never skip a beat about being unimportant. Even truly wonderful and truly important people like novelists and poets and everyone who creates beauty, I think I probably create about as much beauty as they do. If I could do anything this evening I would be stepping out in the city in my new silver shoes. I would be going to an art event in a warehouse space with a party afterward on a roof garden, where the artist would put his arm around me and everyone would seem to have a crush on me. If I could do anything this evening I would be in a large sun filled workshop creating a playhouse with a garden rooftop and elaborate interior décor.

A list of my dreams:

The village of elaborate playhouses

The party boat with paper lanterns, that sails around the bridge of flowers.

The musical pantomime play “ The Elysian Follies”

The hammock amphitheater for music performances.

I grew up with his terrible temper.
I was afraid to answer when he called me,
and he even pretended to be stern when he called me for a pleasant reason,
as a joke.I cried and whined so much in general.Now I'm old
and he's old, and all I see is his sweet side.
I even feel endeared by his expressive towering rages.
He's a giant in the world of feelings.

tarot poem on recording day

Together we're alone
on paths of gold
I chase your scarf in the wind
with a wry smile
surrounded by the magic
of the Sultana
commanding water.
Oh the world within
shines light that can do
no wrong
divide the clouds
with the powerful wind
The old salt
danced a jig for all to see
sweet mystery
we peek around the corner at you
and refine the rains of emotion
with the eternal steady gaze.

Today I was divinely directed to rhodiola.The word just appeared in my mind. Earlier I walked with Eve in the graveyard. She thinks about her dead friend every day. I had had a brush with death, myself, and I sang her my gloomy little song. I miss saint lucy.Therapist extraordinaire.

turning in

Now we are listening to HP Lovecraft with the lights out and lying in bed. This music swells with crying crooning feeling, and I'm feeling like it's one of those things that brings the body along with the mind. I love being flattered, and I feel sated with praise. Sita made a poster as large as a wall with sweet declarative colors covered with facts and ideas to direct the world away from disaster. At times tonight when I sang I felt that thing I want to feel.

that is a little poem I wrote about hangovers.

Tuck me in my coffin mama
rock me off to death
I need a deeper kind of sleep
to finally get some rest

stayed up all night drinkin
and my spirits were so high
but now the torture of my shame
says mercy,let me die

Gravity connects me and without it I would float.Road.Sometimes I sing that word.I sing road. My sort of swinging like on a round train track, but just free and physical. The things I love so much about Borneo:the tribes know when other tribes are coming for a visit just by intuition-The dancing connects earth and sky.
Civilization is an electric trap.