Somewhere over in southern Waziristan...

Somewhere over in southern Waziristan,
Bombs are falling
Kids are screaming
Schools are closing
People are running…
Away.

But life goes on.

Away from it all…
Away across the Ocean
Business is booming
Laughter is rising
Choirs are singing
Families are sitting…
Content.

But life goes on.

Content in their comfort
Until something disturbs them.
And suddenly—
The banks are crashing,
The people are frightened,
The wealthy are scrambling,
The poor are left standing
Alone.

But life goes on.

Blind and stubborn
The people in power
Continue to cower
In darkened corners
Giving grandiose orders
To kill
To destroy
To ravish and burn
To spy
To frame
To point and accuse

But life goes on.

Somewhere in rural New Mexico
Soldiers are sitting
At video consuls
Directing robots to
Stalk
Spot
Target
And fire.

Then, suddenly—
Somewhere over in southern Waziristan,
Buildings are burning
People are dying
Mothers are crying
The air is exploding…
Again.

Oh, when will it end?

When will we realize
How interconnected
Our destinies lie?

But life goes on.

Away from it all,
While choirs are singing,
People are dying
The poor are left standing
Alone
Again.
And again
And again
And again
And again

But life goes on.

Restless Soul Syndrome

I want to outrun my body.
I feel trapped inside of an inescapable prism.
Like a caged tigress, I am pacing
Back and forth,
Back and forth,
Back and forth—
Desperate to get out.
To be free.
To feel the windiness of exhilaration once again.

I crave Everything,
But Nothing satisfies.

What is this Cycle of
Irrational fear,
Overreaction,
Sense of relief,
Conditional happiness,
Judge-mentality,
Extreme irritability,
Impatience,
Instantaneous Anger,
Deep sorrow,
and
Lonely
Restlessness,
Which possesses my being
And refuses to release me?

I am isolated.

From everything,
From everyone,
Even
From myself.

I crave Everything and Everyone,
But Nothing and No one satisfy.

I feel lost.
I do not know
Who or where
I am.
So I just
Am.

Is that OK?
I think so.
But still,
I feel crazy,
Unmotivated,
And unsatisfied.
This is not me.
At least not
The me
I once knew,
The me
I usually know.
Or is this me?
Another part me?
Do I have a multiple
Personality?
Maybe.
I don’t know.
I no longer know
How or where
To begin,
How or where
To go.

But I want my freedom.
And I want it now!
I am angry.
I am tired.
I am full of pent-up energy.
I want to act impulsively.
I want to run, run, run
Away.

But to where?
I don’t know.
Just away.

Yet within the frustration
Of this moment
Is where I must
And need
To stay.

There is no escape
From reality
Except
To accept.
To sit down,
To cease my pace,
To stand face-to-face
With myself.

For the truly
Free,
Must fully
Be.

Wow.
That’s cute
And easy to say.
But too difficult
For me to do—
At least for today.

Ahh!
Let me out!
Let me out.
Let me out.

Tonight,
Life
Is slow and sweet
(and careless),
Like the sun’s last evening kiss
Before he finally withdraws behind
His earthen fold.

Tonight,
Life
Is soft and warm and dark
(and full of secrets untold),
Like the rich, black soil buried beneath
A twinkling navy blanket.

Tonight,
Life
Is full of slumber and release,
Like a flower’s gentle sigh
As she folds her petals in for the night
And waits
Quietly for the morning.

They all must wait for the dawn,
For that single second
When the sky first opens her eye
And enlightens
All those who watch and wait
With eager expectations.
Her brightness sparkles and dances
From one translucent tear to another,
Until one-by-one
The drops melt away un—
And then,
Suddenly,
There it is!
What they’ve all been waiting for:
That tiny, green toothpick-of-a-thing.

Oh,
The mystery of Life!
Of soil
And sun
And seed
And water.
How is it possible
That from their intersection
New life so often follows
And thus begins a living memory
Of their sacred, momentary meeting?

And how is it possible
That some consider using
Illegitimate powers
To squash
That tiny, green toothpick-of-a-thing
Before it ever has a chance
To blossom?

Yes, some say,
“There are so many flowers,
That no one will notice
If there is one-less
Today.”

Yet, some say,
“Is it not tragic
To break what is fragile,
And is it not unnatural
To break the cycle
Of what is so clearly
Mother Nature’s Magic?”

Hair falls out
From a
Neatly
Pinned
Bun.

Nothing stays
Where it should.

Everything bends
Towards chaos
Disorder
Disorganization.

A hand, my hand,
Reaches up to swoop
The strand of stray hairs
Out of my face
And back into its
Proper place.
But it will fall again.

Is this what Life is:
An endless struggle
Between things
As they “ought”
And things as they “want”?

Everything slides
Toward freedom.
Everything desires
To slip from confines.
Blessed
Beautiful
Free
And sometimes happy
Are those minds that
Finally
Do.


Certain things cannot be tamed
Or changed
Or explained:
How the river flows
From where the wind blows
The depth and mystery of the ocean,
Nobody ever knows.
But still,
Like soft, green leaves
Unfurling in the gentle morning sun,
Mother Nature laughs and cries and grows.

To learn from Her,
To live as She lives,
Is to ride the current of Life,
Wherever it goes—
Without painstaking plans,
Without perfection or years of preparation,
Without panic
Without fear of drowning or of traveling
A lifetime in the wrong direction.

To live as She lives
Is to throw away our mentality
Of tying things up,
Of caging things in,
Of always planning for the end,
When what would be better
Is to simply take a big breath
And finally begin.
To live as She lives
Is to run outside
And shake out every one of our hairs.
To live as She lives
Is to fill our lungs with fresh air
And scream as loudly and wildly
As we possibly can,
Simply because we can.
To live as She lives
Is to take a deep breath
And realize we’ve just uttered the oldest of prayers.
To live as She lives
Is to embrace the fragility of life
And dive daringly into the
Dark and dangerous depths of death.

To live as She lives
Is to let go
Is to let things fall
Is to die
Is to experience together
The danger and beauty and mystery
Of Life.
To live as She lives
Is not to hold on
Or even to know.
Rather,
To live as She lives
Is to let everything go,
Is to allow things to fall,
Is to embrace the unknown,
Is to feel the wind as it blows
Is to watch the flower as it grows
Is to become a part of the river as she flows.

let me go.

Yes, I'm broken.
But so are you,
and so is this
damn system.
So please,
get out of my head;
just let me go.

How did this happen?
How did I get here?
Where am I headed now?

I never saw this coming.
Or, well, maybe I saw it,
but I never thought
this moment
would actually arrive.
I thought it was only
an illusive mirage.
But now, even I
have been "lured"
into its entourage.
Oh, where will I go from here?

Am I broken?
Or am I, only now,
finally,
becoming whole?
How come
nobody ever taught me
how to lose control?
How come
they only preach
about how not
to lose your soul?
Please, somebody,
teach me -
how to live,
how to breathe,
how to feel free
how to be free,
how to be
me.

This is hard,
not easy.
So please,
Don't fuckin' tease me.

We all need
room to grow,
so please,
just let me go.
How?
Oh, I wish I knew.
But I just don't know.
So please,
everyone,
just let me go.

always today

Isn't it funny
- or actually,
isn't it tragic -
how the older we grow
the more we must relearn
how to play?

Why do grown-ups always insist
on being so serious?

The more we "certainly know,"
the less we are willing to believe.
As we deny, ignore, fear, and run from
the unknown,
we simultaneously forget
how to explore and question
and simply stand in awe
of life's many mysteries.

Our selves
no longer allow
our souls
to dwell long
in the magical moments;
we even arrogantly
(yet "rationally") assume
that "magic"
no longer exists,
so we invent safety nets
and stop taking risks.

Care and caution
are wise,
impulse and passion,
foolish -
we like to say.

But which is truly wiser:
To passionately live in each magical moment,
Or to cautiously plan for tomorrow
while it is still, always, today?

the art of breezing

Unexpected
like a sudden summer storm
or
a postcard in the mail
or
a call from a long lost friend.

Light
as laughter
and
as the morning sunshine.

Airy
as the gentle summer breeze.

Refreshing
like a glass of ice cold lemonade
after
the unpleasant flavor of spoiled milk
poured on perfectly pleasant porridge
or
like the coolness of a sudden summer sun shower
poured amidst midday heat.

Harmless
Hopeful
Beautiful
yet
Born to die
like the unfolding petals of a purple petunia.

Unpredictable
Amoral
and
Natural
as a yellow and black bumblebee
buzzing from one baby bud to another
before suddenly zipping off to somewhere,
perhaps to another sweetened spot.

Temporary
but
Tasty
like a stick of bubblemint bubbleyum
which lights and tickles lucky taste buds
before too much saliva slowly extinguishes
the poignancy of pleasure.

isn't it all
Marvelous
and
Mortal?
like the dribbling of a ball
or
the beginning of a fall;
it all begins
and
at some point
all art also ends.

Exhilarating while it lasts
yet
Destined to not.

Isn't it all
like this?

So let us listen not
to those who say
run
from all which rots
and refuses to stay.

Instead let us learn
from our ever-dying Mother
how to fearfully embrace
both the beauty of birth
and the destiny of death.
And let us learn
from our ever-living Mother
how to awfully enjoy
these present passing pleasures
which she calls today.