Friday, May 25, 2007

Our Creator, dimensions, seeking & meditation

There is and can only be one Creator, Who created all that exists, including man and angel alike, out of that which was not as yet even nothing, simply by speaking. Our Creator does not exist; He created existence itself (though He did permanently manifest Himself into it later for us). You see, He is; which means that "being" and knowing is greater than existence and thinking. Thinking is not knowing, and neither is thought knowledge. The "I think, therefore I am," completely misses the truth; however, "To be or not to be," is much closer.
       Contrary to popular opinion (i.e., Michou Kaku, a world-renowned theoretical astrophysicist), there are only seven dimensions, not eleven (in the first major level of consciousness where matter & energy exists), and no parallel ones. You see, he left out of his mathematics the absolute that each successive dimension must be perfectly perpendicular to all dimensions below, even if perpendicularity must take on an entirely new understanding (e.g., time is perfectly perpendicular to heighth, width & depth, etc.).
       Also, those of you scientists (who are wasting a lot of our money) building "gravity wave" dectectors are wasting your time, because there is no such thing by any means. And, perhaps much to your chagrin, gravity is instant across the universe; otherwise it would completely come apart and "evaporate" back into that which neither exists nor does not exist. You see, gravity doesn't take time, but it does take space, instant across it at all times.
       The event horizon of a black hole is the cross-over "(mem-)brane" from the fourth to the fifth dimension. You can only have two axes of rotation in four dimensions, but with the greater mass & angular momentum which a black hole has, a third "axis" of rotation could only manifest in the fifth dimension (non-locational, non-durational existence), which appears mathematically to us as a "singularity."

Meditation   "The process of learning how to control
      the mind/soul (i.e., to rein it in) and its emotion/
      thought (taking its territory), to focus it, to
      concentrate and then finally learning how also
      to make it just shut up entirely and listen intently
      within (for that which this world knows nothing
      of), all in the essential context of interaction with
      the breath (not control of, a critical difference),
      after completely relaxing with a comfortable
      posture (back straight, head aligned), though
      remaining perfectly alert, always remembering
      to discriminate between imagination & true
      perception (keeping imagination silent and
      perceptions shelved for later), continuing ever
      deeper & deeper within, toward being and
      knowing beyond existence entirely."

   So, go within or go without, in every sense of that phrase. And let not others, the world at large or even yourself tell you who you are, but seek of our Creator, Who knows who you are perfectly, within. There is no greater search, than unto Him for truth, being, perfect light, knowing and understanding.

How do I know these things? Let's talk and I will show you.


The elusive one

Melancholy calls and only sadness hears
and (while sharing brief respite with great joy)
looks back, shaking head…   knowing same

Same runs through great expanse of time
among no ken…   while none see
and Creator beckons away melancholy

Melancholy hopes for promised twinkling
while eye holds vigil, unveering
unable to help all who pass…   blind

Blind they go, toward end
with new beginning utterly unseen
last to see them go…   melancholy fading…

--RK, 4:08am Zulu, 8/18/06

In that quiet place . . .

In that quiet place, you can see forever
In my quiet place, I have great peace
In your quiet place, I hope for you such
In their unquiet place, I find desolation

In that quiet place, there is great treasure
In my quiet place, there is so much more
In your quiet place, I hope more for you
In their unquiet place, there is no one

In that quiet place, there is great solace
In my quiet place, I have great comfort
In your quiet place, I see that you care
In their unquiet place, demons hold court

In that quiet place, there are great wonders
In my quiet place, there is hope of promise
In your quiet place, I see you long for more
In their unquiet place, there is great pending doom

In that quiet place, there is great rejoicing
In my quiet place, I have elation and exultation
In your quiet place, you will find answering
In their unquiet place, there is only dread

In the aforetime…

'Midnight M'Oceans' Courtesy: Gary Clark

I stand on escarpment
looking into depths either side
of great joy and great sadness
where none can follow…   and hope.

And still (in standing), I hold back
all that could destroy me, but not alone.

I drop to knees, not all my own
and seek unto Him for respite,
weeping at such great joy and sadness.

I hope in such depths, seeing,
that one may share even experience
that which holds terror or exaltation.

Only the Ancient of Days has understood
to deliver, quell, quiet and fellowship
along the eternal hallway, where only
our Creator walked, in the aforetime.


--by RK, circa ~1999

Are you there?

You speak and I cannot hear you.
Yet again you speak; still I hear not.
And again, you speak; still yet I do not hear.
You reach not unto deep, only standing in shallows.

I weep at the quiet I hear, when you speak.
Head in hands, bowed low, I pray for you.
I cry again, deep calling unto deep.
You still yet hear not. Where are you?

I cry yet again, and nothing returns . . .
Then I whisper, "Are you there?"
Peering into darkness, I seek for any sign of you,
finding only faint images, fleeting through vapor.

My soul cries, fearing you are not.
Yet I see you, standing still, in shadow.
Hardly a dim glow, you shimmer not with life.
I turn again, unto life, hoping not, unto death.

   --for the rest

Glorious to none

As we go, we fall, 'til we rise.
Too many things to focus on;
too few things to work with,
and those who will never help.

We go down, until we go up;
when all shall then know, where
the River+ passes without notice.
I see its rush, glorious to none.

I hope I see you there, not here.
Without you, it's not the same.
Find Him, when you're alone.
In clamor, He is not to be found.

Quiet places abound; go within.
Only there, true stillness, silence,
and that which does not end,
boundless, has neither beginning.

   --for Don

I see Lain, walking…

She doesn’t need to look back;
she knows I’m there, not following,
hoping she can glance, askance from then.

For now, there is only future, yet unseen;
though nevertheless, yet seen, known,
understood in all its fulness of glory.

What have you seen within? Anything?
Only deep yearning hope that you will see.
Turn your eyes inward, toward within.

Or you will only see utter destruction, for
you have not sought unto being, only existence,
where there is only awareness, not knowing.

--RK, 5/25/2007
   …for Boa (Duvet, for Lain)

Where quiet could not endure . . .

Walking to gather in joy, betimes I sink to knees,
weeping, holding her 'round the waist, in deep joy
sought after in her greatest hope
of knowing that which does not appear,
whereunto few hearts seek of Him.

. . . she sat in hope, appearing unto desire,
appealing unto one for a sharing,
who knows how few aspire to ever know.

Not declining, he salutes her heart,
asking for prayer for each unto Him only,
Who knows hearts, who seek His joy and gladness.

Hoping against hope, I still wait and hope,
for just one heart to share that which
cannot be shared, in this world of violence.

I call quietly, heart unto heart, listening,
hoping for countenance of understanding,
and eyes seeing light unspeakable,
shared in din of silence, where quiet could not endure . . .

                  --for Ann (of Walnut)
   --Thanksgiving 2005, 6:50 pm


You think you've been everywhere,
and you think you know everywhen.
I know you have not, that you care not.
Still you swagger, unto destruction.

I have not been everywhere,
but I have been almost everywhen;
which makes all the difference.
Far from then, you can see everywhere.

You've been almost nowhere, hardly anywhen.
You look at me, with empty eyes and ears,
thinking you've seen and heard it all, but no.
Hope did not die with you; hope never knew you.

I found great hope, very early in this life,
and I knew where to go, from deep within.
But what about you, you all, who know not?
Who have never sought, that which meant most.

   --for K.Q.M.

It's okay

It's okay to believe, when you know it's true.
I've known for ages what must make you sad.
And it's still okay to believe; it's all true.
There is so much more you cannot know.

I speak through a computer now,
with limited inflection, though enough.
Enough to fill in your own part,
always intended, though unknown.

Now that you know, don't let her speak,
not melancholy, whose voice only detains.
There is no time; feel the new velocity,
the speeding River,+ so much a blur, almost in focus.

Synapse to synapse to synapse, without collapse.
I move closer and you implode, oblivious.
Nothing I can do, you never looked within.
And you never told me, or you can't.

What you think you see in me
is only what I hope for you,
with greater earnest than you know.
You have to know, but you have to really want it.

   --for Mike (from 1969)

Sky unspeakable . . .

The Great Orion Nebula
So great a sea of quantic flux
between me and wondrous sky;
distance so short, quark to quark,
memory made clear in murk of melancholy.

Every detail's detail studied, my own;
and love for that sky in great exultation,
where sky, full in glory of gaseous nebula,
held this one's heart in soft crucible, before

I was brought here to find, that from within
which was far, far greater in elation
than all the joy found from before
I knew of this need, until one day

when, in my study, I laid head on folded arms
and departed that world for the first time,
and was carried to this one, in single purpose,
of climbing Jacob's Ladder, to Door of third heaven.

Carried, incapable of taking the final step,
that Door, opening unto eternity itself.
"A man in Christ above fourteen years ago, ...
  such an one caught up to the third heaven."+

Three years remembering second heaven,
carried through precious Threshhold; then
(among that cloud of witnesses who watch)
unto third heaven, unto paradise itself.

   --for Him

Death waits . . .

Death speaks and you shudder; but you're still listening.
Death whispers, and your neck hair straightens.
Life happens, so full, yet you're bored!
Still, death holds dark fascination.

Why? But for fear, you still approach,
neck hair still, rigid, and you move yet closer.
Life beckons behind you, has always been with you;
yet death drops while you heed no notice.

Humor sits in a corner, eyes riveted on you.
You make no notice of your own unconscious dismissal.
You smile, seemingly arm in arm with life;
yet you walk in death, fascinated, without life.

Your legs stalks, your eyes windows unseeing.
No more hackles, no more stiffening of muscles.
As death became your friend, life stood weeping.
Someone plays single notes on a piano, just for you.

But only in requiem, one you will never hear.
Time to weep for the lost, who would not find,
not knowing that all their life, they were alone, within,
while life yet weeps, and death, still, awaits . . .

Yes, I've seen it

How was it?               You don't want to know.
Where was it?               It's not a matter of where.
What is it?               You'll have your time.
'Time'? Begs when.               Soon enough, perhaps not.

         [Okay, we know what it is.]
But why?               Your rabbit hole isn't mine.
Rabbit hole?               Yes, you broke ground, not sky.
Sky? We own the sky!               Really? How did you miss it?
Miss what?!               'What'? We won't explain how.

Fooled again+

Yeah, I watched it all from inside.
Even those who saw me, didn't see me.
Sad, isn't it? What can I say . . .
I saw all of you, sidetracked, and you missed it.

Manson,+ the war,+ hip, unhip, none the point,
which directed no intention within,
anywhere, not anywhere, where you weren't;
though you thought you were, so sad.

You didn't know me then, and most never will.
Will you see it now? Even Kent State+ didn't help.
No, it's not politics, religion, sex, even drugs.
It was all about the call from within, that

I heard in 1964, which you thought was something else.
It never was that, and you missed it entirely.
I hoped then you heard it, as I knew I had,
but you took a tangent and were carried away;

Where there was no where, still missing it.
I tried to help, but you wouldn't let me.
Rather you tried to convince me, of that
which I had set aside years before . . .


a slow breath for death
in heavily     and out
he's floating     floating
unnnnnhh     ohhh
floating     he's lying     floating

in a panic she splashes
thrashes through the water to him
limp     sogged
dead to the brim

overwhelming quaking
oh my God     he's gone
Maaarrrs     noooo

made his marker
name     dates carved
it'd been a year
bare sod
gray     empty+

"I wanna be a policeman
 ana     ana     a     a     fireman
 yeah     an I can spray the water
 see     an stop the fire
 pishhhhhhhhh     pishhhhhhhh

In memory of Marshall...
[published in the New York Quarterly in 1979]

Quiet road

quiet road across lake behind island in the midst
I came for you, the part of you
no one else knows, barely even yourself.
I see it, that concern you don't know
where to put, that quietly keeps your attention.

Your hope has been seen, now answered.
My being here was planned, but not by me.
Yes, there is more, a great deal more, within,
more than you've always hoped, much more.

I'm glad I met you, on your quiet road.
It's been a good thing, and I look forward
to your great joy, to see all
that you've hoped for, without words, inside.

From all that I've seen of the great tide
that first swept over me long ago
that I could never ignore, I knew
it would be for another, then and now . . .

Cloud of unknowing

small volcano in New Mexico with road to top
Shall I speak through fog or clearest light?
Where are you? I look and look and
despair of finding clear horizon, while
stars rise above smoke of destruction.

"I have finally found a way to live, . . .
         in the presence of the Lord."+
My words dissipate in fog all around.
You see me, but I don't know it.

Neither do you; I hoped you were there.
You heard, but you only played while
I climbed through deeper/higher consciousness
leaving you behind, a sad smile in cloud of unknowing.

I have always searched for Him, while
He probed the depths of all that I was,+
hoping for His glory, not knowing the greatness,
the wondrous grandeur of His joy in us

that I eventually found as He drew me near.
How do I tell of what only you must seek?
I can only point and hope you hear His call.
"I have finally found a place to live,"+ . . .

Almost home

Having looked and been where and what you fear,
you thought to prevent me.
Your words only lies,
this sleeper has awakened.

Your gom jabar+ only a distant pinprick;
you scream in my face, not seeing,
convinced completely that you have me.
I move easily on, you not knowing . . .+

From within, I watch through the years,
you, the latest generation of vipers;
you who "solemnly" invite while blocking the door,
going not in yourself, preventing others with lies.+

In the passage of time you will have never been,
and we will always be, never knowing you ever were.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This is for you who must awaken,
always listen ever more intently within.

It is what you have always hoped
but never knew, hoping to come home,
not knowing how far you have been
while you approach ever deeper within . . .

Gritting teeth

Heart surges, slowly pounding, hands trembling,
fear I hold for you, in your end,
missing forever, forever eternity,
never really having known, even time.

Your heart never kindled
desire for what cannot be seen,
never held in heart-soft crucible
in pain of joyous hope, overcoming

this world who wrest it from you.
Your heart never keened for beyond,
splashing in shallows of dead-old glee.
What happened to you after weening?

Did you not look beyond? So sad you would not
weep for the daughters untouched, unheld,
the unsuckled, sent before electrons streaming,
never given hope of hope, only lonely dreaming.

I sit now in last moments of grief
for you who would not and will not,
who stand ground on no foundation
gritting teeth against utter destruction . . .


     I was young then, and now…, I still look within.

There’s a story in all this,
but if you want to hear it
instead of finding it from within,
you’ll have to talk to me.

Otherwise you swelter, swilling ignorance,
the same I found in nineteen sixty-eight
among seven older brothers, never known,
“confident” arrogance sealing their end.

What about you? Will you look?
For that which frees all hearts
who seek for it in all diligence
with overwhelming desire for nothing less.

I am here to help, but you must,
must, understand it is greater than all else,
but bring compassion, wisdom and understanding,
leaving all else behind, or lose it forever.

[Original titles: Finding It, then Losing It]

--RK, 5/25/2007

Disappearing feet

Went early and deep, within, gathering.
You integrated without, not noticing.
Warrior to water, let's trade secrets.
I know what you need; you know what I want.

As you make each move, is it slow enough?
Considered well? with right intention?
No, within, not with convention.
You see it in me; I see you, incomplete.

You've thought about it, and dismissed it;
but it won't stop coming to mind, unbidden.
You've always puzzled about it, just one step away.
Your feet seem to disappear when you try.

I've been long there, waiting, watching,
to see who is light enough, to rise from within.
You know what still holds you enmired;
release yourself and find depths within depths . . .

         --for martial artists

That you fall not . . .

It's been a comfortable place, lately.
I know you don't understand,
because I've been here so long,
the other side of the coin of melancholy.

Aside, I might never have seen.
Still I know there's real hope.
You're there somewhere, I'm sure.
I just hope I can reach you.

If only we could see beyond ourselves.
There was a time when I could.
I tried to hold onto it and
I still want it back ---

I have it again now, still on the edge,
reaching out, no one knows to reach back.
I feel the razor's edge, nothing unusual,
an easy place, after this long.

What holds me here? You not here.
Do you see? If I weren't here, you'd be,
and I could only wail at your fall
knowing you'd never rise again.

Run . . . !

How is it you're silent . . .   now?
You spoke long and hard, at leisure, dreaming.
I speak only a few words, and you stop.
You realize you have almost nothing, and look away.

Great treasure I've found, though not mine alone, within.
You've never sought after the one Mystery
I gave all for, nothing else worth knowing.
You gave nothing, not caring great treasure waited.

I sprinted from childhood; you still saunter through molasses.
...visited my third launchpoint today, 35 years back,
sugar-white sand then, dingy dirty now, ugly brown waves,
while seemingly mindless others wander on and off the beach.

You know where this is going, you've helped others.
I have, too. Still you won't look inside.
You think there's nothing there, but it's all there.
You have to know Him or you have nothing.

I have to walk in hope now, with faith unwavering
or all is lost. I hope I can help you,
but you gotta' reach back, deep within soon.
Time's running out, and you stand staring . . .


Almost seen / Being still

Sorrow mounts wing again,
this 'lost' voice with none to hear,
hanging weightless, universe amidst.
Few known, know not, and hope . . .

for comfort not sought . . .         within.
Ramparts of joy out of reach,
languishing they sit, anchored in sorrow,
sharing in false relief, without hope of better.

Perhaps I have helped, sharing,
though soaring high, deep in sorrow,
still, hoping for a friend
who may loose the great joy . . .

Outstretched wings covering, still,
great distance, effortless . . .
seeking wellspring to drink.
Lifelong search, almost seen . . .


The Great Serenity

Seen, not known, felt, not understood,
I stand on next mountain over,
one man who cannot help,
those who look not unto spirit.

When their end comes, they won't know,
lost all in clamor & false gaiety.
Our hope has still only found a few,
but it is most blessed, when we meet.+

Arms outstretched to sky in gratitude,
I see your serenity, disturbed by man,
yet its depth and surety is seen
by one who has also known such.

May the Great Spirit reveal the Mystery
I have sought all my life, and found.
1970, no greater experience before
or since all these years,+ in serenity.


No white flags . . .

You can't understand, but you want to.
I stand falling, it's so easy...
I'm glad to know you tried, it means more
than you can know. Wish you could.

How much love can one's love have
without sharing something of oneself?
Always loved to meet people,
you understand why now, I know.

You know that song, goes like:
"I'm in love, and I always will be."*
I can no longer escape, but to reach out.
It's plain to see you can hear me.

Always...         thank you.

(It's not just music... *White Flag, by Dido)



Not them, these, through which a few have
walked only into the foyer, just standing,
no matter how great the treasures beyond,
nothing of which can be given away.

As a woman searched long to find one
silver coin, and invited others to rejoice,*+
no one came to this one's invitation, still
searching for one who seeks the Mystery.

Sharing which can only be with those
who also have stored up such joy,
with whom only then can be rejoicing,
when all before will not be remembered.

Else how can joy be full, with
memory at all of what was, in that
place where all is oneness, with
no room for that which divides.

               *Luke 15:8-9


Fly spec .

Large as life, fly spec yet am I .
View, as though from great distance,
close as the pore on a face,
better than wall-size HD TV.

The fly seemed normal in size;
saw him up close only once.
Now, still, great vistas pass.
Outside in sun, dried up would I .

In dark of night, time, much time,
without sleep, and all that's left,
stillness, thought and emotion with
next day dawning as another aeon.

Night again approaching, calm, I sigh,
ready to catch last breeze from within.
Having waited patiently through the day,
filled with clamor, affectation & nothing talk,
               this dust mote moves on . . . . .


More . . .

Words multiplied, divided, subtracted,
only a few gems left, yours.
Offered now these few to engender
search beyond all for more . . .

Walked down a Toledo tree-lined lane, shown
grandeur shining in luster of full elation, 1971,
quiet, stillness, silence, only feathers rustling.
Lurked further within, knowing more waited.

Saw His glory like never before, such
wonder of what He shared in great beauty.
Decades later, one friend close reminds,
"May you walk in beauty."

                  for {{{(((Tachia)))}}}

The cable guy goes canoeing

Okay, downstream should be -10 to +5,
upstream between 40 & 50 dBmV*,
yeah, and signal to noise ratio 30 to 40.
Change those fittings & splitters, too.


No upstream here, downstream equals zero,
no sound except those of smiles
swirling paddles in elated depths,
avoiding rocks, whirlpools & the world.

An easy stream, sighing deep relief softly,
of man, canoe and quiet flowing water.
Easy breath soothed in upstream breeze.
Sandbar ahead, time to stretch legs.

No music to disturb the Rivers' canon,
'midst time stretched wide and long,
hoping for exultation riding elation,
resting on edges of eternity & home.

*deciBel milliVolts:
         (optimal signal amplitude carried by low voltage)


The one Great Mystery

From dense fog of deep sadness,
emerging in painful breath with
a quiet sob, hoping for better,
I look earnestly for tearless days.

Bright faces, pale in dark of emptiness,
gaze exitedly back in counterfeit of life
they think is real, but alas only flesh
mixed with no mind of keening, dead itself,

without spark of life beyond this one;
which means all to one who seeks
the one Great Mystery of all the ages
only the Ancient of Days can reveal.

Sought after by those who know,
it is all they want to know;
nothing less of truth will satisfy
except our Creator Himself.


Glory whispering . . .

rainbow east of Red Mountain park northeast of Mesa
I have watched the sun set upside down.
"I am falling, I am fading, I have lost it all."...
"I am falling, I am fading, I am drowning,
  Help me to breathe; I am hurting, I have lost it all,
  I am losing, help me to breathe."*+

I was waiting, praying, thinking I'd lost it all.
I was watching, entreating, driven below the waves,
He helped me to breathe; I was hurting, thinking
I'd lost it all, I was losing, and He helped me to breathe.
Again I watched the sun set upside down . . .

I hoped you'd understand, but anger turned you away.
You were falling, fading, you were drowning;
unable to breathe, you were hurting, having lost it all.
You were losing, still unable to breathe,
and you glimpsed the sun setting straight up.

A shame you seemed an honest one,
I saw lifetimes ago when many suns rose at starset,
its glory, too wonderful to behold, whispering . . .
intricacies of starlight through darkness,
chaotic filigree of stardust elation interwoven.

*from Duvet by Boa, sung by Jasmine Rodgers

Quiet place of any other

university botanical park near Asheville
Amidst rest, hardly entered into,
through high doorways most know not exist,
this one couldn't help but "stumble" into,
coming out of the world, away from utter distraction,

fully intended to keep one away from
the one panoramic display of the unuttered,
unknown by anyone else, accessed only by truest seekers
who find it in elated surprise of deepest, quiet epiphany,

within, a place most know nothing of,
invisibly inlaid into a clamorous world, full
of nothing which points toward deepest truth,
this one had to leave to find, from within.

Truth, only truth, nothing less helped to find
that which could not be otherwise found
by any means, not even by the deepest
vow of silence or the most penitent,

without being without all of the world,
fully dedicated to our Creator and none
other to walk with Him in places
He would not share with another.

I hope my words tell you something,
I cannot tell you; preludes to glory,
things far deeper than this, are.


Far on . . .

Desperate after the perfect glimpse+
for more, I knew what I was up against.
So I dug deep in like never before.

Flesh behind, I used tools already developed,+
sharpening them in another battle, one
I knew was coming sooner, not later.

I'd been pushing through all envelopes.+
Looking back, they thought they had me,
knowing I'd not been up against such before.

But I had a decades-long practiced edge
against their deep, sharp angst and hate.
They had no purchase, not knowing.

They knew where to aim, but privily I took
their blows aside, dealing with them at leisure,
carving up their attacks quietly.

No one else there, but I wasn't alone.
I left them behind, battling emptiness.
Close engagement over, I moved far on . . .


Nevermind / Let go

      (To the fatherless child, without mother:)

Not every poem seems like the last, next to eternity,
but I'm up against the end of forever;
so listen close dear ones, others nevermind.

Nevermind they were/are always right,
no matter that thinking isn't knowing.
They lose now, and then in utter destruction.

I'm talking to all you on the fence
looking at those in the valley of decision,
wondering which way to jump, fearful.

You're "chance" better than theirs, perhaps,
but don't make the fence your home.
You know which way to go, life or destruction.

A fatherless child, without mother of truth,
you've run hither and yon, hoping for snare
of love to gather you in, but ya' gotta' let go . . .

. . . of lies and hate.

Considered titles

“Love me, love me, say that you love me.”+
   Yeats, Keats,, had nothing on me
      You’re not going to understand this
         Understanding the ‘felonious’ mind
            Ignore the poem, read the titles
               I’m sorry, I didn’t expect that…
                   You didn’t tell me the rest
                      The emperor has no clothes
                         Freedom of consciousness
                            Counting crow
                                  16oz 3.2s+
(So many titles, so little time…)

First beer, no problem, two same thing,
three, okay, feeling a little better now.
Attempting escape from things I can’t change.

Four now, not enough yet, a little better.
Five, I took things they didn’t know they had.
I tried to give them back; they didn’t know me.

Six deep+, sigh, okay, that’s plenty.
They were things I had already before taking theirs,
things they never knew they had, ignored, quietly
put in a closet, never used or even glanced at.

You know how it is, one beer and you’re alcoholic.
It doesn’t matter you never get drunk.
One sip and that’s exactly what you are.
There's no escaping their ‘inescapable logic.’

What they don’t know is I went far further, before.
No, it wasn’t crack, crank, meth or ice, etc.
It+ was much warmer, soothing, escaping flesh before
‘those in the know’ passed ignorant law in ‘justified’ arrogant fear.

Making the understanding mind felonious…

   --RK, 5/1/07

A rabbit hole deeper

"Lucy in the sky with diamonds,"+
Yellow submarine, blue meanies,+
Obleo and his little dog Point,+
then back to Alice in Wonderland+
sitting in her restaurant, smiling . . .

. . . like the chesire cat, one tooth glinting,
both palms out, a blue pill and a red.+
Found how deep the rabbit hole went,
but it didn't go to wonderland.
Found a melancholy man behind four doors.+

First tamed an undisciplined, scattered mind,
then took the "blue pill"+ to wonders far
beyond the world, the universe and all in it.+
Stayed a few lifetimes, with reluctant return
to the same I'd left behind, not one step ahead.

Reaching out, next to none respond, still
not fully understanding even "wonderland."
Fantasy never what I wanted, only the Mystery itself.
Now I struggle against mankind's straight jacket
trying to reach the few who are left . . .


For those who detract . . .

You 'think' I'm playing, as you have them believing,
'positioning' yourself against me, your podium reeking evil.
We both know it, and you dissemble to eager ears of ilk
I've dealt with before, hissing vipers, ravening wolves.

In earnest, I entered the deep ahead of you.
You never saw me until hearing swirls.
Sensing me near, you crouch, looking around.
Still not seeing me, I prepare to decapitate.+

You find yourself back in the dry place,
the dry place you hate, even preferring swine.+
Yeah, I know it's you, I saw you coming from afar,
and you still don't get it, in arrogant rebellion.

An easy battle, where you thought you had me . . .
I take a soft sigh, shaking my head.
You still can't figure it out, can you?
Well, I was way ahead of you, even back in 1970.

                  *still standing*


Satan bargains, loses again . . .

Befriended before knowing, made no difference.
Promised help finally came, under authority.
Off the 'rez then, in bondage against threat.
So long without fear, this was no challenge.

They spat on him, called him babykiller.+
At the airport they had waited, not knowing
he would agree with one to kill another.
No one else was hiring & a hundred twenty died

among living dead who contracted with death.
"A hundred sixty-seven ways to get away with..."
a hundred twenty, now headlong toward destruction,
. . . while spitters sit comfortably, uncaring.

Satan's chosen found fear instead, against faith,
could not kill this one without fear & sought comfort.+
Left him confused and paralyzed, knowing with
third strike he'd never see grandchildren again.

                           --for Billy,


Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Inclamorous heart

taken of lake in Black Mountain from under park bench
Clamor awakens not, rather is sleepe of death.
Inclamorous, awakening others who search,
not finding, who nap while waiting, until
the appointed voice is sent, whispering to awaken . . .

all who hoped for so long, heart deep
in faith, knowing it had to be.
Hope not unfounded, answering awaited hearing,
always in pangs of travail, listening.

Sorrows too many, yet hope in faith, lives
unto truth, long awaited in patience, hoping
to hear what must be true, unconceived,
yet loved wholly, in trust of the Ancient of Days.

New life now awakens in fullness of answering,
keeping every hope, delivered to inclamorous hearts
who waited in sure faith of perfect answer,
completely fulfilled in clear epiphany.


. . . exactly why

      (I can't cry then . . .)

No one will say I told you so;
You won't be there to hear it.
Sorry you won't listen now.
To be or not, your choice.

I can't worry now
for what "the world" thinks.
Their own thinking preventing knowing.
And they're so "right,"

it just doesn't matter.
Bad thing is, it never will;
and they'll never know,
because they never wanted to.

Why? I've known forever,
         . . . exactly why.+
         Why don't you?


One question

Love, friendship, companionship, understanding;
hate, enmity, negotiation, compromise.
Decisions: full cup, empty; bereft, overflowing.
You walk in vacuum, willingly unknowing+ . . .

Ambling without compass in self-imposed boredom,
you saunter through morass of empty entrainment
without even a penny in your beggardly cup,
against the sidewalk of forever, eternity whispering . . .

I walk by slowly seeking the faintest glint
of something worth retrieving from destruction,
finding only seared conscience, waiting
for next show to fill the terrible emptiness inside . . .

swept clean, wasted time's bones strewn about,
you just outside the door, in empty denial within
you never explored while not searching for truth
and the One Who created all . . .

One question . . . Why?


I knew I was going to have to work hard,
but I'd had a good start, not realizing.
Eleven now, no one around seemed to know
there was far more than five, even six, senses.

Twelve, dug in deep and set off, gentile's bar mitzva
in hand & commitment to nothing less than the truth.
Learned electro-chemical language of breath first,
then to control it, imperceptibly slowing it.

Fifteen and brothers gone, six-hour meditations hung
me beyond space/time, but I had to know how
long the middle breath was. Clock-checked it,
forty-five minutes and hyperventilating still . . .

Sub-autonomic breath+ only brought in oxygen.
Had to slow it, too, or tingle head to foot.+
Learned a few years later some called it pranayama.+
No reading on or meditation teacher of, learned on my own.


First steps within…

     (Happy Mother’s Day)

“Sit down, put your hands in your lap,
  no fidgeting, no looking around.
  If you need to go to the bathroom, go,
  come back, sit down, be quiet,
  no looking around and sit straight.”

It was okay, it was time for Mom to cook supper,
no one else to watch this active young boy; only
once in a while though, but I learned to think.
There was nothing else to do for an hour or two,
and while thinking, I found that quiet place inside…

Within, which I would soon deeply explore.
From age three to nine, I sat from time
to time & learned to appreciate stillness;
and the quiet helped me hear things other
little boys knew nothing about…

that words couldn’t touch, not even these.
It’s how it all started, and she knew; and though
she didn’t understand, she knew to go with it,
while she busied with biscuits and stuffed bell peppers,
eyes curious, watching while I took first steps, eyes closed…

         …unmoving, from across the dining room…

--RK, 4:49pmCST, 5/23/2007