Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Itchy Condition

I am just buried under work for the next little while, not sure how long. So I am sitting here earlier than usual, fairly dog bone tired. Apparently I was more energetic back in mid February. At that time I was still laid off, had a couple weeks to go.

Speaking of itching. I bought some stuff on line. One of the things I bought is a telescoping stainless steel back scratcher. Sometimes a well scratched back is better than sex.

Itchy Condition

I've kept this long search
going because I've felt so
strange standing still here.
I've made a good nest
and the wind breaks well around
the walls but I itch,
hanker after ways
I heard you went, others go.
I want a good scratch.

February 15, 2009 9:48 AM

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Garden

There is a place for shrines, for ritual, for practice, practice, practice in the spiritual life. This remains true even without God at the heart of things, thus Humanists tend to form these relationships with the heart too. Even Communists hold their parades in support of their yearnings.

Certainly I cannot live without my practice. At one point I held a particular location on the Willamette River to be my power point. It did not matter that I could no longer get there. Later, the Willamette National Cemetary became a power point. Sometimes I go there. Even if I don't, it is still there in precisely the same way for me.

The Garden

At the far, far end
of the gravelled path I placed
a shrine on the rim
of the gulf between
you and me, in the garden
I planted for you.
You remember it
I know, the gated roses
overhead as you
enter and the paths
that wind among the plantings.
I find myself there.

February 15, 2009 9:24 AM

Monday, September 28, 2009

In Thin Air

I sometimes feel just like this. For example, some years ago I was sent on assignment to a silicon wafer facility south of Salem. I was completely over my head. That's how that turned out. It still would have been okay had I been given a supervisor who actually knew his job. We were doing the process piping hook up design. They gave us a plumber as a supervisor rather than a design engineer. That meant I needed about ten years of experience as a designer in high tech in order to do the job. I had no support from above and that meant I had to operate at the higher level. I failed. The whole time I struggled and kept surviving, I felt exactly like this. I could feel the gravity but I didn't fall. The wedgie was uncomfortable.

Then something happened. I had a small part to play in it but the main thing was the business maneuvers that were going on. I was fired summarily and basically escorted off the job. They packed me up after I was gone. I was fired to protect a future contract that was in process. This had never happened to me before, hasn't happened since. The fingers holding me in thin air opened and I fell hard. I was ten years into working for the company that assigned me to the work, had been laid off and was back working on contract. I have never worked for them again, knew then I would not ever work for them again. This was my sobriety job, working for this company. It was the first job I got after I got sober and gave me stability in the first ten years of my sobriety.

The rest of that story is that I have been blessed by being released from that company, but it was a painful and embarassing separation. There is are many reasons to commend the separation. It might even be this could be called a divine intervention to get me out of there. If so, God sometimes plays pretty rough.

In Thin Air

It's me in thin air
without the necessary
wings, relying solely on
you to hold me here.
Amazing. I don't
float, nor do I fly.
Hanging in your pinched fingers,
I will not look down.

Don't look down, that's what you said.

February 14, 2009 4:14 PM

Sunday, September 27, 2009

I Will Not Leave

Here is a poem of promise and commitment.

I Will Not Leave

Then remember this
on the day you walk upstairs,
that once you did swim,
turned cartwheels, let me
catch you, you who smiled for me,
who let me clasp hands
with you as your soul
rose to the lighted dew dropped
sky, who told me dreams.

February 13, 2009 9:53 PM

Hidden Under Snow

This is a poem I wrote as winter began to let up its grip in Oregon. Portland is far enough north that we have real seasons, but far enough south that they don't keep hold that long. Because one of my friends is Australian, I keep thinking about that. It's night there when it's day here. It's summer there when it is winter here. I believe it is very good to keep that difference in mind. It can be one of the true salutary effects of our internet connections if these connections can give to us the true measure of the planet. I can exchange with my Australian friend, but not easily converse. She lives upside down and backwards, or I do.

I have another friend who has gone rather quiet. She lives in Tehran. Ouch.

Hidden Under Snow

Thank You for water
fresh from the spring at the head
of the running creek
hidden under snow
sparkling in the sun of love.
I've seen with Your eyes,
know I've seen through love,
through the angelic limpid
true soul of fierce joy.

February 13, 2009 8:59 PM

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Someone's Got To

I couldn't make this up. I'll bet you couldn't either. It is just beyond me to ever conceive of this. I found it on Post Secret, so somebody did make it up, perhaps even commited this act. I loved the postcard so much I wrote it as a poem. This act against the Gideon Bible is surely one of the ultimates in underground resistance, the sort of thing hippies loved to do. It is nearly perfect in its peacefulness. I don't care that I stole the idea. Stealing the idea (but not the form) is technically legal. Stealing the idea also is an underground act. Everything I am builds on the fact that for six years I was a hippie in one or another form. In 1966 this die was cast. In 1973 I was forced by circumstance to go underground. I began training up in things like careers and marriages. Even so it took eight more years until I bought a house. My heart still delights in things hip.

Someone's Got To

I go on long trips,
stay in hotels with nothing
to do, but pull out
Gideon's Bible
and draw naked people where
I can find the space
for them. Then I list
the pages on the cover
page to help others.

February 13, 2009 4:16 PM

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Shirking Work Again

Oh man. A friend of mine has asked me to stand as a witness as he marries the woman he has been with for several years. I have of course said yes. This Saturday at 2pm. I have taken on the other job as a bachelor friend of a soon to be married man. I am asking him every day if he really wants to do this. We both agree that is my job until Saturday. Heh.

So he told his partner (they live together now). She doesn't like it. Heh. We are both laughing about that. He says she'll be okay again in a week. I have decided to avoid her til Saturday if I can. I value my privates.

Shirking Work Again

Climbing brambles reach
the top of the white trellis
meant for my jasmine
because I have shirked my work
again for dallying with
the likes of your tunes,
the hunting hounds of Harrow,
or your wide green eyes.

February 13, 2009 3:50 PM

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Needing Advice

You can't push the river. Some questions are answered by realizing we have to stop asking them. It is possible to ask a question that must be answered both ways or even cannot be answered at all. Language is a very large indeterminate but finite system. On any given day there is a finite number of words and a finite algorithm for uttering them in any coherent way. On any given day I am a finite expression of humanity (of the human system) utililizing a finite system to express whatever I choose. There are two directions which cause serious trouble. If I try to express the infinite I enter paradox. If I try to express myself too close to the subjective heart of my life, I again enter paradox. This trouble was demonstrated in that latter way by Kurt Godel who proved that any system with sufficient power would be subject to the paradox of self reference, that you could formulate expressions within the system that cannot be responded to in the system. In other words, it is possible to ask questions concerning existence that cannot be answered. Of course the trouble with the infinite is self evident mathematically.

Thus trying to capture God in language cannot be a human activity. If God is ever captured in language it must be the other way, that God hands the language down. Even so, there can never be a satisfactory proof of any of these statements at the level of mathematical rigor. This is only as concerns God's identity, or ours, that is, the self referent or the infinite.

Oh by the way, that you and I might have an infinite soul probably doesn't change this a whit. We are in general forced to press through the finite systems of body and language in order to utter anything.

Needing Advice

I've come here today,
climbed your mountain to reach
the outlook where you
perch like the eagle
you are, glad to find you home
rather than flying,
soaring too far out
to bother with my questions.
I hope you won't shift
your shape so soon like
last time, leave me to trudge back
down the mountain slope
so unsatisfied.
I ask about life, is it
Meaningful story
or not? Yes, you say.
Then you shift again, sprout wings,
fly away from me.

February 13, 2009 2:57 PM

Monday, September 21, 2009

I'm Not Doing This Right

Here's the thing. I have this reputation as a "safe" man. In AA there are a significant number of women who don't start out trusting women, or even if they do, they are like me and do the best honesty and truth telling across the sexes, telling mom or dad. Me, I am grateful that I can have the kind of honesty I do where I would never tell my mother these things. Her instincts were wrong for me already when I was seven. But as a child of a single mother in the late forties and early fifties, I was trained to speak straight across with women and it works for me today. The women spread through the grapevine that I am one who will not mess with them. However.

Who is going to gift me with the kind of physical intimacy that I have done without for so much of my life? When Ann got so sick. Before that when I was a drunk. For the first few years going through our divorce and after.

In 1999 there was an intervention. The next seven years gave me an active sex life, even at times a colorful one. I have been solo since.

I am not lonely. I have many friends because of how I live. I don't lie awake nights aching for companionship. I would sleep fine if I didn't have other reasons for waking up frequently in the night. I always go back to sleep. This is not about desperation even a little. In fact I often observe relationships around me and go home grateful for my solitude.

However, I straight up miss physical intimacy. In the middle of the day back last February I spoke up.

I'm Not Doing This Right

Man, she called me safe,
said I was a godsend to
women wounded as
she, so open, kind,
so clear sighted and so wise
and five others gave
agreement. Oh shit.
Fat, aging, kind, wise old eyes,
Who, I want to know
is going to lay me?

February 13, 2009 2:27 PM

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Seeing Deep

I was in the middle of something back in the middle of February. Here's the next.

Seeing Deep

It is important,
you said, that I get balance,
this word with that word,
line with lines and now
I am afraid of
the process, would rather have
been unconscious still.

So why do I write
more lines anyway?
Now you just smile at my frown.

February 13, 2009 10:49 AM

Saturday, September 19, 2009

You didn't like how I said it last time? How about this one? You did like how I said it last time? How about this one?

Indra's Net. Maya's Play. Om namah Shivaya. Sat chit ananda. Truth, love, bliss.

I Sadly Swim Away

Put the hammer down
and come teach me how to live,
I call out to you
and you tell me, watch.

I will find, you say, the way
in my chapped sore hands
and it will do no
good to attempt escape from
the sea we swim in.
You say work ripples
the surface, cannot be
pulled away from it,
that trying creates more.

Your answer is not what I
Seek. I sadly swim away,
Create more ripples.

February 13, 2009 9:20 AM

Thursday, September 17, 2009

You Keep Trying To Teach Me

To see with God's eyes. I feel like I did that once, by pure grace. It was an intervention, even a triage on God's part. He had nothing left to do and since I was unprepared, it was necessarily crude, so not only a triage, a battlefield triage. I might have died. I came close. I had a scrambled mind and was living on the street after. Literally starving to death. He made no promise that I would survive.

Of course the essence of the vision was how completely thoroughly all right everything was, and also how completely thoroughly this whole thing is dynamically supported by the divine energy at all moments. One gap in that once and the whole thing becomes smoke and mirrors, just exactly right now stops. His energy is the spanning momentum of the indeterminate (very large but finite number) set of quantum gaps in the universe. Drop one. The whole thing dissappears. To see with God's eyes is to see original beauty and to know that without His eyes neither will that beauty be visible. So much more.

To know too, that this cannot be taken back to ordinary mind, ordinary eyes. Seeing with God's eyes won't fit the ordinary human shape, is much too large for that. To grieve that. To argue against it. To try to return at will (utter failure already known). To realize that what is next is a disciplined life, full of practice, not really to return to the lap of God so much as to pay for the incredible gift already given. Now that I know, I am compelled to pay. Such is my life.

Now, 43 years later, He is still calling me to practice, and I am still far from the top of the mountain. It's a helluva life.

You Keep Trying To Teach Me

Now you go one more
and tell me it's not finite,
nor infinite. What?
You say they are both,
the fin and the infin, both
are parts of the ite.
This just gets to me.
Then you say the ite is bliss
and the fin, infin
are just the two fronts
that merge and all is then bliss
and now my teeth hurt.

February 12, 2009 4:25 PM

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

The Triangle

This is a true story, but as a true story it is not about another woman. Or it was about many women but not about amorous liasons, instead about friendship and trust, intimacies of the heart. In AA I have had and take that opportunity to befriend women. I went home to my wife. In the early days, people figured it out. I was going home to my wife. Women found me trustworthy and as a result I wound up with as much female intimacy as I wanted, and this included a chaste form of intimate hugging and touching, an occasional familial kiss. I went home to my wife. That was a whole other story. Our marriage had become distant due to my drinking and it wasn't coming back so well.

(I should say as an aside, three times over eight years there were women who just stepped in closer and once I was very close to accepting the offer. I stopped, but not without creating hard feelings in the lady. She thought she had me. She got me to come home with her but couldn't get me in the bedroom. That ended it. Ouch. This was a couple years after the moment this poem is about.)

On my sixth AA sobriety anniversary, hoping to get my wife to join in on this joy in my life that was AA, I convinced her to come to my celebration meeting. Other people would do that, have their spouses come to the meeting. It usually was a fine thing. It would work out wonderfully I thought, a family thing, a solidarity thing, a healing thing. That's what I thought would happen. My wife was a Social Worker, and a good one. She had pushed me into sobriety. I was making it work, had become a successful sober story. It all pointed to a wonderful time of celebration. She came with me. We sat together. I acknowledged her. It all seemed to be going well. The usual things were said. People, several of them of course my women friends, said good things about me and how I was valuable in the group and to them personally. All of this.

After the meeting, on the way home, I asked her what she thought. This poem is basically what she said. I was crushed. There was nothing to do, no way for me to fix it.

The Triangle

I saw her but damn
I just hate meeting her now,
your mistress, that's what
you told me coldly
upon returning from town.
I could say nothing.

February 12, 2009 10:43 AM

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

More Practice

Music is one of the lodestones of my life. Had it been the only one I certainly would have ended in a very different life. I tried to leave music behind at one point. I quite genuinely believed music had nothing more for me. I wandered off into other efforts to lift myself out of here, into some other life. I had a partner. I had work. I also had a marriage and a career. Eventually, my wife believed enough in what I did that she suggested there was a way to turn my work into the completion of my degree. She was right. I sat at home night after night writing and planning and researching, following the directions that the university gave me to turn my life work into college credit. I created a document of nearly 300 pages and asked for 28 credits. I needed 24 to graduate. I did graduate. It took me 2 years, the first year to settle into what I was really trying to do and the last year to do it.

It turned out that the whole thrust of my work was over at the point that I turned it into upper division college credit by producing a post graduate level practicum. I didn’t know it was over then, but I know it now. Then I thought my work might resume around some corner I couldn’t see. Now I am pretty sure I am happy that it didn’t flower into a new life. My work to that point, in 1981 when I graduated has ebbed away. In the mid nineties music came back into my life, poised for a major intensification in 2001 when I entered my five year relationship with Frances.

In the last decade poetry has emerged as another lodestone. I didn’t have a clue that was going to happen. I have no idea if it will last. Poetry is a practice. Music is a practice. These practices are actually my work. I make my living in Engineering and I do this so I can work. I ask daily to be well placed in all of these areas. I feel blessed.

A third lodestone is my participation in AA. It too is a practice. If I don’t have sobriety I have nothing. I need to remain connected, need to serve, need to keep reverence before the Power that keeps me sober. I need to remember where I come from.

The quaternity is completed by my prayer practice. This consists of chanting and mostly solitary prayer.

More Practice

You said it is how
the world is made, that the slow
sad songs are easy
to play, while the bright
glad songs just take more practice
and are more mature.
You said I like sad
because I am afraid joy
will break me open.

What do you know of me
to say such things?

February 12, 2009 9:37 AM

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Doing The Mending

This one in gratitude for Liz, who loves the image of the stones. I fly with the angels some of the time, command the power. Walk upright in the land, a prince among men. Other days I'm the toad.

Doing The Mending

This is what life is,
this collection of small stones,
this river running,
this heart speaking truth
in stories and then in need
resuming the wash,
the dishes, cleaning
after dogs, cats, kids and more,
mending, always that,
the mending.

February 12, 2009 9:19 AM

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Past The Moon

I want to write you healed and found as if I could write thus and by writing make it so. I also want to write you healed and found because you are not and are lost and perhaps in need of a poem from one who loves you. I want you lifted on angelic wings. This I want if you wish to rise. I see this incantation as a statement of power, as if I had this power. I insist.

I am an arrogant man.

Past The Moon

I want to write you
healed and found, lifted higher
than you thought you would
go this very night.

I want your vision to clear
so you remember
who you really are,
no, not then but beyond that
history you told
to the history
you don't speak of now because
it goes past the moon.

February 12, 2009 9:20 AM

Friday, September 11, 2009

A Typical Lesson

No matter where you go, if you run into a spiritual master you will receive the instruction in some way to let go. This is interesting. It is surprisingly difficult. Most everything that is really good to let go of feels a little like letting go of the branch not knowing how far you will fall. Letting go feels like falling backwards, trusting that someone will catch you.

Or another picture, I was a diver in my young days. I learned the half and full gainer. These dives are especially difficult for two reasons. The first is this fall backwards thing. In this dive you give up your vision at a critical moment as you thrust yourself backwards. When you are flat on your back out over the water, the trust is in momentum and energy to do what they do and keep you going in your flip. The second is trusting in another part of the momentum, that of your approach. As you leave the board you are flipping back toward the board. If you don't have forward momentum, you will hit the board. Hmmm. I learned a whole bunch about doing my job and letting go as I learned these dives.

I wish it was that easy emotionally and spiritually. Heh.

A Typical Lesson

This is really tough.
You say I'm in a foolish
Argument. I say
I exist. That's wrong.
I say then I don't. You say
I'm still wrong headed.
Why should I trust this?
You say I don't have to do
Anything. That's when
I go ballistic
But I won't let go my hold.

Then you say let go.

February 11, 2009 3:40 PM

Thursday, September 10, 2009

The King's Mistake

The heart of the royalty system has always been the idea of rule backed by God. Because of the divine right to rule, it is a really large thing to depose a king. Of course how that works out in practice is that a small group of lords with lineages and claims of lineage also feel that divinity favors them, and an even smaller group of lords usually exists that has very little to do with God anyway. So the clarity of divine right becomes muddled in most reigns. Yet that is not different in terms of ideal and outcome than any other political system. None of our political systems actually approach the ideals that the politicians utter and insist the citizens live by. We so routinely encounter corruption in our politics that many of us assume it to be the rule rather than the exception. It sometimes seems so.

There is something to be said for the divine right idea. It is clear that some men favor this idea. The question for these men is not whether or not there is a divinely backed ruler but how to identify him or her. If it is clear that the king has lost his way, then it becomes possible that God has withdrawn and the king's growing error is the signal of that withdrawal.

And what of me, of small men like me who nonetheless actually own property or space like kings own kingdoms? Make no mistake. Holdings of things of value and especially real estate can only happen when these things are directly removed from the king's possessions. We call certificates of ownership titles. We call royal holdings titles too. There were papers describing royal holdings, making them clear. What of the citizenry in republican democracies, who have "divine" rights? That is what we claim, that the Constitution delineates rights that are sacred in this way, and thus we have all been promoted to royal status in this sense. We are all titled. What of us? Can we make errors that sever our divine rights? Of course.

The King's Mistake

I am king, enthroned
enrobed, enacted, royal
in my ways but lost,
in error, dismay.
There is tension in the chords
of the band playing
on my stage, yearning
in the echoes of my heart
for the healing of
the severed silver
thread that was mine, whole before
I cut it in two.

February 11, 2009 10:38 AM

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

The Wild Geese On The Lake

I was in a marriage relationship for over twenty years. That was not necessarily good news but it was a life commitment. I took that vow seriously. I saw a photo of a mating pair of swans. That's what led to this poem.

The Wild Geese On The Lake
(the drake overheard to speak frankly with his mate)

Today I am not sure
I would choose you but I'm still
here crossing with you.
That choice is old news.
It's what we do, girl, live out
old choices, loyal
to them and to each
other, call it love, sure it's
God's will to be here.

February 11, 2009 10:14 AM

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

You Said, I Said

I am not the peaceful man that I should be. There is an inner disturbance that prevents certain things in my life even though I know I should be able to do them. I can see and understand. I can even give examples. Here is one.

I make my living as a machine designer. This is a deeply complex suite of tasks that involve relationships with other specialists, knowledge of specific tools and items, at least a smattering of engineering, knowledge of ergonomics, past practices, certain complicated codes, and after all that then specific knowledge of what the machine in question does and how it fits in the process in which it is placed. I have to apply logic, algebra (did you know this word is arabic??) and geometry all the time. You would think then that I would know lots about how to support my house and car, how to build things in my life. You would be completely wrong. I am a little better now, but not much. I hire nearly everything. If I didn't know righty tighty, lefty loosey, then I would very quickly have trouble trusting a frozen bolt or nut. I would not know which is right. I am severely mechanically challenged. I have a poor relationship with objects.

And what my inside experience of that is, it is disturbance. I am hung between horns of several dilemmas. Here is one.

You Said, I Said

You said I should be
objective, withdraw myself
from the things I see.
You said to follow
and become the things I see,
then go far beyond.

No wonder struggle
continues with such counter
driven strategies.
There will always be
tension present in my love
in a world like this.

February 11, 2009 9:53 AM

Monday, September 7, 2009

Neck And Neck

This is a memory.

Neck And Neck

When I got sober,
just a couple months of dry,
getting on the ground,
I was still looking for work.
Our ginger cat,
we called him Godot
or we called him The Best Cat
In The World, he died
over a few days
of kidney failure. One day
I held him. Springtime
in the sun. He smiled.
Grief and joy raced neck and neck.
Then I put him down.

February 10, 2009 4:54 PM

How this worked, I was laid off in November, received the ultimatum in the last days of December, struggled against the idea but capitulated by the end of January and went to treatment. February, 1983, I was in treatment. I got out in March. I looked for work in March and April, went on an interview in early May and went to work for the company the next ten years.

At the same time, Godot began to fail with all the typical signs of kidney failure in cats. By the beginning of May he was sinking into coma, hardly rousing at all but for a few moments a day. Finally he stopped everything. On that last day, I sat with him in the sun, knowing it was time, but also knowing he liked it just fine in my lap in the sun. Phew, tough to write still after all these years. I looked around at the spring, at the life, the beauty and a joy rose in my heart right along with the grief that was breaking my heart. I was so proud to be there, to be present, to be able to do what had to be done.

The next morning I took him to my vet, who by this time and so many cats was a friend, and I stood beside the best cat in the world as we put him down. That tore my heart wide open of course. I drove home after and straight to an AA meeting where I found I could not speak, though I tried, the grief was so large.

That was a Thursday. It was the next day, a Friday that I was invited to join that company where I started working in my new sobriety and then kept that job for ten years. I felt really grateful that I had finished with Godot first.

It was the first time in my life that I learned I could have such disparate emotions as big grief and fierce joy in my heart simultaneously, simply amazing.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Telling Mom About Going Into Publishing

Some people I know decided to go into publishing and said they were leaving the blogs behind. I wrote this thinking about the changes that life makes when you make big decisions.

Telling Mom About Going Into Publishing

and then I said let’s
do this thing and she said yes
and then we got Jan
and this is just so
good I can’t hardly stand it.
I’m grinnin from ear to earth.
Mom says, honey, I
hope you know whatcher doin.

February 10, 2009 4:14 PM

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Holding You

I had a harsh morning and a relentless afternoon, then I went to a meeting and found out that there were many people struggling harder than I am with these issues of mine. I came home and realized that the next poem simply wasn't one I would post, so I skipped it and came to this one.

Tonight I miss my cat, and with that the tiny little hooks that lead to all the other lost cats, the wife, the mom, the dad, the many friends, all gone now. Thank God I know what to do. I have done it, am doing it. As my friend Vivian says, Relentless Forward Movement. That came from her extreme marathon running husband. He's gone now too, a heart event that occurred at the end of a mountain marathon. He finished, and finished well, but then he died, too far from the medics who could have saved him had they been able to get there. Relentless Forward Movement.

I am in between a rock and a hard place. Nothing new. Same old. Yet this time is new if the stuff in it isn't and I will go on. Of course I will. I am not alone. Nor are you.

Holding You

Spidersilk, silver
and stronger than beautiful
holds you as I spun
for you before this
life in another, knew you
then, knew you would need
it now, my princess.

February 10, 2009 2:48 PM

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


When I first heard someone use this image I lost it. I think it is just about perfect. I have spent twenty years getting beat with the lash of my choice between saving my ass and saving my face. It is so often true that I can't save both at the same time that I know I can cut a corner by making it a universal principle. If I say you can't EVER save your ass and your face at the same time, I will not be always right but I will score at least in the high B range. Of course if I was an effing saint, I would always pay exquisite attention and note the exceptions. Then I would only make errors when they were called for.

Errors are after all and in fact sometimes called for. I was taught years ago that Navaho rug weavers will weave quite complex patterns but there will be at least one deliberate subtle error in the pattern.

Pythagoras knew long ago that the real world will always fall short of perfection. This shows up in the perfect tuning cycle of fifths which goes sharp as you go. This fact has forced us to tune musical instruments to a special tuning called tempered tuning. If you want to play in all keys you have to tune slightly flat. We get used to this but sometimes it will stand out in one or another instrument. You can tune perfectly if all you want to do is play in a single one of the twelve keys. That will force certain other keys on your instrument to sound awful. Back before our modern tuning there was another kind of tempered tuning in use and it caused certain keys to sound different from others, brighter or darker. That meant that people composing music would choose their keys for the piece based on the timbre of the key. Sometimes orchestras will tune to the old style in order to play these pieces. Tuning slightly flat is an excellent example of a required deliberate error.


I look so cool, so
unruffled, drifting along
with the gentle flow.
I am one with things
oh yeah, unless you see red
in my eye and look
under the surface
at the furious movement
of little duck feet.

February 10, 2009 10:01 AM

What is really cool, I wrote this as is my practice in Word Pad before I went online tonight. That's when I ran into Woman In a Window's comment on yesterday's post. That was too spooky. Go there. Read it. Remember I wrote this without knowing she had visited.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009


What goes around comes around again. Can't stay down too long without putting false energy into it. Can't elevate too long precisely the same. Can't be wise or foolish too long without artifice as well. That is just the way it is.

My first spirit source was handed me by a red head elf who also gave me my first LSD. He told me I would have a lifelong connection to Taoist vision. He was right, but how that developed had little to do with his vision of it. What he knew was that he was going to get me high on LSD quite soon and that Taoist vision and LSD changes to consciousness are intimately related. What he didn't know was all important to all this for my life. Still this red headed elf pointed me to the ancient chinese and it was not a bum steer.

That is how it works. The truest message often is presented in the oddest package, so much so that the first and most important of the spirit messages is to PAY ATTENTION! Be alert not only straight ahead, but off to the sides. Peripheral vision may save your soul.


You keep reminding
me to look around at stuff
and me, I go in
looking for my soul
as if I could really see
the shape of you there.
I think arriving
is the end of the journey.
You say no, small one,
It's only the start.

February 10, 2009 9:18 AM

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