the source ( “i’d rather..” )

the source ( “i’d rather..” )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting by the Hudson at dusk,
on the cusp of summer thunder.
A deep OM sets in over river sky,
as the Jersey shore exhales and swells
deep into my gaze.

Nature knows I am sundered by her.
She is not being watched
and so opens wide
to expose the beautiful entrails
of her surrendered celestial bodies.

As I slip inside her innermost secret,
the leaden stillness of truth draws me in
to an expanding desire for nothing.
This prurient desire to feel more
of this moment
merges with sky.

My heart cries out:
“This is all freedom is!”
Suddenly my breath is freer.
So, this is what it means to breathe…

And I realize,
that
I’d rather have this.

I’d rather have this
than a river of my own
and be unable to merge with it.

I’d rather have a dilapidated boat,
and mad curiosity to sail,
than anything a stationary home
and stationary mind could offer.

I’d rather be indigent
with the freedom to walk the river
than lack the impulse to wander.

No really,
I’d rather have a jail cell-
with a window,
than physical freedom
and psychological bondage.

I’d rather give up the world
than hold onto a life that wasn’t meant for me.

Rather have the freedom
to dance ecstatically,
than give up my wildness
for a contract of fifty Broadway shows.

I’d rather let you really see me,
than define anything about myself.

I’d rather wander the world alone with nothing
but a smile
than never again have the opportunity
to light joy in a stranger’s heart.

I’d rather have my divine lover
once, just once more,
than forsake my wisdom
with an earthly contract.

I’d rather have a mystical void
than avoid the mystical.

Rather feel everyone is my child
than need to birth sweet children of my own.

I’d rather communicate
than have a cell phone.

I’d rather you feel I am learning from you
than know that I am your teacher.

I’d rather be unknown
than give up my joy in the unknown

I’d rather leave this life now,
with not a fear as to what comes next
than be diverted from the path
of truth and love.

Rather love everyone
than love anyone in particular.

I’d rather the ability to control my breath
than control over anyone.

I’d rather stay here
and participate in collective liberation
than transcend anything.

I’d rather give up my illusions
than be happy.

Rather take leave from this life
than have nothing left to give.

Rather free you sexually
than ever have another orgasm myself.

Rather painfully burn,
than painlessly freeze.

I’d rather experience surrender
in every cell of my being
than have the world surrender to me.

I’d rather never sleep again,
than fall back to sleep.

I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life
than give up the chance to love you.

I’d rather,
than not.

 

                                         photograph by Gia. Riverside Park.

Views: 97

home

home

If you were a stray dog, I’d be your home.
But you have a home.
So I can only feed you from time-to-time
with my affection.
You seem to be hungry.
But you’re well kept, clearly unneutered,
and smell really quite wonderful.

But where is your collar? Where are your tags?
You come to me with leash in mouth,
not tethered to neck.
We play together with the abandon
of two souls dangling from the moon
not caring if we are in web or pond-
and each time, I swear I discover a new star,
a new height to reach to.

And yet you return time and time again
to the same yard you wandered from,
to the same pole untethered.
I don’t know what’s over there
and don’t ask.
I get concerned when you return to me
different from how you left.
Ruffled, bewildered, a little lost.
But soon you settle in,
tail again wagging.

To me, you always find your way.
It seems you know my gate is open,
and this is true.
I may even install a doggy door
no doorbell required, just for you.
But is it my hand you prefer?
Is it my food? My bed?

You trot alongside me, my long lost pal,
as if we’ve been walking together forever.

I already know the games you like
because they are the same games I play.
I cherish the grandiosity of your dreams
because I too dream big.
I know you like to lie by my bedside
and lick my feet-
I like this too.

But I don’t know, dear companion-
I have to tell you, I really don’t want to own you.
Do you want me to hold your leash?
Cuz I’d rather walk side-by-side.
You in front and me behind,
then you behind and me in front.
I already want to go where you want to go.
You needn’t seek my approval.
It’s the unspoken truth in our meetings
week after week, month after month.
But I love how you howl at the moonlight-
finally someone to be unhinged with!

I find your fur to be so beautiful,
the many tones,
a reflection of you.
Which is why I caress you all over.
It’s really not because I want to please you
and ensnare you back for more.
I want to rub my face in your hair
because its bristles make me lovesick.
Your tail wags and I giggle;
and you allow it to brush my feet,
knowing how it makes my heart jump!

I’ve never had a friend like you,
who is simply finding me in time and space
to find a way to play together.
I see now what they mean:
“puppy dog eyes” don’t ask for a thing,
just a little patience, and always adoring.

You know, I’d like for you to come live with me,
be my prime interloper, my de facto companion.
But is it ownership you require?
(Is that what I am lacking?)
Or is it love?
I can offer only one of the two.
And I already love you.

But what if we decide to play together always?
Would I require something from you?

Even though my testament says that we are strictly free,
I don’t know, you’ve kind of got me wondering
what it might be like.

It’s okay, you need not decide now.
Even though you seem to be mine already,
really I am a little scared.
I am a little shy to ask.
I can’t offer you my home because you already have one.
And I want you to know that you are free.
All I’ve got is our cherished moments,
the precious days when I find you seeking my love.

And although these days become closer and closer together,
the in-betweens sometimes garner doubt
from my faithful heart.
When my thinking bud opens,
I can’t help but wonder
what will happen
if I start to need you.

I never wanted a dog before,
but things change.

 

Views: 298

Fantasies Charted

We named our anthill The Plymouth,
with a peculiar closed-captioning for shorter people
(and those who excel at limbo).
Remember how we draped, we draped the white lace doily over the top?

It did not mold to our muddy musculature,
but instead, flattered with that peculiar nostalgia,
of etiquette and quite intentional courtship.
In the tide we sat, and peered up
at our droopy, white awning.

We realized
that it would never be the threshold of daisies;
for daisies only remind us of not being petunia,
that is, of not being so small.

No, our deeply carved tunnels are of Oz-like luster,
so they don’t cling to our many-minded legs.
For we really only fit quite haphazardly,
if we fold our legs, up and under,
into an origami crater of make believe.

So, I saw your peach-fleshed fingers
pluck together
the doily cortex. And pull down.
Pulled down our spirulina umbrella onto our hairy heads.
Then, veiled by our innocent mistake,
like just showered kitty fur heads;
we laughed.

We tumbled and turned over as children somersaulting in a pool.
The unknowing delighted us, tussled our hidden hearts into unshackled joy.
And, forgetting about the confines of the love tunnel we dug,
we fell into each other, forgot ourselves in our kittenish pretzel.

Unsalted and doughy is how love
finally saw 
the white white sky of blue
expand
into the smoothest doily of protection.
And in our gaze, we slid down, the warm icy slope of recklessness
into the very original white rabbit’s hole
of
impersonal and accurate reflection.

So onto our threshold, we finally fell, lighthearted and fluffy
as doughy, unsalted bunnies.

 

Views: 18

spirits

spirits

We have lived and loved
from the privacy of our reserve,
               that reactive space
               just above the surface.
We inhabit the physical place
but abide by the passions
that govern ancient spirits
               afar.

In the playground of the knowers,
the lovers, the givers;
we are creators,
the authors of life,
               monkey-barred minds
               and sea-sawed hearts
               with sandy-floored souls.

Fueled by sensation,
we are those to whom
fear is only a myth,
               a story told by
               the Others.

Photograph by Gia. Vindhyachal, India

Views: 48