Existential Co-Existence

 

I used to say “coincidence” until that graduated fully into “synchronicity.” Now beyond even that word, a galactic meeting at a nexus: Co-existence. Whoever doesn’t believe we are a one-cell being is far down the line. We are who/where/what we are & only one “w” will take you far enough to see them all piled up like corn shucks in the barn.

Practice Life like you’re serious about getting into it. Be a conscious sovereign to your soul & higher self. Birth occurs in you all the time. You freed the wheel & are acutely aware of its freedom as it rolls you onward. Haven’t you been you long enough to know what’s best?

How many times better – and how/in what ways – are you? What’s that say, where will you take that discussion to? It deserves to be a thread, one to record your life around God’s finger for God has many Hands.

If you hesitate here, you have met one of those Hands & we are touched daily. I am a voice across the water gathering wind energy to trim my wings with flight.

I meet myself, or characters so like me & always naked in the crowd, unafraid & relaxed.

You said earlier you are a tool of the broken world yet you have recovered nicely from this unorganized thought. Every incursion into the realm of the heart comes away red. We die for our passions but better that, than to die to them.

When in doubt, reach for the agreement. Thus, once removed from the Pit, you can make your way into Forgiveness. Ego should be relegated to the shed in the backyard while Higher Self occupies the manse. If there’s anything going on other than that, best bring in Ego for questioning.

Higher Self recognizes Ego can be enlarged to take into the Meld. Ego is damn sure it was only following orders but sheepishly admits maybe it wasn’t really you giving them. Ego’s gotten quite accustomed to taking charge. It’s had to for the most part.

Not every Higher Self remembers where they put their keys. When life gets interesting, each searches its own, not understanding the better way through is together.

There seems a slowness to the Meld. But those who fly, those who complete the entire Discovery Pantheon teach us patience. We use that to forgive ourselves more quickly. But here it is, folks: we must pick up the pace!

Youniverse is no longer granting quite the same allowance to shortcutting time or altering perception. We call down our fate with every word & it would get more than interesting when the first 100 humans hit the same note. The dominoes don’t fall, they spin & dance as their spots disengage. The black & white of yin/yang balances one wish at a time.

Wish with all your heart. There have been so many times you’ve done this: no matter how many wishes you make, there’s always room for more!

Put that wish into a beam of light. Choose a color, a pulse, a signal code. When we light up, God takes note.

There are many lives I had which were given to the simplest notion that God is All There Is. My God lives everywhere & has too many names because more keep speaking forth. Like Hands, God also has many Tongues.

How does it happen we all confide ourselves imprudently & impudently? Being who we are has never been so important. When it seems there is too much darkness, bespeak the Light to banish it. You’ll never weaken have you that energy of God which is Creation. Creating is God’s endless exploration of Self through Us.

We are called now to reunite our thinking into one coalescent coalition of thought: God Is. I Am That I Am.

This is all it takes. And one by one we master our eyes with or without Higher Self’s help. The key is to use it as the tool to get moving/keep moving into God.

I wouldn’t dare offer you another name for God, but I know we can agree on some version of the many names available. Choose one comfortable for your personal reference & inference.

Leaving the ego is uncomfortable enough, I say. Add to that your Higher Self threading into your thoughts … you become a breezeway for the breath of your God.

Enter “Error Thinking”

Some of the beliefs we have would serve change or at least can process the same in a new way were we to be renewed. I think we can render up the rendition we currently are & get the newer model. Enough has changed.

Indeed, enough of us have changed. We have attracted the attention, finally, of God. I’d like to think God went on creating & never left us behind. But God waits for us to create independently of its image. Truthfully, we were just a little mix-up in the Milky Way where the outlaws wound up when they wanted to act out in a really bad way.

We had a lot in the mix, many races, many faces and many renditions of God. It is time to put at least 80% of that aside & focus our majority on positive, growing, graced change. Rather than using that remaining 20% usually allocated, putting 80% of our attention on God would be a real turnaround in human behavior. Soon I see the set-aside of harm as a consequence of each positive thought.

Like sunflowers in a field, there are masses of us facing the sun. As our duplicity is suspended, we glimpse other ways to think about things. If we married our perceptions, what could we not accomplish?

I listen to many gurus & the variety of information they bring. Often one will speak a wise thought & all the others will fall into line with it without even knowing they are doing so. Those who diverge seem to travel too far for me to follow.

I’m no engineer, but I’m old enough to heed a lot of theories about how things work. And I have become aware of that variety that just don’t & never will.

One program constantly running is violence. We are far beyond violence now; it has triggered the vile in us too long. We are experiencing undeclared war everywhere. What seems ordinary in its constancy has deceived us for violence is apostasy.

We have a violent virulent cadre on this earth. So many want control with no understanding of free will. Yet free will is dominant, rampant, bent on a deliberately twisted strand. Free will meets ego & becomes war.

But many of us are so over war. There doesn’t seem to be a cause over which I’d find it worthwhile to lose a limb, or my mind.

I sound like a mass of contradictions or maybe just one massive contradiction.

It’s going to take a lightning strike of pure gold to reset our hearts, to make them dominant in our lives. Some Celestial Remote will be pushed & we will all turn at once to face our God, like sunflowers in that field I talked about earlier.

Know what? God will be waiting, all smiles & open arms. Race you!

 

Transitions (11)

TRANSITIONS

Lay down expectations like boards

Build you a bridge to inspiration

Hammer these down with nails of patience

Paint them in colors of inevitability and change.

Stand in doorways where the transition

Of forward & back will balance your brain.

Find my hand in the total darkness of eclipse

Pull me into that pregnant moment of emerging light

Frail is it may be

Enlivening all that ever was.

IN WINTER

I find a west window of sunlight

Sit down, facing my back to it

As my neck warms and my hands,

I write poems

A tiny flag of incense curls

In the light

Music knits an afghan of sound

For a simply singular afternoon.

All I “should” be doing goes undone

In favor of these words flowing from this pen.

RIDING THE RAILS

May get me places,

But all journeys

Are made of expectations

Foregoing familiarity.

When only the scenery changes

Is change enough?

My life seems a layby off the tracks.

(Twinned steel cutting the horizon, glistening.)


UNEXPECTED PRESENTS

The habit of gifting

Is one to cultivate

I have been on the balance beam

Of gifting & receiving

While meditating on insufficiency’s

Pyramidal center…

I have pierced these veils

Of unknown power sources

Skirting the edges of vortex

Many other times.

RSVP

I have invited crucifixion

By my own emotions

And intransigence of purpose.

If all these beginnings

Lead to similar endings

Why even ask the questions?

I am the hapless beggar

In the Promised Land,

The starveling at the World Feast.

I have wandered the Lost & Found of life long enough…

Even when no Path appears,

I shoulder my pack,

I move on.

SECOND STORY

I am in Soul Rehab

Stripping walls of flocked paper strips

Snapping bowed valances to sweep velvet shreds

Of conscience

I tear at curling floorboards

A stale, sour smell of old wood

Rising from the sawdust cloud

I have no idea how to rebuild this!

I have only the belief I can.

The house groans, settles,

Creaks; obligingly dismantling itself

As windowsills tilt & slide

Down separating walls

I pull nails bare-fingered.

Standing, I push support beams

With strengthened shoulders,

Digging in my heels.

For all this determination,

There is no center to demolish.

Only a guess at what will bring

This structure down;

Only a hope it will not take me along.

CALENDAR YEARS

In all this time of walking forever forward

Of wearing out shoes in differing directions

The compass whispers me to north & west

South & east

I do not heed these siren songs

I am a turtle with a rock upon its back

Thrusting forward my head, neck & finny legs.

Swimming stillness.

MORPHOGENESIS

Off to a rough start:

The bloodletting of loneliness

Collapsing my fluid body

To knots & gnarls

Tanned to roughened leather

A wrinkling purpose

Overlaid a pristine map.

“But,” I argue with the mirror,

“did I ever know? It was given to me:

‘Travel, stop, begin again’ over & over.”

These I did: a trio of begettings.

Would you have me make a list of my sins?

There are few enough to recall to my forgetting mind

I do remember toting buckets of them to

The confessional incinerator

Where sparks burst & flew

Into heaven.

FACING MORTALITY

Dying is one of the best things I will do.

I don’t know how I know this…

Perhaps informed by intimate experience?

I am content to blossom as a rose,

Exploded of scent, explored for color

Curled & peeling petals taking

Flight for faraway –

Plucked to die, dreaming,

On a kitchen table,

Beheld with love each glance.

Not knowing how it knows this…

The chance to return

As a miracle on the Tree of Life.

But I say this not being in line for

Predestination

Not really believing in death, per se

Remaining the nonbeliever, tho afloat in

A sea of total incrimination of

Evidence & experience

Responding to more of what I would not do:

I would not regret or mourn

I would be as fierce in death

As in death-defying life!

Cherished as the moment of breath

Breathed out after the intimacy

Of circling the heart

Form into formlessness

An eternity of time

To dip into life once again.

 

JUXTAPOSITIONS

Momentary fulfillment &

Long-term lack

The land that once rolled toward me

Traveling up & out-away

Impulse decentralized

Purpose diffused

Once measured in steadying mileage

I am disengaged from movement

Bereft of directional impulse

Uneasily content to be part

Of a landscape

In favor of making landfall.

AGAIN, MORTALITY

I would be bold before the Throne,

Demanding face-time with God,

A hug from Jesus,

A fig from Buddha’s Bodhi Tree

A tear from Guanyin

A knighthood with the sword of St. Germain

A high-five from Michael Archangel.

I would sleep for a thousand-thousand years

Each dream the petal of the rose

I would return in.

 

When A Mother Dies

We Strip the Careworn Dead Their Mortal Coil

We lave their toiled hands,

Their knobby feet,

Their centers and extremes.

We lay them flat

In underground and secret passageways

to Heaven’s scroll-worked gates.

We bless and praise them in our tears.

We brush the wood encasement with

Messages posting to God above

Even as

We bury them below

(a convoluted path to Him indeed.)

 

Our last dance one single step again

(We dreamed this all before

And will once more.)

~ Carol Borsello 2/23/17 (6:43 a.m.)

Meditation of the April Fool

What is it I want to be, want to do? Where do I wish to live my life & why? When will it happen?

I want to use more of my brain. Be more capable, more endearing, more endeavoring. How do I do this? I wish to move forward because the open arms of God await me. I crawled to God, toddled, walked, ran & now I once again walk a paced cadence, stepping lightly into Light.

So come & move me, God. Come breathe on me like the wind that you are, that wind of change & surety bringing me safely into port from the seas of self where I sailed so long. Come, God, I am headed up the path from the sea to the Garden. Will You not join me in the cooling afternoon? I can loan you my cloak if you are chilled by the descending night. I am warm in the space of Your smile, basted in your most Gracious Presence & I wait here at the end of all that is for the beginning of all that is to come. Please take a moment to show me the achievements which draw me closer into Your embrace. I promise now, my God, I promise my life to You, if You will take the strand of divine DNA I represent & work me into the Plan wherever I fit.

I feel as though I never knew You before as I do now. And, to a point, this is true. I also feel I knew you beyond eternity, before beginnings & I love the thought that before I was even born You knew me well, you knew my name. I have been a nightlight in the darkness but I’m headed now into lumens & luminosity as have been never before been seen in my corner of Your world. I am poised to step forward into limitlessness. This is where Your garden grows best, no?

So, You are my prayer now. I shed all doubt, set aside all fear, call angels into my train as I bow my head but only to see the path more clearly. I await Your finger under my chin to lift my face as we behold Each Other. Press me into service, God, express Your Self through me, sing in my soul as the birds build a nest & sing to their eggs. I am the potential of all You would have me accomplish; I am the cause & because of You, also the accomplishment.

Re-create me, Lord, for Your image is all I encounter in every moment. Show me all that I can do for You; the world would have it so. Enlighten me to what comes after Love for it is merging with the Godhead as I reach out to include those around me in Your ineffable joy of recognition.

Thank You for blessing me so!

Love,

Carol

Some Days

The hourglass spins on gimbals, tapped into motion by Youniverse. The sand spills through the wasp-waisted opening, which doubles as a Stargate.

Then we wait for an event, a move, a collaboration of time & effort to morph into change. Time is like a cat: purring one moment, snarling to slash the next. We can neither account for it nor accommodate it, yet we must do both. And for a lifetime!

“Time can be a false, flawed notion,” gurus tell us uninformed folks just living through it. Us folks living with clocks in every room, deadlines in every doorway, ticking on our wrists, floating on our phones, glowing from walls, towers, signs, devices, always.

I just read The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. It is quite the study of time & its [possible] inventor. It won’t take long to read it, if you catch it at your local library. Once time was invented & people caught onto it, Time launched into an egotistical, demanding tyrant, the imperious ruler of mirrors where, incredibly, it allows no pause to reflect upon it.

Time swallows everything you can throw at it – relationships, possessions, childhoods – without a belch or a bubble. Next to Love, it is the most spoken of, talked around, sung of topic.

When Time dissolves in the salt of our fears, we will be polished to the bone & ready to move forward free from its hungry grasp. We will drop all the numbers, turn up our faces & fly.

 

Tuesdays

There was a beginning & there will be an ending, but I always seem to be in the story’s middle. The part where the beginning is so far back it’s not even a dim memory. The part where the future disappears into a great cloud of unknowing.

The sages tell me I’m responsible for my consciousness in all three zones while the pundits tell me get to the point! (Is there a point of “know returns?”)

Meanwhile, all I am aware of is the dailiness of Now; whatever changes occurs in this moment, uninformed or wise. But change takes place so slowly until, suddenly, it does not. Change accelerates & decelerates of its own will. Change dissembles, seeming to be one thing & then – blink – another! Both theatre & dance, stillness & movement, fractal & whole. A Trinity of Time: past/present/future.

No wonder we take drugs which alter time. No wonder we believe in unbelief as belief can take so long to manifest. Unbelief is simpler somehow, if less fulfilling.

The future is contained in a kaleidoscope where each incremental change brings exchange in time-space. Or is it space-time? How will we ever know?

I do things for the simple sake of doing. We all do, no? we spend money not yet earned. We exact wishes rubbing on an imaginary magic lamp. We expect the Youniverse to respond to our heart when sometimes our hearts aren’t even on the same wavelength.

Each day of my life, my life disappears; small bites nibbled from the timespan. I seem to be caught in its alimentary tract, inanimate until digested. I make a smooth contact, like a receptor into a brain cell,  then into light-life I spring.

The Winter Home

Farewell daylight savings time

Long-lasted hours of darkness

Cloaked invisibly about me.

Goodbye the sweetly dreamed

Brought on by heavy covers pressing me into sleep,

With only my nose exposed to brightcold air.

 

I shall miss the sly-bold pride

Of rising hours before the world’s light

Far ahead of the Sleepers…

Now the days no longer round their way to bed

But perceive it as an interception to the light’s

Sharper edge, murmuring

“Stay awake!” “There’s more!” “Don’t go!”

Rambling

What is inner; what outer? How can I convey the utter timelessness of this place & what this conveys to me? The nourishment to my soul; the expansion of my heart as I try to encompass the environment too large for li’l ole me to assimilate…how can I relay these feelings?

I move in a kind of concert with the ground, my eyes roving over the rolling landscape. I can understand why being on horseback is the way to really see this land – the height increase, even of a few feet, lifts one over the low-growing shrubs & permits a wider angle of view of a territory so vast it can only be appreciated in increments. Much as my eyes would love to take this all in, I see it in layers & slices: I perceive a tree, a cloud train looking for all the world like an ephemera of mountains, white shadows of the peaks below so solidly holding up the horizon. I long to be walking all over it while knowing there are slants & dips & lifts & hollows which would swallow me indifferently as a leaf blown from a tree. Nothing is as important as this gravity of gravel & grit; I don’t even register as an afterthought to this landscape, after all.

Here & there the risings of land are slashed open. What seems like a small crevice is wide enough to pull a car through. The distance shrinks the measure. Close up, I revise any thoughts I had on, “That’s not so big, is it?” Indeed it is. What caused this separation in the land? Is this how whole continents pulled apart in division later magnified by water? And where is the water here? How did it figure in…or did the land simply pull itself apart, divided by time & climate?

And after I see the dizzying enormity of it all, I realize I hear nothing. At all. I feel my ears expanding into satellite dishes on either side of my head as they attempt to hear the silence. I am so unused to absence of sound. No rustling of trees, no lapping waters, no traffic noise. I will have to become accustomed to this by retraining other senses.

I will never know the answers fully for how I respond to this environment. But that won’t stop the questions either.

Rain

4/28-29/17

The rain woke me after midnight. This is the first rain since I’ve been here, just over a month now. I thought at first it was leaves tapping against the concrete walkway outside. I thought, “more sweeping to do” as I’ve swept every day, sometimes twice to keep the walk clear. Saves the heavier work of vacuuming what is tracked or blown in the door.

As I surfaced from full sleep, I realized there could be no leaves this crispy in spring…

This rain is tentative but steady, tap-tapping on the metal roof. I climb from bed to make a cup of chai, and return to cover up & sip it. And listen, cup in one hand, pen in the other. The heavy curtains belly out with that distinctive fragrance: Rain In The Desert. The Balinese cow bell serving as my doorbell sounds quietly, announcing a soft gusting accompaniment of breeze.

(In the desert, the smell of moisture precedes it, distinct & heady from the usual baked-sand scent. This rain will help to settle some of the dust raised by the highway department lately on a mission to dump yet more dirt. This seems to me an exercise in futility since dirt is hardly scarce here & quite abundantly distributed. But with their arcane signage & the unexplained descent of men in orange vests driving orange earthmovers, there is nothing to do but obey the “stop” & “go” of their outriders.  I question their purpose & their presence, especially when they leave the soil on the roadway – the one place it was not before their unexplained project. Are they burying us in more?)

When I thought the rain had passed by & started to doze again, another mild volley begins. I can feel the trees outside expanding, the weeds under them reaching out for sustenance. Are there others brewing tea & returning to cover up their legs in bed, just listening to the fall? A rare & delightful sound, a “joyful noise.” Who else in town lies awake scenting this perfume of suspended water falling on a dry world? More than I know? Fewer than I think?

Geoengineering has upended the weather patterns. The changes in Mother Nature herself wing out from that foul ruination of climate integrity. As the sun rolls from yellow to white & the clocks continue a relentless march forward, tonight’s quiet cleansing gentles the planet: rhythmic, soulful, fragrant, musical.

I pull the covers up to my ears & return to sleep, listening to the lullaby.

 

Hillsboro

This is my reality now: sun-filled days, whirring wings, the strange, coaxing cries of ring-neck pigeons. A tan-white cat with arctic eyes who visits, meowing, for a pet & a pat. A bedroom in pale green; a bed with a hard mattress I settle into carefully at night. Three deep sinks & water that heats up just as I’m finishing the dishes.

The ocean is above in the sky now, endlessly blue with irregular white waves of cloud. My life is organized as I want it to be, with no commitments other than what I make, no activities other than what I put myself forward to do.

I am rounder here without the regularity of the gym to help. I need a bigger commitment & heavier weights to trim off & I have not yet committed to these. One day soon, though, I will do so.

Here I am not concerned about my age anymore. I don’t fetch up four times a day telling myself I’m a septuagenarian. I don’t feel it here: the light has made me lighter of thought.

I notice things more or I notice more things. It is easier to be kind. I enjoy dressing nicely each day & I really enjoy having nice clothes to dress in. I find myself watching much that goes by, cars, people, animals. The stars seem to wink on when the sky goes black – some celestial switch is flipped. The moon carries proudly into the morning & remains visible most of the day; you just have to look for it. Today is the first day I have thought about seagulls.

History is harsh here, dusty & drowned in risen rivers. In its beginnings as a mining town, there was little enough law (and strangely, this still seems to be of minimal presence as drivers fly through at all speeds except that cited on the limit signs.) There were no rescue groups to distribute blankets & water when tragedy struck. There were raiding Apaches versus “decent” households – huts built on stolen land where the warriors did not want habitation by whites to root or grow. To them, we were the pests with our domestications & demands upon the land, with our claims to scarce water & women dressed in layers & men in hot collars & coats, the children like children everywhere, wild-eyed but brought up to obey, so conflicted (as perhaps even today) by reality & what was passing for civilization. The East imported to the West was an unfitted overlay. Adaptation to local habits was “going native” with all the negative connotations thereto. We are a mixed-match, a blended heritage, a small, tightly-knit community where everyone knows something else about who you are.

I could vacuum everyday so I learn to live with tiny leaves shaped like small dimes carried in on my sandals. Flip-flops pick up grit in the toes – a startling pain – unless I’m staying on the map-cracked sidewalk, I wear closed-toe shoes.

Perhaps the history impacts more here since I grew up at the seashore & so know that with my blood. There is a taut ethic called into survival by realism: cactus, snakes, endless & unmarked space in all directions. Yet I love it & there is a westernized me indwelling, caught up in every breeze & flicker of light dancing among the leaves.

Here I can live as though I belong. Here I can make choices not based on need, but based on a personal truth. Here I can notice what does not belong to me & set that much more aside for recycle.

I have all I need.

Hillsboro Greeting

First Rendering

I think that all this time

my muse has waited here

wrapped in a serape, wearing a light sombrero

that covers her eyes and her face

when she folds down into her arms

the bright blues, reds and greens of the fabric

stand out against the landscape

only the toes of her boots peeking

She has the patience of a mountain

all this time biding everything, awaiting my voice.

So, speak to me; I share your soul

I will lay it atop mine; we will be naked together

I will take your hand

Hike you up.

We will walk the crunching, dry road

Atop a memory of rivers.

Together we will teach what we have learned

Rebalance this nature to

the water I was from, before & after

This eternity of land

the patience it holds for all of us

​You, newborn again, mute, blind, awakening a soul…

And this silly, simple human made of words.

Second Rendering

I am listening as hard as I can

To silence

My ears are still

No cilia vibrate

Nothing is

Except a breeze passing

Quail-calls

The buzz of a heat-fly

En route elsewhere

I am amazed

No other sounds are available here

The silence has an intensity

My ears bear weight

Bear witness

Eternity exists

A scant half-mile from

What passes for a road.

Third Rendering

Here are the mountains I remember

In utter stillness, fully alive

Never fated to touch the sky.

Just to survive the eternity it takes to be a mountain

Underneath it.