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  • CyberWalls

    CyberWalls

    RELATIONSHIP

    I feel like a great vault is accessible from my inaccessible brain,

    Where words abound where language awaits its turn once more

    To bring about the glory of change agreeable to all.

    Where civility is incontrovertible & of such a nature to be courtly.

    There are dozens of realms to be alive on, layers within each

    To rely upon

    Choose one you want.

    Mine? Back to words…I write as I would walk on lily pads

    With subliminal terror put aside in favor to trust

    The next word sliding out from my pen.

    EN VOGUE

    I trust the Process.

    Things must sort themselves out.

    Instinct does still count.

    We wouldn’t be discovering brains in all our major organs,

    If nonexistent.

    Trust the plan that is for you.

    But examine it for joy first, then for all you wish.

    Even wishes that have to shrink down fit you well enough,

    If there is joy.

    MOMENTS

    I feel as though I stepped onto the emergency exit from heaven

    One long chute yellow-slide-burner-butt

    Earth turning as I’m landing

    [The timing’s gotta be good here, guys

    You’re sure about those landing estimates?]

    I am still bouncing!

    What, wave goodbye?

    Honey, I fell front in a free-fall

    My face a rictus of disbelief

    A millisecond of what was I thinking?

    Arrival.

    Thrust into the feistiest game of all,

    Human life on Planet Earth!

    Could it possibly be all I’d heard in heaven?

    Was it worth the waiting, the gamut of Eternity run

    To stay even in place to enter this Game.

    I must have been bored playing that harp

    Sittin’ on that cloud, pointing my toes toward…

    But, damn people, the world I wanted to land in

    Is coming up fast.

    Here it is: my gold ring! The Present.

    ——-

    ENTROPY

    I wasn’t built for this, all this drama

    I engaged it until

    My wherewithal went missing.

    More Old Man & The Sea than

    Moby Dick now.

    I was more a board game type

    Than paintball any day.

    Ah.

    Whether worn-out or “with it”,

    Game on!

    ———

    NEW ME

    I am rebuilding from the inside out

    The new me won’t have so far to go

    I hope, for her sake –

    It’s not  inadvertent,

    It’s her turn,

    We exchange words for wings.

    ———

    HOW STRANGE

    How quickly it left my mind,

    Twenty-five years of career

    I licked an envelope,

    Mailing it off

    Unthinking.

    Now my body can heal,

    Now I throw off short-term toxins

    With choices born of more time

    Of fluid effort.

    I recall entering massage as the exploring phase

    The please, can I be a healer stage

    Vivid, arresting, fascinating in its balanced

    Power & purity.

    Of course I recognize it: the Ego powers all through!

    I see now how final the break is

    How past its time to be gone it was

    The mantle may settle upon another

    (Even my angels wanted out…

    I think they at the Casino.)

    It’s so huge I just can’t find it anymore.

    Carol Borsello  4/23/21

  • Goddess Return

    Goddess Return

    THE WORLD HERSELF MUST CHANGE

    If we feminize her, then I ask you to your face:

    Have you ever known a woman awakening

    To whom she has become

    To torn & dirty clothing,

    To civilizations

    Wanting only

    Enough

    And cleanly lives.

    Her breath can’t quite sync the change.

    She’s wakened to our best & so much less unless you

                Suborn destruction

    We live so intensely watching chimera

    Aborted promises –

                Gutted for greed

    But she’s awake.

    It’s time to let go of the drama

    To forge ahead on upcoming realities

    So shave your head in rebirth

    Feel the changes the Light will make

    On your scalp.

    Let the wind & wynd of your language

    Move you to indwell

    A willing heart.

    Set down everything of who you have been,

    If you wish to be anything else.

    her hands smelled of Gardenias

    from the oils added to the diffuser

    bees danced outside her door.

    The hand on my low back guiding me

    So long has passed midway

    Settled atop my spine

    Watching over my shoulders

    In excitement when I venture out

    But the me who’s not That Me

    Is inert, buried in a book,

    A dream, as sublimation of life

    Happening to itself elsewhere.

    I miss ritual, the drums, the sage burning, the comradely changes of women meeting one month apart, coming from Church by way of the kitchen, let us eat before we drum.

    And so we cleared away, choosing drums or uncovering them, forming an in & out circle with Grandmother in the center. We started her heartbeat, accosting all the grandmothers to reach for rattles, to join our rhythm.

    We drummed away sadness while we welcomed its allowance; we drummed the sun across the sky, we broke & formed & ate again.

    —–

    I’ve

    I’m

    I

    To whom this moment belongs:

    Of whom life examples all

    Unique to each

    We dance

    A skein of heartfelt beauty

    Unabashed existence.

    I have had that discussion

    Un-numbered times

    In languages I no longer speak

    Won’t you set me free this moment?

    When tears mist my eyes, hurting-salt

    From glimpsing the rainbows just outside?

    I don’t expect you to fall upon me weeping

    When my eulogy is read

    Unless I am the one reading it.

    I am a Libra

    All I can do is come into balance.

    Once there,

    I am free.

  • Opening To Receive

    Opening To Receive

    We know that you have been making the most of a pretty bad situation there on Earth. We also know that you have summoned so much help, so much healing, so many solutions, that there is a sort of logjam of energies that have been coming your way but that not enough people are open to receive. (Arcturian Council)

    Decisions are being made for me & I love/fear it. I feel finally in touch with so much more of me than was available before.

    Now I have read for years the veils are thinning. At times, different signals were pulled through – inspirations, epiphanies, far too many to be synchronistic – way above & far beyond. I stand in a shaft of sunlight every day. Right after I step free of any shadow of fear. There are more days now when fear doesn’t even crowd the frame of my picture.

    My point, since I am goaded/guided to put this into writing & send it, predawn, into the cybersphere, my point is that I notice repetition. Re-petition. Some seer once said (when asked if it was ok to filibuster God), “You don’t mail a letter twice.”

    Information & data have been arrowing toward me since childhood. It wasn’t necessarily me they aimed for, just I was there & wide open. I grew up in a relative form of isolation (think lighthouse-keeper in training.) Wisdom keeps elbowing to the front, accosting me most directly. All attaches my attention, engages synapse, repeats again some time-told truth humming in vibrational sympathy. It turns out I know everything. I have heard it all before.

    It is now when the databits are coalescing into real information. I am differently attended: paying different attention as perceptions are not just widening, but layering. A sense of jubilation attends. I feel as though I have entered a library while wandering familiar premises. I feel like saying, “Hey, I’m home! Who else is here?”

    The information is already codified: written up: reproduced on all media: spoken: unheard: remote. The information dances just around my reach. Sometimes I knock it aside, reaching for to satisfy another appetite. However I removed myself from it, the knowledge is all around now, I walk through a Theatre of Change, constantly pushing up my glasses.

    The timeline is bifurcating ahead. Others buy food to have a year’s supply. I buy black-marble-copybooks as a hedge against death. I write. Soon I will write more. One motor that kept me running has wound to a stop. The ones I move forward with now run on this form of Light, as far as I can see. I need to walk in this for awhile.

    I’ve run with the Sages, the Seers, the seen, Life is no more than before it would seem

    but light lives in spectra we strive to achieve in notice, in knowledge, in all we believe.

  • So Satisfied I’m On My Way …

    So Satisfied I’m On My Way …

    Get going in the right direction. Which one is that? What is right currently? The basics have even shifted a couple of notches & when the directions change, which is right?

    I guess it’s the one you’re in. it’s that “being in the present” thing. I can’t give you specific proof of my memories. Oh, maybe put you in touch with the Akashic Records, soon as I find the remote.

    In a world where there is so much influence to remove us from basic cues on how to live in the world, I feel I have come through that particular (particulate?) tunnel. I see a lot more relationships. Many have sad stories to tell; they beg your appreciation. But my feelings may not align with sadness, tho my heart is capable of doing so. It seems my heart is capable of so many more things than I had ever thought.

    Every day the most elusive of thoughts swims by, rare items never to appear again to me. I’d love to capture these. Often I am so certain I will remember I surrender them immediately. They disappear, torn apart by the fabric of my coherence being greeted by the growling world which needs these words. I am happy to have surrendered them as I know they will be encountered – one at a time.

     I love hearing a thought I have already thought. It unites me into engagement like a cell receptor key activates its charge.

    My answers won’t really work for anyone else anyway. They’ll have to tweak them to get them to fit…thrust out a leg or something to line it up. They will do whatever it takes if they are inclined to think a new thought. Out here new thoughts move polka-dot out from the center. They move with  you & can, at times, bombard you with otherness of translation. For these, you need not engage the brain, indeed, the brain is too disconnected up there, preoccupied with brainy things; many times reactions are pushed down in the system. If they get below the heart, the real brain, events can take on & emit so much more energy.

    Well, don’t stumble up any stairs on my replay. I am amazed to have touched you. I live in an unlikely town at an unlikely time. Eternity spreads her skirts & invites me to sit to watch, or at least send a representative to do that, while all journeys continue toward the Center of the Spiral. Take with you only that which will ruthlessly serve your unfoldment.  

  • Ferals

    Ferals

    My Prayer for Ferals

    Is it forgiven if you pray it that? Even if you’re not always kind?

    We live now & then, like Ferals. It can be on any wavelength: emotional, spiritual, physical, pineal. (Pretty much you can count on physical to accompany any of them.) It’s all of the above getting through as best as can. After a point one forgets completely about, “’Scuse me,” after an unexpected burp. In fact, I welcome the burp so I can watch myself not react.

    Everywhere each of us has attuned to environment differently. In many cases, travel changes that. Reducing the ring to one key reduces it irrevocably. I, (who seemed so stunningly, daringly, original & intrepid …) such an Individual…

    I set out alone only to find I was one in a long line. I could choose how long I wanted that line to be.  (Not like now when choices are made for us), but in a time when a choice meant where you might spend years of your life.

    At times, we choose the longer line.

    As a years-younger woman, I wanted to believe I could live like a bird. I wanted my habitat to precede me. I wanted it waiting for me as part of my all-around landing. I was amazed others did not think thoughts like me!

    I grew up on the beach, as eternal & in-the-moment changeable as any element can be.

    I confess it now to be a knowing. I could live like a bird. I could sing for my supper. I had not tried to name it before, feeling it was enough. Once we got together, though, she’s cut miles off my route. All it took was an exchange of names. Then came the Winters of our Discontent, flowering in below-ground cellars. However we’ve had time to grow into each other & interesting years to do so,

    It gotten to be that whenever we come to a crossroads & check in, we both shrug & say “no matter.” (It never does if you’re plugged into at least the vista.)

    I have been so slow in my awakening, other worlds have invaded the one of my visions. I have gotten off here, at this particular timeline, this colossal universe named for food. I’ve stayed a long while. Maybe even over-stayed; up to you.

    In my campout days I woke to find the world around the tent had clarified – almost atomized – a face-full of Now. I made my marks on it, hot water & coffee, a poise upon the picnic bench all steam, aroma & a face-full of sunbeam.

    I learn late the lessons in of my “last hours of ancient sunlight.”* I am close to the Jump, but not saying yet, I don’t give a damn.

    I want someone laying a little Boddhisattva on me for a change.

    *–Thom Hartman: The Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight

  • A Small Flotilla of Poems

    A Small Flotilla of Poems

     A small flotilla of poems for the aquatically challenged. 

    THE LOCAL LOCALS

    why new jersey girls go barefoot:       sand

    why new mexico girls do not:              cactus

    ———————————————————–

    mother gaia knows me – she could pick up my scent anywhere I’ve been.

    and any-when.

    i don’t try to be untrackable, it’s just i prefer to be untraceable.

    more random wisdom for a random age.

    teach your self-talk out loud.

    be sure to hear it with both ears as it is meant to be heard

    bloody as a fairytale

    unbecoming as days in front of a mirror

                marking change

    being strong

    instead of beautiful.

    LITTLE GIRLS & QUEENS

    i don’t remember wanting to be a princess.

    i knew from an early age i am only  a queen.

    queens don’t get  a day off,

    not if they’re doing the job right.

    queens don’t give into presumption

    they own that!

    all it takes to be one is a remarkable memory

    with a good education.

    queens are an acquired taste, but there it is, nonetheless.

    queens disdain working for others

    but often despair of working for themselves.

    they never should go into any family business.

    we always observe the “no queens permitted” signs.

    queens are often found along the stairways of their own palaces,

    midway up or midway down.

    wrapped in a cloak, they often face the wind

    blowing away the secrets offered

    queens are oracles of change

    for better or worse in the kingdom.

    queens surmount the barriers

    then return to show the way.

    WHERE LIGHT IS AN ELEMENT

    new mexico is a land shaped by wind

    telling long stories over sage & chaparral

    we keep thinking an ending may occur

    a solution to be had just over the next

    endless horizon, if we pay attention.

    really, there’s only mystery

    the wind blows upward

    seeding clouds with sand

    there’s a blue beyond the color

    we know as blue

    this sky. this air. this wind.

    we harvest what we plant

    we walk in the gardens seeded by our own mouths

    seasoned by our own water

    willed into more than survival.

    A PLANETARY MORNING

    the light’s a little tilted

    the spectra of other realms

    we have a view now

    above & below

    like underwater cameras, dipping.

    we are no longer individuals

    as we clamor & bang our pots

    to get the attention of God

    (who’s been keeping up all along,

    indeed, reflecting back to light our way.)

    TRIANGULATION

    the three blind mice

    squared off & began

    quartering the space

    profligate thoughts

    tossed back & forth

    among the three

    to this day,

    i have no idea

    if they ever got out.

    THE WORLD

    this world is full of consonants

    the softening of vowels

    lost in a well of expletives:

    karate chop words

    what happens in a world full of curses?

    it is becalmed: the steady balance

    of beauty, divinity, sacred pushback lost

    until the “cursors” re-ignite with love

    enough to tilt us home

    nature bites back, burying curses into nullity

    achieving blessing.

    carol borsello MARCH 2021

  • A Dance of Poems

    A Dance of Poems

    Line Waiter

    In the dystopian future

    I am a Line Waiter.

    I earn a decent life cuz I stand my ground.

    As surrogate.

    No time to wait in line? Make the appointment anyway

    then just show up!”

    get the picture on yr phone?

    Sometimes people throw coins, too

    When I dance a little shimmy. Nice perk.

    All day to contemplate the ones before

    Philosopher by inadvertency (trying to keep self-amused.)

    Lots of thoughts to think; no blame to be had.

    We’re all in line somewhere for something we don’t

    Feel in front of yet.

    Yeh?

    – – –

    Don’t be shy, little words, just dance write up

    Blow past the mind on your own mission

    Of being seen at the same time as being said

    So, don’t let me get in the way,

    Just swarm by, mob the

    Blood-brain barrier,

    Well up in the ears,

    Overfill the eyes,

    Wash over the feet

    Fill my hands so that to

    Shake them is to write you up.

    • – –

    Broad & Chestnut Meet

    I was keeping that Philadelphian ‘never-build-taller-than-Billy’s hat’

    In the ‘partment; didn’t really realize that until

    Things started getting taller than me

    On the surround

    A 7’ bookcase, the split-leaf Rhonda finally

    Supported on a walk-found branch so we are

    Face-to-leaf

    The top of the desk calling for its own inspection

    Each time I sit down. Its vortex operational

    In triangular Joy.

    It all moves by

    Same as it ever was.

    My surroundings shift like a river

    I somehow manage to stand up in.

    • – –

    THE BUGLE CALL OF SATURDAY MORNING Or, staying in the Flow

    Saturdays start early for me…I wake with

    The yearnings of a schoolgirl who has survived

    A week of hell & has time before Mom gets on

    About the vacuuming … time to get out with a

    ‘bye’ n a grab at a banana and head downstairs

    for Blue Boy – the 26” bike my Missing Dad

    Bought me cuz he didn’t know I had a little under

    24” frame – so the bike

    Was a grab-mount

    Feet already pedaling the ground

    Before the saddle-leap

    Already in motion, side by side

    Up, up & away.

    RECOVERED DOCUMENT

    Ever get this notice?

    You pull up Word & it offers

    In effect, a snick on brainpan

    A kind of “Ah Ma’am, you left this”

    Someone waving my flea market

    Moneypurse.

    My

    Eyes go round circuiting

    all the memory banks at once

    “What document?” My fingers

    Assure an affirmative:

    YES!

    ‘Bring it to me, sweeti,’

    I coax it up & it’s an

    Address I typed in two

    Weeks ago for an envelope

    That jammed the printer.

    LIFE IS A MAILED LETTER

    All alone, you are formed, molded, finally

    Stamped with a Diploma & a birth certificate

    (on second thought, Mom kept that till needed.)

    Released into the world

    Like a trained animal into the circus

    Applauded by a crowd you didn’t even know

    Was out there all this time.

    Put into the slot, sitting in the darkness

    Of the not-knowing until a Uniformed Daylight

    Rattled the chute

    You were snatched by an unfamiliar glove

    Driven, sorted, allocated by some invisible

    Zip Code machine

    Deposited in the tray of life

    Like change in a pocket

    Carelessly delivered

    Tho carefully addressed

    In a life where you’re the Occupant

    As often as not.

    • – –

    We have Ghost Houses here

    In T or C

    We have places that once occupied

    A “where” here, these can shimmer

    Into place:

    Overlay a yard or a park

    So you blink & maybe find a coffee.

    For where you thought you were

    Is not where you are.

    There are incipient ranches

    A mirage between the highway

    And the mountains looming

    Like giants: the Caballos

    The Horse Mountains for when

    ‘they’ hid horses there.

    We have nearby a changeable lake

    Atop a drowned fort-militant

    Something to do with hostiles

    While we trespassed unmercifully

    Treading their flag

    Writing on ours, “Don’t.You.Dare.”

    • – –
  • First Person

    First Person

    The lance that pierces my side is not made by anyone out there. I take full-on responsibility for that one. You can accept that as you wish, but my point in putting it out here is a kind of alert.

    I recognize putting it all in the first person can come hard; I’m hoping to get there. I’m feeling more … umm … “real” isn’t enough of a word, all watered down with usage. Maybe genuine? (We see that on leather tags but not much else.) It’s an interesting feeling. At a time when I feel most personally powerful, I am relegated to virtual living over being alive.

    From the little doors that creaked open when my daughter sent a wedding picture of her parents, some distant dreams have emerged. I see the hope in those eyes; I see the life that still wants to come forward & be lived beloved – by all or none or some and done. With these choices, I cannot lose.

    So, while there is an everyday life, it is made to be accelerated through these days. This comes at a time I am ready to slow down & pick it apart.

    Or at least that’s my take on events. After this much isolation, I’m more able to pick & choose that with which I crave comfort. More than ready to be the observer, the chronicler, the descriptor. But who am I recording it all for? Isn’t it obviously me? So I wriggle my feet & agree to just do it.

    Shapeshifting isn’t for everybody. It is what I’ve been doing on the inside for all my life. I recognize this now that I see old pictures. Please understand I shredded as much of my life as I could when I left Nashville… in fact, the machine burned out a fair bit before I left. There were parts I had to lie to get back, but it wasn’t a Big Lie. It was a Handy Lie involving Xerox copies of my life.

    All of life is abroad now. When restrictions are put away, it will burgeon forward as we have never before seen. See? There I go. Rephrase: “as I have never before seen.”

    A once-friend said I live on many levels. Once in a while, that observation returns. Am I still interesting? Who do I need to interest besides myself? Yet my favorites are those distractions that catch me in unknowing need so I must respond; this I perceive as childlike. I enjoy to think my child is getting to play aloud. (An example of this is standing in a sunbeam: the sun has reached the level of the windowsill & spills unrestrained into the room. I adjust the blinds & am caught in the light & heat moving up, taking me in & then full upon my face. Light on mountains arising.)

    Maybe all these blogs have all along been imaginative etchings done by her.

    I’m ever so glad one of us has grown up! The me-in-charge has wanted to sit back & just take notes for a real long time.

    Ciao!

  • Liberty

    No matter how many times we’re told we have to save ourselves, we still go for the, “yeah, but you sure you can’t help?”. It worked with mom and dad.

    Americans hold a view of themselves that they’re not panhandlers. In the desert, this can mean you dry up & drift off. We pay attention to one another & to stories.

    It’s not the time to drift off, be cast adrift, lose the drift, not right now. It might be the last bike down the hill through a dark town where one woman holds a brief lantern in welcome. (I held that lantern out in a dark street & only heard the bike as it braked.)

    Digression runs a close parallel to the ideal. The commentary is overheard on both parleys. Comes a time when the only way to undo a knot is with patience & sourcing. We have reached that time.

    We are everyday people. But we can excuse ourselves to keep an eye on excellence should It be in the immediate. I see now how often my expectations of excellence call it forth.

    It has always been so, been what this is now which is sheerly your perception of it. As mine is. In practical terms, if I move my winter curtains to put up sheers, I will lose to discomfort in a jiffy. My comfort zone sports blackout curtains with blinds.

    There are always changing times. When times need a boost it’s a boot with a bust in the butt oncoming. It used to be mostly individuals, but I have just enough room in my paranoia for one more, should you care to investigate. I might, can you hold on while I check?

    (He’s got a bust of Che Guevarra in his office, for God’s sake. And the curtains have obviously just been unpackaged, you mean to tell me the White House has no iron?)