Inner Child Enterprises: February 2012

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

“I Am Thankful”

Father,

let me melt into the abysmal arms

of thy grace

for i am thankful

i look about me and i see wonder

and for this gift of sight

i am humbled

and tears moistens my eye

and i am humbled

i feel the beat of your Heart

within mine

and i listen

to the concordant symphony

of life

and conclude reverently

that You and i

are one

the strife and anguish

that challenges my glee

sadly resides in me

but as thy servant James spoke

i count it all joy

so i give my yoke of burden

unto thee

this unceasing breath

that fills my breast

many times goes unnoticed

in my conscious

but i embrace it just the same

with the love of life

yes, i am thankful

the attitude of gratitude

does elude me

many a day

for as a man

i do not always understand

Your ways

but i do remember

what you said

for it forever plays

in my head

that “your Ways are not my Ways”

this does beckon me

to Trust in your judgment

and i am thankful,

for if i had to do it

i would screw it

i am thankful for all the challenges

trials

tribulations

you have adorned my path with

for i am the Wiser

the Stronger

the more determined

in my stumbling

my bumbling

it is that darkness

i have learned the nature of Thy Light

and i Fight for it

daily

without fail

within me

and the world about me

I am thankful

this day, my cup is overflowing

for this day i rest in the knowing

that You Father still love me

and i feel this

this existential bliss

this kiss of life

filled with possibilities

for what i may become

so in summing up this brief relief

of what my heart seeks to speak

there is but 3 words

i know you have heard

so many times before

and that is

“I Am Thankful”

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Inner Child Enterprises: we believed . . . didn’t we

we believed . . . didn’t we

we believed

a dimensions apart

a world never capable

of being imagined

where all is surreal

miracles litter the way

and the middle eye

is one of manifestation

and all thoughts actualize

Alice knew not of this place

and Dorothy could not face it

and i long to taste it

as do all souls

once again

such things

as warmth and cold

exist not

and we forgot

what the absence of time feels like

haven’t we

in our now fantasy

we see through

kaleidoscope glasses

nothing is clearly defined

so we refine the illusions

with loosely gathered allusions

minds askew from reality

whatever that may be

and what do we truly believe

at our prime level

do we really understand

how to revel in joy

we branded rebels of the realm

at the helm of our consciousness

which i term my private asylum

there is a madman

standing in judgment

of things that do not matter

like the mad hatter

we pacify ourselves

with the changing of the costumes

or the parts thereof

whereof

we remain lost

tossed in the void

where we dream of a substance

we term life

which exists not

at any sustainable

measurable

accountable

capacity

where the insidious

become a ridiculous

validity

in our conformity

to the programs

that are running in our heads

and here in this limited

timid

exposure to self

we feel justified

vindicated

because we have learned

how to manipulate the delusion

coming to an inane conclusion

that we are OK

sometimes

we embrace ourselves in love

from the left hand

self condemnation and purgatory

ushered forth

from the right-mindedness

of our needs

viscerally so

and when i attempt to ask the question

“what do i know”

Truth is

if i can call it that

it is like the fat of the Lamb

up in smoke

just like David said it would be

in some Psalm or another

and my Mother

she never warned me about this

i kiss the bliss i never quite had

just like my Father, my Dad

who too yearned

to make a way

through this wilderness . . .

bless them

and the quest continues

consciousness’

and contextual fabrics

of my reality

being shredded

in my reflective examinations

the damnation of overt scrutiny

offers no solace

but for a blink of that eye

which is infected,

a Stye

blurring all perceptions

when i ponder eternity

and certainly with age

it gets no better

save when i lie

to self again

i hear the Dogs barking

would that be some sort of alarm

that the Thief has entered the gate ?

and men with undeterminable Egos

run to get their Capes

laced with a fear

and the need to show the world

we have some courage

to transform the norm

of our little selves

into Gods

i laugh at this juncture

for the tincture of truth

still burns the wound

profusely

as i contusivley observe

in my concussive state,

my own alacrity for stupidity

“Oh Quixotic One when will you get the lesson?”

so . . .

i grab my gun

loaded with subterfuge

and the deluge of reason begins

and in conclusion

i resolve this . . .

thou art my enemy,

my friend,

and the dichotomous ghost

awakens once more

and haunts my weary

tear laden soul

but i worry not

for the hole in my heart

does serve it’s purpose

alleviating the angst

i once so dearly cared about

i could simply say . .

“i don’t give a fuck”,

but that would be a confession

even my indifferent self

can not bare in the open,

the light

that transcends opposites

in my behavior

Man . . .i am still stuck

looking for a Savior

so i shout silently

that i not disturb your solemn rest

lest you are ready

for if we do chose to awaken

we must voluntarily

summarily

spit upon the graves

of who we used to be

or who you think

you may have been

for the many eons

we have slumbered

resting in an uncertain peace

and who was it that said

“the Least shall lead a nation”

and to my reasonable elation

i am cool with that

for it does appease some aspect

of this itch for

what lies beyond the door

of the horizons

we peer at

leer at

from our spat upon graves

behave the voice said

was that in my head alone

or did you hear the echo as well

of your own voice

reverberating

in the empty halls

save for pictures and visions

of fading dreams

and as much as i deliberate

about the sheer ecstasy

of total liberation

there still resides my anguish

and i ultimately surmise

but one thing

and that is . . .

the sin of it all

we believed . . . didn’t we

"'I' lay down my life that i may pick it up again, for 'I' have the power to do so"

Sunday, February 26, 2012

for you, for me, from me to you

my ship is sinking

for my tongue

has been loosed

i speak on things

which i should not

i think on things

which seek to but pierce my hull

giving way my life’s buoyancy

“be mindful of what

proceeds from thy mouth”

that

or something like that

was something i read somewhere

i do believe

it was a scripture

or at least ought to be

it is my own now

and somehow

i must employ it

more often

opinions

like Cow Shit

in the pasture

mixed with the food we must eat

who would have thought

words were digestible

when poisoned

and laced

with traces of our own discontent

malcontent

we must eventually face

that which

we have for self

that we transfer to others

our Sisters

our Brothers

those sails

that gather winds

that i may traverse my Seas of life

have holes in them

as they seek to gather

a new breath

tattered and torn

My brother, Wind

whispers to my soul

that a whole billow

makes for a lovely pillow

where hope for better ‘morrows lie

yet lies about what is about us

prevail

and my sails

are less than diligent

in their seeking

to do their duty

for the bounty

and the booty

of life’s spoils

will never be mine

if i do not mind

that which i toil for

yes, my ship is sinking

ever so slowly

as i descend

ever so lowly

in the ways of schisms

betwixt me and you

with criticisms

and man made created “isms”

to justify my perspectives

which are naught but

mostly useless electives

and selectives

of how indifferent we can be

when it comes to

our own directives

and the way we should go

you know

what i mean

and in the mean time

we do not see

there is only one Sea

and we all are sailing our ships

and remember what they said . . .

“Loose lips Sinks Ships”

end piece

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Saturday, February 25, 2012

us for Breakfast

it was a day like any other day

or so it seemed

heart was beating

with no direct input from me

Thank God

for i would most certainly screw it up

or forget to keep my mind to task

if i had to be responsible

The chest was still grabbing that air

systematically

except when i intervened

to draw on my cigarette

i went outside

like i do every morning

to offer my obeisance, prayer and gratitude

for just being here

i looked about me

the trees were still . . . . trees

standing rooted in the earth about me

still swaying to a light wind

while reaching for the heavens

was i emulating them,

or they mocking me ?

the sky was a very light blue

the Sun was what the Sun was

slightly warm, slightly yellow

all light

but . . .

it appeared to be in a different place

than yesterday at this time

i pondered this

and minds like mine

like that

early morning thoughts to play with

and then the variety of considerations came

and the game of possibilities began

just supposed the Sun is really moved

but 15 degrees to the north ?

or was it Mother who has shifted ?

what would happen ?

would the Earth open up

and swallow us for breakfast

from Kosovo to Texas

from England to Japan

man . . .

that’s funny

the powerlessness of man

i wondered then

where does all these thoughts go ?

are they being stored someplace ?

a place where i would meet them again

Lorde knows there are many i would like to forget

have them wiped from my memory

for i am not anxious to know

that they too are eternally mine

these thoughts . . .

will they ever complete themselves

be reconciled

unto their own path

or are they destined to wander

waiting in some suspect position

to ambush me again

mug me again

to encounter and struggle

like Jacob ?

break my Thigh Divine Angel

and then redeem me

rename me

let me become a nation

thoughts

they were meant to be lost

not for me to re-find

that junk

and disdain

and pain

and nonsense

that once made sense

in my sickened mind

you know what i mean

yes, the mean stuff

indifference

hate

towards self

and others

i think i forgave my self

but i do still faintly remember

some incidences

and the defenses

of my less than valiant character

funny

how the thought of being perished

brings upon us

these not so cherished moments

yet we hold on to them

in memory of our almost dead pasts

that lasts

and lasts

always casting shadows

into our presence

a gift

a contribution of sorts

to our Karma i guess

a test perhaps ?

sometimes i think this but a school

you know .. . life

and fools like me never get it

or do we ?

and just do not confront

those items

we hide in the back of our closets

along with that child we once knew

Viktor Frankl spoke

of our existentialism

and the schisms betwixt self

and reality

me . . .

i got plenty of them

i thought it was my job to create them

isn’t that what dreaming is for

to escape who we are

to go in our proverbial kitchens

and bake cakes

with pretty colorful icings

so that we can lick the bowls

of our bowels of reason clean

and pretend we are desert

for the world about us

pretend the world likes us

which ushers forth another concern

before i burn

so they tell me

and that is trust

TRUST ?

why is it always the unseen ?

that being the situation

we all can believe in whatever we choose

couldn’t we

but in the end

i do not think it would stop

the Earth from swallowing

us for Breakfast

do you ?

after all . . .

do not we eat our young too?

the day 200 feet of snow fell out of the sky

we all died

Sunday, February 19, 2012

will that do for you ?

i bowed

in the deepest of reverence

for i had an offering

within my hands

there was my heart

and i offered it to life

that i may fully live

i knew naught of anything else

save Trust

for God was seen

in all things

within

and without

i felt the Presence of the Greater

in my thoughts

my intent

my deeds

my wishes and visions too

which is why

i have always sown seeds like this

to touch needs like this

in myself

and possibly you too

i remember,

do you . . .

when we did not carry heavy things

upon our shoulders of reason

but somehow

we reasoned that “Gift of Conviction” away

while trying to adapt

and please others

many times i asked myself

why do i bother

and i realized

i was afraid of the loneliness

of walking my own path

with no crowd cheering

no naysayers jeering

validating my rights

to rebuke them

as i refuted my own glory

of being

can you see

where i am going with this ?

i remember when life Kissed me

. . . often

daily

and i kissed her in return

her very breath was my lover

and she reminded me

of our bond of joy

with every heartbeat

take a seat here son

i have a story to tell

one for the ages

one that all the Sages speak of

about the Love

you see

a long time ago

more than we now know

there was this place

that was not a place at all

until the call came

in the name of you

the name of me

and we

shall call Him, She, It Father

or whatever you wish or rather

for the words, they really do not matter

but they “DO”

yes words “DO”!

He spoke those words

“Let It Be”

famous now

and somehow

life began

Man will never quite understand

or will he

the Power of the Word that “BE”

can you see

what i am saying here

and from that point on

there was not only the Dark

but the Dawn

that we,

would have something to live for

vie for

as we look for

that door

to our liberation

from our own ghosts,

our exacerbation

from the deliberations

we hold as truths in our reason

season in . . . season out

and through each day of our lives

the Sun does rise

we still bring doubts to the table

feeding the lame and the able alike

while disabling

becoming the less

than valiant dreams

within and without

it is our own very psyche

that deludes us

as we have lost our trust

in the greater of things

we once knew so intimately

so we invented Faith

that we may believe

in that which we conceive

oh the woe in that statement

we are told

and reminded that

if we believe we can achieve

such things

we use to just speak of and see

as we watched them actualize

before our eyes

before the advent of time

did arise

to interrupt our flow

of what we once took for granted

“The Know”

i ask you

did you know that . .

You are God manifest ?

That is the test of all souls

to come to realize

that the stories you are told

are just that “Stories”

Fables and Lies

whether White or Black

they are all cute diversionary synonyms

to keep you separated from Him

or Her

or It

shit

awake

for goodness sake

awake my child

well, back to the Garden

where the fruit is sweet

and you are complete

in the knowing

that you are the Wind

the Moon

the Stars . .

you are the Near, and the Far

the seen embraced

in what is not readily faced

dare i impugn

that you are all things

that’s a twist on logic

for you “Are”

but simply listen to this

you are

God Manifest

and Ordained

it’s plain you see

if you choose to

simply Be

let me take task here

and simply ask you dear

If that which is “Perfect” created a thing . . .

what is that thing ? . . .

can it be any less ?

Let us stop all this confessing

to unknown Sins

we are born in

again and again

and gather the lesson

and get off this deluded Merry Go Round

where all are Dizzy

and busy

creating Haunted Houses and rides

for you to be induced to abide

and be absently happy

with the doled out Candies

Cottony and soft

dreams aloft

with our commitments to truth

aloft as well

while we scoff and tell

more nursery rhymes

to the children

the Son does go down

at this Circus

where all the Clowns

with Scary, Silly faces of surreal Truths

continue the venue

of make believe

and we are entertained

and we remember our pain

don’t we

yes . . . let us “Make Believe”

that we are free

to be what we wish to be

Happy dammit

will that do for you ?

Ultimately

my words are not shared

for the purpose of entertaining you

though you may find some musing within them

nor are my words offered for the purposes

of sustaining you

that you must do for your self

get your God to help

whatever that may be

or whom He / She or It

is to you

my words reflect my pathway

my thoughts

my feelings

the floors

my ceilings

i experience

throughout my journey

some may say it is my struggle

that is ok

for they are right

the days

the nights

i travel

are that of my own

they may be somewhat recognizable

perhaps

but don’t even try

to walk my path

find your own tours

and enjoy the sightseeing

you are paying for

whether by bus or train

the pain of it’s brevity

leads not to any particular levity

worthwhile

though we smile anyway

we tell stories

“Fish Stories” i think

to others and our selves too

about the Fairies and Elves we conjure

to make our lives dismally magical

i once did find a 4 leaf clover

and many 3 leaved ones i split

to sometimes 4

and many times more

as i dreamed of the possibilities

of deliverance

to where from what

ha ha ha

heaven some may call it

me, i just don’t know

though

many claim they do

i think that is what Faith covers

the ambiguity of the unseen

unknown

while we lazily await a harvest

from some seeds sown

yet we keep not the garden

with the same ardent behavior

with which we dream

do we ?

pardon me . . . .

and Ultimately

whatever that signifies

there may be truth

and many misogynistic lies

we happily hug and cling to

and we are not that much different

are we

wanting what is the Ultimate

but we really do not want to face it

with any semblance of finality

though we pretend to chase it

we would rather dream

and create visions of pretense

while sitting on the fences

of the defenses

of the self pretenses

colored by lore handed down

passed around

from ear to ear

fear to fear

tear to tear

is that queer or what

the butt kissing

and licking

and my bic is not flicking properly

cause it is made in Taiwan

yet Opie and Ron

Howard that is

are one and the same

though the names may differ

to feed you disconnectedness

and during this mess

as our ships are listing

threatening to drowns us

thus, we are poor swimmers

when it get’s right down to it

bottom dwellers are we ?

perchance ?

so ultimately

let me dance

as the clown in the court

a Jester gesturing

giving life the “Bird”

and those things i once heard

let me forget them as well

and then

at lease ultimately

i will be present

ultimately

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Saturday, February 18, 2012

not any more . . .

not any more

i gnash my teeth upon the bone

of myself

i have already rendered my flesh apart

i am dying

leaving all evidence

of my old self behind

i can no longer fight this battle

in the bowels of my reason

where i attempt

with all due feebleness

to digest the ways of this world,

at least not that which i see

or i think represents me

and you

this is not a new trial

but the same one from of old

the one i have been scolded about

the one that makes me doubt

my own soul

and it’s validity

and the insipidness

i can no longer address

with my energy

my psyche is overrun

with figuring just how

right now

to make it all fit

and that shit never balances

any of my equations

until i apply

surrealities

from other dimensions

and give them life here

and fear has become my friend

for i have, like you

come to depend on it’s presence

and i dance

in those same halls of reason

that rebukes me

refutes me

as i temporarily

act the part

apart from me

and all i suspiciously

may desire to be

i spoke to God this morning

i think

and perhaps

He is that instinct

that speaks through the shadows

of our hauntings

eerie it is

yet today i followed,

and that shadow

became my light

the cloak of deception

i adorned

to not be scorned

by the masses of asses

i embraced,

and then i faced me

and i saw naught

but myself

in “Self’s” mirror

and the flesh of past personas

melted in the face of this truth

and bone and marrow remained

as the skeletal frame work

of hardened, molded dust

and then time peeked through my eye

and i . . .

was no more

yet more than all

and now the calling of

the chaos has subsided

for where i once resided

lies ruins of who i use to think i be

“me”

and i no longer have need

to suck the marrow

from my narrow perspectives

i offer to the abyss

where naught may desist

nor resist

the coming of this age

where teachers and students

sages and disciples

you and i

can drink the spirit of the Water Bearers

as they pour their offerings

upon the earth

and for what that is worth

i hunger nor thirst

not any more

Friday, February 17, 2012

at the cross

betwixt my compassion

and the realm

of my protective psyche

i am being nailed

my hands have holes in them

and i can neither grasp

nor hold to

and valid logics

nor reason

as to why we are,

so i cling to the etheric qualities

of beliefs

of which are unseen

yes Father, am i forsaken as well

i ask

do tell me

that the crooked paths of life

i have walked

is the right way

and will become straightened

some day

my soles are bleeding

from the spikes of retribution

that have also penetrated my heart

and i leave a trail of blood

evidencing my departure

from that realm

which once embraced my solace

i pray you not take nor follow

my private journey of anguish

nor learn my language

for i know you have your own

to bear

as reason chokes

the light out of it’s own sanctity

i sit here enveloped

in the folds of time.

we fare well together,

she indifferent

i weary

teary

silently awaiting new fears

to be borne

and manifest unto my here-ness

and each one comes to test my resolve

and “time”, she leaves a trail as well

softly etched in the sands of memory

moved by the light winds

laden with wisping values

in my consciousness,

there is a reaching

i am aware

that the effigies

do fade

with each cresting testing wave

that comes to kiss my shores

leaving remnants of other lands

for further examination

and scrutiny

of my mutinous convictions

another juxtaposition

another cross

is visited upon me

that i again may chose

there is no winning nor losing

there is the horizontal plane of “be”ing

and or allowing

and thus the vertical-ness

of ascension

or descension . . .

i smile

my dissension overcomes me

my legs are not broken

and i shall walk on

even with this aching stitch

in my side

from the silly wounds of persecution

and mockery

my compassion is ever abound

and it does pain me

to see so much woe

within me

about me

within you

in the end

i defend valiantly

most times

the rights of passage

resurrection of the hallowed things brings

e’en if the victory

does appear shallowly hollow

and as i resuscitate,

massage the heart of my inner child

back to life

i tell him the Sun comes soon

and all will be ok

even if at times we do express

and

redress our indifference

with pretty costumes

so none

may assume they know of

our true identity

for this is our lot

to bear this cross

of the lost

yet . . .

let us be mindful

careful

e’en in our woefulness

to not throw the baby out

with the bathwater

while we offer reverent obeisance

penance and prayer

in our suffering here

bearing the weight of life

at the cross

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Pain and Butterflies

Is there a pain upon the wings of the Butterflies

Teasing men to dream of what not may be

I see

You see what ?

Dreams crumbling

Tumbling

Out of our heads

Dead

Who said they would come true

Not me

Was it you ?

Flying all sweetly

Completely oblivious

Of how the living are dying

Vying

For beautiful

Never to be fulfilled

Blood is still being spilled

While gardens of expectations

Are tilled

By the blind

Carving crooked furrows of thought

In our minds

Hey you

I am having a 2 for 1 sale

On doctrines

And get on Prayer Rote free

Will you buy a few from me

Let me see

What do you like

Ole Skool

New Skool

I got the tools

That will help you sleep

And keep you from truth

What ever that may be

Just watch the Butterflies

Oh, by the way

Have a look at our flowers

Over there

In that section marked

Pain and Butterflies

A WIP Prompt Joint

Pain and Butterflies

I am listening to now

I hear the muscles in my bowels

Doing it’s digestive duties

I hear the breathing of life,

I listen as the air rushes into my nostrils

And fill my lung cavity

I hear the beating of my heart

And it’s attempt to keep pace

With it’s own perceptions of life

And it does well

I hear the bird in the wood

Calling to the day

Letting all know that life speaks

Volumes

I hear the stillness of that very wood

And the reaching of every limb

Of every Tree

To the heavens

I hear the sneaking yet not silent footsteps of thought

Tickling my consciousness to come to play with them

This day

I smile

I hear my expectations

Wailing for fulfillment

Crying against it’s own limitedness to dream

So i let them go

That i may re-create them

More grander than before

And again i smile

I hear delusions being manufactured

In a concept of peace within

But is it ?

I hear your call for this same

I hear God speaking

Am i He

Am i She

Am i simply me

Manifest ?

I hear the evolution of past to now

And somehow it is believable

For at one time

That now was conceivable

As it is “Now”

And hear i am

Hearing the footsteps already expressed

That i address through this time’s illusion

Amidst the confusion

That which i ignored

I hear this smile on my face

Humming along

Singing the song

Of Universes yet to be born

And birth them “I” will

That we may ever seek

I hear this week is gone

Yet it is still awakening

In lessons

Yet to be embraced

I hear the approach of Chance

And i listen as it

Knocks upon the door of opportunity

And i pay attention

As they greet each other

With indifferent salutations

To the dawn

I hear the soft footsteps in the Garden

As we creep through life

Wanting to Dance

But our limbs are frozen in fear

Wanting to sing

But doubt paralyzes our voices

Yet i hear you

I hear me

I hear the calling

For sleep

And that call we all will answer

Won’t we

I hear the warmth in my ears

As the blood rushes to my lobes of consciousness

To attune my listening prowess

And as i said

I hear God in all things

Do you

Are you listening

I Am

You Are

The I Am

Are we not

When we listen

Within

I am listening to now

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Professor Owsley was it ?

she tied the ribbon around my neck

it was pretty

a bit too tight

for my liking

i was choking

and they were laughing

the road has been long

and i have been longing

for it to come to an end

but will it

i think at times it is

but an ever changing circle

a carousel spinning fast

faces passing me

dizzying me

where is the Wizard

is this Oz again ?

cause i see yellow bricks again

or maybe i am hallucinating

overcome with anticipating

an answer to my prayers

ssshhhhhhhhhh

is “HE” awake yet ?

well, go get the Son you fool

oops, ‘scuse me

i apologize for my . . . whatever

i’m only human

can i go sit on the throne ?

he will never know will he ?

the flowers are swaying again

in the wind

offering their ”Poppy –esque” fragrance

a free pass to temporary escape-isms

where all schisms and isms are welcomed

i actually have more than 2 cents

with no sense of restraint

when it comes to giving it

living it

did Alice call

that hole sucking harlot

i mean Bitch

she makes my psyche itch

trying to figure it out

and her thing for rabbits

and other furry gremlins

hey,

didn’t we just past that burning bush ?

‘scuse me

while i do my Hendrix word play

oh say, can you crookedly see ?

cause we don’t see shit straight

all is askew

though you knew

that Disneyland

is for the living dead

so why don’t you

take a seat over there

in my head

the twilight zone

yes right there

while i tighten this ribbon

Professor Owsley was it ?

Owsley Stanley (born Augustus Owsley Stanley III, January 19, 1935 – March 12, 2011) also known as Bear, was an essential and transitional personality in the development of the San Francisco Bay counter-culture. His early activities spanned the Beat-era years of Ken Kesey's Merry Pranksters scenes, but he played an equally important role during the explosion of 1960's Psychedelia culture. As a brilliant and eclectic crafts-person, he became best known simply as 'Owsley'- the paradigmatic LSD "cook" (underground chemist) - a magician-like figure. Stanley's inventive spirit was not limited to chemistry, either. Under the professional name of "Bear", he was internationally celebrated, becoming an iconic figure (producer, engineer & artist) to psychedelic rock band the Grateful Dead's international fan "family", and still honored among subsequent generations of jam band music fans.