Whisper Not

Morning with Singing Bowl

Cyclical Model of the Universe

Alright, now I'm gonna seem like I'm changing the subject, but I'm actually not changing/
the subject. There were two migrations of the pantheisitic deities from their origins. One was toward the apotheosis and one toward the human's purpose, to express consciousness in the biosphere. Now we combine both and celebrate the hybrid. To start, Imagine a party where nobody cares how good or bad anybody looks cause we are all too busy enjoying ourselves.

A demigod called Shiva is among the guests. She's even forgotten her own name and dances to the reach of its memory. And as long as Shiva dances, the universe, with all of its rules and regulations and conventions, continues to endure as it is. But when Shiva stops dancing, the whole thing implodes, the whole universe constricts into whatever it was before the big bang. And everything is calm and black and there is nothing. And then Shiva starts dancing again and it's all returning but from the beginnings and brand new scenarios but the same everlasting whole. And we're told that Shiva is about truth and eternity, soul and soul again. But the truth part is really hard because when you get beyond the world of illusion and see everything in its beauty and concrete particularity, you also see the world for what it is and we are all so deeply, deeply imperfect. We know that human beings are really a sorry lot indeed, and yet we have the capacity to do this stuff, to see the world both close up and at a distance because we're also deeply deeply perfect and renewable too. So the truth in her movements makes Shiva an outsider. Which is how she remembers her name. She's the one who comes into the community which is rigidly compressed and tradition bound and seduces everybody's husband and breaks up all these families and then runs off into the forest. And they run after her and try to hurt her because she's upset all these frantically stable life forms. However it's not so easy to hurt Shiva, since she is also the embodiment of asceticism and healing. The one who sees who we are from the perspective that is greater than ourselves so that she is no longer embedded in the rules and traditions and ego trips that we use to give our lives meaning. And she tries to awaken us to this perspective as an act of generosity and of courage. And anyways we need her to keep dancing

Chomping on a Red Delicious

It's practically a massacre
All this simple joy or
 the bliss of a journey from compentent to master with
no repentence in the afterall / An inverse massacre/ a rebirth/no more flattery but as  you are/
It's practical to fall up
such preferences for tough light and the best company of children and indians--
natives, I mean, incorrecting our dream. Know your history, I mean, it shows up like a future/seeds hidden in moss and water, protected by how you forget them so they can scatter like an afrobeat hymn I once heard everything scatter and called it blackness or getting ready for church step one: Eat that damn apple and stay in the house, it's about to rain out and you can taste that too. How does it taste though? 

Another Great Day in the Morning

Great Day in the Morning (Great Day in the Noon Night Too) by Brightmoments on Mixcloud

Pattern Integrity

Wonderful

Be Hip to Your Actions

Span Time

Buffalo '66 from Rosina User on Vimeo.

One for the Ghost

For the greater deed

Hot Grits

It could be called a midnight symphony

You've been chewing that Frankincense again

I step into my father's solitude and it works. Now we share a big idea together. A Harmony in infinite parts– How a visionary is a caller of light, one who summons spirits that heal. How there is no other reason than this, to make music or to live

Dark lights up a white forest

The two of you looking in one mirror til it was right

Forget the politicians; they are on the moon

Feats of Strength

The basic rhythm adjusts to the rhythm of the word 'mystery'

Comfort Zone

The bridge is a thing of this sort. The locale allows the simple onefold of earth and sky, of divinities and mortals, to enter into a site by arranging that into spaces. This makes room for the double sense, sixth sense, seventh. The two-- making room and in the sense of admitting and the sense of installing-- belong together. In a land where belonging is second to possessing in the sense of entering or going between everything and everything, between earth and sky, divinities and mortals, our ignorance will be our freedom

I never know just what I'm going to sing or when

We are the children we're always referring to
Nature and nurture crashing into one another
Until...Lemme start loving myself the sure way 
Reefer and ice and some sluggish I got a right to
sing the blues
Naked on stage and in my imagination, when are you gonna understand
All we do is pray and prove the shit you wanna ignore is all the things you are

Silver magic ships you carry

C'mon Feet

Promises

Yes, I am your will

The sensuous anything observer

Lately, House Negros make the best sociopaths. Their outbursts of magic purple sunshine are all blasphemy. Obnoxious snack foods and big food cereals rotting in their cupboards and in their stomachs, stucco somewhere bobbing on the soul and the whiskey stench of their pent up lust burning them out, hour by complacent hour. Does it take one to know one? No one wants to admit anything uncomfortable anymore. Affairs are more comfortable than war crimes. The head of the CIA resigns, comfortably, and now both of his women have time to manicure their nails and him too, lately. At one time, the field fed the house milk and honey, hymns and timber til the owl finished wailing in silence, one time she was still singing in the morning about oneness, one time retreat would blind them one line away from the certain circle like a close up on the word yes makes it impossible to define except, damn, your man and the man and are the same bland team posing like enemies, trying to trick you, looking closer than anything to one another and they even want you to notice and to love them both. When you laugh about it afro wigs fall from the sky, made in Foxconn, China. You long to stay home and wear one to the corner store for lemonade, alone, looking for new ways to rhyme yes with itself like in Fine and Mellow

That's Our Business (don't tell 'em)