A Spirit By Any Other Name

Elohim, Adonai

Jehovah and Allah

Akal Purakh, Father, Peace

Krishna and Zeus

God, Goddess, Universe, Science

The Force, The Love and The Light…

See It in others.

Find It in ourselves.

This is the day your Lord has made.

Named or nameless.

Formed or Formless.

All together or all One.

Let us rejoice and be glad.

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The Doctor Will See You Now.

“What do you want?” She asks.

“What do you want?”

I want to avoid the question.

My answers contradict logic and progress

and each other.

They make no sense,

even to me,

and it would be all i could do to get them out of my mouth

without expelling all the conflicting emotions

along with my antithetic words.

In my mind, i beg to recuse myself,

but She will not allow it.

 

“What do you want?” She asks.

“What do you want?”

I want what i shouldn’t admit.

I want to be left alone,

to sleep and rest and fade into

oblivion.

Nothingness engulfing me like

the plushest blanket.

Sadness, worry, and fear,

leaving me with the last of my breath as

the universe swallows me

whole.

Not as death, but

rebirth.

 

“What do you want?” She asks.

“What do you want?”

I want what i cannot have.

The chance to go back in time

and fix mistakes.

Mend fences before they

fall to the ground.

Keep bridges from burning under the flames

of angry words.

Keep scars from forming

under the red-hot branding irons

of society’s moral cowboys and

my own putrid thoughts.

To stop it all before it begins.

 

“What do you want?” She asks.

“What do you want?”

I want what i am ashamed to admit,

embarrassed to say aloud.

The weakness of wanting,

needing,

to be loved.

No caveats, no limits.

No reminders of human

failures

or failings

or future expectations.

Pure and undiluted.

In spite it all.

In spite of me.

The type of agape, of caritas, of grace,

that has the loftiness of fairy wings,

and is about as likely to be

real.

 

“What do you want?” She asks.

“What do you want?”

I want everything and nothing.

I want to give up.

I want to give in.

I want to give ’em hell.

I want it all or

i want to throw it all in the air and

watch it fall to the ground.

Shattering into a thousand sparkling pieces,

each more beautiful than it was when

it was whole.

The stuff of children’s legends and

Hallmark cards.

Pure fantasy.

 

“What do you want?” She asks.

“What do you want?”

 

What do i want?

 

“I want, ” I reply.

“And it is more than i can bear.”

 

F33.1

That cloudy state of mind where

The voices become tinnitus,

And the world beyond the perimeter becomes

As vague and amorphous as the view thru a

Greasy window.

That underlying sound ebbs and flows

From peaceful cicadas to screeching sirens.

The view waxes and wanes

From lava lamp to acid flashback.

And inside this…

Inside this plexiglass box…

I still seek refuge in the corners

Where the screaming mumbles are quietest,

And the melting swirls are more colorfast.

I hate this tardis-like container of mine

That apparates of its own accord,

No warning or pattern.

Neither banging my fists on its walls,

So flexible, they seem liquid,

Nor shouting for mercy thru tears of

Sanity (Insanity?) at its edge

Break the plastic barrier between.

Between me and everything else.

Everyone else.

I give up.

I give in.

I wait for its moment of weakness,

By then too worn and tired to fight,

And instead, like pulling the sword from the stone,

Walk gently thru to the

Other Side…

 

 

1+0>1+1

Fighting the urge to settle

To fall back

To bring it back to life-

Ill-fitting and stained-

From the back of your brain.

It had its time and

Its time is gone.

Don’t bring it back.

It isn’t a comfort object.

He isn’t a comfort object.

Don’t give in

To loneliness and the waves of

Sadness that pour over you

And drown you

Filling your lungs and making it impossible to breathe.

It’s a trick that your mind plays

On your soul.

It’s all in your head.

All in your head.

Don’t let it touch your heart and become real.

Step away from the phone.

Step away from the keyboard.

Step away from the memories.

And wait.

Don’t give in.

Don’t settle.

You won’t drown.

You will remember how to breathe underwater.

Just like you did

The last time you gave in and found

Once again

That something isn’t always better than

Nothing.

Don’t Tell Me

What would you think if i told you

I was scared?

That i’m afraid that all these plates i’m spinning will fall and

Crash to the ground

And everyone will see that i can’t

I can’t do it

Can’t perform, entertain,

Mesmerize

I’m not what they paid for

My circus, my pageant, my show is a

Sham

 

What would you think if i told you

I was  ashamed?

That i am hurt and anguished over all i

Haven’t done

Should have done

Couldn’t do

And embarrassed at the things

I did

For reasons that no longer seem sound

Or sane

And each day that goes by i grow more and more

Terrified

Of what i might do next

 

What would you think if i told you

I was angry?

That the world around me and everything in it

Fills me with disgust

And despair

That the hatred and meanness to fellow men

Makes bile rise in my throat and

My heart burn with tar

And sadness

And it pains me that i cannot fathom a way to

Remove it all

Without becoming

What i despise

 

What would you think if i told you

I was lonely?

That my soul is full of desperation for a connection

That my heart will not allow

And even tho i defeat my own purpose i am

Unable to stop the thorns

That grow around my core and

Protect it

Whilst destroying me

Knowing full well that there is no Prince

With gilded sword

Willing to hack them away for the meager treasure

That awaits

 

What would you think if i told you

I don’t care?

Or care too much?

Or am not even sure if those two things aren’t

One and the same

The line so fine that spiders

Think it delicate

The lace made of it

Forms a web in my skull encasing

The fly in my brain

Who has no choice but to succumb to the fangs

Of Reality

 

What do you think

If you think of me at all?

Does it make sense

Do i make sense

Or am i as alone, as shamed as i fear

Please no

Please no

Please know

No Wicked Indulgence

You.

You men.

You overestimate your worth

And underestimate hers.

You turn away from the Deep Blue Sea

As if your shallow pool of self

Is better.

The sharp bite of chlorine hiding the stench of

Your fear

And denial

That you are no better than she.

You have no idea what you have

In your hands.

Her.

The inadmissible alibi.

The unadmittable sin.

Too good to stay away.

Too bad to be seen.

Don’t be afraid.

Don’t be afraid.

She is better than you think

In ways you cannot imagine.

In ways you never considered.

No confession required.

Toss aside your notions

And your social limitations.

See the depth and expanse of

Who she is.

An ocean of curved flesh

And sharp, pointed mind.

Trigonometry beyond work of any mathematician.

She is the universe in

All its glory.

And you will never see but one corner of it

For your limited vision.

You and all the other of your ilk

And gender.

But as Galileo was solitary in his appreciation

Of space,

So will be the one who finally looks past.

Who has no fear.

It will be his gain.

And your loss.

And there will be no time machine to go back and

Lose face

Rather than losing your heart

And drowning in your puddle of

Pretention.

The price of Indulgence has

Just gone up.

And you…

You can no longer afford her.

I Am the Codfish

Hold it in.

Hold it back.

Until you can bear it no longer.

Take as much as you can.

Til you’re about to burst.

Then take some more.

It’s Tantric.

Like sex.

But without the enjoyment.

This.

My stress life.

More relevant than my sex life.

And certainly more abundant.

My work,

Like stress porn.

Pushing me farther to the edge.

Closer and closer.

So close. So close.

But the cliff dive has no bliss.

Only jagged rocks.

And a reasonable paycheck.

What kind of yoga is this?

The manipulation of the sacred mind

For the benefit of the trumped up guru.

Swallowing heap upon heap of

Garbage and rhetoric.

Tantric, my ass.

This is my stressful revolution.

Like the 1970s, with less bush

And more growth.

Cue the music.

Bom chicka wow wow.

End scene.