blank blank fullness

Dear love
Your face changes over time
It once was his
It now is mine
It's all of ours, all of the time
Dear love
I haven't been able to get you off my mind
Out of my heart
Where my knowledge ends
Dear love
There you begin
Dear love, you make things so wonderfully hard
You want us to be free but instead you blind
Dear love
Wasn't that your magic
All of this time

Sister's got serrius soul

Wherever one goes, youth is the same.
Music ties em together through the decades.
Drinks pour with similar thirst which awaits,
the other end of the scene holds stories of love and jealousy just as we'd seen.
Mirrors will always show just what it is you bring.
1am, 160 proof, 28 degrees Celsius

someone tell me please,
what are my coordinates

It is imperative that you realize and believe in your wholeness, completeness and worthiness as a person, as a living entity. The sad truth, however, is that you are quite possibly fragmented, missing pieces, incomplete, and actually -- not at all perfect.

You have been sold to probably all your life. Magazines, TV shows, advertising, movies, Hollywood, Bollywood, pop music, pharmaceutical companies, big box stores, Proctor & Gamble, General Mills, your friends and possibly your family -- all these major machines have employed, fed, and worked millions of people tirelessly to convince you to buy their product because you're just not good enough. Their slick marketing and advertising, while selling the benefits and necessity of xyz, subversively suggests that you are not yet quite right, and so, need to get xyz in order to be better, more beautiful, more happy, more complete, to live a dream life (their dream, not yours). So you may have believed & bought it. On top of it, you took a look around and you saw all these other people apparently doing well with these xyz apparatus. If you're female, as a young girl, you may have hungrily flipped through Seventeen, Glamour, Vogue, and the countless other magazines to give you the scoop on what's hot, who's hot, how to look hot, and why you're not hot unless you've got it.

What you may not be aware of is that, by being sold to, by believing in your inadequacies and then taking others' prescribed actions to obtain xyz as a necessary element to achieving wholeness, hotness, happiness, you were moving in the opposite direction of where you already were and actually away from what they're trying to sell you -- happiness, hotness, perfection, worthiness, value as a human being. It is by holding ground in what, who, you already were (are), pre-brainwashing, that you can totally be what it is they're selling you. At this point it might be too late. You've got the closet full of whoozits and whatsits and all of a sudden they hold real value in your life, and you've taken second place. And you might think they're harmlessly fun and cool. But that's just feeding the system -- it's still sending visual cues to the not-clued-in consumer world, up-holding a (essentially destructive) system of social currency obtainable by purchasing power, conspicuous consumption and parading instead of one based in self-worth sourced in compassion, introspection, love, and sharing. You are (were?) whole. And you can, with a bit of awareness and discrimination, actually hold solid ground in that place among the clouds of sell-speak.

Now, that's not to say that you're devaluing yourself vis-a-vis yourself by indulging in these purchases, but it is still upholding the system to fool others, propagating advertising via your daily life amidst these things. It's fun to be part of the crew. To feel the shiny clink of social currency in your hands as you show up in that outfit, that car, that restaurant and bar, with -- those people. But while they're there, seemingly having it all, you may have been robbed of your self-worth by trading it in for a belief that you didn't already have it and that now you do -- but only because you've got the outer signifier. In that process, you lost what was always, and should always be, innate in your being, in your attentiveness to your self and not that 'other'.

While stripped of everything society ever told you is important, you still have inside you, you always were, just what it is you're seeking.

This song by Rhye caught my ears from the second those strings started softly pushing notes across the air waves to my already throbbing head, thanks, last night (feeling poetic)

Lyrics, interesting. Google open. Tap tap tap. Search.

Oh, Fader featured their video. Oh, it's "very NSFW". Double caught me. Click. Play.

Share:

Rhye - Open from Rhye on Vimeo.

And my head feels better somehow... Download it here, courtesy of Urban Outfitters

I’ve started a new blog at Yoga Words dedicated to exploring yogic words and their meanings.

I immensely enjoy learning languages in general and Sanskrit is a whole new bag. With yoga’s steady-growing popularity I thought it’d be helpful to elucidate the many words that yoga philosophy rests upon. Their meanings are often multi-layered and as with words in general, it’s not so much the signifier but what it stands for that’s important and rich.

Each word is a drop of gold and the language and alphabet are fascinatingly efficient. Nothing wasted. Total value. In the package of one little mot (that’s French for word) awaits a world of philosophy, driving you through a tunnel of productive pondering to come out a littler wiser, a little deeper, a little cooler ;)

If you like it, pass it on, follow, spread the good words — let’s get there together.

Originally posted at MogaYoga

By Allen Ginsberg

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand and asshole holy!
Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an angel!
The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cassady holy the unknown buggered and suffering beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum!
Holy the cocks of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone!
Holy the bop apocalypse!
Holy the jazzbands marijuana hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements!
Holy the cafeterias filled with the millions!
Holy the mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut!
Holy the vast lamb of the middle class!
Holy the crazy shepherds of rebellion!
Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria & Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucinations holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours! bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent kindness of the soul!

Berkeley 1955

And to see James Franco embody this...

Rainstorm rolled in on the dawn
Woke me up with a flash of lightening striking in my mind
Opened my eyes
As the thunder roared through me
and my dream spoke out loud in reality
Boom, so close to home

To spend a day with me
We enjoy everything that is free
Expand our hearts without dropping a dime
Feeling richer and fuller than you ever have in your life
To spend a day with me,
We put in more than we take
Pay off our debts to the bank of time with the love we make
To spend a day with me,
To be richer than ballin online for the world to see, waitin on a future delivery
Delayed gratification can come now
To spend a day with me,
Means experiencing how
It's to scour the pantry of stored memory
And cook a meal that will fill your dying soul, while we keep the glass at half-empty
For the present with me is spacious eternity
To spend the day with me is allowing freely
It's kicking up your heels, creating from what you don't know you've got
When consuming second-hand goods only emptied out your pot
It's re-covering what bared and burned in the sun
It's reading prose aloud that you've written for another, one-to-one
To spend a day with me requires pride in all the things you can do as you chose not to,
Like uncovering what's on the dark side of the moon
A day with me is like finding that missing shoe
And the foot, too

This is what I wish for you
To spend a day with your truth
To find 'me'
In all that you pursue,
In all that comes to you

I want you in my memoir
Your heart speaking history
Visions carrying the future
To the same resting place I'd chosen
Unbeknownst to these two souls
All the binds their strings would weave
their innocent trickery
Word play
Night play under cover
Designed to try their hand at the creator
The pen dropped down for them
Ready to receive
Because their very impulse ran with ink
Cut them open and it would spill
Orderly as none other could arrange
Chaos sublime drained from their veins
Depth could not be measured
It did not scare
Neither he nor she
concerned with normalities
They just kept moving
Yes they gave into cravings
Guilt-ridden for the thought of it
Assuaged by a spirit
Some clinics called it psychotic
They
They knew the labels undermined
The visions they flung farther from plain sight
Could it really be alright
Is anybody hurting?
Then I must go on
They weren't living for a memoir
But the day, inevitable, came
When time stood at the intersection
reality set in
Something here's truly brewin
And it's too late to give in
So on they went
Living their dreams
Painting their nightmares
For the balance
For the delicacy
Of hearing the beat
The beat of a single reason
To live in step with what drove the story
Onwards
Innards
Spread forwards
Grace of pain
Repaired transmissions
Broken promises
Pieced together again
When?
Ink, blood, spit, love
Cut from the cloth
Collaged harmony
As best they could
They knew one day,
One day they would

In the middle of creating and consuming

If only my mirror had a camera on it we could YouTube me dancing for you and you and you and you
All these on-the-spot moves grooving to run this town with confident swoops
in hips ripping emotion from the one who felt it n bringing it to transform the state I'm in on a whim
Wham there she goes soft as petals from the man laid out for drama in the landscape gasping through colored fields, spinning webs to gauge the life in your head
Wait where was I ah yea back again with the dance--
Selling the shit out of my fidelity to the moment and nothing but the music control me with your fireworks going off as my belly roars in icy hot pleasure of feeling dropping lower to the floor on hands and knees tumbling around through the leaves of grass on grass growing out our destinies stain me with your making memories please as performers for the love of self and others what's the difference any more if not just to keep keepin score four and seven years ago where were you when you finally let go in each instant still talking to the walls as flowers bloom outside your window, innit, don't let the beat go on an on an on an on without my banging on my bongos, bongo bongo bong

We're all just looking for something real. Something to hold on to that won't disappear
disappoint
missing the point
realize what's real must be free
and what's free can't be held on to
not for happiness
at least
It's the holding that saddens,
disappoints
you wrap your fist around it
it feels good in your hand. And while you enjoy the feeling, slowly seeping
the growing in your hand starts ceasing

a story for some...

feeling dirty trying to make a buck off of what i love
so i embrace what i hate to pay for what is my fate
to love in darkness, to light fire to the pure
break down to find an out of the trap of needing a cure
you can't heal what's not there
you can't lose if it's there without a form

but you can change your definitions
keep the structure
fill in the smile behind the destruction

shut your mouth and move me with your body
moving in space
your voice will be in your poise
the authentic you
in the gaze that lasers through my skin
your mind will move me like a mountain
your heart pounding in my head
you move your hands
across all of time and space
I shift
I'll lay with you when you hit the bed
not questioning, or demanding, not needing
not speaking
holding total understanding in the fresh air
radiating
resonating
with you
with they all too
it doesn't matter how beautiful your lens is
how clear the shot
when you can feel the real
coming out at you through the moments
when you can hold the irreal
by acknowledging your existence
in contrast
_______________.
I'll be there with you
spending our time remembering
no
I want to forget and live
forget so that time can't hurt me
you want to let yourself feel again
but it's just easier to

oh these lines fill my head
............................._
cause when the rich are rich, they really are poor
and when you've got too much it'll drive you to the floor
babe I'm tellin' you,
stay hungry too
and I know and I know and I know
the hardest hunger is that which you choose
but here's the silver lining, it's the hardest to lose
and when you hold to that bit of control
and you've got a grip
make sure you stay loose
don't let it slip

There's a bird in my neighborhood
He bangs on my windows
Every day last week he would alight
Onto my fire escape, peering in
He going for the plants?
I'd wonder
He'd see me
And fly away
I'd leave the room
back crashing again
Higher up, through to the clear glass
Trying to fly past the curtains, perhaps
Hitting
His little
bird body
again
and
again
I opened the window
To let him in
He didn't come back
Until tomorrow came with a

bang
bang

Originally posted here

Listening....

   Midnight Rain by thetopofmymind

I prefer things to spring naturally, found where they are needed, which usually means there's an element of surprise. Initial incongruency. Though if I were to be completely honest, this makes me shades of uncomfortable. I spent the day aimless. Wandering. Scheduled and then needed no longer. The vague plan of my life dissolved, I had my hand unoccupied. I did not decide. Found near a museum, I decided and entered. Of all the things, this was unexpected. But a perfectly natural recourse for my seeking some sort of refuge. The Hilton housed a yoga conference. Boatloads of women in corporate culture yoga wear. Frustrating. Sterile. Yet a sense of familiarity in friendships I found again. Brief. A kindness in those others, those, shall we say, compliant consumers.
I exchanged it for the mausoleum where artists who've ascended can house their lonely parades as finished works, deaf artifacts to live on, ingested by crowds of anonymous faces. I honed in on their possible back stories. I recognized the girl with a deformed head and face from my earlier failed attempt to work at a cafe (one with no electrical outlets or WiFi), she reappeared in the halls of the museum. Her grey-haired escort pushing her along in a wheelchair. What are the chances, running into them again? I had thought to myself after seeing her for the first time there in the cafe that I'd like to tell her she's beautiful. Not to be cruel, because it's painfully obvious that she's anything but, but to give her those words that she's maybe never heard. And to say it earnestly. Because I believe there must be some kind of beauty. Even in the most heinously disfigured of humans.
The expo was nothing but a quick interlude. The chance to kill time among people momentarily sure of what they're looking for (a cultural experience of sorts) in a life grossly devoid of certainty. And it was free. Security pushed us out of the galleries back into the city.
The allure of traveling can be found in its sharp honesty. You're confronted with yourself, un-moored, having to admit you don't know where you are, or quite what you're doing. Trading your sense of self as referenced within a culture, for your person as simply a figure in space, ready to find fulfillment as the boundaries dissolve around you. Forcibly, freeingly naive; dependent on a force beyond this carefully-constructed sense of self which, among the unfamiliar, no longer has the currency which once sold you out in exchange for recognition that you are indeed important.
On my way back I decided to let the stories go.
The drum beat found me as I found the rhythm. In an instant all that could be contained was the purity of eyes closed and seeing, shifting hips, pumping chest, sure feet, synchronicity. The sound, a sensation, a sort of indelible truth, a container which poured me out into the primal. My tribe, our energy; my imagination replaced the synthetic carpeting with dirt, earth. And free of substance, of self-importance, we got down, we got high as hell.

5:06am. My eyes open. The smoke alarm in my bedroom has decided to run out of batteries. And every minute or so it informs me of this with a shrill beep. Also, a feral cat is wailing outside my window. I try to decipher the sound, as if my hearing doesn't trust my judgement. Could it be a child? The kid upstairs? Waaaooooooooohhhhhwww. No. Definitely a cat. I imagine it laying belly up on the concrete giving birth. Or being raped from behind. Poor kitty. Beep. Waaaaooohhhwww. It's obviously in distress. Beep. In a flash, the image of my own cat giving birth appears. I have this file stored from 1995, the year I came home from school to play midwife to our cat in my closet, her choice hideaway for delivering kittens into the world. The wailing continues. The sky is still opaque. Though, gradient. Beep. I reach for my phone. 5:06am. My dream keeps playing, not bothering to wait for me, knowing I'll jump back in when I'm ready. Partly anxious to slip back into the stream, worried about losing my place. After another audible wail, I set down the phone, dive back in. The beeping dulls. Half way there, I wonder if these two sounds, piercing and disconcerting, are a something of a sign. I briefly consider shaking off sleep to meditate, feeling as though I'm receiving a wake-up call from beyond. The film I fell asleep to addressed the 2012 global shift. I remember this unsettling feeling the film gave me, my culpability, my contribution to the ecosystem's unraveling. Residue of one world remains as we transition into another. The battery's dead. The alarm sounds. Nature protests. How am I going to help? My grip on material reality loosens. My concern for the cat's welfare turns into a concern for my laundry and that strange street, the building I've moved into. I'm back in my dream. Heavy and blissfully out of control. Puppeteer and puppet at once.

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

I'm standing on a stage
Of fear and self-doubt
It's a hollow play
But they'll clap anyway

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key

I'm living in an age
That calls darkness light
Though my language is dead
Still the shapes fill my head

I'm living in an age
Whose name I don't know
Though the fear keeps me moving
Still my heart beats so slow

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key
My body is a

My body is a cage
We take what we're given
Just because you've forgotten
That don't mean you're forgiven

I'm living in an age
That screams my name at night
But when I get to the doorway
There's no one in sight

I'm living in an age
That laughs
When I'm dancing
With the one I love
But my mind holds the key

You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key

Set my spirit free
Set my spirit free
Set my body free
Set my body free

Set my spirit free
Set my body free

Today,
In 3 images

...right now

a million tiny rainbows
as I squint against the sun
March in place
growing warmth against my face

Chatting with my good friend Kevin about meditation, forgiveness, negotiating imperfections, letting go, and a very specific way of breathing that got me quite grounded...

Next big talk show??? HA

by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

-------
First published in the March 31, 1849 edition of a Boston-based periodical called Flag of Our Union

When alone, I often speak into the silence of my home. For me, it's a kind of meditation, a following of my intuition as words begin to flow from... somewhere. I won't necessarily say they flow from me, although I am drawing from thoughts, themes and feelings in that moment of my life. But the spontaneity and the right-feeling words showing up, one after the other on the doorstep of my tongue and out of my mouth, feels like a practice in letting go, receiving, and giving. The whole 'theme', ethos, if you will, of this blog, this space I've set up on the web is about that -- connecting to something that's purely in the moment and going from there, whether or not you think you know, it's right off the top of your mind... the spot that receives experience and goes with it before 'verifying'. Because really, who is there to verify with but your highest self?

Last night I decided to record one such be-spoke meditation. I consider this something of a 'performance' piece. Part art, part poetry, part guided meditation. It's not really about anyone in particular, but I guess it is inspired by certain people, though really, it's universal.

Well, listener, I guess it will become whatever you hear, feel, think, see.... lemme know

  #1 by thetopofmymind

Lust is a convenient lie
Love is an inconvenient truth
Everything's more fun when you sing it
That is, of course, unless you're inhibited and/or do not like the sound of your own voice.

____________________________________________

WORK IN PROCESS:

Originally posted at Moga Yoga



Occasionally we get stuck, bound up by habits of thought and action; a way of interacting with the world that’s comfortable, familiar, enticing, or even destructive. We forget there is a place beyond what we already know.

We sometimes live out lives in this field, never straying very far from what’s given to us, what’s explicitly taught, shown or told.
Our interest surrounds us and we like it this way.

But this year, as I every so often ask for, I’m setting my sights on what I can’t yet see.
And I encourage you to expand your horizons too!

Even if you have no clue as to where they could expand to, even if you’re already booked up to the gills, saying to yourself, “I don’t have time for frivolities, I’ve got bills to pay/ work to do/ too busy/ already interested/ing enough.”

If you’re a grounded, gimme-the-facts-or-go-home type, try poking around some more airy, artsy or spiritual territory. Esoterica can greatly enhance material existence, giving life substance that doesn’t burn down, break apart or leave you empty at the end of the day.

If you’re stuck in the clouds, try coming down to earth and learn about financial planning, goal setting, time management, mingling with social butterflies or in-the-know folk who can connect you to new figures.

If you tend to play it safe, invite the possibility for adventure, spontaneity, and some more fiery characters in your life.

If you’re the shy type, strike up a convo at the deli, store, etc. Do something the old you would never have imagined the new you capable of.

If you tend to only care about yourself, start to focus on listening, I mean REALLY listening to others. Take yourself out of the spotlight and help others.

There’s always more, different, richness in variety. And while part of happiness is being content with what you’ve got, storing your riches in what nurtures you, knowing that chasing after more, more, more won’t bring you the fulfillment we all seem to need — there is real value in peering beyond.

Expansion is your natural birthright. It is the law of the universe, and change is expansion’s partner in life, the other side of the coin that will make your life-force rich and replenised.

Aim for a breakthrough, a new way of seeing and interacting with the world, and your once-dulling kaleidoscope will take on colors, shapes and the light of a viewfinder that’s all of a sudden learning to see anew.

Cheers, here’s to your personal breakthrough!

AM

I got this affliction it's somethin' like a fixin' for contradiction
I won't eat meat but rock fur to the teeth
I like my sleep but there's nothing to please these feet like a night of roamin' the streets dancing to late freaky beats
Paris, London, LA, Rome where ever I go there you are -- this is home
Bare feet dirt drum circles in Mali
Skyscrape NYC heels at Paul and Andre's
Romancin' boys that I meet
When I'm yearnin for the one who knows me
He sets me free for keeps
I can vibe with an asetic's case and the wisdom he'd beseech
While getting caught up in the latest leather sleeves oh Helmut please!
Don't do me like that
Where's my cash
Where's my plane
When's my turn I want to spread the joy insane
The words I feel to wield like a line straight from me to you
The silence I'll claim when small talkin's something I just don't learn to do
Dualistic me laughs in the mirror of unity
I'll meditate to start my day, down dog the time away
And visit magicians when sun sets to pledge for me
Mystic texts on transcendtal sex
And give it all up one day to the next
Teaching souls from 9-5
Walking a thin tightrope line
With the virtues, the values I hold so dear
And the laughing and running I work to steer
From a steady place, it takes years
The quotes the love the time that's all fine
But It won't stick unless I can make it rhyme