Human Expression

This is a TEAM effort. We are not alone. We can always ask for support, as that is what our team is here for. They patiently await our beckoning. Our team leaders, our High Selves, are the ones who wrote our game plans for this life. For our High Selves ARE our shepherds. Together, the fire and light will take care of ALL the details as long as we keep our focus on the pillars of Truth: Love, Trust, Compassion and Thanks, grounding these truths into our Earth. For then, we shall not want – we shall be free of lack. Now, there are great fleets of light beings in support of this growth, this awakening. All we have to do is to keep moving through the energy, through the content, diving right into it all with courageously open hearts, breaking open each locket of pain and suffering by pouring ourselves right into the middle of it with a big fat YES rolling off our tongues. Thusly, we may lay down and surrender our fears and stress’ amongst the abundance of the green pastures of this Heaven on Earth, our souls restored. As energies increase we are shown what attitudes need to change, and a choice must be made. Will we remain attached to our beliefs, or will we surrender ourselves to Truth? Well, here we are – a table is set. Walking through the fire – yes? No way to stand still – yes? We MUST move, though we don’t know what is beyond the flame, we must trust, be willing to feel some heat, maybe get burned a little, and keep trusting. And thusly, our minds, hearts and bodies will fill with illumination. There will be more life than our cups can hold. We are NOT doomed, though we walk through valley of the shadow of death. We are free of all fear. For our ever expanding appreciation for Life and the Love that responds to it from Divine Source comforts us and guides us into ascension. Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives. And we shall live in the house of our High Selves, FOREVER.

I had one of those moments where it was like you could see this huge beam of light coming out of the sky that had umbilical cords coming off of it connecting us all together in one stream of life and consciousness and I just realized that life is really all about just having fun and making this moment the most amazing ride ever and having fun!!!

And my buddy just says – “Ah – you were just stoned man!”

“Stoned?! I was blitzed out of my mind! I was stoned on everything around me. Including the marijuana and Life Spirit and the medicines of the Earth – celebrating this Life.

Pelican fanatics of the 21st century
marched down New York Times Square Avenue.
The spoon people of South America
joined them in blossoming quire.
Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, b, a, enter.
Click.
Who knew why they did it anyway.
It was just there one day…
waving hello as it mumbled over my belly,
drooling down the front of the green and gold Santa.
I ended up having eggs for breakfast
every day for the rest of my life -
with lots of parmesan and lots of black pepper.
And salt, of course. And butter. On toast.
Every time she jumped on the deck
the poor little thing would flicker
into the bushes to find it’s refuge from
her wild, wiggly wet fingers and strawberry jam cheeks.
Tuesdays was the day for fire truck night.
We’d huddle around and ride on each other’s backs,
driving the truck around the living room, the kitchen,
all the bedrooms and the bathroom and the dining room –
making sure we put out all the fires.
Sometimes we couldn’t get them out
and they just went on an on,
forever.
On and on.
Hollering and clattering into the moon.

I am a vessel. A vessel of God.



Pour me out – a blessing to the Earth.



What you see is language.



Are you going to resist Life for petty differences?



Or drink it up and pour forth your own bliss into the garden?

One cat, two cat, three cat through.
Orange cat, yellow cat, blue cat clue.
Chase it, find it, claw it ’till it’s goo.
Sniff it, lick it, gnaw it like meat on a skew.
Leave that shit, let it spoil now, cause we’re cool.



Honey Batch Rock Mouse waits at the door.
“Honey’s, my name, and I’ll chase you down tell there aint no more than two!”
One cat, two cat – “Just who are you?”
“I’m the maker, the breaker, the mixer and the buster.
Think you’ve got your command? Well, look again and see there’s no where to stand.”



One cat, blue cat – “What do I do?”
“Give me your guts and I’ll give you back your sanity.
There it is, at the end of the tunnel, through the odious river of shit and profanity.
Drop your parcel now, swallow your locution,
Neal to your subjects and you can fly with wings to your absolution.”



One cat, two cat, three cat, fly.
Orange cat, yellow cat, blue cat high.
Spill it, give it, take it till you die.
Swallow it, stomach it, I’ll understand if you cry.
Carry that shit, give it back to Maya now, ’cause you are by.

In the beginning, there was void and darkness,
and nothingness ensued space
like a sea of gasoline waiting to ignite.

And then there was a tone…

A creature of seven heads, lion body,
and tale of a serpent drifted in this void.
He had come to a state of completion
with his inhalation of existence
- knowledge and experience.

He looked upon the void and saw his reflection.

A beam of light surged out of his orifices, pouring into the void,
setting off a chain reaction of combustion that would fully
potentialize the likes of his inhale ten fold combined with the
exponential increase of infinite fractilizations as it ricochets
transformation throughout the universe.

We passed the hot dogs down in the snow.
Everyone had to be all set up:
ketchup, relish, mustard, kraut.



We offered our peace as we gazed into
dense black trees cradling the icy meadow,
huge snow flakes piddling through the air, kissing the Earth.



We each stood there, as he would stand there many a winter day,
and honored his life, his gifts, his faults, that which he passed onto us.



Four brothers came from this one fierce man.



We honored his sickness – in mind, heart and body,
and his vigor – the passion his soul would ignite in his belly to fuel his endeavors.



We each took a piece, he would bestow, and placed it into our heart’s fires.



This fierce man would make four fervent men in his likeness,
endowed with his legacy, blessed with his will, and charged with his residuum.



And the Maker makes four



of one.

Rabbit shores deliver the news.

It’s uncommon to see them in this way – with their hair all up and done like that.

Rocket stoves and hatchet hammers heap the Earth, metal and hot molten rock ramble rambutan dreams of red ramjet hiatal.

Speak the truth with me. Hear the truth with me – our ears clasped together, listening an epiphany into our bellies, into our shores, into our nostrils – our hosts awaiting our coming of a dawn as haven porters – shepherds of radical declaration, articulation, dissemination, circulation, communication, revelation – maxim, motto, intonation.

The sound is all the magic you will ever need – massaging, effleuraging, yielding, delivering, declaring. Open your throat hole, release a dream from Sanctus into the staff of staves. Walk this line until you step through your passage to bardo. Then, simply release, exhale, and embrace that line, placing it in your pouch, a chip of blue holly, medicine for the sage’s voyage. Oh, yes.

Applesauce navel outlandish walk about record player heavy dose metal quaker.

What’s on the roof?
Watchtowers – old navy watchtowers. Hungry Joe watched from the watchtower as long as watching would stay and keep him company. Watching always liked to talk about all the games they would play on the beach. Running up and down the beach, screaming, cheering, hooting, cackling, ribbleilbleibleibling all the time like a crew of troll frogs just got released out of the underground passage way that goes through the western slopes of the western Polyanthrophat range.

There was always good grub down there on the beach – macaroni, OH MY GOOD, the macaroni. And the teriyaki short ribs!

Raindrops on my visor.
I walk to the edge.
The tomatoes came late that year.
Yard waste piled up in the driveway -
a holocaust was underway in the shadows of the American dream.

Where the watchtowers stand,
hanging in the smoke,
bodies litter the ground like leaves
blown from a stand of aspens in the fall -
crisp, thin air in the altitude of our demise.

It was shocking to see Billy go,
but he had to move that way.
He had to move with what was driving him -
what’s driving us all.

You don’t know where it’s going,
but when stepping forward becomes pressingly unavoidable…
like a cue driving a ball into collision
or a massive engine of steel and fire violently thrusting itself over the cliff’s edge
all you can do is surrender -
surrender to the journey.

To walk the path doesn’t have to mean knowing the path.
Especially when cognitive logic doesn’t have a chance
when it comes to fully embracing your destiny.

When the aliens come and perform mind control on you,
you better have something else going for you
than the meat in your head.

Onward from backward, upward from fester,
we rise to embrace what has long been
dissented
disclaimed
rejected and rebuttaled.
It is only now that we can turn toward open hearts -
hesitate no longer, leap from the cliff before we plunder.

We are in the hands of Gaia

forever more

forever more

Lots of artists love to stay at home and just screw around all day.
Whatever happened to living each day without an agenda?
The random, unexpected, uncontrived moments are actually
where art and genuine human expression comes from.

What is life really about if it isn’t just about human expression?