Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |
When passion plants a permacultural seed,
then justice flourishes a polycultural flower.
These two words, permaculture and polyculture, grow holistic significance for our physical, and mental, cultural and spiritual health.
Permacultural, as I intend it this morning, refers to Yang’s power for cooperative sustainability of natural systems; power that is universally comprehensive consciousness. Permacultural wisdom is rooted in ancient Golden Rules and Ratios as balanced proportion and right relationship between ego and eco, between self and partners, family, tribe, environment.
Polycultural gardens and landscapes,
whether natural-exterior or human natured-interior,
are positive outcomes anticipated,
beloved by Permaculturalists.
The opposite of polycultural paradise
we might describe as:
1. monocultural (not multiculturally therapeutic)
2. monopolistic and dominating (not mutually cooperative governance, economics, or ecologic)
3. monochromatic (not polymorphically natured, gened, generated, evolved, not full octave frequencies of color and harmony).
Permacultural development is to Yang’s force and power.
as Polycultural outcomes are to Yin’s therapeutic flex and flow.
And so it is that in this our permacultural parable,
One winter of discontent, about 1000 years from now, and more, and less, the Universalist Prophets of Justice turned rather coldly upon the Unitarian Mystics of Warm Compassion.
“What happened to Truth, Justice, and the American Independent Way of Freedom; low risk, high yield economic and political life?
So, as was their practice, these suffering ReGenesis Community Yin-Mystics of too-great compassion went off to hibernate this harsh dark justice, to decompose this permacultural puzzle of the thrival of the economic fittest, and yet also fattest. How could it be that competing weapons of bloated wealth are more powerful than our compassionate Gaia Goddess of ecological “why can’t we all just play cooperatively” wisdom? How could an omnipotent benign Unitarian Hostess give birth to litters of runtish parasites without giving them at least a flat playing field for winning more positive outcomes than the dinosaurs?
Following gratitude for winter’s metamorphic suffering and chronically stressed tough-love teachers,
Grandmother Moon responded with polycultural wisdom of waxing and waning hope for spring’s new life:
“When winter’s suffering composts in each person,
compassion grows more inclusive and diverse,
richer, more fertile root systems,
arguing with rather than arguing against,
struggling with rather than struggling against.
Composted in the family,
co-passion will optimize wealth of nutritional values for all senses, feelings, awareness;
Composted in the neighborhood and your local cooperative economy,
and political platforms, policies, plans,
co-passion will positively slow-growth multiply;
Organically composted throughout the nations,
cooperative ownership and lifestyles could optimize economic and sociotherapeutic regenerativity,
recreating cooperative Win-Win cultural assumptions
from that old-school pre-millennial Win-Lose competitive economics,
permaculturaling our wealth of nations.
During the subsequent long warm summer days
of maturing gardens and wisdom,
the ReGenesis Community’s Universalist Justice Prophets of the Unraveling Future
and Unitarian Compassion Mystics of Reweaving Cultural Herstory,
stewed this steamy stone soup compost.
Each prophet and mystic, Yanger and Yinner, Universalist and Unitarian,
shares his and her struggles with injustice and need,
we sing our segregating sexual, racial, ecological, economic, political, historical and cultural hurt and disappointment,
including every “my nature matters” message and slogan and sign of impending flying apart, rather than investing in flying together.
We grapple for life fully lived in the future,
at least as well as now.
True justice is no more anthro-centric than ego-centric. No more ego-centric than Left-brain dominant.
“Perhaps our permacutural justice opera is sung in a difficult and challenging key, but it cannot be a song if there is no full-octave key accessible within each, and equitably shared by all.”
“Compassion seeds suffer and burst, struggle and strain, first within our dark winters,
toward ego-Left and eco-Right balanced root systems,
seeking peace-filling integrity of justice for ourselves,
and then others,
our interdependent co-passionate mentors and messiahs,
and then Earth Herself, with all nature’s species and Tribes,
within all revolving time,
advocate for all generations of life.
Universal Justice expands up and out Yang from Unitarian compassion roots,
Yang from Yin,
mutually consuming and productive cycles of becoming fit to thrive together.
Universal Justice flowers from Unitarian bicultural yang/yin balance,
as Left to Right hemispheric balance,
as West to Eastern cultural wisdom,
as space from time’s unfolding,
rhythm from rhyme’s iconic order,
rational logic from eco-logically informed systemic function,
deductive reason discerned from inductive,
Left from Right
as regathering nature from regifting Elder spirits,
as belonging grows from longing to reconnect,
as July’s bloom emerges from January’s gloom.
“Communication of justice,
to be communication at all,
must be a cooperative enterprise;
not a competitively punishing exercise in dominatrix.
This polycultural kinda “beloved” justice emerges from cooperative co-passionate vocations
with and for and of all Earth’s Tribes, species, trees and forests and oceans.
Polycultural justice equivalently loves all Earth’s mutually grateful, resonant, seasons and generations,
including summer’s heated gratitude for the suffering sadness of winter,
Polycultural justice invites all Earth’s Past and Future Redeemer Regenerations to Universally Permacultural Life.”
Long poem by
Edward Ebbs | Details |
When I was a chid to survive the streets of Los Angeles without bruises, cuts and emergency room visits, you sized up those approaching carefully by watching each and every move they made...without being obvious; you would be asking yourself if you are a target.
There was this group of older kids were approaching, I remember watching them carefully to see if they would take notice of me as I cross over the other side of the street. If they would cross over matching my movements, I'm in trouble. I still remember the feeling of their penetrating eyes; everything inside of me was screaming. I was fortunate to remember the storm sewer at street corner I just passed a few moments ago. Without hesitation I ran for my life, sliding into the street corner between the sidewalk above and the street below…a few more pounds and I would have been stuck.
This storm sewer basin I am in is a large concrete box with a large concrete pipe in the corner that goes somewhere. The gang members are all around me now preventing any escape swinging their chains, and sticks with razor blades embedded in them. They are acting like a pack of dogs yelping and hollering that have their prey is trapped in a corner. They start working on the manhole cover above with a crowbar, which would gain them access to me below. Fear is now getting the best of me with my body trembling. I am trapped with no where to go other than down the drain pipe...so without much further thought I quickly entered the large drain piped into a abyss. This drain pipe connects to a tunnel large enough for a car to pass through.
I hear their voices getting closer, so they must have gotten past that manhole. They seem to be following me so I run down the tunnel into the darkness so they would not see me and stop to listen. I hear no footsteps, but I ran so far I cannot see a thing, there is no light, just nothingness. I start to walk and I bump into a wall. I can’t go back the way I came because the fate that would await me going that direction, but there is nothingness is all around me so I am not sure what direction that would be. I remember running down the left side of the tunnel before stopping to listen.
When I start to walk again and I run into a wall, so that must be the right side, I think? I decide to continue, and being right handed I'm more comfortable on the left side so I turn and walk towards the left side to have something to touch. It seems like an eternity until I finally reach a wall. This wall will become my security within this nothingness...I can’t see my hands or feet, or even hear a sound. There is no frame of reference, only the wall and the solid ground under my feet. Thank God this was a time before those graphic vampire movies or Freddy Krueger; I have only those Alfred Hichcook movies to pull fears from.
Continuing through this nothingness a beam of light begins to appear from above. It’s amazing how much light comes through this little tiny whole from a manhole cover—it lights up the whole area. I stand there amazed and I take a deep breath in this light, it has been a long journey to this point. Standing there I notice a ladder leading up to a possible escape. Listening carefully before pushing up on the cover, I push and push...I'm not strong enough. Many of the manhole covers are spot welded by the public works department to prevent opening manholes in the middle of a street. I climb down from the ladder and pause for a few moments in the light absorbing what I could before continuing on; this tunnel must lead somewhere, right? Another beam of light, another welded manhole cover. The fear of the gang has long past, my only thoughts now are those of being lost.
The nothingness continues as I walk, and it has been a long time since the last little beam of light and I have found the meaning of hopelessness. The floor below is beginning to get damp, ick, what am I walking in? I can’t see a thing and I'm too afraid to stop touching the wall to stoop down--the wall is my security. My mind is pretty numb right now, my only thoughts are dragging my hand on the wall wall and walking. The dampness becomes wet, and from wet to splashing. Briefly a moment of fear, I pause to sense if the water is moving; am I going the wrong way and am I about to get swallowed up by a wall of water. The water seems to be static and the nothingness yields no sounds, so I continue.
At last, I get a feeling of salvation from one of those little beams of light shining from above. I look down at my feet and see little fish in the water below. I'm headed to the ocean, oh yeah!! The nothingness continues until again there is this little light at the end of the tunnel. The wall is no longer my security--I follow the light.
Continuing, the water is at my knees as I walking towards the light. I can smell the ocean and feel a slight breeze. Feeling really happy inside I can see the ocean and the sand, and sigh, there is a bar screen blocking my exit. Again I feel rather defeated with a slight sense of panic. I am thinking to myself that their is no way I can go back as I look closely at this bar screen blocking the way to freedom. I notice one corner has been pulled away; I can see through the sea water that it’s bent outward, and it's high tide. I cannot wait for the tide to change because it will be dark soon, so I take a deep breath and down I go. My shirt snags on something as I reach around to the other side and pull. I struggle as my shirt tears, but I am free...it feels wonderfull to be free. Looking around at the beach, it’s rather windy and there are only a few people on the beach today. I look around to get my bearings before I start home again. I will never will tell mom about any of this. Months later they are welding extra bars over these drain openings at the street corners. I am heavier now and I would not fit anyway, but what others, what choices they will have to make for their escape?
Long poem by
Vic Pister | Details |
When my life has finally left me and my last breath has been shed
And the silver cord is broken and my bodies firmly dead
I shall hover near the body, download the scenes of this past life
Noting all minutest details rolling backwards past my eyes
I’ll store these scenes ‘til later when I can take the time to learn
What the lessons have to teach me and help me to discern
How I treated other people, made them happy, made them sad
Examine all my actions, both the good and the bad
Three days later I’ll lose interest as my focus moves away
From the world that I just left behind, there is no need to stay
For a lifetime in the life of man to God is just a day
And my soul as God on the wheel of life must move along its way
I’ll take the download with me as I move into first heaven
It’s the first stage in the afterlife, in number there are seven
Here I’ll see and feel the good things that to others I have brought
And revel in the feelings of the kindness that I wrought
I will store these in my seed atom so in future lives I’ll know
They’re the things that I must multiply for my souls’ conscience to grow
For the conscience is the souls’ voice that guides you day by day
That still small voice that warns you in what you do and say
When that’s done my view will shift then to the things that I did bad
To the hurt I did to people that left them feeling sad
I will feel their pain intensely, ten times worse when in this field
For I’ll be purely spirit now with no flesh for a shield
These painful lessons will imprint upon my seed atom as well
In some religions we are told our soul’s in everlasting hell
In the stages of the afterlife, this is your punishment in heaven
This is the third and the most painful of the total seven
The Grim Reaper now has visited with his scythe so I will know
Through natures Law of Consequence I will reap what I did sow
He has shown me all my misdeeds and caused me many tears
And this purgatorial experience may last for twenty years
When my suffering soul recovers and the pain has died away
And I’ve incorporated the lessons to never act this way
In future lives I’ll be a better man from these lessons I have learned
One step closer to perfection that my growing soul has earned
Now I can sleep, Oh peaceful sleep, a state of heavenly rest
I’ll dream the dreams I love in life, of things I love the best
All desires that my soul has yearned, not a thing I can’t create
In the Great Silence of the spirit world to help me concentrate
The colors are much brighter, the scent of flowers more sublime
The senses are much sharper, there is no sense of time
I will see all other people as pure souls just like me
And I’ll know we’re all evolving to the bliss of eternity
I will hear the mystic music of the planets as they pass
Like a thousand singing angels, heavenly peace has come at last
Every planet sings its own song, we’ve grown deaf to this below
But in this super consciousness we’re in the eternal flow
I’ll be with my friends and family and others whom I love
The ones who left before me and currently live above
There they wait with arms wide open and rejoice when I arrive
In the fourth stage where I now live, it’s utter joy to be alive
I’ve incorporated my lessons, I now recall my goal
And my mind begins to focus on further growth of my soul
I must make further preparations and my vision starts to clear
I feel I must keep moving forward for all my works done here
I now have gone through five and six, there is just one more
In years it’s been from birth to birth one hundred forty four
The time has come to move along and leave this place called heaven
Prepare for life in the physical world, I move to number seven
My soul has gathered the material, I now know what I must do
To make some more improvements in the places I need to
I must take another body, I must live another life
To grow and liquidate more karma though it means more pain and strife
I build an archetype of the body that in future I will form
When embodiment is offered, and I can be reborn
I will see the opportunities and be able to discern
The ideal embodiment for me when the right egg meets the sperm
I will hover near the fetus, influencing where I can
And I’ll have the power to make it be a woman or a man
I will help to build the body to suit the lessons I must learn
To overcome more issues so more advancement I can earn
When baby takes its first breath and my soul is taken in
With the imprint of my seed atoms that it has brought within
Now the babys’ atoms resonate to my seeds vibration rate
Making it the perfect body for my soul to habituate
The new body will be my new home, I will live a life anew
Gain experience, learn more lessons, through the things that I will do
I’ll apply the added knowledge that I learned in this past life
More evolved than in the last one, and cause me less pain and strife
This will happen just as often as required by the soul
As it pushes ever onward, pushing ever t’ward its goal
Of complete re-integration back from whence it came
To the universal soul of life no matter what its name
Nature is not personal, it does not seek revenge
If we mess it up we have the chance to do it all again
We arrived here by this process, nothing’s changed it’s still the same
But our souls have evolved immensely since we stepped into the game
We started out as fallen angels with no experience on this plane
We’ve grown to this by coming back again and again
Though we cannot remember for each conscious mind has died
The feelings in the soul remained in our subconscious mind
And so this is the story of the cycle of the soul
As it struggles through evolution on its way toward the goal
It’s this way for all unfailing, from natures law there’s no relief
All living things go through it, no matter their belief
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |
What I have for you today is not so much about re-treading an outdated fuel-based system--
little bit like reshuffling the chairs to fix the decay
of a segregated Country Club.
No, this is addressed to economic policy re-tirers.
Keep the tire and the chairs,
but let's get the tread of our personal and public economies into EcoTherapeutic shape.
Economic policy administrators are everybody,
but some of us have more responsibility for larger populations and larger wealth deposits than oneself,
and one's household,
and one's own capacity to invest one's own funds
Based on my own miserable failure in these areas,
my best advise for public policy administrators is to do just the opposite of what I have done.
do not invest your capital or equity in storage silos
where your value will not have a chance to help fertilize local development--
and it doesn't get more local than a little Family Care,
up to the point when Family Care becomes beyond what we can all do with and for others.
Because, for instance, that would be breaking the Golden Rule.
"Do to others as to self" implies do not do with others--
of any species, during any time, or era, or generation--
what they have not done with you.
And, this Golden Rule is economic gold standard.
I am here to tell you that this (0)-Sum Cooperative Value Network is optimally balanced
for inclusive prosperity and equity.
Economic Zeroism derives from Buckminster Fuller's fairly famous "Trimtab Conjecture."
Fuller lived as a Unitarian--
investing 100% in more than his fair share of Universal Intelligence.
But, he wrote like a systematic Taoist:
Trim Tab (wu wei) optimized economic flow is deeply nutritious, resonant, resilient--
and our competitive cultural and corporate alternative is toxic backwash.
Cash on hand is a Trimtab opportunity for risk,
for investing in our shared Universally Intelligent Abundance.
Investing in mindful and grateful cooperation with colleagues
(but not authorities or "experts"--
these were blasphemy to Fuller's sense of intellectual integrity),
people who intend a community that feels like home--
nurturing, and caring, and cooperative,
where adults play nice,
and all the kids are graceful--
and not so blind.
The relationship between humans and their places
is the story line of historical-cultural development.
This cultural teleological view of history might, post-Bucky,
bear the label ectosymbiotic evolution,
a "positive" evolutionary trend
(think "Positive Psychology" and "progress").
Basically, regenerative theory is a torus-formative Hilbert Space,
filled with a positive teleological conjecture about our reason for being
as a species.
Combining Julian Jaynes' endosymbiotic evolutionary theory
of how the bicameral LeftDominant-RightIntuitive hemispheres developed
the capacity for self-consciousness and awareness of "not-self" as Other,
with Fuller's binomial metric information development,
and Gregori Perelman's (et. al.) (0)-soul Universal Group Theorem,
I find merit in the conjecture that:
most equitably and peacefully inclusive,
reason for investing
in the hypothesis that we are all in Earth gratefully and mindfully together, defines,refines, and minimizes
any crusty segregating cultural remnants to the contrary.
So, look around, fellow Bridge-Builders,
philanthropists for the future of everything,
what seems to be thriving, growing, resilient,
here for the long-term?
Perhaps the urgency of our Transition Generation's position becomes clear
when we suddenly realize that human biosystems,
as we know and love them,
are an endangered species.
Thich Nhat Hanh says of Buddhism,
"knowledge is regarded as an obstacle to understanding,
like a block of ice that obstructs water from flowing....
water can flow, it can penetrate anything." (pp. 48-9, Being Peace, 1987). Considering the possibility that any somewhat sane and mature adult
knows enough to perform more sustainably,
as we plan our economies and investments,
what is it that we fail to understand?
If our economic, ecological, and social pathologies
are a misunderstanding of information
already profoundly and democratically accessible,
what is at the root of our anomalous cultural consciousness?
Our internal nutrients and economies flow with richest understanding
when this balance is achieved between left and right,
exterior and interior,
ecological polycultures and economic value,
Universal Intelligence and Polanyi's Personal Knowledge,
cooperation and active hope of contributing,
teaching, helping, mentoring, facilitating;
between desire and gift,
mindfulness and gratitude,
justice and actively nurturing peace,
Yang and Yin.
Invest in cooperative vocations,
and learning plans.
Avoid competitive, survival-limited teleological assumptions,
and corporate structures.
Create cultural and ecological and economic music
and dancing in revolving circles with those investments;
not marching in competitive,
self-commodifying lose-lose squares.
Cultural and economic EcoTherapy derive from consciousness
of the Laws of Thermodynamics, of course,
but, the Prime Root Law of Thermodynamics
is the Law of Eternal Moment Thermodynamic Balance;
what goes out,
must come back in,
and out again,
regenerating frequencies of oscillating formed information (P)
and reverse-functional Yin (NP) exformation,
reiteratively bowing to torus-graced "Namaste."
Long poem by
T Wignesan | Details |
Translation of Mahakavi Bharathiyar’s poem: “Asai Mugam” or “Beloved Face”
By T. Wignesan
Out of mind that beloved face has gone – this
Tragedy who can I confess it to – My Dear
The chest never voids feelings of love – yet
Can the memory of His face be lost forever?
Even as it appears in the mind’s eye – there
Kannan’s* true image does not appear complete:
Even if His beauteous face manifests itself – that
Choice blossoming smile conceals itself replete.
He who toils not knowing any respite – He
Whose Self works selflessly in aim altruist:
Even as you espy His mouth enunciate – that
Illustrious burgeoning form’s between and betwixt.
The pity eyes may not comprehend - in life
Kannan’s real form cannot be erased:
As if in the bosom of mature women – alas
Might one naïve*for once be recognised.
The bee that’s made to forget honey – glowing
Fullsome in blossom yet oblivious the flower:
The paddy that forgets the nourishing sky – such
In this entire world can never be true, My Dear.
If one cannot at will recall Kannan’s face – these
Two eyes would they be of any use staying open?
Since paintings of Him cannot be seen – verily
How might this life serve any purpose, Companion?
*Kannan: the endearing Tamil sobriquet for Krishna,
supposedly the Eighth Avatar of Vishnu, one of the trinity of gods of the God-Head Brahman.
*PEthai: also means a simple-minded woman; a girl from five to seven years old; or a haemophrodite.
(from the sequence: “Kannan – My Lover (2)” in Bharathiyar Kavithaigal. Chennai: Kavitha Publications, 2006, pp. 273-274.)
Asai mukam maranthu pOccE
rAgam : PILAHARI
Asai mukam maranthu pOccE - ithai
yAriDam solvEnaDi thOzhi?(Refrain)
nEsam marakkavillai nenjam - enil
ninaivu mukam-marakkalAmO?(Ref: Asai)
kaNNil theriyuthoru thOTram - athil
naNNu muka vaDivu kANil - antha
nalla malar chirippai kANOm?(Ref:Asai)
Oivu mozhithalum illAmal - avan
uruvai ninaittirukkum uLLam?
vAyu-muraippathuNDu kaNDAi - anda
mAyan pugazhinaiyai pOthum?(Ref: Asai)
kaNkaL purinthu viTTa pAvam - uyir
kaNNan uru marakkalAccu?
peNgaLinattilithu pOlE - oru
pEthaiyai munbu kaNDathuNDO ?(Ref: Asai)
thEnai maranthirukkum vaNDum - oLi
chirappai maranthu viTTa pUvum?
vAnai maranthu irukkum payirum - intha
vaiyya muzhuthum illai - thOzhi?(Ref: Asai)
kaNNan mukam maranthu pOnAl - intha
kaNgaL irinthu payan uNDO?
vaNNa paDammum illai kaNDAi - ini
vAzhum vazhi yennaDi thOzhi?(Ref: Asai)
Paratiar Chuppiramaniam (Bharathiyar Subrahmaniayam) – 1882-1921
Chuppiramaniyam who distinguished himself with his compositions at the early age of eleven was conferred the title of « Bharathiyar » by the King of Ettayapuram though he later moved away from his court to become a teacher in Madurai and a journalist in Madras (Chennai). Having lost his mother at five and his father at sixteen, he was married at fourteen to Sellamma, and yet he found time to work for the Indian Independence Movement : he was present at the Congress in Calcutta where he met the old guard under Swami Vivekananda, and later at Rajagopalachariyar’s place in Chennai, he met Mahatma Gandhi. He had had to escape British colonial disapproval for his activities by finding refuge in Pondicherry under French connivance from 1911 to 1918. He wasn’t quite happy there either, so on his re-appearance in Tamil Nadu (Madras Presidency), he was arrested and remanded for a month. He continued to write and publish, and, in 1917, his most popular collection: Kannan Pattu was released. In 1921, he was badly mauled by the temple elephant at ThiruvallikkENi, and he passed away – due to stomach complications – on September the 12th., at the age of 39.
Bharathiyar or « Mahakavi » (Great Poet) belongs in a long and reverred line of « saintly » poets, beginning in the sixth century with the ALVARS, and who closely resembled the Sufi poets and thinkers of the later centuries. Though born into the Brahmin caste, he disavowed all forms of social and racial discrimination and forsook the intervention of the priestly caste’s rites and ceremonies (chants and mantras) to reach out to God through direct exhortations, a form of devotion which has universally characterised the poetical effusions of these adherents throughout centuries. One might even say that when the Nobel Committee conferred its literary prize on Rabindranath Tagore’s Gitanjali, the Swedish Academy was indirectly honouring innumerable collections in all the vernaculars in the sub-continent.
This poem has been widely set to music, from the eminently classical renderings of Mahathi and Karthik to the jazzed-up versions by Shankar Tucker, the latter an American clarinettist from Massachusetts making inroads into Carnatic music traditions by introducing Western classical harmony and counterpoint. The moving version by Suchitra Karthik whose voice sustains the tense and solemn mood of the poem is – sadly – drowned by the orchestra’s insensitivity (the ghatam’s painful clock-work beat) to her rôle as the principal performer. All the Carnatic classic versions are commendable even if some (Karthik’s) tend to become exercises in restraint in a low key mode. The Iyer Sisters Vidya and Vandana’s version is certainly most captivatingly nuanced, but one wishes their soothing voices would take off now and then into the release of energy the poem’s spiritual fire commands.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |
When oppositional cognitive dissonance deflects focus,
it tends to go back to when I deflected focus from her.
She sends me passive-aggressive messages,
bread crumbs leading back in time
to where she began to feel alone,
If you don't want a sopping wet tile bathroom floor
because I have thrown all my naked Barbie and Ken parts,
especially their water-filled hollow insides,
and the five saturated pools of stained white washcloths
I took out of that drawer just like you said not to,
and the nice sudsy soft bar of soap,
then you might want to reconsider leaving the bathroom
during my bath.
You might want to think of telling a story
or imagining with my behavioral lectures
I so mercilessly inflict
on the shattered heads of my daughters,
I mean dolls.
Perhaps oppositional cognitive dissonance
is what Republicans have about Democrats.
If you folks would be so kind as to return to cooperative civic and civil discussion,
about my intrinsic dignity, royalty perhaps,
sense of anthrocentric entitlement,
immaculate integrity as a permacultured Orthodox Tradition,
utterly necessary to optimize sustainable and resilient health
for All Americans,
(although perhaps not quite sufficient),
including those who happen to have become embarrassed
by their unhealthy wealth and extravagant disregard
for undercommodified values,
like caring and nurturing, loving and therapeutic
mentoring relationships and trees of life, and economic
and eco-logical environ-mental (0)-sum cooperative networks,
like the synergy of all natural systems,
most especially religious cultures
delivering a united and interdependent positive teleology
that we all created this rapacious, extractive mess together.
So, please stop leaving the bathroom of discourse,
regardless of how rhetorically insane and polemic,
every time we complain about your shitty attitudes
about wealthy compost and sustainable,
optimized economic growth.
Then you democratically complain,
by voting for the one you hate the least,
as we go right on doing
what we intended to do
while we were throwing water
on your slippery-floor economics
reverse-hierarchical interdependence and mutual subsidiarity.
Much too "solidarity" for Republican taste as True,
much less Just to those who prefer their
economically entrenched competitive silos.
our Democratic family value parents
hear their oppositionally disordered Republicans
as if they were bionically alien unitarian utilitarians,
like honey bees and ant hives,
devoid of deductive rational accessibility,
of even one of four dimensions of truth,
and without capacity to empathize with their well-mentored praxis,
of continually forgetting you could not climb a higher priority
than telling your oppositional daughter Dr. Seuss's The Lorax,
interpreting each voice as your own Lorax Logos,
wondering why you continue competing
to reach a Win-Win Cooperative Game,
and biological karmic finish line,
alone in your Permaculture Designed polycultural PolyLife Tree Paradise.
When you think about it,
you can see that your competitive political
and economic assumption,
that Win-Win cooperation will not have our final say,
is not ecologically, scientifically,
or even permaculturally, metaphysically
sound, rational, integrated,
sustainably designed to benefit future generations,
much less synergetic or holonically comprehensive.
You can't win a P=NP,
cooperative economic logistical plan
until everyone else has the freedom
and ecotherapeutic orthopraxis comprehension,
to win-win with you, coincidentally.
With this perhaps un-Christian,
and vaguely irreligious perspective
that Democratic mutual-redeemer culture
is closer to (0) sum Core Value Balanced Heaven
rationality, and intuition,
than appears to be the case
for our benighted Republican
wealthy fat-cat anthro-supremacist residents of Earth,
we have turned rather too far
our spinning cultural revolution pendulum
away from the racist sin of monocultural monotheism,
poverty and the overpowering commodification of human lives,
and the commodification of other species,
and the commodification of Earth's fire, water,
soil and sky,
Her capacity to regenerate fertile seeds,
turning away from sin as sterile insanity,
disability and absence,
to now prophecy the sins of monopolistic wealth,
to notice challenging, dissonant tipping points
bicamerally competing economic uncertainty
and ecological dysfunction for all consciousness
reconnecting our more humane DNA-informed
bicameral information processor branch of EcoTribe,
multisystemic and polycultural Climax Community,
coincidentally straining and stressing to comprehend
Polynomial SpaceTime = Not-Not Polynomial Open Systemic Binomial Prime Relationship Temporal "Now"
as Yang-convex/positive = Yin-concave/negative,
as +1.00% QBit = +/-(0)% Soul Core-emergent universal Vertex/Dark Recessional Vortex (Perelman, 1993)
So, yes, maybe somewhat closer,
but closer doesn't count
when playing Win-Win economic ecotherapy.
Horseshoes don't fit elephants.
Speaking of elephants in too-narrow-minded oppositional spaces,
where was I?
Oh, yes, she’s in the bathtub again,
better watch that floor.
Long poem by
Brian Johnston | Details |
(A both serious and fanciful encounter with God)
1. There are so many questions that I have for God,
Oh my love, don't you feel the same way?
While it's true that we may just have met in this poem
You must know that I care what you say.
Like who made the Creator and then who made Him?
To infinity this clearly goes.
But a 'whole universe' that 'exists on its own? '
It's orgasmic! And that curls my toes.
It seems possible God could create this strange thing
Which some atheists call 'the big bang, '
Which puts God the creator at source once again
'Self-creation' becomes boomerang.
In the end science usually makes simple right
And in this case that doesn't seem odd
For it's clear that although God explains 'the big bang, '
'The big bang' just can't explain God.
2. Now some people think that for the Church to survive
That the Bible must 'un-airant' be
Though that leaves many liberals gasping for air
And I certainly mean to include me.
Didn't Christ turn established Church square on its head
And accuse experts of speaking trash
Their self-aggrandizements the flailings of the dead,
Their pronouncements the value of ash?
So where in the Bible does it claim to be true
That each man's take on it is Gospel?
The foolishness of this thought clearly would make the
Deity of mere men possible.
And Christ spoke in parables, while I am on it,
While they may contain truth, are they true?
Shifting sand's the ground literalists stand on,
I don't want God's Church built there, do you?
3. I suspect overall that our God is too small
Modeled after folks tied down with chain,
A God that's too small is really no God at all
And our saying we know Him just vain.
Today's Kingdom of Grace has become one of fear
As we try to trap God with His Word,
Surely our doing battle with Father or Son
Trying to save ourselves is absurd.
So what does it mean to believe in Christ Jesus?
And how can I be cleansed in Christ's flame
I think it is clear you should be different from Satan
And he certainly knows Jesus' name.
In fact one could divine Satan knows Christ is real
A fact Satan will take to his grave.
But Satan's not willing to walk in Christ's footsteps
And that's whom God chooses to save.
4. Surely there's nothing wrong with our questioning God
For God commands us, 'Forbid them not, '
'Suffer the little children to come unto me .'
Does that sound like God's wrath is our lot?
It is true of course, we know that God gets angry
But His essence still always is Grace.
It is not who you are, it is just what you do
That can make Him get into your face.
With Karen Armstrong now alive on the scene
It is clear that God's heart is still showing
When she says 'Doubt is not the opposite of faith...
Certainty is! ' A huge debt to God I am owing.
For certainty is certainly not my standard
And sometimes that does give me pause.
But the Grace that I feel in God's presence
Is what brings me to peace with His laws.
5. So now that we've managed to clear up some big stuff
Let's tackle some things that are fuzzy
Like Jesus would frequently call God his 'father'
But God could not have a thing, does He?
I'm sure that some ladies will not be too happy
To hear that God's not one of their clan
Remember the Bible says God's church is His bride,
Not much room there for doubt He's a man.
'But if that's really true He's not me, more like you,
No way could that ever be called fair.
Thanks a lot! Doesn't seem much like heaven to me
Woman still dragged around by their hair. '
'Hold on now, wait a bit: Please! let's not have a fit
Seems like men have a right to feel blue!
Even though we are all getting married to God
Recall men are to be His bride too! '
6. If science and traditional faith disagree
Then it's clear that there is something wrong
One could ignore it but both come from God
So take care if the science is strong.
Intelligent scholars of Biblical truth say
Creation is six thousand years past
But science proves this wrong over 4 billion years
In one universally huge blast.
The Bible was written two thousand years ago
For folks who knew little of science.
When you speak to a child, you know he's not adult,
And you use what we call common sense,
Not hard to accept that the Bible is dated,
Don't stew over it for heaven's sake.
This isn't a sign that our God would mislead us,
He who died for you is not a fake.
7. And now for an odd bit, just where does Science fit
With God's gift of Grace for the many?
'Seek, you shall find, knock and it be opened to you: '
As good a definition as any.
'Every good and perfect gift comes from the father.'
I am grateful to God for His Word.
And you devil's children who call God's gift evil,
For repentance I offer a bird.
Our God's revelation to man is ongoing,
With faithfulness through all the ages
The only requirement of mankind it would seem
Is willingness to turn the pages.
Not just pages of Bible but pages of stars
Which are surely God's heart written large.
Let us follow Him to where new worlds conquer fear
And our service to LOVE so discharge.
Whew! This poem is another one of those 'where did that come from' poems. I want to let go of it, YET IT KEEPS ON GROWING LIKE THE 'THE BLOB! '
So don't be surprised if I offer new stanzas.
Think I feel something else clearly perking.
I'm taking requests to so if you have a pet peeve
Just forward on to me, don't be shirking.
Love in advance,
PS: Thank you God
Long poem by
Terry O'Leary | Details |
Though still within our infancy,
we strive and thrive, but woefully
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.
Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys the planet's harmony,
lays waste to life beneath the sea,
and all in name of vanity.
Who dares our spheroid's symmetry
by doubting Nature's regnancy
defying laws, like gravity,
affirms a fatal fallacy…
for, centered on the 'world of we',
we feed our vain insanity
on thoughts beyond eternity -
seems strange when looked at cosmically.
Perchance there is no remedy
for those in shadow's prophecy -
unless we handle skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.
The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.
The winds, they reek of Royalty
(that's bathed in suds of treachery)
and blow across the peasantry
left gasping in their pungency.
The Queen, so steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of ash and ebony
while sipping Sekt immodestly;
to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively.
The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
(he wallows in their lenity).
Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
ordains the dollar dynasty
portending highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery,
for Jesters and the Fools agree
to dabble in duplicity
while stripping masses witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!
To justify the oddity
that one plus one is sometimes three,
one reaches to theodicy,
takes paths of circularity.
In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.
Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;
and aged women fruitlessly
(while racked and wrenched) begged clemency
from justice framed in infamy,
were set ablaze for witchery.
That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery
as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;
'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'
The Masters make a mockery
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from bonds of slavery,
now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.
And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.
To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
presents a penny, niggardly;
though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy
while bellies swell, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.
When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;
and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
through psycho-dream obscurity -
a dire death row odyssey.
Forgetting mankind's unity,
our rich and poor dichotomy
breeds empty domed finality,
Just as in days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting forcefully
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy
to toast the slaughtered enemy,
or else convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.
At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
and armed from finest armory
(embraced in hands so tenderly),
inflict benign atrocity -
but soon atomic weaponry
will cancel our posterity.
Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.
Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,
and rivers, tainted chemically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.
Adjusting genes mechanically
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.
We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,
but if we bet unknowingly
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.
The mildly mad bureaucracy
so often lacks coherency
when raping rules abundantly
but offers no apology.
They paint the past in reverie
when, slyly comes the tendency
to take away our privacy
which paves the way to tyranny.
With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering doggedly,
we've lost our mental sovereignty,
and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else perch in penitentiary
with water board anxiety.
Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…
Long poem by
Brian Johnston | Details |
Part 1: Catalyst
I recently read a blog that purported to report news
Of extraordinary import to us all,
That the Catholic Pope, with a new encyclical letter,
Announced to the world his conviction that there is no Hell
And that the idea of Hell itself is just a literary device,
A metaphor for separation from God’s love,
An idea now vanquished by God’s Grace in Christ….
That all men are, in fact, brothers AND children
Of a loving Father who loves us all in spite of our antics,
Not a parent that choses favorites or pits child against child.
I thought, “Am I dreaming? How can this be true.”
“The church has so long been a source of judgment,
Pitting groups of men against each other
With appeals to their vanity and attempts to separate
Believers from their hard earned cash, not to serve God,
But to enrich perhaps man’s monuments to Satan himself.”
The Pope’s imagined letter continued with vows
To abandon intolerance, even recognizing that
“Truth is not set in stone,” and that men have no right
To insist God cannot change or wisdom to discern it
If in fact it should happen, evolution itself seeming proof
That even God gets bored with the status quo at times
Just one little asteroid it seems and poof, abracadabra,
No dinosaurs, to munch any longer, on man’s progenitors.
The letter even suggested that we remain open to new
Sources of inspiration, like science perhaps,
Another good and perfect gift to man from God,
And concluded that no door open to one sex
Should ever be closed to the other, that men and women
Should all be eligible to the church’s hierarchy
And Old Testament calls for intolerance and judgment
Be seen as outdated, and contrary to the message
Of love and truth, revealed in Christ’s teaching .
Part 2: The Unfolding of Feeling
It was as if the doors of heaven itself had been opened to me,
And Christ resurrected once again from the dead,
First death on the cross, second death by those
Who wear expensive versions of His stolen vestments
Perhaps only the innocent can truly know His pain,
Well, maybe the two thieves who died with Him as well
One of which entered paradise with him the same day.
Man’s journey, our journey with God began long before
The birth of all we know, God’s plan already perfect,
Before time as we know it began, in God’s imagination,
Even the very idea of your future life precious to Him.
The paradox of God knowing you completely and your free will
Already blossoming in one of God’s favorite gardens,
Nestled in the Word of the great I AM, the holy seed of your birth,
A poetry whose rhyme, rhythm, and music only angels sing.
How many stars had to die for your awakening in His plan?
How patient and wonderful His dream for your life,
As atom by atom your complex chemistry was collected
From the vastness of the whole of His creation!
All of this preparation for you, joy in your potential,
Who is greater in His heart, my brother, my sister than you?
Yet you think yourselves beyond the reach of His caring,
Beyond the warmth of His heart, because of other’s lies.
Part 3: The Denouement
Of course it is only fair for you to question my sharing,
Indeed the heart always doubts, but God doesn’t condemn,
His Grace always so much bigger than we can imagine,
His justice wiser that than that of our ancestors.
Yes, my own witness rests on the love of another….
This witness showed me God’s love without cunning
With his heart alone he proved that God’s love is real,
No evidence can disprove what I learned that day.
May God lead you to so trust my words or your own miracle!
Do not listen, my still troubled friends, to Sunday Christians
Who imagine their church to be a Country Club for the saved,
“We have so much money God must love us more than the rest!”
Let me assure you, whatever church or faith you visit by chance,
Regardless of what they think of themselves, you’ll find a niche,
For every church is, in fact, a hospital for the sick and dying.
While you are with them do whatever good that you can.
You might be the Good Samaritan a desperate church has prayed for,
You, though a stranger to their faith, teach them what faith means.
Part 4: Epilogue
Yes , on our journey of faith the terrain is never of our choosing,
The scenery, the wells that quench thirst, the manna heaven sent,
Our strength too, but movement is always our own will.
I called or wrote many of my best friends to share the dreams
Expressed in this disarming and duplicitous journalistic prose,
And then the next day when it became clear that the letter was false
Just as quickly repeated my efforts to inform all of the deceit.
I find myself now laughing at my own gullibility,
But rather pleased at the same time that so many shared my dreams.
If you find my disappointment in organized religion laughable,
Let me share finally by echoing “The Beatles” and say simply that,
“I hope someday you too will join us, and the world will be as one!”
June 26, 2015
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |
Relationships are like farming,
if you don't plant the seed,
you'll have no crop to harvest.
Rumi (M. Mafi, trans.)
Gambling is like farming,
if you don't play the game,
you'll have no winnings.
Economics is like farming,
if you don't play this organic co-operative game,
you'll have no competitive winnings.
Ecologic is like farming,
if we don't play this polycultural community-building game,
we'll have no long-term sustainable,
much less optimized systemic,
Stay aware and purposeful in your search,
for happiness is truly in the searching.
Stay awake and purposeful in our co-operative research,
eco-logical economies remain synergetic
within our ecotherapeutic searching.
Stay awake and mindful of polypathic meaning
in your Regenerative Permacultural Research Life,
for happiness, confluence, equity, beauty, grace, karma's
Prime Relationship Balanced Teleology
are truly within multisystemic universal eco-searching.
How do we sleep while part of us feels gone?
Frogs and night birds,
bats and insects cry out for company
filling raucous warm luscious breeze
carrying chicken soup songs of love
not yet won,
love wanted and needed with primal longing
to belong back together
for our first really great time.
How do we sleep
while part of us longs gone?
Night flight resolves revolving chatter,
fractal spinning spiral-echoes
haunting iconic timeless teachings
from potential future Right-brain memory
predicative facts of fantasy,
confluent, confident islands of prophetic sanity
boundary inspiring polycultures,
of self-optimizing intertribal communication.
How do we sleep
in this racket of absent SuperEgo
missing reverse-evil hope of flight tonight?
God as the Doomed and Dooming Ground of All Being,
under Whom we hide from shamed non-redeeming character,
We thought we were economically neutral
on this moving Goddess Train of Earth,
oblivious to Her climatic millennial warnings
to ease up on the fire power,
take a break,
let's cool down,
enjoy some slower peace and more mindfully inclusive justice.
Remaining neutral in our farming cooperative relationships,
admittedly a slower moving race,
and yet it helps to confluently comprehend our spin
with Common balancing thermodynamic balance,
and how fast is too fast, too Yangish,
and how slow is too slow, too Yinnish,
and when we might slow down to rebalance Yang with Yin,
and how much we might slow down
emerges permaculturally predicated
as [+Yang = (-)(-)Yin]
= Universal-Optimal Natural Systemic Revolution
= space/time binary Closed MetaSystem reverse-hierarchical balance,
to sustain our permacultured rich teleological neutrality
on Gaia's Zero-sum regenerative train.
How do we wake
when part of Us is out of whack?
How do we awaken
our search for polycultural economic justice standards
for researching well-being sustenance,
self-optimizing regeneration with Eco Mindfulness Intent?
Planting regenerative seeds,
to grow co-redemptive pay-it-forward gift economies,
winnowing metasystemic research
to optimize repurposing meaningful purpose,
EarthTribe's eco-logical self-redemption future day
covering love, peace, happiness, contentment, justice, information confluence roots
with threats, opportunities, strengths, weaknesses systemically balancing compost,
learning faith and hope through suffering dissonance and dismay
as redemption's comprehensive consciousness,
Permaculturalist Economic Tao:
sleep and wake and absorb others, as you would have them be you NOW
to re-emerge our EcoTribe's informating therapeutic,
Natural systems are to spiritual systemic comprehension,
as Physical is to Metaphysical Universe (B. Fuller's definition),
as Yang is to Yin,
as Polynomial Information is to Double-Bound Negative Polynomial Information Balancing Trends.
Polypathic and multisystemic relationships are like therapeutic organic farming,
if you don't plant diverse fractal-holonic DNA/RNA-encrypted seeds,
you'll not have an Optimized PolyCultural crop to harvest.
Ain't nobody here 'ceptin us Chickens
and somehow we all land in this soupy mess together.
Let's keep on lickin' each other's wounds.
Try a little less hen-peckin'.