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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I believe SuperEgo bicameral comprehension functions, forms, and flows organic ecotherapeutic integrity; I believe balanced Left-Right consciousness orbits toward ecstatic psychology. I've got nothin' to say And I'm gonna keep it just that way 'til my mean old SuperEgo lets me go outside to play. Imagine with me for a moment, if you would be so generous, god as not only love but also the most joyful joy we could be, cooperatively networked together. And why do I want to play this imagination game with you or even without you? What is this joy of which you speak? I know peace in silent music and wind and surf, but is therapy of sound this joy? Perhaps not quite enough, maybe only halfway here. We grow toward pregnant Now becoming being joy with you. While I assume this will not be news I need to remind you that your presence does not always feel like gift, source of joy, not so much really, sometimes more painful to my drift. Yes, I know. But, it brings me joy to recall in our more dissonant crash that I feel precisely the same suffering way about your sorry ass. Perhaps you should find a different therapist. One who evolves less sure of god as graced-love and much more joy, one not so sure your God is humor, Eco-ing DNA's RNA CommonSense. If I understand your cynicism I might write your song, "I've got nothin' to say And I'm gonna keep it just that way 'til my mean Ol' Dad lets me go outside to play." Your issues with remembering who I am rather than who you thought I would be seem not too distant clarity or even acceptance, but your troubling habit of editing my opera into your joyful musical comedy, this tangles our melodic frequencies and harmonic function. "How can I reach heavenly you when all day through you bind me to your flight toward unEarthy game wars, your fear of losing rich rewards, blockade toward joy, your life your toy to blindly scream away?" How could I throw away this toy you never game me? My defeats, static surrenders to right-now desire, or lack thereof, steer me far clear of your enchantment with ecstatic joy. What is your purpose when Earth's becoming is your wise Being, if your Being is not also Earth's meaningful becoming? If you are not part of Earth's mindful nature then Humane Being cannot naturally co-arise, develop, regenerate. Your becoming cannot be not Our becoming, my Being fades when we are not We together. What is this to me your wilting Earth and flat-line monopolistic dark comedy? My joy turns tragedy to operatic outcomes. What you label Oppositional Disorder I hear as contending Cognitive Dissonance, hoping for a Draw someday, someplace away. What you find unnaturally cacophonous confuses my spirited silence. Your values are not Ours on my side of your Oppositional Divide, my values are my own, and I am free of Win, Lose, or Draw cultures and economic gamesmanship, Our Truth as Consequence game contains our Tug of War. Imagine with me in this Eternal Moment your Ego filled with endless joyful joy as you pull all Earth toward finish line and you are confidently winning your Boddhisatva Interdependent Challenge. Even should you not choose releasing survival's course rope, you have full faith that We are winning and this joy will never end. Your Being has become, your response fulfills your stimulus of birth, your effect regenerates your course's cause, your What Ifs? echo and mirror your What Are We?, all Earth recreates your joy. I've got nothin' to say And I'm gonna keep it that way 'til my mean ol' life pilgrimage through dissonant pathology let's me go outside to play. That does indeed sound operatic. Right, and not so much joyful joy this side of my playground. See ya. Wouldn't wanna be ya. Oh, but you are, except your opera damns divine divas, weeping and shrieking in off-stage wings of perpetually-coming purgatory, while Earth's musical comedy, reenacts all that drama on your Win-Lose playground, where Her Sun ain't bringin' no bad news all eternal day. Why do you always need to have the last word, the last line? We have a shared last line. No, you just did it again, with the We thing. Yes We did. I'm closing the door now. Yes We are. Hopeless. Joyless. Can I maul your head? Our head. My head. Imagining with We brings joy. LAAAAAAAAAST WORD! HA!
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