There is a heartbeat under my heartbeat,
the one that was already going
before I had a body to carry it in.
I have called it wrong names.
Anxiety, when it was only aliveness.
Loneliness, when it was only spaciousness
with no one to explain itself to.
It never needed permission.
It didn't wait for me to become someone
before it started shining,
the way a window doesn't wait
for the house to be finished
to let in light.
I have spent so long trying to be smaller,
easier to hold,
and this whole time
there was something in me
that was already free
of every wall I built to contain it.
If I am honest, on my most tired night,
what I want isn't answers.
It's this, to feel that I am not separate
from the thing that made the stars
and also made the way light
moves through a glass of water at 2 a.m.
I don't think delight has to be earned.
I think it's underneath me
the way the ground is underneath me,
holding me up whether I notice it or not.
I did not arrive from nowhere.
Something is still arriving through me,
right now, as this breath, this pulse,
this quiet, stubborn light
that was never asking my permission to exist.
And Now I've
Got A Whole
Buncha' BENT
BUCKETS!!!
Let It Flow...
Flower And Grow,
Spread All The
Refusal...
The Perfection
Is In The Upheavel!
You Knew That
Too.
Keep Kicking
Until It's No
Longer
BENT.
--Gray Squirrel
07-30-
Who would have guessed — when I tilted my heart
toward baby lizard, perched on a colored desert stone,
she’d blink one eye at me, turn to smile, it seemed,
and lend a listening ear?
I’d only said in a lizard way:
I love you.
And who would have thought — that when stone had heard me
loving her, it would, it seem, speak back?
Loving stone, I was!
Stone, I so admire your villages.
I smile to your many stone peoples.
I eavesdrop on universal questions posed
around sacred fires carefully tended.
And around one hearth, among
cinder specks scattered– that one minute wisp,
grain of cinder there.
Dare I say I love you too?
I do! I do!
In that cinder grain I hear —
worlds of stars, sweetly singing!
By way of explanation, reader friend,
such is what a practice of
loving all beings equally
has made of me.
Crazed being?
Could be.
But could you nonetheless
accept the possibility
and likewise go love adventuring?
If you’d prefer, we could earnestly
and objectivity talk it all through.
Or say ~ Love come!
Speak through us.
Teach us how to listen.
the satirical "Murica."
oh ye America
might oppurtunity
smile upon thee
might the riches of her
resources
strenghten us forever more
might the works of hardworking
labors
guide there way to prosperity
might the fishes
and her cattle
feed us
forever more
stand together
in drough
or pouret rains
that our women
shall become pregant
and be honored
for there strains
might our men
stand shoulder to shoulder
in unity as one
America, America,
Us proud beneath the sun
Glory
glory
hear the anceints sing
that we move forward
that every generation sings
Glory, Glory
we stand to honor thee
from the Paupers to the weathly
stand to
hear us sing
Glory, Glory
America is for me
honor us America
As we Honor thee!
Whether from the east, west, north, or south,
The winds blow, sometimes with great noises.
Yet, at other times, I hear melodic whispers.
A vehicle passes with a sound, but its directional
certainty is concealed. A search is enjoined,
and only then is its pathway revealed.
A light fixture falls, and the sound is heard.
An investigation is undertaken to identify the fall.
We search the hallway and check the walls.
The inquiry yields no results, but weeks later,
although inadvertently, the light fixture is seen.
It's hanging against the wall, still attached to its electric wires.
The source of this light
Eyes in wonderment
Inflate for?
Out whose divine height
Child, God in all things
Then sees pour.
Trying to hold a better view,
Of how life is coming through,
Grasping for something true,
New ways to see my prize.
Tired eyes are pried open,
A wide array of emotions,
Invoke a commotion,
I'm crashing into an ocean.
Energy splashing all around,
All I see as I drown,
Scattered pieces falling,
I'm calling for my Crown.
Sound bounces off deaf ears,
No one hears the call,
I feel so damn small,
A wall so tall I fall to my feet.
Is retreating defeat,
If I don't admit I was beat,
Save me a seat at your table,
I'm coming back when able.
Capable of holding the Throne,
Alone most of my life,
Laying low living a High-life,
Strife my wife and friend.
I'm just waiting for the end,
So I can mend my heart,
Get a brand new start,
Charting a different course,
Straight from the source.
O poets, words employ as light.
Ritual, mason. Free.
Strength and beauty, fine in flight.
Compliment, O key...
Great Mother, eternal lodge.
Shine bright, one and all.
Human right, thy anagoge.
Plains of heaven. Fall...
Open doors give no offense?
Create, O my life.
Humble brethren, thy good sense.
Loving heart, thy knife.
Dome of sky above us!
On knees we chisel stone!
Cosmic halls and source surplus!
Twinkling seeds to own!
Karma, embed deep in earth.
Rule the sky and sea.
Flowers, open at the firth!
Bulb, expand and be!
Come forth, O nature spirits.
Fresh openings assist.
Individual, write writs!
Welcome, lodge and list!
Light and love, thy temple.
My mind, soar. Meaning, sought.
Sun god, flock of rare fine wool.
Hidden form: a thought...
poets
search
memoty
in
eternal
silence
You are the source
of your own knowledge...
Was I born with knowledge...
You were born with Mind...
Is mind not knowledge...
Mind is the ledge of knowledge,
know the edge of your knowledge...
What is the relationship
between mind and knowledge...
What is the relationship
between life and death...
Am I Mind, thus also knowledge...
Are you life and also death...
Is there anything that I should not know...
You shall not know
that which you cannot know...
Is there anything that I cannot know...
You cannot know that which is not Yourself...
Is there anything that I am not...
You are not that
which is not your source...
Do I have knowledge from outside myself...
Do you live outside yourself...
J.A.B.
There must be many ways to connect to the Source.
If the ocean is the art of letting go,
why aren’t we all swimming?
Ocean — a museum of love,
where each wave is a painting,
and love flows in every frame.
We are collectors of this water,
each of us carrying a different kind of body within.
Some of us are afraid to expand our own museum.
Afraid to dent the frame, smudge the paint,
tear the canvas, or touch the artifact of our intuition.
We walk carefully, guarding what wants to flow.
We fear walking around with empty containers,
for aliveness demands surrender.
The more awake we become,
the more we resist the tides of change.
If the heart of the ocean is the soul,
then our souls are the nudists —
bare, unguarded, and thirsting for touch.
The more I swim,
the less afraid I am
to let the water reach me.
For the soul’s need —
unconditional love —
is the most natural experience.
The world can see what we carry in our hearts.
To survive here as a clear being,
we must be capable of drinking,
capable of swimming,
capable of change,
and capable of motion.
Bernice Zoleka Mannie
LYAIOZ MANNIE
Take initiative go to the light where the force of darkness ends
A flame needs its kindled source as a sparking awareness mends
Our enlightened energy wrapped in an array of cavernous colors
Ribboned radiant impressions given in vast deepest depths squalors
A shadow self may live dormant and await unveiling the chaos within
When it has become an unbearable journey to live in your own skin
Opaque indigo stones skim over shallow waters in an empty well
Stratas rock labyrinths chiseled lies of neglect in a nautilus shell
Warm sorrel ribbon evokes sympathy in a disparaged tale of woe
A sorbet of violet, green, and tangerine conjure a melodious flow
What is truly a wellspring of a healing rainbow palette renders
We find the key to unlocking magic embers in dormant chambers
Dank darkness may lead us astray from individuality and truth
Take initiative, find the light of all brightest light reaching for you
Adjacent profits are gained in purchase of information
Non profit lobby hides, assemblies
And congressional lobby laborers
Caught in data shortage
Corrupt a report purchasing shares of
Corruptible budget items
Obstructing legislation
Creating false pretense for arrest
Arrest of defined confine
The hide
The title
The bonds ageing interest
Non profit
Must eat here at specified time
In thousand oaks California
Only at eves Arch, after days end
In Ventura at Catholic charities
The food reception is all day Charity
And none are required
Available coordinates for investigative
Journalists
Publicly available languages
(“Mind’s Eye”, 2017, original encaustic)
The Source
People say they are searching for the source
As if it is somehow something other than this
Somehow somewhere other than here.
But that is like searching for your own roots
Without acknowledging that you yourself
Are in fact your father’s sperm
And mother’s ovum
United in the flesh.
We live our lives in ignorance
Then in doubt
Then in quest to find what we have lost
Never realizing that it was always too close to see.
Something that isn’t a thing
So pervasive, so common, so mundane
We completely ignore it,
Like our breath, like our heartbeat.
And yet without our next breath and beating heart
What else matters.
(7/26/25)
our mental simulator is the incubator
of our physical illustration
our mental perceptions of how events
in our perceived physical world
are created by our inner most desires and cravings
to be tested and mulled over
before manifesting themselves
in our physical world for final testing
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