I love the spring
In my bed
And the spring
in my stride.
I love being young
and full of lust

But Fall,
I love that too.
 The way that simple
Things have grown
rich with meaning
how all those young
women I loved
now have children

and I'm still just a kid
In side an aging man.
Kicking leaves
on a blustery day.

The beauty of the rose is not seen
in perfect symmetry,
nor in her crimson color.
She reveals her truth
opening as a tender bud
then shedding all
her garments
one by one.
As her petals fall
we glimpse the echo
of our lives, and catch
the lingering scent
of what we are.

When I was older
I did, but now
the times
have bound me
to my years
and my imagined
Rocketships
have yet to fly
no angels
sop the blood
from crucified child

And no dog
has it's day.

Was heaven
what i hoped for?

How old
Do I have to be?

In dog years,
death has no mercy.

do you have the time?

Across the wide grass running
A thousand meters high
The red cloud at sunset
Burned in back of my mind
Everything halting
Like statues on a train
The mumbling of passengers
Who never said hello.
The place reeks of poetry  
And bad investments
Sawdust in the corner
Like robbery
And holding nothing dear
They come rumbling to a stop
Apocalyptic pencil shavings  
and crumpled newsprint
The empty seats stare back at you
All those mornings yesterday
Came back in a rush
More horses in the rain
Running from thunder.
Concrete follows
Like a lean dog
In the undergrowth
Grinning with  panic
The pain stumbles after
Hobbles the mind
Fetters the blood
A small dream
 Of rabbits in the garden
Tattooed  cats
And words  
that crystallize in the sun.
I’m letting this get away from me
Because you were with me then
And we both had something in our eyes.
It almost gets you going
when you think it cant get worse
then the running happens
everything crashing after
just because the words didn’t fit their meaning.
There’s no need for you in the room tonight
this blue baby
catch your breath.
Leave us alone we bury our own.
Now the rain can come.
I really was crazy.
Everyone said I was.
Now it’s true.
You know whatever happens, they’ll come back to this moment.
I waited all these years, thinking it would be all right.
They are gone.
It never was all right.
Abandoned.
And why should I care.
You never see light like that in the city.
Always staring at the sky --till the needle breaks and splits like fire in the night.

I don't much care what you think
I'm sad today.
This is no a bad thing.
It's nothing you can cure.
I do not greive for you
although you deserve
my grieving
What good will it do
if you don't understand
what has been lost

I guess it was that arrow, i haven't felt a thing since.

I'm often emotional. It makes life quite hazardous. i was sad the other day when i say a small crumpled bit of paper-- I thought that's me, just a scrap. but for someone it was a love letter a grocery list- it was imprtant and they carried it around in a pocket until the paper got all worn, and now its here-- I wonder what it says.
Alas, too late the rain had made the ink run.

The other day the cat
crawled into my lap.
first time that has happened.
but then he proceded
to 'kneed'
my chest with his claws,
a loving gesture perhaps
but quite unpleasant.

I was really touched to read about some one on gaia who feels very isolated. And I wondered if it was impossible for some people to actually feel loved.--So I'm putting it out there--you are not alone--you are loved.

One of the most "in the zone" experiences, I've had is almost completely a blank to me now. and even when i remember the experience, the details seem impossible.
When I was around twenty-some, I started taking dance classes with a group that specialized in contact improv and dance meditation. Most of the classes were basic dance, maintaining a connection to breath and gravity, as motivations. I took the boring hadr classes as well as the touchy feely workshops, and one day I showed up for a workshop with one other dancer. This was supposed to start off as a moving meditation on the floor, slowly rising up. Maybe a little like a square dance except the caller is saying, "now feel your breath filling your body lifting you up." Later she would say, "Now find a partner and pretend you are the image in the mirror." It was very interactive, but with just two students some things did not need to be said.
In the end, This youg woman and i sat down on the floor with the two musicians (guitar and tabla-dagga) and the instructor, (who also played a droning old analog synth,) and we just took off our masks or put them on, i guess we just had to come back to be whoever we were when we weren't doing that art. And it was art even if no one else was there to look.
My partner was a very talented and well trained ballet dancer. I think both of us were some how at the edge of our own physical and mental abilities. There were times we turned towards each other and times we turned away. I could say the say the same for the musicians who were in the middle of the dance floor.
I have been able to draw on this one experience in my life, but i rarely speak of it. There is nothing to say.
About a year later I was in a different world, and on the first day of my new job, the foreman passed me a joist and said "we're going Up There," and the next thing I knew I was thirty feet off the ground, walking on a 2x4 carrying one end of a roof truss. One slip and three men would fall.

So, I'm not a dancer now. And I don't build houses. Most recently I worked in an open jewelry studio casting precious metals. Ive worked a lot in Publishing (newspapers, phonebooks) and also in Public Exhibitions, (renaissance faires, children's museums).
The one thing that I understand is the flow. On that construction crew, we called it "being psychic" where each person knew what part of the job we were doing without having to talk about it.

 

Tely, I didn't know exactly what intersubjectivity means, and your link points to this conversation.

I could guess at a couple of possible meanings, but the context of the interesting discussion wasn’t available through that path. I did look it up today and was pleased to find usage in developmental psychology and a reference to Martin Buber’s book, “I and Thou.”

I also found a link to B. Alan Wallace’s paper, on Intersubjectivity in Tibetan Buddhism, which I look forward to reading.

I’m hesitant to try explaining Rinpoche’s words, because I am still involved with learning, and have no direct experience of having a qualified teacher point out the naked awareness of Rigpa. From what I have learned so far, it is only an idea to me, and I cannot speak from a position of strength or knowledge. But, His Eminence, is/was a root teacher to several of the Lamas who teach me. I will ask, but I’m afraid that I will be forbidden to speak about it, or that my interpretation could mislead you.

We have already seen examples where my understanding was not in agreement with another person's  interpretation here on TTBF, and this has caused distress. But I digress…

Children do learn by touching and engaging the world. And infants, quite spontaneously, put anything they can grasp into their mouths. However at least one paper asserts that “newborns relate to their mothers in a person-to-person basis,” and that intersubjectivity exists between mother and child from birth. The paper also examines the question of how we can tell if the infant has an awareness of self as separate.

I hope that others look at this line of inquiry and find some areas of agreement which can form the basis for a mindful discussion.

We can find extreme points where intersubjectivity could not be logically possible. Reasonably we could argue that one could not have a sense of self prior to the development of a central nervous system. It has been argued that “life begins at conception,” but where does self begin?

If self could be shown to exist before the development of a body or a set of neural pathways we could wonder what exactly were the dimensions of self, whether it has limits and whether it actually exists separately.

Well, we don’t have to prove anything to “wonder,” do we?

Let me close by inviting you to imagine Dudjom Rinpoche sitting on a Higg’s Boson, which may or may not simultaneously exist in more than one place.

And one of those places is my heart…

I made these...
Just a few years ago when I had access to a kiln and a centrifugal casting apparatus.

low hazey morning