Sneak Peak of New Live Ecstatic Poetry album
"A Wheel of Deeds"
with Cello and World Percussion
Listen to the entire new album here: A Wheel of Deeds
Mirror contemplating Mirror,
A snakeskin tied in knots,
a gathering of heat, the scent of light
Restless.
I cannot know every one of your faces, and I will
In a moment silently sung twice over.
There re-collecting reflections, re-practicing resurrection;
No witness can confirm the practice, and I am.
Over. Again.
Chanting like water, dying like Spring
A wild, flowering.
for we have chosen to measure the present in pulses, folding
the bottom of your soul is the threshold of the world, beholding
Each filling their cup beneath a waterfall
praising the Land as Lord
The land speaks first.
Today is not a word, it is an exclamation!
An in-struction
The fifth direction
Apprentices of the unmediated sky,
Know all else is a collective hunch.
The past in particles,
The future in waves
Old tomorrows remember we can’t be owned by our ways.
So be wary when you cast out your unknown that you do not
Cast out the best that is within you
Its soil of silence is alive
Speaking, of ears
Listening, in tongues
The witness collapses
Cannot re-schedule the sun.
So this must be the scaling down,
The quieting up. out. breath.
Each shall know the practice of death
The unswallowed secret.
No word has touched it, no tongue soiled it
and yet you too have overheard your own truth
Fallen alone in the forest with only the sound of trees listening, as proof
For no reason
For every reason
where this air truly held our hearts,
The new season,
For no witness can confirm the practice,
And
I am.
I have taken 108 oaths of silence
only to awaken in the night whispering a chorus
of your names.
Underneath
the hallowed drum beats the heart feet
from
pulsing inside palms,
open lines midwives to surrender.
I don’t no, I must, yes
what do you understand of me?
Teach me
name me,
it will form thee
from the sound, up
as disciples of let,
prophets of breath,
no longer dependent on the dropping of diaphragms
in debt.
So the chains are the key
one note a symphony to seek
a seed syllable re-seeds/cedes.
As the color of water, is the color of the vessel,
shape of the note, shape of the hollow;
go.
Catalogue the first one thousand ways
to kneel and kiss the ground,
for the beauty is in our choice
how we seek to feel the same void
and I choose this noise
I scream your names
with your voice.
So can you let go of your past
all at once?
no more game of the zero, summed
the closeness of the One
parentage of the Two
pyramid of the Three
Fo(u)r we cannot be simply stuck
in the body,
more is told,
the body is within the soul.
All,
at once.
The candle’s wick was unbroken,
un-extinguished,
for the weight of holding anything
in a hand.
A bird,
a plane,
a pen,
o! pen
Flight.
Feathers falling through the night
with nowhere to fall to
and yet the earth still longs to hold them
longs to hold all.
The ultimate embrace,
a duty de-served
de-birth
re-first
the need to suspend the knowing.
There, everywhere is an everywhen;
the plum as blossom
again.
As an
End
for a means,
feather
for a wing,
the mute can see, the blind can read
feel in the between
seed in the unseen
as feeling into numbness
it is the waking from this dream
of light.
So the path remains
Held
To return to.
No need to look too far forward
For the keeper of freedom
Is this step,
And it shall be our miracle.
For some would have our teachers stand on our shoulders
overburdened with versions of the past,
but the past is your memory
the future your dream
find us in the between
seed, in the unseen
where this step instead ascends
on to the shoulders our teachers,
for their work was only so we may continue to weave
a new circle
To grow
with time.
Where each will step out in turn and fall on their knees to worship
each other.
As an end,
for a means.
a feather,
for a wing.
The mute can see, the blind can read;
feeling into numbness is the waking from this dream
of light.