Blueberry
Remembering the dead and measuring time in the stiffness of blueberries. He that is always love, like Rumi’s little stories, blooms again with a gardener called J. Blue berry. Blue bird.
Remembering the dead and measuring time in the stiffness of blueberries. He that is always love, like Rumi’s little stories, blooms again with a gardener called J. Blue berry. Blue bird.
Down in the Earth, slaves settle into mercy’s tomb Their conducting rope reaches up to the top crust What did they sacrifice? Jesus Christ, a king, hired to get power from the center to the outer Get power into the world on the surface Miracle energy to the top Rope up dreams Truth in sleep …
What is faith but a mere settling into what is? Wherever you stop is perfect. Whatever you do is perfect. This is infinite, so mistakes are irrelevant to the pattern. You bite the apple and the apple bites back. Perfect nature. You imagine outwardly, and an outer wind meets you flush on the cheek with …
Fear. Fear of insignificance. Fear of irrelevance. Fear of FUTILITY. So what. Thank you, Miles Davis. Onwards. Does the dandelion think its activity is futile? It doesn’t stop for a second. It just is a dandelion. It does what it does and its offspring go forth. They don’t stay in a box; they float out …
What is a mate? A cell mate? A choice of commitment for the long haul? There is no long haul. A mate is a choice for the moment. What do you know about this collective her? She won’t decide anything for herself. The rib dangling. Slow to take action. Weighing everything tirelessly. Until she’s entangled …