Drunk on the possibility,
Of love. Of oozing tears of holy light that illuminate the path of those who have lost their way.
Drunk on the free love that
Shines out of corners full of cob webs and
draped on lace dresses and torn begeds
crying out to hold your hand.
Drinking, slowly, the masks we wear, feeling tipsy off the revelation that comes when we peel back layers of juicy, painful frustration that liquifies and mystifies our souls.
Sipping, buzzing, dreaming – Drunk!
Off that divine source of magic that sparkles in your teeth and glows in your eyes and is the source of all light when I have taken a wrong turn.
Silly, smiley, warm, drunken mess that makes my cheeks red and dress light up.
The kind of drunken mess that pours out of your breathe and kisses the Ether of God (the place from which you came). Drunk!
Drunk off your lovingkindness, sweet God
Of the celestial fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters that sing the song of the Cosmos, dance on the wind and
Fill our Cups with divine juice-
So sweet on my hands, as I clap the elixir back up to you,
To be at peace- amen!
The morning redness over the eastern treeline, veins of marigold and juniper berry blue, as well as also this singular iguana skin green cloud, drifting amiably through the early haze of low-floating clouds, all turtle-like running against the hare of time.
It feels as though spring is tapping its heels lately–signs of life, oddly enough. Winter’s paring outside my cabin window…yes! a nest of stellar jays, their feathers are the bluest of daytime southern skies, navy in streaks like a police man’s coat, eyes an irregular grey ocean water, it soars quickly across the field in front of me, the frosted sky, clouds are technetium ad unrelenting with this still bright light, blinding yellow in our retinas.
And see, this is good.
Do you see trees that are dancing there? Are the people like a rush of fresh river water, collecting in pools and leaving the warmness for the upstream struggle? Do they still stand under the abundance of lighted buildings and displays, tranced, such a center of the world, is it not?
I remember some quite late eves admiring the alleyways of Soho and watching people from the corner of Bleecker and Bowery leaning against the ironworks, their coffee’s steamboating vapors, and me wishing I had a reason for being there among the seismicity.
Do you feel like a phoenix?
The light from your faces in variegates of blush red and deep ember against the blanket of dark night.
The universe story is the quintessence of reality. We perceive the story. We put it in our language, the birds put it in theirs, and the trees put it in theirs. We can read the story of the universe in the trees. Everything tells the story of the universe. The winds tell the story, literally, not just imaginatively. The story has its imprint everywhere, and that is why it is so important to know the story. If you do not know the story, in a sense you do not know yourself; you do not know anything.
– Thomas Berry
I was recently gifted with some niggun field recordings from a gaggle of Chassidim here. The bulk of these come from two main tischen in the Chassidic world, Channukah and Tu B’shvat. Most of these niggunim come from the Boyan tisch, though there are also ones from Slonim, Nedevorna and Premishlan.
They are real rough around the edges, but I feel that they capture the spirit of the rawness of a tisch: thousands of chassidim crowded into one room, clapping and screaming along when appropriate, and on the especially rowdy ones, getting swept up in the ecstatic fervor of the mystical shtetl mantra.
made in india – word or something like it
we’re moving up, accross, backward, and around in this world
comments gladly appreciated
There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight
of walking in the noisy street
and being the noise.
Drink all your passion and be a disgrace.
Close both eyes to see with the other eye.
Open your hands if you want to be held.
Consider what you have been doing.
Why do you stay
with such a mean-spirited and dangerous partner?
For the security of having food. Admit it.
Here is a better arrangement.
Give up this life, and get a hundred new lives.
Sit down in this circle.
Quit acting like a wolf,
and feel the shepherd’s love filling you.
At night, your beloved wanders.
Do not take painkillers.
Tonight, no consolations.
And do not eat.
Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lover’s mouth in yours.
You moan, But she left me. He left me.
Twenty more will come.
Be empty of worrying.
Think of who created thought.
Why do you stay in prison
when the door is so wide open?
Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.
Flow down and down
in always widening rings of being.