Part one: Beta Waves
At birth, we are almost 80 percent water ... as we age, that number drops. 45-70 percent, depending on how much muscle mass you carry. Muscle is about 70 percent water. The heart is 75-80 percent water. and the brain, 80-85. Water conducts electricity (Source - NSCA and medicinenet.com).
The body is a temple (source: I understood this before I ever heard about the bible -body told me).
In the beginning there was the word ... and it was good (then went sideways - something crucial BEFORE that beginning - we have perilously forgotten. Words hold good potential. but not if hollowed out and clamped down in ego, not if shut down by linear thought and set in place with qwik dry mortar - not if body and mind lose agility and become sedentary, programmed. dry and brittle, typing questions into a search engine and satisfied at "the answer.". Now - through hallowed education, we consume "knowledge." Knowing implies certainty - once one knows for certain, there is no question. The question mark is the most important human symbol. It's more than curiosity, which intrinsically contains a confirmation bias and seeks the answer.it prefers. It will find it = that's how logic works. wisdom holds courageous refuge in uncertainty and rests in the question mark. and rests in love's haven beyond any thought. Certainty puts us to sleep. Somnambulant zombie experts and authorities that aren't the author of their own belief. Enough. We're in the dry midst of the zombie apocalypse (Source - my opining extrapolation in the transverse plane. Of course, I am certainly wrong).
Part 2 - Gamma and Alpha (a bit)
diaphragm in the wrist, lifts, moving like a sea creature,
muscles in the hand relax, open, sigh - extend -
with the care of a potter at the wheel, throat and tongue work
to shape a new, inaudible sound-
holding it here in my palm - a bead on a tray. all fingers loose -
no desire to make a point
lest something get crushed by the curled back digits.
no one listens
to an index finger.
language -
the ocean's archeology -
private like that. with invisible undertow.
waves bending,
mezzanine infusing mezzanine,
exponential trinity, sloped, retraced, eraser-sketched,
sandcastle through an hourglass.
timelines flatly fail
time itself. while
meaning shakes its heady heart
at Merriam Webster definitions, draining the ocean and then
going fishing.
unread bottle-message settles
beside a dying starfish and a beer can.
met in the uncertain sidestep flight of a dragonfly mirrored
in one last puddle - think uh chug uh chew uh food for train of thought
derailed by
a freshly built spider web across the tracks-
launched OUT
of its linear trajectory. in
loving anarchy.
before thought crested in speech, it
rested in sensation. time shimmers just
beyond itself. impossible to catch in a
wristwatch - just try:
no thing is without question, no thing is
as it seems for it doesn't seem like any thing (thank you, Dr Seuss).
everything seamless beneath the surface,
we can't discern this.
how to refill the dry ocean bed?
drop by drop
bead soft off
the palm.
patient. loving.
calm ... plop.
Part 3 - Theta and Gamma (or maybe those we can't detect,
somewhere in the in-between):
unconscious memorabilia:
birthday candle burned down,
wish never said aloud, nested beside and oil lamp
rubbed raw by a fist 3 decades earlier. aching for
a wayward bargain basement genie miracle cure for anguish.
chalk moted sun in a 3rd
grade classroom - the pleasure of a pencil sharpener; the smell of crayons,
Elmer's glue
still imbues a university library. high window sun rays slink through brain waves
where a sharp student copies medical algo rhythms. notes are vigilant but scatter-syncopated.
concepts circled, branching arrows - head in hands, falls to desk -
can it be so complicated or so simple?
she writes a run-on,
free verse in the margin.
this. Heals her ...
a little bit.
sound waves through an old transistor, ill tuned,
crackling its snare static song; shoaling against the bag lady, she never quite
became. humming the refrain that was once "their song" -
soulmate, almost,
now gone.
barefoot and wandering where sole meets
concrete -something begins:
proprioceptive heat lightening caressing a
high tide. that third person, she still infuses me - no past tense - still so edgy.
synapse tickly,
singular, graced, ecclesiastical moment
she and i, did not create. nor control, but, present,
and thus, we contribute something
very important.
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water-music, the dripping sink,
my muse.
i almost always feel it
even were i deaf,
its fluid lugubrious, tragic latchkey havoc
trapped cyclical rough draft-
let it occur
a bit at a time- loose glass
clattering in its
frame, shifting under a glances weight,
altering what vision allows.
LOOK OUT
look out. drawn as a curtain drawn to
a certain corner in a certain room in
me - in the storm's wake of what might have been
heat lightening blisters my illusory skin - peeled back - skinless and famished.
sea current's my currency, i purchase
a symphony for breakfast,
devoured with a knife
and my fingers -i fail to chew thoroughly, (35 times per bite?!!)
i am not polite and laugh at the spoon, not a crumb
left behind. by noon, i realize
i will never be hungry again.
