Bright Idea #6: Cultivate a sense of wonder and joy.
"You wear a mask for so long, you forget who you were beneath it." I was winter for so long spring scares me. Theres so much pale and stiff from sleeping shut away stored like honey in a tomb and this is my voyage across the river of forgetting. Having forgotten who i am having forgotten the deep peace and unwreckable beauty of the self. Compost the shroud throw the key into the ocean make a wish. All is well and all is well and all manner of things will be well. Cold night frost dawn the sky benevolent blue everything softens opens smiles in the sunlight i make space for what is coming i make space for the Unnamed Weaver of these threads i weave my own thread and am woven. I make space for all things all experiences i will not deny any i will weave my own thread and watch in wonder as i am woven. Its all a part of me, very Uncle Walt, "i contain multitudes," the dogs, gravel, coffee bean, snapdragon, cloud, kitchen chair, sleeping husband. there is nothing i am not of, nor anything that is not of me. hands to heart i bow to your divinity which is my divinity. cold day my body aches for the sun hungry for the spring the thing that drives the green shoot the angel that encourages it to grow i am the spring the thing the shoot the angel when you get this everything gets really sweet and quiet and you want to smile and cry and theres peace there and happiness and a tenderness for all things. and thats my spring. its not me thats afraid its my ego. dissolving into everything i lose my dependence on ego to provide the illusion of separation. the ego is not useful like a millstone more like a cicada casing maybe, really fragile and altogether left behind. so ill leave the shell of my false identities buried in with the compost and commit to the seasons the rhythms the resurrection and renaissance of my very soul.

Bright Idea #5: Own your cruelty, ignorance and rage, then work to Transform that Energy.
"The essence of superrich is absence. They like to demonstrate they can afford to be elsewhere. Don't let them in. Their riches form a kind of poverty." Better now. Some mystery school inside me practiced potions poisoned the drinking water with dark hormone elixir i was not my self i was other murderous mother woman scorned elsewhere. ashamed of my anger that it was there harbored like a ship full of gunpowder and gasoline i paint the postcard of quaint seaside fishing village theres a harpy a charybdis that roosts on the bluff left out of the frame a woman scorned so lets pack a picnic and hike up there. a loaf of bread a bottle of wine and thou, great teacher, blackest shadow the light of Everything shines behind me. greetings. you are loved you are free in all honesty you are me and a house divided cannot stand lets sign on the line and make peace from poison clean up my inner landscape let it rest and be beautiful. make peace. the weight of this sorrow is enormous it fashioned anger to keep it safe from any intrusion of light relax. eat something that doesnt taste of ashes. see how the flower dies to the ground, skeletal stumps sentinels in the snow? see how new green braves the light breaks the ground makes way for more flowers beauty freedom love? be that. be here. quit worrying the hollow bone of regret. bury it. make peace. turn your eyes to the sky washed palest blue and smelling of rain. have some wine. thank you, i made the bread myself. now lets get you out of those rags. and how bout you come down to the shore and play in the waves feel the sun on your wings let those talons sink deep in the sand and sing a song of where you are right now not a dirge written so many lifetimes ago.

Bright Idea #4: Open your Heart to Tenderness, Forgiveness, Love.
"I believe that our unarticulated longing for freedom...derives simply from the fact that we are shut up inside that system of apparent necessities which is called our personality, or which we call our personality, because we need to fasten a fine-sounding name to the cage in which we have shut ourselves up." I lose my way when i forget Faith and Grace and the Stillness Within. Day cloudy rainy cold should have called in saturated sleep it off deep dreaming healing quiet nobodys frequency jamming me. sit over the knots untie them lay the strands in holy rows then weave them into something that will hold me. i am strangely unmoved by the swirl pleased to be sitting on the side a round white table a someone elses wedding drinking someone elses pink champagne the sun shifting diamonds on my old face through the hat my hands cherry branches in raw silk a ring to remind me. pleased to be watching Great Spirit lay down the strands in holy waves rows spirals webs and seeing how it holds me. everybodys wild restless surging i take my hand to the tiller and tend my own garden thank you thats enough the rain the earth softening ready for the seed.

Bright Idea #3: Find your True Voice.
"I am beautiful as I am. I am the shape that was gifted. My breasts are no longer perky and upright like when I was a teenager. My hips are wider than that of a fashion model's. For this I am glad, for these are the signs of a life lived." Sunny sunday. Rearranged rocks for land wights made space for bleeding hearts made the rounds with coffee and dog to croon over the sprout green babe of spring birthing from the dirt about our house made chanticleer tour with LaLa to hootenanny barn made couscous. living here lets me see the true path of the sun the tides of the moon the way of the natural world outside the black pavement plains plastic crap i want to put the seed in the ground and let it live out its meaning and eat it. i want to learn the stars where the sun rises in the winter where it set in the spring learn where the wild witch hazel grows plant lilac along the stream spend a rainy day keeping beans and fruit for winter. i want to watch the whips gift me with apples eat blueberries i planted get lost in a bearded iris breathe in the blessed smell of tomatoes read in the shade of my retreat and see myself reflected in the wonder of a garden orchard little patch of land ive been blessed by weeping cherry korean spice azalea lavender rose. all the angels singing in scent changing in season teaching the lessons my soul most needs to know.

Bright Idea #2: Learn how to Stay Open to Feelings without having to Act on them.
"The trick is to experience each moment with a clear mind and a open heart. When you do that the game and life will take care of itself." Epiphany Friday. Holed up recluse all my life. Protecting divinity the hand around the candle hurricane glass four walls do not a prison make nor iron bars a cage he said my whole childhood that seclusion estrangement amputation of soul and flesh i reach out just a finger out from the shadow through the chicken wire and duct tape and the least breeze is a rain of nails i retreat shrieking crying foul gorged on grief and calumny. collect my self the sharp and pointy bits see my reflection manifold and realize. this is why and this and this and this and i learned something i gained that much more insight clarity its what i wanted isnt it? for a long time now therell be a price to pay for clarity. foolish to think it would be easy and free. hermit recluse end of day truth is beautiful but terrifying like a god revealed in these moments where we see exactly what there is at the end of our fork. i have so much work to do but im ready to do it i see it now really is work the price of freedom is constant vigilance i read the other day now i understand mindful breath by breath i have been away so long i do not recognize the place my authenticity is a foreign country in which i feel myself an interloper i want to run back to the cold familiar hidey-hole but theres no going back ive seen the ocean and it is me.

Bright Idea #1: Learn respect for feeling: Respect your feelings and intuitions.
"Nowhere, beloved, can world exist but within. Life passes in transformation. And, ever diminishing, outwardness dwindles." LaLa and i down through splendid morning sunshine and shadow rolling jumped ship only twice spring blossom tree blossom oak buds wild lilac creekbed still singing standing in the yard contemplating garden to be blueberry sunflower sage a maypole. Town lady gin blossom everything a dollar horse bells house blessing cabbage rose thank you enter thru the exit only. Woman on old blue bike with black dog in basket pink patchwork skirt camo boonie hat i would be intrigued if it werent me. Evanescent white blossoms willow tassels alder catkins impossible dream green of wheat fields the oaks letting go of last years leaves to let the light in. He found a ladybug i found a feather we put it together and its all alright. Roshi knowing where im coming from will help me meet me somewhere in the middle balance clarity Becoming Real. Where once i saw opportunity for magick meditation stump in spruce copse now i see lovely bright chittering happy red squirrel home.

J.K. Commandment #30: Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored and Angeled in Heaven.
"Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely." This is the process organic evolutionary revolutionary stumbling toward authenticity the City of Atlantis under the waves retrieved from under the summer dock where i wanted to go but you got pushed in after me after that stumbling through babylon blindfolded hands holding bag baggage memory desire the picture of the woman carrying a telephone pole leaving soul crumbs behind me for someone to find smoke signal broken string of pearls inherited absolutely mad my anger is a country i burned my visa for. expatriate of myself stranger alien not done not over yet i believe in redemption generosity kindness without borders this is most exquisite. divinity diamond heart buried under charnel grounds we go berry picking my solution forgiveness salvation behind razor wire guns hungry dogs who do not know me i smell of springtime. afterward i went to green and growing place little leafy souls each one angel deva guardian grow grow grow amaterasu coaxed from her cave by her own beauty smelling of sweetgrass and moving water i sent a song to guide you to me closer so you could see.

J.K. Commandment #29: Youre a Genius all the time.
"The idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that's wrong with the world." Windows open to cold morning little lives in cellar door fluorescent nursery may all beings be happy may all beings be peaceful may all beings be free a string of bright blue days blue beads on red thread kindness and generosity to ones self ones teachers ones friends ones strangers ones enemies may you all be free from hatred and suffering repeat repeat repeat under spruce dreaming the gardens of years to come cultivated bead by bead life as a mala the prayers if practiced grow fluent and tuneful kindness generosity kindness generosity your name a lotus flower pale pink ascending i prayed on a pink ribbon and here you are i can be this i can be less my defenses and more the pilgrim of unbordered country of my soul. entirely satisfied to walk robed and bowled drink from the sky eat from the earth theres so much unhappiness out there beyond the miraculous gate of flesh it is the greatest teacher vows should be made time spent in ritual initiating into mystery school of patience peace positive feeling you may chew your fear frustration false ego but it will never feed you and maybe i dont speak your language but that doesnt mean im not telling the truth.

J.K. Commandment #28: Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better.
"It's the return of all desire that enters toward all life embracing itself from afar..." A day in leave the book by the door i go out with you open hearted empty handed we are both wondering what to do think say learning the waltz of it learning to understand understanding understood. Tentative. hot bright day all things budding blooming the white tree in front of the schoolhouse the magnolia on the farm all send out hymn of scent and blossom the trumpet man from germany took my hand and said they are like brides apple trees in neighbors orchard pointed out with fuzzy buds even the whips in our backyard are budding out in lamby green the instinct of everything to live to turn toward the sun to grow the sunflower seed snaps open like a mouth and unfurls the succulent green tongue of its seedling soul the seed a cage that falls from rising head and falls the tshirt said biodegradable. i am biodegradable not pumped with deathless draught dressed in sunday best and shelved with atomic half-life in a petrochemical shell hermetically sealed seed that never opens to give its gift of energy gone back to Everything to feed the echo of the Beginning. Make me a birch tree apple whip dust that sticks in your beard the true taste of me on your lips make me light on the water bony gruel for fish fern foxglove seedling in the secret garden of your heart.

J.K. Commandment # 27: In Praise of Character in the bleak inhuman lonliness.
"Look at the trees, look at the birds, look at the clouds, look at the stars... and if you have eyes you will be able to see that the whole existence is joyful. Everything is simply happy. Trees are happy for no reason; they are not going to become prime ministers or presidents and they are not going to become rich and they will never have any bank balance. Look at the flowers - for no reason. It is simply unbelievable how happy flowers are." Late rising sunday long dream red head broke in liberated white cellar dwelling weasel left a boot print on the berm these memories you have in dreams of things that happen only in dreams resuscitated watercolor sketchbook just sitting under spruce rabbit into rose thicket looking up over there tiny flat dove nest dove above it we consider one another and she flies away beautiful pearl grey dove brilliant black eye lily of the field god arrayed liberated from ego prison rabbit emerges thorn stung renewed illumined deer up the hill well fleshed strong blooded good to see she runs along with me chanticleer waving at little girls in the late april sun considering their relationship with divinity by a riot of feral forsythia i stop to drink and consider breath my beautiful companion the road sinks weaves rises and so do i. Everything unfurls dogwood willow lilac wild rose forsythia i set down some seed today altar lupine water prayer to little whips of evergreen apple lavender sage the holy beautiful names of growing spirit devas heart to heart the simple gift of now.

J.K. Commandment #26: Book movie is the movie in words the visual American form.
"What we grieve for is not the loss of a grand vision, but rather the loss of common things, events and gestures. … Ordinariness is the most precious thing we struggle for, what the Jews of the Warsaw Ghetto fought for. Not noble causes or abstract theories. But the right to go on living with a sense of purpose and a sense of self-worth — an ordinary life." Open field one breath at a time finding commonalities touch points every day just smiling at someone finding the touch point making peace i gave out seeds candles soap bubbles chocolate bars the kids ran around the place full of children and i wasnt afraid and i held a baby in my arms and ate a cupcake and later on there was frozen lemonade and a man said i reminded him of piper, "bye piper" he said sweet fleeting touch points what else is there? a pin prick to let the light in to bind us red thread ladybug winged heart lotus flower dove and branch small steps reaching out i will set you here upon my skin you will set me there such a short time to be here such a long time gone.

J.K. Commandment #25: Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it.
"Outwardly one's life may suffer every kind of limitation, from bodily paralysis to miserable surroundings, but inwardly it is free in meditation to reach out to a sphere of light, beauty, truth, love, and power." Young man sixteen say orange shirt HELPING HANDS on it blond slapped cheek blush of youth braces blue eyes looks up at me lady number nine hundred and says im feeling a little overwhelmed. and i was blessed by his humanity his honesty his generosity his Nowness. Spring madness all the little rooted lives all the possibilities azaleas lemon balm rosemary something green and growing for Nowness. Everything still drying out. But the blood runs stronger into my fingers the animal smell of earth out from under sleep spell of winter everything needs to move. people smile or are overwhelmed by the feast of it all. Emerging from hibernation dazzled by sunlight driven by our senses even i cant call up a thought but i can breathe talk walk sleep dream dance dig laugh believe reach out from my Nowness to you man woman child four footed deep rooted alive.

J.K. Commandment #24: No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience language and knowledge.
"One could do worse than be a swinger of birches." Full of adventure. Fire siren goes off dogs waltz around the bed howling. Coffee kiss for the brother in law my new satchel art box water bottle two boys black dog check. driving on fumes to freedom cold creek water bramble canes budding willow greening everything breathing salt marsh smell mind beautiful blank stepping stones sunlight buttercup five ducks four hearts three hawks two geese one that is in everything touches me on the breastbone says you are loved you are free you are loved you are free today i just wanted empty mind walking feet a stone in my hand old rolling earth mantra cathedral of trees spruce chorale with wind and creek water counterpoint beautiful empty mind freedom nothing to say everything everything everything is unspoken is true a body walking in reverence through time and briars no fear no shame just love thats all there is and all that will remain love love love love love.

J.K. Commandment #23: Keep track of everyday the date emblazoned in yr morning.
"Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot." Briskly being dragged through teeming culverts of springtime. More coffee with Charlie Chaplin Anatole France The Project Is Now something about chickens how prescient where did the white peacocks go? Briskly being dragged through Scottish Folksongs the treachery of females the oldest story ever told thats why they dress in dresses to fool their humorless god smearing bones with fat blood at the edges of their mouths. Curry good rice i count my blessings good home good family a tumble of dogs fringe of cats money for meds and milk and coffee i go to bed looking forward to coffee the pondwater rising in columns of steam the mornings are warmer days warmer still but today the sky presses down the hawk took the whole nest in her claws sifting midair to get at meaty beating heart someones nest egg someones everything and i briskly being between here and now entertain the idea that i am an angel ageless messenger rosy fingered stumbling holding out my hands saying here what you are looking for is here.

J.K. Commandment #22: Dont think of words when you stop but to see picture better.
"Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving." Woke up coffee and a kiss after i weave angels into red hair back for a nap and a deep dream with women oracles presages got on my bike chanticleer the blue rooster pedaled west listened to riley song snowmelt canticle glorious beyond green skunk cabbage wide open boldly arrayed hip deep in shining ditch water exactly what it is where it is the wheels turning rolling past good earth smells water smells green smells future foresters cutting down trees fox reveling on a scented trail light on the water everywhere stop to just look drink good water just look listen exactly what it is where it is the valley my great goddess comes full to view and little whitewashed armies ricket her cleft our future sketched out in empty triangles not spinning. laughter and working together people thinking breathing i ride past smiling over the river up the road trash everywhere adopt this highway the sign says and i think of doing it reclaiming it saying this earth is loved and reunited with its strength and beauty in the name of magickal earthlings everywhere you good flag waving god fearing van drivers thinking the roadside is your anonymous ashtray landfill all the trash that only rattles around reminding you how brief and weak you are why am i so angry? stopping to breathe look drink give bone gratitude stop to connect with post office ladies the topic death mass death the fall of government the almighty implacable diseases that makes them feel so brief and weak they have to turn the show off. post office angels gifted me with chiming beautiful book about the land i love the earth i worship a woman and her near and dear hand to heart communion with love in the shape of dirt seed shoot fruit becoming clear light peaceful whole.

J.K. Commandment #21: Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind.
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" Cold morning spring sun breathing in day lily jacobs ladder bleeding heart having slept soundlessly under snow now somehow green and feathered in hope for flowers flame rose snow colored. i have cake for breakfast and my nose runs. the apple whips acquaint themselves with the earth the dogs jockey the cat sleeps on the wheelbarrow in the morning sun. the seedlings wend their way toward tomatoes daisies black bell peppers everything gets the mandate theyre all connected in the matrix the energy moves through each and back around a rising spiral cone of energy that softly explodes into tomato daisy pepper lily ladder bleeding heart wholeness that we are a part of if we open our crossroad to traffic of light life force monday with its infinite possibilities i resolve to walk in wonder live in light believe in beauty of my time here and now and now and now emerging from slumber death of long nuclear family winter my shining green tendrils filled with the magick of galaxies unfurling fiddlehead finger frond light on the water already ive smelled the leaf mould and the ozone and baking bread melted chocolate my lover orange peel books hot coffee frankincense held a child newly born seen the seed of spring begin split and rise and tasted of a wind that sings that i should wait and see.

J.K. Commandment #20: Believe in the holy contour of life.
"Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life." Everything true from the heart of the universe is organic in that it grows of its own divinity in accord with all other crossroads in the infinite web of everything. I am learning that i am a crossroad no more or less than the raindrop the planet the beetroot the kiss. This acknowledgment will allow the very stuff of the universe to course through my crossroad i will be the seed of light life force love wholeness healing i will be a spiritual being learning through the human experience i will have infinite space within me for kindness joy compassion equanimity i will leave behind the armor and discovered the living skin i will abandon all defenses and thereby become invulnerable i will understand myself to be a seed a cell a gorgeous and magickal consideration on the part of the cosmos worthy of love respect laughter liberty and see my fellow travelers rooted hooved four footed ten fingered flowing shining connected crossroads the same i will be part of something greater and eternal just by allowing myself to be me i will.

J.K. Commandment #19: Accept loss forever.
"To love is also good: for love is difficult." This is the core of it. That somehow i must let go and grieve not wish it were some other way. it is what and how and who it is and there is only death in regretting, death without rebirth. Grief is like springtime when the frozen earth dissolves to water to soften the seed coax it open encourage it enliven it and something green and miraculous springs forth to feed us. grief washes the barren soul the nile flooded was made a goddess grief softens the seed of something dying to be reborn. death leaves a seed for us to grow. souls i have thrown to barren ground friendships i have allowed to wither not water my life has been an untended garden and i have danced blind into wild briars and trampled tender greens under a raging foot i have danced devastation into my life and the lives of those around me throwing salt a wake of scorched earth ragged refugees from empty deaths the earth of my life paved over and circled with fear fire wire and now after all something grows. something awakens rises defies. pilgrim spirit guardian angel grow green up through empty death and bloom. sing spring song beauty serenity clarity hope. and when bloom is through there will be a seed to sow and the children of pilgrim spirit guardian angel will be as courageous blades of grass to feed the earth and make a space to breathe and grieve and grow a garden.

J.K. Commandment #18: Work from pithy middle eye out swimming in language sea.
"In April the ponds open like black blossoms, the moon swims in every one; there's fire everywhere: frogs shouting their desire, their satisfaction. What we know: that time chops at us all like an iron hoe." Warm april rain lilac opening forsythia opening contemplating a walk in the cool damp to see the stirring of roadside galaxy rain on my cheeks the smell rising from loam creekbed spruce tree a good bread with salt and seeds the animal pleasure of fruit of quiet breathing im making space for change winters sleep is a dust on the dresser i write our names spring fills the channel with snowmelt cloudwater kitchen candle tutelary spirit so much work to do i try and tell them but they have to learn on their own. this lesson is mine also. let go. a tree that does not release the last years leaves will not be blessed with new ones in the spring. let go. open the hand in a gesture of peace and generosity. turtle stones and roses by the sewing machine spending the day in the dim quiet knitting one stitch after another into the turn of the seasons, breathing.

J.K. Commandment #17: Write in recollection and amazement of yourself.
"All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well." Bright but spring cold a rabbit in the circle of spruce this morning eyes everywhere its a comfort this is a nadir i believe energy oscillates i believe in the crest of the wave the rest of the trough i seek to simplify in my own complicated way the stacks of books the dogs the seedlings crowding jostling tiny bubbles dancing stars the engine parts the children the houseplants reaching running chiming little bells of light that guide me i will not simplify. but i will breathe and walk and ride my bike i will dig and pull and watch and i will bless and be blessed by it all most certain. my spirits strength seems to grow in relation to the sun i watch the moon a clock of change blood tide the green grows overnight its getting stronger too i need the Earth as she need me to know my self to be a stronger cell a dancing star to give my light and strength to the work that is before us all: to love and know ourselves loved in return. That is the great simplicity from which all other wisdom springs.

J.K. Commandment #16: The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye.
"Know that no want exists for, no hand bereaving takes from, the acted resolution: to be. Silken thread, you have entered into the weaving." The wednesdays are difficult theres too much at the surface the swamp surges claw marks heightened awareness uneasy laughter exposure exhumation but this morning i went to where the air smells of horses and a genealogy of snakes lives under the well the apple trees need planting and my heart runs on four hooves in the paddock i could stop and think about that forever. i am not afraid of falling apart or losing touch or going insane i do not think those things will happen if i let the light in open the cellar door take a screwdriver to the rusty crevasse of my history i am afraid of not being in control of letting these feeling have their way with me the way theyve waited to be for thirty years a deluge a landslide here comes the flood implacable you can only wait for it to be over and see whats left. whats left will be important whats left will be true and clean. i just have to let it. breathe. let it. and it will be a birthday reunion marriage revelation. it will at last be beautiful to be.

J.K. Commandment #15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog.
"These big pages love to be quiet: So much silence has collaborated here." Sun on my skin the light returning to my eyes clean water and walking waggy tail blue bicycle horse manure springtime in class i leaped and froze and described the water cycle with my hands conjured steam heat frozen soldiers collaborated raspberry leaf tea and i get closer by getting closer to my self true self blue bicycle i saw you you were going slowly beautiful boat hanging in a broken barn by the side of the road half brakes and one gear but a basket and its blue rickety crickety down the road smiling because i can across the river and down the road the first calves clean and true like springtime together it lets me feel integral the deep weave i sleep in i regain slowly the feeling in my fingers the sweet queer sensation of having a heart and learning what its for. blue bicycle of my heart the hills the light the air is free no expectation obligation no estrangement fear just now down the road and the next day someone says i saw you and i always wonder who it is they see.

J.K. Commandment #14: Like Proust be an old teahead of time.
“There's a difference between knowing the path and walking the path.” Breathe. It surprises me when someone comes near, peeking into the house through windows knocking wondering who is about why would they? i ask myself, completely unconnected to the idea that i am worth knowing. because who they find is a house with the valuables locked away and the key is under a rock behind a painting in the garden between the rows the third drawer on the left in a velvet box nailed shut. the cookies and tea come out the wide eyes open hands but theres a ghost over my shoulder a rapping at the cellar door. let me turn the music up dance a little im a mother quail flailing stalling calling out no one here to know. but she says we and i say who? ive never been a we ive never. breathe. it comes together the threads the places and names the reasons why. i learn as i go sitting quietly trying to remember where i left it locked it away up out of reach trying to remember not to turn my head too quickly but shes out there on the weedy walk wondering where i am. it seems there cannot be a we without a me so i better get to remembering where it was i left me so long ago and i am not afraid because what i locked away is not bread or butter paper or thread i cannot be discovered with horror mouldering away like a body it is not body or blood or brain it is imperishable it sings quietly to itself in its dark place with infinite patience because it knows what i am only learning: that she and i are a we there is no one without the other and so long as i breathe she will wait and one day i hope i will remember and i will be we with him and her and the whole world i will be we and me completely.

J.K. Commandment #13: Remove literary grammatical and syntactical inhibition.
"since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you; wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world" crouching by the creek the world in leaf mould morning coat me crouching in pink bunny bathrobe to catch the light on the water shall we venture farther afield this glorious gift of today? there is an apple tree in a lonely place id like to see the sun lay down with the brown grass of april hear the fierce birds sing hymn of faithfulness (they mate for life you know) smell the water from the fen roiling under surface surging toward the river shall we dance? zulu daisy columbine parsley passion flower theres so much to begin today to do to be done with my life a run on sentence with fierce adjectives and daisy chains woven into ivy and wine cups under an apple tree in a field full of light with spring washed blue sky alien regal swamp flower heart shaped globular flashing wings the song of water the light on the water i am light on the water i am all of these and i breathe in the great gift of today awake in the wild of my lifetime.

J.K. Commandment #12: In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you.
"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." Ragged roses parchment petals singed with dying. Still the pink pursed heart dense bud pages of a book written eternities lightning and vines beauty's sign sweet scent hidden thorn an angels dance floor of blood birth of a curse to sleep one day to kiss because what else is there to do? and sap rises bud bursts leaf is a tongue drinking in the light sunlight a prayer night holding new mysteries joyous arms upraised she wore a crown of thorns but shes a mother now. rose rosa rising ring of roses ashes to ashes from the cradle to the grave we give them away to say what we cannot say because roses came before words to name them roses came before us before sorrow and celebration when i gave her roses i said they were already dead so you cannot kill them someone stole the thorns from them they have no scent they are shadows of savage ancestors that creamed the air heady magick something grappling in the underbrush raked with thorns and teeth and fingers and thats how it all began years ago today was the last day of you inside me and after it was over my mother brought me roses.

J.K. Commandment #11: Visionary tics shivering in the chest.
"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known." Berber carpeting and scissors catching up with whats what at my ease the ivy tendril and the wall rain rain good rain we have a choice rain brings flowers down the road awhile i see the sap is running this is my friend we share theres an understanding there thats beyond precious to me this understanding ive prayed for my entire everything. words fail me. here its written on the wall it may be clearer than i could say gypsy music arrives from nowhere and my blood dances i brought roses for you and you and you and theres some for someone i havent met and there might be one left for me. its been forever since music came through my skin and filled my head and i crashed into intimate strangers and broke the bones of my captivity sweat out the burden of flesh spun a sparkling cone of light and sent it out to heal the human family i am dancing i cannot hurt you i am dancing i cannot make war i am dancing i cannot lie steal i can only share this beautiful light the ocean flying from my fingertips put your hand here and you can hear the blessed heart of creation singing. for now im down here on the floor covered in clear ribbons of time asking you how it is for you to be alive.

J.K. Commandment #10: No time for poetry but exactly what is.
"At the spring we hear the great seas traveling underground, giving themselves up with tongues of water that sing the earth open." Phoenix season. Bohdi bud blossom fruit ferment dreaming Buddha. Walkabout westward left at freedom a good smelling fen two geese prehistoric skunk cabbage water in my socks sunlight what people hide behind their houses, the rush that makes a river a bridge and up the hill to the faerie kingdom eddies of magick ice still shining in the shadows feeling alive shining thinking about how demon lover smells the vulnerability and crashes out from hiding seething roaring no. wave the white flag of your Buddha nature walk out into the freedom not making excuses not haughty not incredulous. Beautiful and true your dog and you springs surge of life in the form of water, green growing up through the thin ice on the fen the constancy of geese the blessedness of sun on your skin just being alive is enough just walking down the road waving at strangers just hearing the water sing down the hill light on the water the smell of water this phoenix season when everything remembers the fire within and above and that filament burns with sap and sweat and sweet water everywhere. Praise for the Life force praise for the breathing seeing walking whispering All a blessed mesh connecting us to Everything. Come out from the thorn row, demon lover. Come out and feel the sun on your beautiful face. Let it melt the sharp edges of ice in the shadow of your heart. Be here with me no need to rage or blame just melt back into me and be known be loved be not afraid.

J.K. Commandment #9: The unspeakable visions of the individual.
"The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness." Three Word Wednesday: Parallel, Bounce, Mysterious. You walk in and its okay again. Theres the imperceptible loosening, but the bile threatens to seep out through the eyes, make it hard to see the holes, the snares, the true beauty. You sit and laugh through the anger which is the fruit of fear the mother quail flapping in the scrub, look how tender i am! theres nothing over there you need to know! the moon the gentle bounce of light from a greater star you were at an impasse, a limbo, a threshold, a crowning interminable blinding leap of faith across the chasm the wall of your original demon lover mysterious design the tapestry red thread keep the chill away your secret soul secret even to yourself it watches from a parallel universe, on the edge of its seat does it dread or desire? are you welcome? will you come in? so once in a while you sit there and laugh at absurdity and acknowledgement. birth pains and seedlings and did you actually use the term inner child? i suppose im supposed to turn around now, and look it in the eyes.

J.K. Commandment #8: Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind.
"The real marks of wildness are a love of nature, a delight in silence, a
voice free to say spontaneous things, and an exuberant curiosity in the face of the unknown." Glorious connection, the small street i dreamed of, smiling at everyone, the marveled stream full of rainbows and men in the wave and wake of rain the smell of rain coming up from the quiet grass something loosens inside all of us sap stirring in pools at the bottom of our hearts. Its been so long since i walked my dog down to the chestnut tree and heard the music of hill water dancing down to the marveled stream to the rainbow men to the painted lake to the stony river to the wild ocean at the end of dreaming. I walk west toward the sun and east into the rain a yellow stone a stag of four tines alive striding electric my dog reveling watery peaceful rushing homeward reborn stripped down kissed grateful blessed.