Tag Archives: nature

Lions, Lambs, and Rabbits…..

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Lions, Lambs, and Rabbits…..

Devour or be devoured, I suppose….

Appreciate and reciprocate….

I believe in Energy.

I believe that all the energy that ever was or will be is already here.

I believe it can be stolen, given, shared, transferred, manipulated and controlled.

I believe that it is cyclic.

I believe that dark isn’t always a negative and light isn’t always a positive.

I believe that you need good and bad and that both terms are relative.

I believe that people need to name it.

I believe it is, but is not conscious.

I believe everything you ever need to know can be learned from the ocean…

When the tide goes out, you can be confused about whether you are sad that it is leaving or happy that it is leaving….

But the tide, it always comes back…

And you never know what is under the water, in the tide pools, on the rocks, until the tide retreats…

The full moon sheds light on the beach, just as much as the sun does;

While treasures wash up on the beach, so does trash and dead things;

“And I threw bitter tears at the ocean but all that came back was the tide…”

I believe in love.

“”true” love is about the extending of one’s ego boundaries to include another, and about the spiritual nurturing of another, in short, love is effort.”-M. Scott Peck

“This is a gift, it comes with a price;
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight”

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Aesopisms

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Aesopisms

When a beautiful and sweet lion bites you, you shouldn’t be upset with it.

Even though you always treated him with kindness.

Even when you spent so long defending his animal habits.

Especially when you let your own guard down.

No, he hadn’t ever bitten you.

But I mean, he is a lion.

And you always knew that.

He never said he wasn’t.

Tsk, tsk.

You cannot fault a lion for being a lion.

The fault lies with whomever forgot he wasn’t a kitty cat.

What it is supposed to look like:

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What it is supposed to look like:

It was never Disney.

It was never my parents.

It was never, well…mostly never movies….damn you the notebook!….

THIS is the standard I have always sought to attain:

Particularly around 2:30-2:45…..

Yes.

That is the good stuff.

Too bad we know how the story ends.

C’est La Vie.

But for what it is worth, Lindsey Buckingham is by far one of the most underrated guitarists ever….*swoon*

DSABASMJ….

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DSABASMJ….

Dear sweet ancient baby alien space monkey, Jebus:

I am about to go to my interview for a job that could potentially lead me straight into a potential future I like, so I humbly ask:

  • Please don’t let me sound like an idiot or a fraud.
  • Please give me the magical Goddess inspired words to wow them.
  • Please let my interviewers be part of the 50% who sees yellow as cheerful, not the 50% who are made anxious by it.
  • Please let me get the right job if it is not this one, very quickly, in time to pay my stuff next month.

Humina-Humina, monkey dust, catholic mumbo jumbo, hoodoo voodoo, sacrificial animal of your choice, genuflection, crosses and rituals, dancing on one foot, spinning around, holding snakes, talking in tongues, holy water, smudge smoke, mecca lecca hi mecca hiney ho, and all that other sh*t.

Amen.

XOXO

Jani

Dirt(y)

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Dirt(y)

I’ve been fond of thinking,

rationalizing really,

that surface dirt collects

and the times that we don’t clean it

are the times that new things

are trying to take root

on hard surfaces

and need top soil.

I’ve been fond of thinking,

rationalizing really,

that my chaos is spinning

for the sake of growing taproots

to discover the ways I am

and who is an authentic me

Turns out,

I like being dirty.

Thoughts which are Unconducive to Meditation:

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Thoughts which are Unconducive to Meditation:

Thoughts next to a river should be easy to quiet,

But the predictable trickle isn’t so tranquil.

Breathe. Exhale. Breathe.

I try to focus on a word, on a sound,

Only to be interrupted by a bird,

By a rustle, by heavy thoughts

about urban sprawl.

Is it the virus of the century or

beauty in the eye of the beholder?

STOP

Must push the thoughts from my head, refocus on my breathing.

Breathe. Exhale. Breathe.

If I can’t escape the words themselves,

A rhythm perhaps to narrow them:

Need to feed,

Need to seed,

Want to grow,

Need to know,

Fed with greed,

Drank like mead,

Breathe. Exhale. Breathe.

Happiness momentarily grasped,

Control finally released. 

My Artesian soul…..

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And I realized in that moment,

It wasn’t you who had changed.

It wasn’t the “us” that was different.

It was me giving you the benefit:

The benefit of my artesian soul,

which had recently been refilled

to the brim.

Not unlike a geyser spouts,

it spilled over into us.

I feel like an eddy,

The tornado around the drain.

I lose my pressure around you.

Nothing even percolates.

It’s flat.

Huh.

I thought it was you.

But it was me.

It was him.

It was there.

I must rediscover the source.

 

Sexiest damn song. I had forgotten. It’s what was playing when I wrote this in my head.

A wee parable….

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A wee parable….

Once upon a time, there was a family of birds. Now this family of birds, they were unlike a lot of birds. They couldn’t fly. Because they couldn’t fly, they dealt with a lot of scary things because they nested on the ground, could only move as far as they could walk, were unable to migrate during the winter, etc. The mom bird decided she didn’t like not being able to fly, so she went and started secretly watching the other birds that could fly.

Once she understood the basics, she introduced herself and started becoming friends with the other birds who taught her more about the final details of how to fly. Then one day, she took off and flew. Being able to see the world from the sky gave her a view of the world so much larger than her little micro world. She could not believe how much of the world she had missed, simply being on the ground. The view up there was amazing.

Excited by her accomplishment, she went to her family and tried to teach them how to fly, encouraging them with the fine details and lessons she had learned herself while learning to fly. This made some in her family angry and scared. “What business did she have flying,” they asked “What was wrong with her family not being able to fly?”

The family told her that she needed to NEVER fly when she was at home. She could fly at school. She could fly at work. But she was never to fly at home, tell the kids about flying or press her “new world view” on the rest of the family.

This saddened the mama bird.

She did not know how to do this, flying was no longer a hobby, something she wanted to accomplish; it had become a part of her, a part of her core belief system. Asking her to not do it at home was like asking her to pretend to be someone else.

She was reminded of the story of Pandora’s box…

to be continued….

I’m not neglecting you. Here is a poem for the interim:

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I’m not neglecting you. Here is a poem for the interim:

Song Of The Rain VII by Khalil Gibran

I am dotted silver threads dropped from heaven
By the gods. Nature then takes me, to adorn
Her fields and valleys.

I am beautiful pearls, plucked from the
Crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn
To embellish the gardens.

When I cry the hills laugh;
When I humble myself the flowers rejoice;
When I bow, all things are elated.

The field and the cloud are lovers
And between them I am a messenger of mercy.
I quench the thirst of one;
I cure the ailment of the other.

The voice of thunder declares my arrival;
The rainbow announces my departure.
I am like earthly life, which begins at
The feet of the mad elements and ends
Under the upraised wings of death.

I emerge from the heard of the sea
Soar with the breeze. When I see a field in
Need, I descend and embrace the flowers and
The trees in a million little ways.

I touch gently at the windows with my
Soft fingers, and my announcement is a
Welcome song. All can hear, but only
The sensitive can understand.

The heat in the air gives birth to me,
But in turn I kill it,
As woman overcomes man with
The strength she takes from him.

I am the sigh of the sea;
The laughter of the field;
The tears of heaven.

So with love –
Sighs from the deep sea of affection;
Laughter from the colorful field of the spirit;
Tears from the endless heaven of memories.

 

xoxo

To be 15 again…

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To be 15 again…

Summer breezes speak of puppy love,

boys on skateboards and innocent kisses.

Well meaning lies that drip from lips

like bodies on docks,

firm breasts and cherry chapstick…

Laying in grass, holding hands

counting clouds and freckles; skin constellations

Lemonheads and hair brushed behind ears by a fingertip

the first indications of ancient secrets to be discovered

pupil dilation and shivers of longing…

Wind ravaged hair from the back of a motorcycle

in the cool crisp musk of late night,

Camel filters and Dr. Pepper

your incoherent sleepy whispers

and promise.