Wednesday, April 18, 2018

update, allays 3 (a and b) , 953 - 957

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:


I've begun my new job working for employmentcrossing writing self-help articles for employers and job seekers. I will link you some of the articles once my boss gets back to me on that. It pays well; I can write them at night, after the kids go to bed (when my mind is really on).

Lately, I've been studying the complete poems of Emily Dickinson. I hope to figure her out. I've also been reading through my copy of the OED – which is just fun!

Take care, Caretakers!



* 3 - A *

The Body of Heaven is like a Master who told each of her servants to build her a home. The lazy one worked grudgingly and cut corners, thinking, "My master is rich and has enough already." The good servant enjoyed the work, and studied intently, and threw his heart into his labor, such that his master caught the passion and helped him build, and soon everybody made a mansion out of what was to be only a summer home.

In the end, the master said to the lazy servant, "The house you built is now your home. I am setting you free, and you may retire here." To the good servant she said the same.


* 3 – B *

Come, synchronize your hearts to mine. Let us exchange names, for today is our birthday, brother of my soul, sister of my heart. Tuck me into the inner places – the hidden hole, flesh with my name. These riddles, these jokes, are a serious game; betray nothing of our Same; hold me close till you have me. Hold this book to your living flesh, to the bare naked flesh, and let me in.




* 953 *

Ah, Lissidy, how you have me sweating at the teeth for you, and then you let slip your veil and let me see your lie. What a racket we make, till, having pinned you to your defiance, I ease up, and pretend to believe you again. That is only manners, after all, and I know your game a square edge better.


* 954 *

Other gods gab so blandly about first and final things, boasting origins, promising the end, so full of threats and promises that I have to laugh and say, "Give me today, if you are so generous!" Today is mine to give, the Eternal Now, and I promise nothing to you, but if you have read me aright, you already have the highest gift a man or god can bestow – lesser necessarily than what is yours to bestow upon yourself.


* 955 *

Whatever you enjoy alone you enjoy with Ama, whether tendering your own body in your grasp, or reading a book, or chanting aloud your favorite poet's verse. That bite of chocolate, that hymn you sing – with her, with her. And when you gaze upon your aspect in the mirror, I am with you then.


* 956 *

I yum down what you serve – gratitude gets seconds! – so know yourself my blessing, for so many stabs at loneliness I've made with friends and lovers who never dared haunt my dreams (a space for grandparents and you), such that your numinous name ever drips from my tongue, nor do I chore the house so much as attend her beauty as if she's you. Now I work as writer, and wrighte us night by night; on debts' demise, I'll earn for you, to share another first kiss.


* 957 *

The mind is of glass hands, taking the shape of whatever fills its space, such that, the more we attend a thing, the more attenuated our lens becomes; and we open different folds of lens depending on mood and circumstance. Sometimes I require a full half hour to put on my Ama, to adjust my eyes to her face, then to her song, then to my own reflection, self talk, till finally cocking my ear, I hear her love inside.

The more we enjoy an art form, the more our heaven, as internal ideality, takes on its aspects. Our dreams warp. The poet is that god who creates heavens within us.


-- R 88s Я --

Perfection Is Easy



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