Opinions and Judgments

Opinions and Judgments

I have opinions and judgments.

I waste and obsess.

I pollute, curse

and share in ignorance.

I have hypocritical tendencies.

 

I scheme and scam,

convince and connive.

I get angry and plot revenge.

 

I get crude and rude and lude.

I can be offensive and mean.

I misdirect my anger,

insult and spew venom.

 

I get bored easily and disgruntled quickly.

I have testy times and grumpy vibes.

I cannot take a joke – but I can give them.

 

I complain, gossip and taddle.

I enjoy throwing people under the bus,

watching others make mistakes

and blaming others for mine.

I have self-pity and search for sympathy when I fail,  

yet, I have no time for other people’s sorrow.

 

I love winning games, at any and all costs.

I brag when I win, celebrate profusely and talk trash.  

I sport a poor attitude when I lose,

maybe it is because I cheat. 

 

I lie and deceive.

I like giving people the middle finger,

cursing someone out,

and talking behind their back.

 

I do not burn bridges, I blow them up.

I yell, scream and shout in public

especially when I do not get my way.

 

I know I am not perfect,

yet, I can be the first to point out other people’s imperfections,

make fun of their dysfunctions,

and exaggerate their malfunctions –

not to mention push people’s buttons.

I passively aggress,

get envious at other people's success,

and stew in thoughts of negativity.

 

Despite all this I carry inside,

they are only just parts of me.

I have other parts and pieces, just come and see.

I may be a walking bag of contradictions,

but wait,

oh, just wait, Walt,

whimsical Walt,

we all contain multitudes.

 

Can you embrace me and all of my faults and failures,

all of my shades of gray (I have more than fifty),

my idiosyncrasies and quirks,

my oddities and malfunctions?  

Can you accept me with all my jagged edges and sharp points,

split ends and disastrous deeds,

affectations and afflictions,

hypocrisies and contradictions?

Can you welcome me with all my tempters and bad days,

my flailing remarks and sad ways,

rude comments and personality flares,

egoic tirades and terrified scares?

 

Myself is myself.

Me is me.

I have my moments.

Now that the air is clear

and I am allowed to have my moments,

maybe I won’t have as many.

I can now explore,

the other parts of me

more fully and famously,

more freakishly and flamboyantly,

more directly and nonjudgmentally.

I am more gregarious and inspired,

enspirited and enthusiastic,

grand and fantastic

to move into my awkward moments gracefully,

my scared moments fearlessly,

and my ugly moments beautifully. 

 

I can go on and enjoy my journey.

Even though I have…

I am something else altogether,

something wonderful and sweet

tender, magnificent, and awesome.

I am the journeying me

and someday I will see

more purely

what my soul can be.

 

 

 

Who is Your Guru

Who is Your Guru

Who is the guru, maestra, teacher or mentor?

Who’s protégé, disciple, apprentice, student are you?

Perhaps it is the tv screen or the face of a child?

Is it dollar bills or nature's wild?

Maybe it is the thoughts in our head

or the books we've read?

 

Are not our teachers,

            our gurus,

            our maestros,

            our idols,

                        anything and everything under the sun, moon and stars?

 

What are the mantras of our existence?

            Are they nothing but our circular verses inside our brain box?

            Are they everything that goes merry go round in our hearts?

            Are they the feelings in our gut?

            Are they our instincts and intuitions?

            Are they the recordings from our extrasensorial parts?

 

The spiraling and colliding relationships,

            with our stuff,

            and our habits,

            and our addictions,

            and our convictions,

            and our disciplines –

                        are they not our gurus?

 

What is your guru?

Who is your maestro?

Where are your teachers?

What sort,

            type,

            kind,

            style,

            or flavor?

When,

             and why,

             and where,

             and how,

                        do you yoke?

 

Are you your own teacher?

Is it not within?

What does it take to boldly take hold?

Are you not the sovereign soul authority?

Are you not

            the one,

            the maestro,

            the guru,

            the teacher,

            the pandit,

            and the ace?

 

Are you the you

that was dreamed

to remember

your power and prestige?

 

Is it time

            to awake,

            to arise,

            and to be forever lifted?

 

By who, what, when and where will you be moved?

 

Is it time for you to be your guru?

 

*image by Norbert, Gertrude & Chuck

 

 

Tears

Tears

Wonderful release

Calm, fierce

Our souls they soothe

            Our egos they pierce

 

They have many a Muse

Sadness and joy

A black and blue bruise

Or a broken toy –

            Down the cheeks they pursue

 

Memories from the past

Fear of what is to come

Sometimes they come instantly fast

Or stay for a while, as we come undone

            Eternity in a moment,

            Forever they last,

            Then gone with a flash

 

They hold the weight of the world

In their tiny-ness small

Representing minds broken and hearts twirled

In slow motion they fall

            Bold human display of Eros uncurled

 

*image by Norbert, Gertrude and Chuck

 

Undercover Me

Undercover Me

Sometimes I like to go undercover

And hide myself from me

I can't go out in public

And allow myself to be free

Then I would be exposed 

and everyone knows how that goes

Subject to relationship and conversation

Responsibility and intervention 

With friend and foe.

I would be outed for sure

And discover myself

Something I'm desperately trying not to do

I wouldn't even tell myself secrets

Or stories or things near and dear

Not enough courage and too much fear

To appear

To myself

So candid and bold

I'd rather hide until I get old

It's a tricky sort of thing being 

A trickster on self

Nowhere to hide

Nowhere to run

Not in the shadows

Nor in the sun

There’s got to be a way

I’ll find it I’m sure

Maybe I’ll set a trap

With a great big lore

That’ll do it

I’ll prove it

To no one

Not even to me

Because you see

That would jeopardize me

Hush….

Quiet….

Stay low

Move slow

Don’t make a peep

So I can sneak

And slip one by

I’ll never expect it

Because it’s just me and I

 

* image by Norbert, Gertrude and Chuck

 

Mindful Nest

Mindful Nest

I've got to get back to my mindful nest

a place that is mine

to restore

and rest.

 

It's where I go to refresh,

to relax and enjoy

alone and quiet

without loneliness.

 

When I have moments of duress,

feeling bumpy and grumpy

I like to be still

and forget all the stress.

 

My mindful nest

is where I can clear my thoughts

and feel comfortable

so I can perform my best.

 

Sometimes when I'm a bit clueless,

I breath deeply

close my eyes

and try not to obsess.

 

My mindful nest is warm

and glows like a halo,

like the ultimate refuge

safe from the storm.

 

It is decorated with tranquil art

a cosmically calming design,

outside of space and time,

and beats in sync with my heart.

 

The place is a wondrous space,

crystal clear

pristinely powerful

and flowing with grace.

 

I must learn to have it with me all the time

to take it wherever I go,

so when life bumps me with challenge and opportunity,

I will have that nest in mind.

 

                                                                                                                                                                    * Image by Norbert, Gertrude & Chuck

 

 

How do I want...

How do I want...

How do I want the experience that I'm having?
With all the topsy turvy,
Upsy downsy
Kerfuffling about.
How do I sink into the sadness
And embrace it as a gem in the human spectrum?
How do I revel in the madness as a highlighted sensation of being alive?
How to I celebrate in the confusion,
Thrive in the awkwardness,
And relish in the anger, pity, guilt and loneliness?

Oh the interconnectedness of it all.
Oh the moments of sheer ecstasy and joy and bliss and jubilation — just as potent and significant as the dastardly, devilish polarity.

This range of human sensation is overwhelming.  Worth it I'm sure.

I have a full, burstingly bountiful palate of emotion. 
No one more or less important than the other. 
No one better or worse.
No one more desirable. 
They are all for me — and us —
To dance with,
To investigate,
To join and commingle. 
To experience as we breathe.

How is it that I want the experience I'm having? 
Without trying to push it away. 
Without trying to change it. 
Without trying to be somewhere other than exactly where I am.  

I'll stumble along this topsy turvy,
Upsy downsy
Landscape of kaleidoscopic Spirit at Play within my corporeal design
As long as I feel.

We get it all.
The wide array,
The fullness, the allness, the overwhelming — and underwhelming! — everything
To show us that we contain all.
To show us that we can feel so many capricious forms of concrete consciousness.
Our vessel is a highly tuned antenna
Suckling at Grace. 
The magnificent and dispassionate Grace. 
A Grace that we must radically accept as having no preference. 
It doesn't take sides on the feeling game.  
It gushes forth.
It entirely encompasses sensibility, 
Appealing to every possibility,
Every desire, want, wish, realm,
Reason and rhyme.

The everything of everythingness.
Is that what it means to be titilatingly alive?

So how is it that I go about wanting the experience that I'm having?