Tag Archives: animal

The mouse from the mouth

Through the Spirit

I remove the mouse I have held in my mouth,
(I think I cut the cord)
birth of the small animal of introspection into the world,
where, you know, there is no controlling where it will go.
It’s a beginning
of saying what I see as true,
without oppressing.
Fancy balancing act.

Social media can be the halls of high school.
Careful, careful.
Defence of identity is all around.
Words are not the same as actions,
but thinking them
and saying them
and writing them
are actions.


What is liberal?
What is conservative?
Is liberal giving voice to the other,
the uncomfortable flamboyant,
or the meek struggler?
Is conservative one who proclaims certainty
while rejecting contradictory data,
defends the family
while giving some members more power and value than others?
Is liberal fiscal responsibility?
Is conservative fiscal responsibility?
Is liberal permissiveness and fear of being called regressive?
Is conservative punitive, sadistic policy?
Is liberal keeping things the same while pretending to change?
Is conservative keeping things the same while enriching only some?
Is liberal exploring new systems?
Is conservative denying the need for new systems?
Is liberal coming to the aid using government systems?
Is conservative saying aid should be given
only through private and community systems?

And liberal and conservative in politics are not the same
as the words on their own.
They are modes of thinking.
They are modes of acting.
They are useful in the timing of their acting.

What people mean when they say these words
needs to be clarified
for any sense to be made,
for acts of unity to be supported,
for reconciliation of past misunderstandings,
for sustainable community,
for deliverance from manipulation
by those who wield the words
to separate us with fear.

Where Memories Are Stored

From the Editor

 

 

First:
Businessmen in tribal masks.
Fearful cell phone call.
Crime or no crime?

Next:
Sleeping baby – inverted – held by a businessman in a ritual – sleeps peacefully anyway.
Dark, little prince.

I dream on:
Miniature fleshy tree.
Attached where the faucet would be behind a sink as in the old kitchen in my childhood home.

I look at the tree over the top of the counter, at child height.
The tree: white and pink, also with a fresh green hue and wrinkles in its surface, somewhat like old bark, but so alive and fresh.
Of gelatinous, semi-translucent material with darkened pink lines along the outer surface of the wrinkles.
Near the trunk of the tree stands a perfect, miniature collie dog, an inch long!
It moves?
I bark at it, one clear sharp bark.
It barks, runs toward me, stops within some energy field of the trunk, waiting, alert.
I am amazed at its minute perfection, thrilled at the wonder of its being alive and real and perfect in every detail.
I can barely take it in – I get to see such a thing – such a thing exists.
My heart and mind full of wonder and excitement.

Around the outside edge of the branches of the tree are fish suspended in an environment attached to the tree in which they cruise around the periphery, as far away from the trunk as is possible without becoming detached.
Sentient, aware, they move as fish do, undisturbed, slowly, not directly engaging, knowing something.

The tree is so vulnerable, no hard shell.
Anyone could reach out and crush its flesh so easily.
That is also the wonder of it – living, vulnerable, perfect, available, delicate, complex, mysterious, visible, in an ordinary place.

This is a gift dream, in recalling it, re-experiencing it and its wonder and pleasure.

Could the tree also be a map of my brain?
Plastic. Alive.

I wonder where memories are stored.

Recently, after this dream, I dreamed in sensual detail of bathing my infant son – sights and sensations in clear presence.
Another gift.
A gate is opening.

Where is memory stored?

Some say it depends on how old the memory is.
Some say memory is stored in individual neurons.
The route to the memory can be complicated, and perhaps changing.

And the collie roams near the trunk of something amazing
and the collie is a callee, and so am I.
We bark to each other.
The bark of the tree is evidence of vulnerability and life and growth and mystery. The collie’s bark protecting my vulnerable bark.

The fish eye me.
They are swimming at the edge of my tree of knowledge.
Peripheral fish patrol.
Peripheral nervous system – ganglia outside the protection of the skull and spine.
Message relay bodies.
Years ago, my son content in my lap, I called dreamy fish my home-defining swimmers – emotion messengers, body to mind – awakening.

A tree, and a dog and fish respond to my fearful cell phone call about tribal-masked businessmen.
My cells phoned.
What offices have I given to my office tower men?
What do I delegate to them to do with the sleeping prince baby?
I call my collie callee.
And spend time at the base of the tree, my ganglia fish swimming at eye height.
I height.
Child-I height.
See.
Relays amid old and young hopes and fears heighten my dog awareness.
I stand in wonder and excitation, my plastic brain growing.

What is this business, man?

Recall.
Distant memories not so far away.

 

Hello Shark

Hello Shark
This is me calling. I see I thought you were gone,
that the past is not also here, that you are not eternal.
(You are, as long as people have imagination.)

Hello Shark
You have never been cute, not even when you were born with teeth and cutting fin.
Your streamline is with purpose; you cut through much description.

Hello Shark
When I was fighting you, I was afraid. How does one take care of one’s shark?
You say:
Swim anyway, but do not expect the water to be safe,
do not bleed senselessly, senseless, needlessly.
Be a shark as well. Sharks do not fear and are capable of ecstasy.
Honour your sensitive receptors – electrical stimulation of the finest gauge, sense blood at a distance.
A caress is overwhelming, causing a swoon and a sinking further into the depth.

Hello Shark
I heard you were about justice, about deserved vengeance – seeking – rightly seeking vengeance.
That is quite a nature! Rather Godly, sayeth The Lord.
But how else may we perceive the teeth of God’s justice except as decisive, incisive.

Hello Shark
I’m not sure where to keep you.
Recently the mermaid was occupying the swimming pool, but maybe you get along; I haven’t visited that chapter.
I keep my shark in the ocean and remember:
The rivers that meet salt water can accommodate such a predator – predating, and pre-dating other forms of hunter by a long shot.
Salt rivers are blood in the body coursing; current events happen here.

Hello Shark
I welcome you o-fish-all-y to my wakening and expect that you expect my tremors.
So, I shan’t apologize for my fear and thrill.
Let me know when it’s time.

Shark

2 Willing Sacrifices

at beach

2 months since a Summer Solstice dream.
At the beach attempting to write blog related words.

Following epic partner meltdown in waking life, the dream comes up with three scenes:

A young wife secretly hoping to upgrade to a better marriage.
Meanwhile her Latino husband returns from the dead.
By his fully engaged, wondrous actions descending the steep, stepped hill of an ancient southern valley, young people follow him – enthusiastic acolytes.
“Maybe,” she thinks, “he’s not such a bad catch after all.”
He does not resent her questioning, moving on, his forward motion too clear to doubt.
I begin the descent, seeing I can do it one step at a time.

Meanwhile the catch – the seafood:
The Inuit shaman shows me how to treat the creature, prepare the creature from the depths – pillow-shaped with big eyes – a willing sacrifice on the table heaped with seafood – gift of abundance to me from the depths.
I must not be distracted by my concern over what to do with the abundance,
or by my fear for the creature, but learn something important here as the man makes a fine, shallow incision across the eye,
the creature still aware.

Then, in the coastal city:
I want the languorous students to return to the room of learning.
I tell the young man I want a world where young people grow up to have critical thinking skills.
In this moment of summer when the sun stands still the young people meander toward the seabus.

And so:
A marriage – 2 willing sacrifices – 2 shamans
– seafood – students – seabus – summer  solstice.

In waking life I have dream friends who point out:
The willing sacrifice is the I/eye – the ego – I of limiting judgement.
Pay attention to emotion as the abundant gift of the depths – water gifts.
Leadership not through instruction and insistence, but through undeniable engagement, after the resurrection, after the willing sacrifice of ego and judgement.
Irresistible enthusiasm after bringing divine knowledge from the heights of sacrifice – to the grounded place of practical application,
one step at a time.

2 months on I am at the beach, having experienced summer adventures, now getting a notion about the see of the sea – ways of seeing.
The brilliance of the summer sun and the depths of the unconscious work together to make me see.

Awakened by sleeping.

Sleep man Wake woman.

Prehistoric Mammal Brain

Sister, Sister

If the prehistoric mammal won its sub-surface struggle with the octopus–like creature (They were almost as long as the boat.)
and if that animal evolved as a result of its struggle,
and if it then appeared as a scruffy lion climbing on board the boat, engendering (I think) naïve praise for its courage,
and if a mangy rat jumped out of the lion’s ear (What a survivor’s survivor!)
and scrabbled across the deck to who knows where,
and then I retreated to the cabin where there is at least organized space
and a door for protection,
should I be worried?

Is the lion my mammalian brain, come to help on the journey, and I just have to learn how to live with it?

Is the journey a short one, we are out in the bay, and are we doing research, or going fishing, or perhaps both?

I am compelled to warn the seemingly naïve shipmates that the lion is a badass.
And that is the word my nephew recently used on my birthday card:

Don’t stop being a badass.

So, my current mammalian brain – all about relating and community and nurturing – is this scruffy, buff-coloured, hunter/survivor, recently evolved from the pre-historic (before I could make my own story) state through struggle, unconscious-to-conscious.

I am of two minds (at least) about this emergent beast.

Badass is good for not caring what people think, which is my recent goal inasmuch as I need to go forward without being hobbled by the namby-pamby voices that block creativity and the good work.

And badass is an attention getter when it comes to making an appearance – clearly this sea-surviving, sea-going lion has made an appearance.

But how to have it not wreak havoc.

Or maybe that is the point.

My naïve research associates are perhaps sufficiently unconcerned about the havoc to allow the emergence,
and I will do my dance of fear and turn to the organized, contained space of the people who run this boat (Yay – someone who knows how to run the boat!),
and get ready for a sea cruise.

Questions:
Is the lion also a lying?
Where is the badass rat?
What’s it feel like to really be a badass (thrill shudder)?
How to do research on the ocean with a lion (and rat) on board…?

Can’t believe this object exists; thanks to artist Vera Balyura of verameat.com.

Can’t believe this object exists; thanks to artist Vera Balyura of verameat.com.