The Power Is Yours

From collard greens to garden bees. The means to the stories untold lie somewhere in human soles. Human soles, rake them over the coals. Blow the smoke. Take a drag, shake them down. Take them down town. A kick upside the head, round house. The winds are gusty, sprinkle some of that Masti. Grow up strong, need that Shakti. There’s more than just Kali and Bali, there’s running rivers and rich traditions. Don’t water it down with White interpretations. It’s not about what’s going to sell. Don’t rebrand it, sand it, and then reprimand the progenitors. The originals. The Icarus. The Prometheus. We’re not beneath you. The oil is simmering, we keep shimmying. Hip hop in this swimming pool. These two truths and go looking for more gold. The world keeps spinning, but the tales are the same. Each story a vile of medicine. Remixed, remastered, sampled, resampled, ripped up, flavored, exported, imported, reported, supported, rejected, built up, torn down. The empires rise and spread, the weight increases, and gravity recommends you surrender to its fundamental force. It says let history take its course. The river was here before you, and it will survive when your bones are dust in the sediment. Don’t get sentimental, nothing is permanent. Yet, it was already meant to be. It was written. It is written. These tales are set up, set out. We feel such things as jealously, rage, envy, and empathy to what other humans have and what we want. We are driven, we are craven. It is our nature. There’s no deviation. Tap into different parts of you.

Expand your world. Look deep inside. There are oceans in there that submerge deeper than the Earth’s core. You only lie waiting on your own shore. Take a glass. Take it in. Pour it in. It moves from vessel to vessel. Reconnected to convey new messages. Packaged and shipped from one mind to another. Ideas that travel and mutate like the rats that live on shipping ships. Try shipping, shipping ships, on separate shipping ships. Space craft, worldcraft, become a master, a wizard, be the creator of your own world. Learn from the greats, learn from the best, and then be the best. Be what the world was waiting for.

You are a story among billions. A human among species. A species among layer limestone. Don’t worry about clones. Haters abound. Violence is there to rob you. It can take. The systems of Colonialism and class are there to keep you in fear and subtle productivity. Rebellion takes risks. Fight the power, and see through the veils. Veils that exist in some amorphous way, way before you were ever born. Star dust that is eroded beach sand comes together to shape your brain. A product of this universe, we build large towers of power.

We pull the levers and gears of this world with thoughts that we think are so clever. In reality, we sever ourselves further from reality, and the illusion becomes even more severely dire. An assassin for hire. Subdue and silence, that violence that claims not to be ignorant. See the truth and be shot down. Be beaten on the street, while your family has no ends to ever meat. Take a seat at the table, it’s important to listen and see the other perspective. While black snakes coil your torso and find its way down your throat, it’s your job to empathize with the predator that is successful in suffocating you. Take the time to listen to the voices that discriminate against you, demean you, smother you, beat you, impoverish you, steal from you, seclude you, disrespect you, enslave you, murder you, rape you, dehumanize you, eradicate you, demonize you. Control you. Take the time away from your own survival under this impending weight. Take the time to listen why this weight needs to come down harder on you. Take the time to understand the perspective on why you require shackles and bars. We need to listen to each other, right?

There is only one real story. It is the story of the power structure that devours its own people first, and then yours. We climb over one another to get to the top, to feed our families, and our egos. Don’t you know the law of the jungle? The strong will do what they will, and the weak must do what they must.

That is. That is until we realize that we are all powerful. That it is our power is that builds these walls and these towers. It’s our power that electrifies the world. It our power that grinds your gears and sharpens your spears. It’s our power. It was never yours. Know that you have it, and know how to use it.

Suffering can be great. The enormous divides, scars, and fractures that keeps us up at night, that runs a chariot race in the finish line of our lobes. The tears are needed. The power is seeded. Destruction is all around us, appears to be winning, and only accelerating. The masses are gathering, but we collectively wonder can we halt the course that we have taken? Can we start again? Can we save what we can, mend the wounds that were inflicted upon us, and see that we are living among other life forms on a living planet?

With our longs lives, and patches of green, is there any way to remind us of the things that have been stripped from us, severed, killed, and blocked out from us. Disjointed and decimated in warfare, markets, and industry. Can we build a world that inhabits everyone?

Perfection

I will be talking to you on the most fundamental, human, conscious, existential, spiritual levels that a being can behold.

Okay maybe not on the deepest, but some murky area stretching the span.

Let’s start by answering the question; what is life? Life is a self-regulating collection of complex molecules. Thus, life exists in an infinite variety of manifestations; yet remains bounded by the same fundamental nature. As we begin with the definition of self-regulation, life creates conditions that are conducive to life.  Each particle of life acts upon this principle and interacts with every other node. They come together in an infinite complexity to act as a whole. Thus, the planet Earth as a whole is alive. And every disturbance will perturb the entirety. Although, there could be no possibility to determine if an action is good or bad without using life based, subjective, self-preservation to guide this judgment. Life always wants to survive, and prosper. More so, life will always continue no matter the circumstance. Thus, manifestations of life may be crushed or wiped out to extinction, but it always prevails in another form.

Using these knowns, it is in the interest of the creatures that are currently alive to sustain the current conditions and life forms that exist today.  But, if things were to change, life would exist in other ways, perhaps unheard of today.

As nothing in this universe is permanent and static, the name of perfection is existence itself. The idea of perfection is that there is an aim of existence to reach. Although, this is a fallacy because there is no aim at all. If there is an aim of existence, it is to exist. If perfection is to reach an aimed target, and the aim of the existence is to exist; then, the very act of existence must be perfection in itself. Therefore, the very act of coming into existence means perfection.  And no alteration to something will bring it closer to perfection. It may change its manifestation, but by merely existing it remains to be perfect.

How does this apply to humans or the things that we build? What is natural? Everything that exists is nature itself. It may be altered, but it remains to exist and be a part of nature. Thus, even the creations of humans are natural.   Are humans perfect? Are the machines that they build perfect?  The answer to both these questions is subjective perfection. It is a perfection that is chosen by the humans that dream of it. Although, dreams affect the perception of perfection but do not alter it at all. Once a human being is born and brought into existence, it is perfect as it exists. To judge whether that human being is stupid or smart, ugly or pretty, dark or light, tall or short, moral or unmoral is a subjective act.  To be tall is no more perfect than to be short. Neither is being short any more perfect than being tall. Both forms are perfect as they merely exist. Although selecting one over another is about the aims of life. And the aims of life are to self-replicate and propagate more copies of one’s genes; while also incorporating genetic diversity. Thus, there is an everlasting battle between in-group and out-group, same and different. And this battle wages on every level of life. As such, no single point of life is more correct than the other. As such, no point of life is more perfect than another other single point of life. Although, it is useful for beings to profess that they are the ultimate perfection and that the rest of life must conform to them.  This is the fallacy of perfection. It is a myth used to bolster one’s self and disparage others. The truth of the matter is that merely existing is perfection in itself.  

As such, human beings arrive on this planet in state of utter perfection. And as they grow they are immersed in multitudes of ideas that all claim that they are in fact the one that points to perfection. Yet, these ideas are but illusions that veil the consciousness and tangle the mind into confusion. Thus, the path of enlightenment is truly circular in nature.  The path of enlightenment is to shrug off such illusions, and return to where one started. The path of enlightenment is to return to the knowledge that mere existence is perfection.

And the idea of transcendence or moksha is that not everyone arrives at enlightment in their first life time. It is one occurrence in which a human being is born and achieves transcendence in that life time. And the silliest of all things is that: transcendence, moksha, enlightenment, nirvana are states attained when one acknowledges that the very act of existing is perfection. It is the acknowledgement of one’s own existence that makes one perfect.

Dark Girl

Bleach blonde hair that constantly needs repair from the chemical damage and withering dryness. Frayed tips from compressed heated plates to straighten out those wild, thick , curls. Pulled and plucked, wax, and tear away hair from every part of your body. Why did I inherit so much from my father? More bleach to strip away the melanin that protects me from the harsh sun. I want to be striped bare of my identity and the strength that was inbuilt my skin. Now my strength has become my weakness. Blotchy, fragile, pain, damaged has replaced strong, vibrant, rich, and lovely. Eschew any accents or languages that remotely sound like my own tongue. I’ve replaced every part of me, what is one more? Telugu, Tamil, Hindi, Marathi, Guajarati, Bangladeshi flow like an undulating river caressing a luscious and fertile land. I rather ravage the land with the harsh consonants of my oppressor, because the oppressor owns all.

My bare feet used to mingle with the earth and feel it’s heart beat. Now, they have ascended into the vacuum above in sparkling stiletto jimmy choos. My forefathers and mothers were farmers, textile weavers, herders, princes, princesses, warriors, potters, mathematicians, philosophers, writers, poets, dancers, playwrights, actors, singers, adventurers, rishis , sadhus, yogis, kings, queens, travelers, merchants, healers, lawyers, activists, metal workers, miners, architects, great builders, blacksmiths, ect..

And they all had your almond brown eyes, your thick black hair, your lobed ears, your dark brown beautiful skin, your melodic vocabulary, your tough feet, your strong legs, your strong arms, your intelligence and curiosity, your compassion, your resourcefulness, your wisdom, your sense of community, your motivation and passion, your hearty laugh and mischievous smile. They have all been there and have been there from the very beginning. A thousand generations live within every foot fall. A thousand generations have been where you been, and they thrived. We are almost countless, and spread throughout the world. Not always by our own means and desires, but we are here billions strong.

Those ties and relations to our ancestors, our ways of life, to the land have been dissolved, reshaped, changed, remolded, redistributed. But ,you can really can’t take away that mathi that nourished your feet, your food, and your skin.

We have been greatly influenced by the many forces of globalization, westernization, neoliberalism, liberalism, capitalism, industrialization, migration, colonialization. In some ways we adapted, in some ways we assimilated, in some ways we lost our way. In some ways, we lost our way. But, the way back is looking clearer ahead as generations have rebuilt, recovered, and found a new way.

In this new way, know that you stand on the shoulders of giants. Your job isn’t to crush these monoliths and carve out your own from their flesh. But rather learn from them, gain strength from their noble deeds and virtues. And ascend higher and become wiser.

To form a new world, we must burn away the wines that grow around the age-old tree. Those wines weren’t always there. They weren’t always there to put you in a strangle hold between the past and the present, east and the west. Those wines are new, the tree was always there with branches that soar higher than the sky. With bushy and broad leaves that stretch out wide for all to see. A massive trunk that encircles every lokum. And roots that stretch far and wide as the steppes of Mongolia to the Volcanos of Indonesia.

Dark girl, dark as night and mother Bhumi learn to love your skin again.

Give Me The Night Sky

At a wide-open expanse behind the bar in Brooklyn, and the night bellow is full of full blast conversations and dangling firefly lights. A festive crowd for a friend’s birthday. Every time, I go get a drink at the bar, my tenacious mouth finds another to practice sounding words. Not too far away from my table, I find a peacock girl, full of nose piercings that subtly always reminds me of a home that was never my home. I start the conversation with her, but it some how fizzles out. Yet, I also see her friend standing by, looking deactivated. So, I try engaging her in verbose verbatim. I find out that she was a physics major, that quit half way through. I told her, I wanted to hear more. She got me going. And then she asked me what I thought out Tesla, and my tongue was off to the races. Many such conversations were held in the night, and some may be remembered years to come when you least expect them to be relevant. It’s weird how memory is triggered.

And now, I realize exactly what I want. I want a girl with Kaleidoscopic eyes and telescopic lenses. I want  a girl that is a voyager, that searches the seas in search for sentient mystery. I want a girl with a heart that is wider and more explosive than a blazer. I want a girl with a mind that never stops asking why. I want a girl that knows her history, and the events that forged her freckles and the corners of her smile. I want a girl that can teach me something about the universe, every single day. I want a girl that is relentless and fearless. I want a girl that is as soft as an open field on a breezy summer day. But, is as hard as the rocks that she climbs. I want a girl that uses her contact lenses to examine microphages and the structure of nanotubes. I want a girl that loves to dance, raucously enough to awaken Mother Bhumi. And sing to her hearts desire. I want a girl that is like me, but that is better than me. I want to hear her melodies and poetry that allow the planets to revolve and to gravity to sink.

And when I kiss her, we have reached the end of the universe. Universal expansion has come to a predestined period and even the blackholes have evaporated. It’s just her and me. And that kiss. That single kiss is the birth of existence. That kiss sends out ripples in every dimension and wave function. The quantum foam coalesces to form stability. Billions of years speed by, and we watch entrenched in our cosmic embrace. Stars are born and go super nova. Galaxies collide. Civilizations rise and fall.

The power of a single kiss, that remade the universe in our image.

As the universe ages and changes, there is so much death and much struggle. Suffering is the nature of our universe. In each age and each time, there is strife and disagreement. Yet, a hero puts on his helmet. Yet, a hero puts on her armor. And heroes fight the good fight. Time after time, a noble heart is brought down to a bitter end. Regardless of how distasteful and distraught, a new force for good is born in the next life. In every life time, the skills, the powers, the lessons are passed down and harnessed. The failures of the past are wisdom of the present. In this never ending journey, our loved ones are torn away. Crushed and removed by the bitter forces of oppression. And bitterness has the ability to infect a pure soul. The antidote to crippling loss, is remembrance. It is recalling the love and wisdom that was passed on to you. Our bodies are temporary and meant to decay. But, love, love is reborn a million times. And that is the source of power. That is the source of strength when the battle never ends.

We created a universe of suffering. And we have experienced this world through a thousand eyes and a thousands voices. In the end, we’re here again. You have a new face. My voice sounds like a strangers.

But, all it takes is for our lips to meet to remember your name. Your name is love. 

The Void

3.8 billion years ago there was a cell.  A single cell. The first cell. The first iota of life. It’s name was LUCA. The last unknown common ancestor. And LUCA divided. And LUCA changed. Life grew, changed, transformed, and spread to every crevice, every niche, every medium. It went from asexual replication to sexual reproduction, and diversity exploded. Every variety and possibility evolved and to survived on this watery hunk of rock.

And life in all of it’s forms and all of it’s abilities became inseparable from the Earth itself. Earth was crafting life, and life was crafting Earth.

The engrained mission of every creature was to survive, find a mate, and reproduce. Then, it was to pour resources and ensure that those offspring would grow and do the same.

Then came along some tree dwelling, fruit eating, tool using, tactile mammals that lived together in the trees. They evolved and changed too. Like honey bees or termites, they were highly social and interconnected beings. And they had somewhat larger brains that only grew over the generations.

They began to imagine, to began to reflect, ponder, wonder, connect with each other and the rest of the natural world. They wanted to create, build, explore, adventure, and reach the stars.

There began to emerge the inner universe of the self and the outer universe. Both complex  in their own right. Each one of these beings complex and an individual, while simultaneously connected with the others around him. Always seeking connection and completion was the nature of this being.

Prema, love, was the name of this connection. And there were different forms. Love that was driven by evolution to meld together seemingly disparate elements together to create something new, different, and diverse.

It could come about in all kinds of ways. Perhaps, the furrow a brow, the angle of shoulder bones, the tonality of a voice was all that was needed to make it happen. Maybe, it was trial and experience that bourne it out. It could be boldness and skill that brought it about.

Maybe it’s all of that and none of that.

Maybe love walks in when ever it wants to, and stays because it was meant to be there. 13 Billion years ago there was a big bang that created particles, and today I fit no where else but in your arms.

There is no time limit, no space, no form for love to follow. And we wait patiently, biding our time to feel your completeness and fullness.

We shape mountains and drown oceans in blood to be there, where love is.

Yet, the single beat of the heart can dictate the rest of your existence.

Landmines in your chest and tanks crawling up your spine, tell you she’s the one.

Your lungs are nearly the vacuum of space, but her touch makes so want to hold out longer.

Anger and harsh words are spoken because love causes passions to blister. There are no secrets and boundaries in love.

From my first breathe to my last , it’s been your name living inside my lips. It’s not as if destiny is prewritten, but rather learning the start of the story by knowing the ending.

Before I could feel it, your love already lit the void. It was only later, that we knew it was always true.

Cupid’s Bow

Imagine yourself in place of every epic poem, every heroic deed, you’re the star, you’ve been relentlessly punished for your act of defiance. You accepted the cost and the consequences to do something great.

You’ve slogged through every battle field, bled through every marsh, fought any octopus headed demon, done what others thought was impossible, forged where there were no apparent frontier, stood on the alps as Hannibal did, free soled like Alex Hannold, wrestled the boar like Atlanta, were brought back to life like Isis and Osiris, severed the head of Medusa like Perseus, lifted the weight of the world on your shoulders, and have broken the mighty bow.

Whether it was to be closer to be the gods, you were a god, or you just dared to be different you were there and you pursued your destiny.

It wasn’t fame for fame’s sake. Glory might have been in mind. Love must have been the draw. Regardless of the answer, something will pull you forever. A fire blazing in your mind, quaking in your sleep.

There is no peace until we’ve reached uncharted waters.

Safe and secure will do as long we have the right people in our buoyant balloon.

Home is not where you are, but rather whom you’re with.

As Odysseus out fleeced the noble cyclops , his father wasn’t as happy with the unfortunate circumstance with the flock of sheep. Yet, with guile and some super natural help Odysseus found his way back to where he started.

The journey isn’t certain, without peril, nor willing to bear fruit. Yet, we will happily take that chance to become something greater than ourselves.

Having your liver ripped out or marching up a steep cliff to push a boulder could very well be in the cards, but I rather choose any such fate if I couldn’t be with you for the rest of my life.

I’d happily fly to closer to the sun with melting wax tipped wings, to know I could feel your warmth  one more time, as the ekg machine begins to flat line, and your skin grows pale.

I’d write poems to someone that I have never met, knowing that I will know her for the rest of her life.

I’d sit at the back of a crowded bar passing out poems with a sign that reads “ Free Poems” waiting till I scour all of New York City.

Love may be passing you a street, sitting on a bench, live 10 zip codes away from you, may be ready to say I do, but she’s there. But she knows it only as much as you, that you haven’t met love, can’t quite make out your face yet. In a cool dark night, she’ll be able to recall every wrinkle and blemish that makes it up. And your children will know nothing else but the love and family that surrounds them and tightly embraces them.

It’s our nature to venture into the thick of it, light a flame, watch it tenderly grow, and protect the life that radiates as it sways.

Surely, you may find something on your way.

Remember Me

Culture and cuisine, music and memory. We bring out stories, our foods, our tenderness and our prayers to new lands and overseas. Ancestors and history woven together in new and different ways, strung from the same shared thread.

Read from these palms, oil palms, recited psalms bring us together when we feel alone and afraid in the world. A spine severed in severe calamity.

How can you be mad at me? We share the same heart and mentality. We care about our communities and your prosperity, our neighbor.

How we eat, how we dress, how we make a mess, how we love may be different. My nose might be slightly wider, that smell might be slightly sweeter too you.

Lost in translations, as we translate through turbid monstrosities. We get up when we are knocked down. Sand castles wash away, as you and I will eventually cease to be. But, there in history. We can reach deep into the tides and retrieve your roots, deep and endless.

Those tides turn and may buckle to entirety, the web is massive and continues endlessly. We’re here and now and I see the look in your eyes regardless of the contracts that dull your vision but not your shine.

Crimes were committed, locked up without redemption. Caged and incarcerated, barely any window only bars. Packaged and shipped, neatly wrapped, sent with the prime directive of dictating lines and what is mine. Scavenged and secured, melody seeps in through open pores. Dripping through discarded demarcations and devastation to tell you that you’re not alone.

I’ll show up at your door when you need a friend. When you’re home alone, but you have no where to roam, I can bring you prairies and prayers to sow new seeds. When the deed has been done , you’ll find that you longer have run from vicious minds and cereal crimes.

We have all have hands to hold, and futures to mold for our families, our children, and legacies to unfold. There is recollection that our journeys have been long and tumultuous, yet we build our promise lands with our bare hands and sweat built on brows.

Every human, every culture struggles and strives. As humans we manage to survive in the most inhospitable habitats, and learn to circumscribe circumstance.

There will always be power structures at play, new players to the game. What will remain is the thumping of that solitary heart beat, a bass drum meant to repeat. What will remain is when our hands meet. When new love is found in eye light , or a community delights in their sovereignty. Music and bread bind us such that shackles find no security near you and me.

Complete

Like all stars, our sun was a twinkle in the celestial’s eye. Born within a stellar nursery, replete full of many brothers and sisters. Some were red , small , and furious. Some were behemoths with deep blue furnaces. And our sun, was a bright bouncing boy with cheeks that flare a bright orange. His mass came from those ancestors before him. Thousands of generations of stars came and went making their mark on the night sky.

They knew a few things, they were all made of the same star stuff. They knew that they were always enough. And when our star formed, atoms and matter, light and heat coalesced closer, hotter, brighter until fusion faced the other lit candles. The elements, the gases, the rocks and debris began to collide and multiply. Rebound and rectify till clump became mound and mound became round.

The gas giants began to roam, the rocky balls began to revolve, and the sun began to sing. It’s song reaching millions of miles in all direction. A planetary system sailing on solar winds.

With wobble and uncertainty, timidly traverse the small space that is entirety, each planet found its place in the system. Diverse and different yet made of the same stuff. Moons and asteroids, tiny planetesimals that make a small living on the margins of gravity.

Every being is born into this existence, with systems in place and beliefs made in haste. It’s up to each one us to figure out how we to orbit and build our basalt. We are complex, and formed from a trillion tiny pieces that found each other and became something greater. We change, we age, we transform. Asteroids bombard this face and form freckles. Comets wily with their tales of dream and romance, bring us tears to form much deeper oceans. Volcanism means shifting tectonic plates deep inside, dread might bring along toxicity. All things must change. Driven by a sunken core, that always wants more. Heart beats have reverberations, tsunamis have consequences.

As we come together and fall apart, craters and super novas happen simultaneously. The universe will always continue on it’s merry way , reluctant to say that it will stay the same. Shiva and Pelee know that there is no creation without destruction, nor destruction without creation. There is no certainty or forever. In it’s place, is delicate beauty and hostile humility.

Paths become worn, shoes may be soiled, and everything may appear to be in order. The fundamental truth is that all of this creation and structure are dictated by destiny and desire. We are found with faults and end up in places that we may have never expected. The road is far more treacherous and can lead to self-discovery.

Every decision and direction has a plethora of probabilities, tributaries that may take you to triumph or failure. Distractions are everywhere that pull on your insecurities, play with your illusions, and project misplaced pain on your palms. Wandering, searching in madness the fog gnaws at your knees and makes you forget your own needs. Sadness and doubt take the spring out of your step. Decrepit in misplaced dreams, your mind begins to wither. Only your truth, locked deep inside can set you free.

That fog is your fear, your anxiety, your doubts, your insecurities, your traumas, your pain, your suffering, your delusions, your grandeur, your fallacy, your memories, your hesitation, your devastation. Samara that riddles your mind in malady.

Yet, there is a light that formed from fusion, that can steal you from your confusion.  Elemental and deep in density. Cobalt and nickel,  molten magma and binary helium help to recall who you are.

All of those transgressions and illusions fade away like vapor, when you open up the simple but greater truth that you born to be a star.

No Conditions

The soft catch of loves embrace. Love comes in so many forms and wears many faces. It doesn’t have to be to romantic. It doesn’t have to be ostentatious or verbose. It doesn’t have to be planned. It doesn’t even have to be understood.

It starts with the eyes. I see you. I see you without fear, I see you without judgement, I see you without condition, I see you without prediction, I see you without hesitation, I see you without a past, I see you without scars, I see you without sins. I see you as you are, and all of your beauty.

Anyone can be seen and anyone can see you if you are willing to slow down and put down your sword and shield.

A friend, a family member, a neighbor, a stranger, a classmate, a comrade.

A mere look may change a person’s entire life.

There are those moments, that were etched in and you many never want to forget. A soft touch to frame the face, and cradle connection.

Plenty have a knife out for you, because someone had a knife for them. Some may avert their gaze, are trapped behind a maze.

You don’t have to shut your eyes, because others have not yet learned how to see. Precautioned to reveal all of their mysteries, your spot light may cause them to shutter.

You were born with eyes wide open, and a heart that cannot close. Be as ballistic as a blazar, and some weary stranded sailors will wind their way to your shore.

They carved you out of copper and marble to emulate the Statue of Liberty and Colossal of Rhodes. You carry a beacon and can see past the horizon to new days and the north star.

In the ocean of faces, we’re all on the same journey, searching for the same things.

Those seas will be rough, unpredictable, and unsteady. A typhoon or rouge wave can easily take you off your bearings.

But, you knew that there was a whole world out for your to see. Obstacles and challenges, beauty and diversity.

Way finding the waves, there are many islands to find paradise.

Harbors may call you home, but we choose to raise the yellow flag.

Rangoli

Rangu is a physicist. She has spent her entire life in a cave. In this cave, she has candles and torches but somehow she could only see black and white in the cave. Rangu dedicates her life to studying the physics and nature of light, color, and the visible electromagnetic spectrum to figure out the reason for the lack of color in her world. She learns about thermodynamics, quantum mechanics, astronomy, and every other physical science to know everything that humanity has learned about light and color. Yet, she never experienced it herself, until one day.

An earthquake rumbles the cave and causes her textbooks and experiments to fall and shatter. Afraid that this was the end, Rangu cowers in a corner and waits for her demise.

The shaking comes to a halt, and Rangu slowly opens her eyes. Blurry at first and slow to focus, she starts seeing something that she had never seen before. A large fissure has formed in the far side of the cave, large enough for Rangu to fit through the crevasse.

Something pours through the open rock, and floods the opened tomb. There is gradation, tone, shade, taste, reflectance, irradiance, shimmer, dark, and shadow. Rangu is utterly baffled by the new sensory information that is bombarding her.

She breaks down to her knees on the cave floor, and begins to cry tears of astonishment and splendor. She does not know what she sees, only that she has seen for the first time.

She follows the light like a rope pulling her to the world outside the cave. There’s no telling what may await her, and what other wonders may exist.

On unsteady legs, she slowly reaches out and follows the gentle warmth gracing her hand. The dust spirals and sparkles in the beam of sunlight.

That hand grasps the edge of the rift, and her body hunches behind it. Her finger tips are pouring with sweat and delicately tracing the bumps of the limestone.

This is the moment. This is the moment that she has been waiting for her entire life. She has studied her entire life to understand the physics of light. She has studied her entire life to see the truth.

Both eyes are shut, and the fingers on her left hand her guide out of the cave door. Now, her entire body is enveloped by warmth from her toes to the tip of her nose. Every muscle relaxes as she spreads out her arms and reaches as far as her shoulders will let her.

Crawling tears travel down to the edge of her chin, and she opens her eyess.

A flame in the shape of circle is center stage, and dwarfs over the broad expanse in front of her. Hues of delicious red, golden yellow, ripened greens, lilting blues, rich browns, luscious violets paint a canvas of unparalleled beauty before her. A bucolic valley bows before her.

The hands were grasping so tight before. Wavelengths and frequencies, photons and Planck lengths, diffusion and diffraction were so orderly, laid out in a rather grand design.

She had been searching for what had been missing from the equations and theorems.

The experiments were conclusive. The equations were replicable. The torch in her cave produced plenty of light. Her eyes were perfectly alright.

Yet, there was something missing the entire time. Not really missing, not even misplaced. But, merely unheard.

It was the sound of the universe, the cosmic microwave background, the sound of her heart beat.

Thirsty, Rangu finds her way to the banks of a river. She stares down into the clear water expecting to see her reflection. She had never seen her own reflection. She sees spiral galaxies, stellar nebula, and birds of paradise.

Trapped for so long in her cosmic egg, she dismissed the very thing that she had been looking for.

Only to reveal the endless expanse of her being.

The Sunflower Thief

The abandoned apartment was all the way on the far side of town. Either took the bike or walked it between classes. In the cold quiet air or a light mist, it was so easy to sail standing on the bike pedals. Always had to stop by at the cannoli shop. I still say that they were the best that I ever had, especially the chocolate ones. And of course, on the right hand side was an oasis of long stemmed surveilling sun flowers to watch over the pedestrians walking the narrow brick road. They saw it all, and the gossip spread quickly among the eavesdropping petals. Necks craned to hear every joy, every sorrow, and some hushed tones. Penned in their corner they could only, vicariously, through those that hadn’t put down roots yet.

Down the grape vine, they heard of one sad and tragic story. It was about a young bright boy, that was striving to reach the stars. He had ideas and inventions, hopes and trepidation. He was unmoored and his life was cut short. Stem seceded, out stretched leaves wilted, petals silently drifting away. This boy had a large and loving family. They searched and searched, but in the end all they found was the remnants of flowers: daisies, daffodils, roses, and tulips.

The fire alarm sounded off like a drill sergeant tsunami in the damp early dawn. The sophomores in their slump walked into the grass outside the building and chirped about this disturbance to their dreams. And this is when it all came crashing down. A friend of a friend, said that he heard of the demise of his comrade. It happened in an instant, with less warning than the persistent fire alarm, and without any regard of anyone at all. A mere hug, broke down hemmed dam doors. The fear, the anger, the abyss of the loss at hand swept through the body in a violent convulsion. Ripped apart and unshrewn to reveal the layers of pain that had been searching for a way to be heard. Tears irrigating his ripe face, and cowl swallowing the rest. Stumbling down the hill to find ground that could conduct all of this shock. On the third tree, a place to rest the head while the gut wrenched and moans couldn’t be escaped. The legs buckled a long time ago.

He liked the girl and wanted to share a small of piece of himself with her. At first she was reluctant to go with the boy. She didn’t reciprocate his feelings. But, she was kind and wanted to be a supportive friend. He told her it was a surprise, and had to walk a little bit more down hill. Wasn’t too far away, and he thought that she might appreciate it like he did on his daily commute to class. He had been scheming about taking one every time he walked by. They were inside a fence and who was he to take one. No one would know, no one would care. They were a bright spot in his day, and a tiny dream to hold on to. And what a romantic gesture it would be to give it to the girl with almond eyes.

She was certainly curious of where he was taking her, and hesitant about following him. Yet, they found themselves in front of the patch of sunflowers. This was his surprise to her. Perhaps fool hearty and misguided in romantic notions. She didn’t seem as impressed with the golden solar panels. He had already decided that he was going to go for it from the very beginning. Craining over the black metal gate, he got a firm grasp of the spiny and thick sunflower stalk. Ripped in a sideways to motion, until the clear sap was visible and the last fibers splintered away. Fresh and fragile, he handed her the flower.

She liked it, but didn’t love it.

A large man walked out of his apartment building onto the front stoop. Presumably on the way for some errands or perhaps just take in the beauty and aroma of his sunflower garden. He saw the transaction unfold.

The man: “ Why did you take the flower? ,” he asked angrily.

The boy: “ I thought it was beautiful,” he said naively but honestly.

The man: “ If everyone takes one, no one could enjoy the flowers.”

Powerful

 Break me and beseech me. Bend and bottle me in. These transgressions come because you are already broken inside. So distant from yourself, that you forgot that there’s something elemental, beautiful, and powerful. It has always been there, and always will be there. In a fleeting glimmer you will see all that you are, and the true shade of the world.

Me, I tend to forget too. I look into a mirror of my mistakes, my faults, regrets, crimes, my fears, my short comings, my pain. Yes, you are flesh and bone. But, your mind sees more and feels more than you will admit to yourself. You are still that baby, new into the world, full of potential and joy. Enamored in love and radiating connection to all others.

Our senses, our heart beat, our sensations and experiences tie it all together. To know that you never actually were sure about where you began and the rest of the universe started. This is where you are. You are a spider that communicates with the spirits of this earth. They tell you their secrets, and you heed its wisdom.

Labels, taxonomy, codes, and further reductions give you the illusion of understanding and mastery. When in reality, sensations and chemical pathways unlock the true flowers of existence.

We compete to get on top, we compete for land , resources, and place to find safety. In a dangerous world, we try our best to safe harbor happiness while diminishing our enemies. Allowing the world in and entering the silence is not a luxury taken so easily. Darkness occupies these pores so that I might fight through the day and eventually enjoy that promised land.

A roof over my head and the finer things in life are my victories, but they will never be that means to my end. Prattles about profession and title, mean mighty little to the mass of glaciers running through your spine. You float above the surface in superficial serenity, attempting to reach the twinkling star light.

Yet, fail to acknowledge your own depts.

Cracked by rising seas, diamonds will also shatter. Glaring gold splashes to greet to the darkened depts, alone in the crushing cold. Gone far further than the prior mold. You start to cast aside what you believe you knew, to truths that always belonged but remained buried. Past the blur of mirage and fabrication, you’re confronted with the luminous warmth that knows no bounds.

The water steams with rapidly rising bubbles attempting to break to the surface. You began to

remember this feeling, all those eyes creek open after their long slumber. It’s been here all along waiting

to be summoned.

Palm laid flat along it’s spherical surface, and it starts to rapidly expand. Unlocked and unshackled, you were holding the key to your own imprisonment. The bars built by disbelief and disdain. Soldered together by pain and misfortune. It was better to lock it away and hide it some where that no one can corrupt it.

The shadows vaporize and fade away to oblivion. The waters no longer seem as lonely or crushing. In fact it feels vibrant and uplifting. The glow starts sprinting ahead to reach those mighty head waters. Running like salmon, a torrent of life is brought to the shallows.

Blundered and blunted. Mangled and stunted. That wonder that is you breaks out of that constructed glass bottle. When pushed to the edge, the edges have fallen out and revealed endless splendor.

Breaking through that flimsy shell and fragile facade, you pack more punch than a super nova proton.

Physical beauty is breathe taking. Monuments and money allow for expression and material comfort.

Yet, these all pale in comparison to the wonder that you are. Whatever storm blows your way, however low you feel, how unsure the world may feel, listen intently. Listen closely, to the knowledge that you hold and the sensations that you’ve been shown.

You are powerful and you have always known

The Maelstrom

Slow down. Slow way down. We all hold on to our fears. Built by disappointment and the suffering that we’ve learned to carry. It’s so heavy. It has taken up so much space, blundered our steps when it mattered most. Hardened into skepticism and sometimes into hatred. Yes, there are real fears to contend with and real malice.

Sometimes we think too fast, and are unable to see what is in front ourselves. We project pain and suppressed emotion, when we really require empathy and judgement.

Slow down. Slow way down. It’s so heavy.

Sailing into the uncertain sea, we may think that we can bury our sorrows. We can escape if we run hard enough and fast enough. It can’t ever catch up to us again. It can’t hurt us again. We remain occupied, the past can be kept at bay.

Storm clouds gather, reaching far into the stratosphere to form an ominous umbrella. The sunlight fading away into the drizzling darkness. Departed to welcome the harsh wind, where a mellow sea breeze was daintily dancing.

Slow down. Slow way down. It’s so heavy.

Sideways slanting rain creates an impenetrable wall, that only the most daring of sailors might face. Such power and ferocity, strikes with loud lighting and triumphant thunder.

Slack has suddenly stopped, there is no more rope to give. As the waves tumble and cascade like moving mountains we are confronted with those shearing memories that seed our doubt.

Slow down. Slow way down. It’s so heavy.

They just seem so small, matched against such tyrannical tsunamis.

Sorrows laid bare in front of us, we are also confronted by love. Like sediment and sand that is tossed through the waves, our attachments recede and build vast beaches and towering cliffs ,grain by grain.

Slow down. Slow way down. It’s so heavy.

Softened and molded by the tender hands of the storm, your uncontrolled grandeur has learned to shine in coherence. The gentle moon bids you farewell, as you have escaped through the star-studded eye of the storm.

Slow down. Slow way down. It’s so light.

Shattered

Love doesn’t come easy. Joy is found in those small corners. They are found when they are least expected. There’s temporary excess and lustful spontaneity. There’s duty and compromise. Fear and apprehension.

When you’re so ground into your groove, the world becomes bland and realistic. Routine and regulation found on stop signs and office cubicles. Expectation and deadlines leave no room for error.

It feels safe and secure, predictable and pensive. Rain or shine, pain or pressure, you walk in these shoes because they’ve become so worn to you.

Secretly you hide a passion, so shielded that they can’t ruin it. It is your piece of sunshine, your piece of sanity in an insane world. You don’t dare to share it, you don’t let it radiate it in fear that they were in fact ashes.

They told you when you were young, they told you when you were old how to precariously walk the line that that was drawn out for you. As so many razors and pitfalls were ready to take you apart.

Through jeers and vanity, they would pretend not to see it. They would deceive themselves about what you had. But, there was no avoiding the light that hide in your pocket. Knowing that it was meant to radiate, it would lightly tug on your strewn heart strings.

How the years dragged on, put on a path that was never yours but felt settled. Somehow an unknown tune sang in your ears about what may lie just beyond the horizon.

You’ve learned to cope with the unfulfillment and unfamiliarity with yourself. So distant from the faint lingering memory of hope that you once held on to so tightly.

Finally, the floor yields to gravity and you fall into the unknown abyss. You couldn’t plan it, you couldn’t see it, you couldn’t feel the shifting sands.

Suddenly taken out of everything you’ve ever known; you begin to grieve. Loss to the safety and loss to the tenuous misery that you grit your teeth to.

Face flat down, and those illusions that were built around you have taken flight to leave you in the darkness. Only one small remnant belongs in the wreckage. It’s a tune that you know, only too well.

Step by step, you piece yourself together with foundations that are far more familiar. Here, love finds it’s way into a mending heart. A heart that just learned how to beat again.

With each heart beat and step forward, each heart beat thumps much more like thunder. Love sees the makings of so much more than what mere mortals could grasp.

As a gentle breeze, whispered in the hushed tones of lovers, slowly ignites a blaze that’s been hidden for far too long.

Some how breathing becomes easier as you are pulled down to the drowning depts. Bubbles trickle to the surface. The light in your pocket explodes like cosmic inflation to expose your secret shine.

Embraced in the equanimity of love, the skies finally feel clear to soar beyond the stratosphere.

Forget the fragility of familiarity, and build based on solid ground. Let your passion seep through and crash against parched salty shores. And when they break, love will be there to catch the fall.

The Dam Departed

We have fallen so far from where the water fell. There a wall stands now to power dishwashers, curling irons, flat screen TVs, and telephone poles. The fish no longer swim freely. Crawling up step ladders like meticulous marmosets.

Flooded the valley floor, to ensure that we can always take more. We have submerged the spirits that lived there before.

Colonialism and capitalism smashed those sacred idols to put extractive reason in their place. To them, those were primordial pagan pleasantries.

Water was to grow more sugar cane, water was to drive industry, water was to starve out those who would not succumb to sedition.

First it was the old gods, then the new god, and then the final god that had no spirit at all. Slowly ground down between the cogs of a wheel, we shunned all semblance of the spirits. All that remained were specters of folklore and faded memories.

Liberté, égalité, fraternité. The rights of man merely required reason to rationalize the world for the colonizer class. To the winner go the spoils, there they may be shared equally.

How we may democratically bulldoze this forest, steal freshwater from a community, or commodify our very crops.

The scientific method has given us many gifts. But it has stolen many in return. Applied in the name of greed, an incomplete knowledge creates a faulty reduction and robs us of our humanity.

Here we have come to the ultimate calamity. The fires will not calm. The waters will not wane. The wind refuses to wallow. We have decimated the oceans and changed the climate.

More committed to faceless ideas than to seeing the people in front of us.

Despite the destruction, it is never too late. She called out a warning. We need to restore the ancestral knowledge that has been so easily discarded. Knowledge and technology must operate in a dynamic, complex, living, interconnected planet. To name a piece under a microscope will never be the same as seeing the life in a grassy meadow.

A bridge has two sides. Our relationships are messy, our emotions complex and raw, our dreams wild, our hearts untamed horses. We cannot be too rigid or too rebellious.

There is middle ground to be found between the past and the present, the rational and the realistic, the natural and the mechanical, free thought and fraternity.

The sages knew that there never really were spirits that guided the rains, blocked out the sun, or made the earth tremble. These sowers were merely creative in their storytelling.

Their senses were keen, their eyes were open, they listened to whispered wisdom, and learned from the land. A thousand different cultures, spread through geography and terrain, grew to become a part of the soil.

Release your flood waters unto these thirsty plains. Recollection is your only remedy.