Markism III

I was explaining to Mark that Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful and grateful for things. Like I am grateful to have a nice house to live in, food to eat, I'm grateful for Grandma, Grandaddy, and Nana. Then I asked him "what are you thankful for?" He replied "Hmmm, I'm grateful for... my liver and my small intestines!"

Forgetting...

In these places of comfort and tranquility sometimes I find myself wanting to stay here and realize that it too is a distraction even though it feels good. I go. I travel along ever more confusing and labyrinthine freeways, I wind my way thru to the center, there I am destined. I come to long lines, I must wait for hours on cue and wait my turn. Here I am harangued and badgered by more stuff, new stuff, stuff that I had never even experienced up to this point. I center myself, I try not to get distracted and forget. I can’t forget cause if I forget it’s all over for me. So I wait. It’s alright. I have done it before and I remember. Don’t forget. That is always the sure way to trouble. Forgetting. I become familiar with some of the others and I establish alliances with them to help me remember, and I in turn help them to remember. I have close friends with whom I take comfort in sitting and discoursing for many years. There are others who occasionally prick my interest and then find that later on they prick my nerves and cause me to forget my original intention and

I travel by boat, other times by air and still other times on the wings of electricity. Infinities come by unseen forces and yet there are times even still, there are times of forgetting, long times.

Lost Thoughts

Letting lose a fury—a pride of lions caught in a windstorm. Relinquishing froth from a teacup. If there was anything to hang a hat on what would it look like? If there were an answer what would it be?
If the question were relevant, relevant to what? To what matters? What matters?
Everything matters, that’s the problem. When we hunger for something it’s matter becomes heavy and matters more with each waking moment.
Each waking moment beckons a new lifetime and touches upon a history never written. Belonging to us, not me, not you, not them, not anyone but the all-pervading lust of time. Gobbling pain like m&m’s and feeding on our tears like a giant tear eating lava dweller.
Irritating calm.
Strikes at the heart of my angry beast whose dinner was destroyed by astronauts living on another planet in another galaxy far away. Drinking from the Holy Grail and wondering what it’s made of and where the hell did we find this thing? Let’s go out tonight. Where should we go? Let’s dance. No let’s eat a monster’s left eyeball.

I cringe at the thought of a repelling fear coaxed out of the fridge by paler beings.
Banging out dwellings from rock and plaster.
Hoping for a better place.
Relying on anger to propel us from place to place.
Relying, re-lying and lying to redo
Lying in wait

Lying

Covering the spot before I notice.
Fear baths her tears in remorse and regret.
Fear baths his longing in disgust and he pulls back the covers to reveal a reveling past taken at the stake of my bowels, my bowels on a stake in the middle of a field full of flowers. The stench of singed flesh floating from village to village giving all a sense of having been here before.

Standing quietly by a river or a lake wondering if it will engulf me and take me back to places I remember in my dreams and cover my fate with lace.
Interlacing the thoughts like a tattered tatting
Made by veiny, arthritic fingers
Shaking from the strain and exhausted by the taut strings
Held by wooden pieces.
Loathing this place we find ourselves in.

The Temple of Ashera

Do not be ignorant of me.
For I am the first and the last.
I am the honored one and the scorned one.
I am the whore and the holy one.
I am the one who has been hated everywhere,
and the one who has been loved everywhere,
I am the one whom they call Life,
and whom you have called Death.
I am the one whom they call the Law,
and you have called lawlessness.
The Thunder, Perfect Mind

yoga

I had a student approach me recently and say, "I am a christian and my faith doesn't permit me to do yoga, so when you do yoga would it be alright if I don't participate?" I replied, "I didn't do any yoga." She says, "you know, the day we did the breathing stuff, it just made me uncomfortable" I said "Do you not usually breathe??"

What do you do with that??? Do Christians not breathe???

Fear is an amazingly powerful thing and what a brilliant way to harness people.

Markism II

I was reading Dr. Suess's Oh, The Places You'll Go to Mark last nite. When we got to the part about tarrying in the Waiting Place I went down the long list of things one must wait for, Mark then adds:

"Or waiting for the dinger to ring when you're in a time out."

Yes, Mark, that is right, that can be the most painful wait indeed!

Did I tell you he is three??