Time Machine

We begin at twelve, in the the library,
Where I ask me to remember me
So that later, we can pick up my fifth grade dreams of solo sailing the sea

Then, at twenty-two, on the beach
I’d tell me not to forget my inner security
Which I am fated to externalize and lose twice more
For it was never instilled in me

Until now, returning to thirty three
Where I tell myself I am equally free,
To pursue beauty,
Knowing I am still me
And will always be

Do You Believe in Yourself

I feel there is a pervasive unconscious intelligence guiding everything

Making painful due sacrifices,
As in loves lost, and the pain that programs us

I have been given space,
I am alone as to why

Bruce Lee said it,
Actions, not words

Time tells
And the all in all serves something…

Why we are here
I have my techno-spiritual philosophies

And I can seek liberation –
But not from my will

“A man can do as he wills, but not will as he wills.”

We can follow our will,
Obeying our self-guidance-systems

But we cannot direct it:
It directs us

For, we are not merely computers;
We are specific programs…

Our hardware is our software
But there’s more than determinism –

Although Spinoza was correct,
Nature is god:

Genetics are just parameters, code:
We each have to fulfill our own

But the question is,
Will you believe in it?

So, do you believe in yourself?

So then: do You; believe in yourself.

;

“Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.”

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

… And Things Do Happen

…I never saw myself the way other people saw me…
No matter how little I had, I always felt I was worthy…

Until they didn’t – and left,
And I felt worthless, alone

A cycle of getting recycled,
Repeated, 3-Peated

… Did it to myself,
Wanted to be loved for my worst qualities…

… and as the dust settles in hindsight,
How clear things become after the years…

Maturity, after all,
Being a more accurate perspective

That’s all – rivers and rapids…
We are often innacurate

… Blind for long journeys
Because we just don’t beleive…

…The world isn’t how we assume;
Different versions of the same program run on different OS’s…

… Your OS is superior in some ways,
Cripplingly behind in others

… But our updates always come in their time… don’t they…
As experience and distance grant – fate

… Oh how it helps,
Immensely; soul redeemingly

… Because when you learn how the game works,
You actually wannna play it – you actually can: well too…

… for, what else is there to do /
Feeling sorry for yourself gets old, hikikomori, puer…

… Butthurt because the world doesn’t see you like you see you…
Well… that’s actually your very problem…

… You need the eyes of the world…
Not the other way around…

… So you learn to grow up, late… like a lot…
Learn that dad shit

The stuff you’ll teach the kids,
The stuff you preserve like fire…

The positivity,
The optimism, the strength….

The confidence,
The acceptance

… Your power,
… Your weakspots

…no regrets… no grudges
… no time for either…

… And finally, the pursuit of your goddamn motherfucking potential,
(Yes, it really was always there)… you crazy, brave, long suffering bastard…

… Not giving a shit about the mundance
Working hard, otherworldly… always, all ways

Experiencing delight…
Having fun plans

A willingness to adjust to your dreams…
And to follow them like you’re brand new at 33…

… You’re finding the truth,
And it’s setting you free…

We need our anxieties…
Our pains faced make us see….

This is the journey,
… And things do happen…

For humans… like Wolves,
Also rise and fall

A Wild Dream

I had a wild dream,
I was on a bus, careening out of control, down a hill
I was, unknown to them, there to help,
An IDF special forces soldier sat beside me
And finally, we arrived in a valley
Children ran out, gnome-like, after us, as we filled into the grassy lowlands –
They smeared my hand with a blue paste, containing a psychedelic –
We were all being drugged
I wiped the paste off, warned the rest,
Then reinforcements came,
There was a hostage situation –
I grabbed the gun and shot the man
Then the leaders came,
I was a hero, yet they wanted me to accept their terms
To surrender
I asked for paper and pen,
Wrote down terms contrary to these global ends
And instead of accepting – I denied
And they wanted me dead…
I ran, I escaped
Jumped through wooden shutters
And I hung on a cliff, clung
There, a soldier came, with the high ground,
I grabbed him, throwing him over me, into the abyss
Climbing up, I ran to the back of a truck,
Driven by some unknown Krishna,
From whom I grabbed a shotgun,
Aimed toward the stage, and fired
They looked as I flew past,
Screaming out,
“Liberty and justice for all!”

And I woke up…
Amazed, knowing,
That god, consciousness, energy sees everything and into everything, sees all things,
And into their heart, bears witness to their inner character,
Where humans think they are alone.

It’s Just a Character Trait

Time to be sad every day,
The inner-child needs it
Time to lay in the dark and listen to the songs that hurt so good;
For we are sad – and not pitiably –
It’s just a character trait
“Not some broken thing”,
It’s who we are, who anyone is,
After enough time on earth…
When you’ve loved and lost enough
And still, you love too fucking much
There’s just a sadness only you know:
Sorrow
And it demands a lifetime of mourning,
For it must be lived.

Jules, Grendel, and Bubba

In every adult there lurks a child —
an eternal child, something that is always becoming, is never completed, and calls for unceasing care, attention and education, that is part of the human personality which wants to develop and become whole.

~ Carl G. Jung

The dragons were handed down:
Demons men before me didn’t slay

“Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains” –
Not quite, Rousseau

As I happen to know, vice is handed down,
Addictions run in families like rivers

And when the tide is high,
They overrun the banks and wash away all that is

And these pathologies, these addictions, these deficiencies, go deeper than chemicals,
They are attachment patterns

Love is taught,
By example

Imprinted upon us,
And sometimes we are left with a depression

Rather than an impression,
So life is like a game of chirades

Where we walk around oblivious to our own disfunctions [sic],
But find them in others instead

When Jung said, “there is no coming to consciousness without pain,”
He knew, you only get wet in the rain

And when you’ve suffered long enough,
You’ll come in

Bitter and cold and shaking,
But you’ll come in

And if you follow the keepers of the light,
You’ll find the keys hidden by the pharisees

And if you look within, vis a vis these keys,
You’ll have come into contact with a few creatures of permanent validity:

Shadow / the dark side:
A hairyman; iron john; grendel; edward scissorhands

Anima or animus (soul) / the bridge:
Inward self of opposite gender

And at the inmost…

Inner child / the light side:
Pure light; innocence; vulnerability

Each of these energies has many gifts,
Which you must utilize and interact with, but I say one above the others…

Yes, you need shadow and anima to be whole,
Between light and dark, masculine and feminine…

But without inner child integration into your psyche,
You can not have inner peace

And I’m no PHD;
Poet, but take it from me:

Inner child has the eyes to see,
Inner insight

Path to the light,
Ways to engage shadow healthily

Playfulness,
Anima needs – and ‘needs’ is the word

For inner child knows your needs,
But inner child also knows your wants…

We’re getting into some good magic here,
But there’s a catch

Inner child has long been neglected,
Ignored –

Which is not to say shadow and anima are without their wounds

They are very wounded,
But inner child must be freed, cared for, loved, adorned – firstly

Inner child knows the wounds of the shadow
And of anima too

But they know not the pain of the innmost,
Wounded, vulnerable, neglected inner child

Because if you’re going to be whole, if this life is to be worthwhile,
You need to spend more time with inner child than never or every once in awhile

Inner child needs safe space to play,
And a narrative myth formed by Self to make life a game

Self we have not touched on,
For this is the outer and I deal in the inner

But I say Self is the sum,
As balanced or imbalanced – between shadow, anima, and inner child – as we are

Do you see how useless words like ego are?
When we can touch, talk to, and listen to the wounded parts of what we are?

We are an animal: shadow
We are repressed expression, sexuality: anima
We are a divine being: inner child

And none of us are without these individual pieces of our selves,
None of us are free from mortal coil

Only we never have a map,
Are never taught the multiplicity of our being

And this is mostly Jung,
But it’s also everything I know

For I’m learning to dialogue with and integrate these parts of myself into me
Wolf Waldo Black, Lawrence Black:

My Anima is Jules
(After Julian Casablancas, also: pun on jewels)

My Shadow is Grendel,
(The beast in Beowolf)

My Inner Child is Bubba
(A child nickname from my Mom)

So this is me:
Jules, Grendel, and Bubba

We’re quite the trinity,
Holy you might say

When we work together,
Neglecting not another

Communicating through Self,
Me, running queries to each of these human softwares through the command-line of self-inquiry

Interacting with each,
Allowing each part to express safely through me

Because when I only listen to self,
I break my heart again, hurt them

And for Jules, Grendel, and Bubba – for me,
I’m sorry, but I can’t do that (robot voice)

As a postscript:

Quit looking for your “higher self” – if something or someone is ‘higher’ or ‘above and beyond’ your inner child, your priorities are fucked; look within or be without. The light has always been within you, rather it is you that have been without [yourself].

Okay, Okay

family loves me, friends love me,
everything is okay
have a house, bills are paid,
everything is okay
work and food on plate,
everything is okay
have a mission, a vision, a purpose,
everything is okay
am young l.cohen, young p.roth, young j.steinbeck – have exes,
books in progress,
everything is okay,
got poetry, renter’s insurance
everything is okay,
no court case, no warrants,
everything is okay,
am alive and well, take many vitamins, probiotics,
everything is okay,
warm clothes, soft bed,
everything is okay,
home again, in my head,
everything is okay.

And everything is going to be okay, okay.

Soothesayer

It’s a night for a poem,
For my soul aches for petty pretty things,
And I can’t find a song to soothe,
Not even ‘The Only Living Boy in New York’,
So I’ll be the soothesayer,
To comfort my star wars bones
On this planet alone
Searching for my kind,
And they’re all so detached;
Our parents fucked up love for all of us,
And their parents for them,
Most will do it again
All for a chase of the love they never had,
That’s what makes people dysfunctional,
For the functional are secure
And a misery of rejection for the dejected:
Contrasted with a misery of codependence as escape;
No center balance,
Person is falling into void;
Self-esteem destroyed
The hunger is real,
Thirst pales;
We truly want for them,
To fill us in
Where we cannot be seen,
We grasp into a vacuum:
Space:
Our own emptiness:
Seeing itself in them,
And we are so drawn in,
Lost in them;
The moth burns in the flame
We never win in this dark mirror game;
For there is light in a being of light,
Otherwise, none.

unconditional

outcomes and incomes,
and what the judge says
who knows
i just have these damn wants
these sufferings
these attachments:
the things i count on,
they whittle at me in uncommon hours
even after i gave up escapes;
tired of being a dopamine fiend,
i traded fear for calm and trust,
(but i still need to know what the judge says…)
i still wonder about my chariot, still wonder about this christmas…
oh how tiring it is to care,
to look at the calendar, to want to be sure;
“man is born free and everywhere he goes he is in chains…”
and still, there remains no liberation in a discourse, a treatise, a pamphlet, a goal,
only in the present moment, in me, accepting myself with love:
no matter what, unconditional.