Automatic, instamatic, not quick enough for your patience

lack thereof being expected from a riff raff with your history!

I should have turned you out of here ,  when the sun came down

You can’t spray at night, kills the customers

So now I’m in the pitiable position of begging a favor from you

And threatening you si  mul    tan eously  that if you refuse

You had better kill me now because I will hunt your children down

Before I kill you

People go back inside themselves under the wrapping

find their real self becoming immediately aware of itself

using its real needs beyond survival

to integrate with their normal conscious self

to make a more alert human being.

Anima takes off the mask and walks the earth in its true face.

Age makes your real self more accessible.

Mind becomes aware of its unstable ground and feels the hard interior

Realization of its unity with your “Normal Reality”

where it was born to expand in its time.

The sun on the tide, the peach on the bough, The blue smoke over the hill,

And the shadows trailing the valley-side, Make up the autumn day.

When the golden days arrive, With the swallow at the eaves,  Sighing at the latch with spring,

If death be good, Why do the gods not die? If life be ill, Why do the gods still live?

If love be naught, Why do the gods still love?

 If love be all, What should men do but love?

So it was with those I loved In the years ere I loved thee.

Many a saying sounds like truth, Until Truth itself is heard.

Many a beauty only lives Until Beauty passes by.

And the mortal is forgot In the shadow of the god.

Now the moon-white butterflies Float across the liquid air,  Glad as in a dream.

As, on a morn, a traveller might emerge From the deep green seclusion of the hills,

By a cool road through forest and through fern,

Little frequented, winding, followed long

With joyous expectation and day-dreams,

And on a sudden,

turning a great rock ,

dark with dripping water,

Behold the seaboard  of surf and sound with all the space and glory of the world

                                                          sappho

What a noble privilege is it of human reason to attain the knowledge of the supreme Being; and, from the visible works of nature, be enabled to infer so sublime a principle as its supreme Creator? But turn the reverse of the medal. Survey most nations and most ages. Examine the religious principles, which have, in fact, prevailed in the world. You will scarcely be persuaded, that they are any thing but sick men's dreams: Or perhaps will regard them more as the playsome whimsies of monkies in human shape, than the serious, positive, dogmatical asseverations of a being, who dignifies himself with the name of rational.

The whole is a riddle, an aenigma, an inexplicable mystery. Doubt, uncertainty, suspence of judgment appear the only result of our most accurate scrutiny, concerning this subject. But such is the frailty of human reason, and such the irresistible contagion of opinion, that even this deliberate doubt could scarcely be upheld; did we not enlarge our view, and opposing one species of superstition to another, set them a quarrelling; while we ourselves, during their fury and contention, happily make our escape, into the calm, though obscure, regions of philosophy.

                                                                              
                                                                                  Hume   1757

Africa, again, has supplied several fresh examples of a similar practice of regicide.   Among them the most notable perhaps is the custom formerly observed in Bunyoro of choosing every year from a particular clan a mock king, who was supposed to incarnate the late king, cohabited with his widows at his temple-tomb, and after reigning for a week was strangled.

The custom presents a close parallel to the ancient Babylonian festival of the Sacaea, at which a mock king was dressed in the royal robes, allowed to enjoy the real king’s concubines, and after reigning for five days was stripped, scourged, and put to death.

My old porch where I will die at last

sun is her fellow and I am her suitor.

birth is but a gathering of processes

something called a  life

matter is conscious

no matter to memory

sentient atom clusters

surrendering not in death

only in love

you are an antenna

pulling from me

tuning fork

trimming  noise

fundament of commerce

experience

 

 

 

 

will your biological framework

permit a window to infinity

or at least unboundedness

plus thought

not air but soup
covered in it
jelly mass
of a million nerve cells
imposing order on cell slaves
egg drop in soup

cognition leads us to decipher

a world  made of energy

all are energy

we are changing energy flows

harnessing energy

music simulates that energy

symbol of a matter less world

where thought

moves freely item to item

without exhaustion

inexhaustible

without trust we are prairie jackals

nature  no longer proper

rooting  for advantage

in the spirit of progress

leaving no empty space

Into the heart of a doomed land the stern warrior leapt

Carrying your unambiguous command like a sharp sword

He stood and filled the universe with death

Immediately dreams and gruesome visions overwhelmed them

With terror

Unexpected fears assailed them

Hurled down,

Some here some there, half dead

They proclaimed why it was they were dying

once a visitor

it never leaves but

rots the whole

mutinous stutter