Specialize or decay. For better or worse it has implanted it’s pieces into the heart of human functioning.
stripped to the bone
our ancesters made tool from stone and a ligament bind
yet now the majority are blind
bound to car and cell
making hellos in gifs
instead of making gifts
how did we know so much before building closing doors
maybe it’s not just a metaphor
Many poorer than the poor
survival skills left adrift for gifs
i need a knife & a raft,
If the computer craft crashed
it’d poke holes in the hull. Cull the current human draft.
We have drills now, they’re hard. Technology has bore into our cave. Digital cascades of beta waves carving decades of data days. Specialize or decay. For better or worse it has implanted it’s pieces into the heart of human functioning.
it wouldn’t be the computers these days that take down the majority of humanity, it would be loss of them.
but I know what love feels like now.
It is infinitely tender, threading, interlocking, release
It is wiser than we are
It already knows
true to everything.
It is only interrupted;
It can never be contained.
it seeps out of me when I am not looking
and into the heart of everything
Instincts entered intertwined
Instincts, entered, intertwined.
But through time exacting actions brought dissolution, disillusion, divine defied, defiled, declined.
Deft but blind. 191023 lf
But now and then, and once for a long while,
the right one pulled me in close,
I’ve made so many mistakes
it’s incredible as many amazing things have happened as they have.
To have been so blessed
as to feel bliss w/ someone
even for a while feels such a gift.
Maybe I was bound to mess it up
with my worry, my intensity, my perfectionism
which make most feel separate from me.
But now and then, and once for a long while,
the right one pulled me in close, tingled my skin
& the heart of my depth and my truth;
brushed up against me,
a comfort beyond words.
But I couldn’t sustain,
even though I wished to,
maybe because I wished to.
I pushed it, and questioned it;
by trying to form it,
with unnecessary need and
Once lit never truly extinguished
We are not born once
but in a million ways in a million moments
made & chosen, lost & broken
in a brilliant spectrum of
truth & denial,
of light & trial
Sudden or slow
shapes & makes us
ever different than the moment before.
Death is different
It never feels as complete as birth
The memory holds
It cradles the past in soft palms & fingertips
or in tight clutches
But never again wholly unknown
as the birth of a new connection
Neuron to neuron, pupil to pupil
once lit never truly extinguished.
190815 Aug. 2019 lgf
Time to return
to fully enhabiting myself.
To feel intensely had drifted
We had lost our charm
through petty words & actions
Sometimes we forgot
the daily wonderful,
the gift love is,
But the core remains
solid & aware
as it was in the beginning,
and ever shall be
I donated my old slippers because I didn’t like wearing them. I also thought I had a pair waiting for me at my other house. But when I journeyed there this weekend, found none and felt a faint tingle in the back of my mind, “oh yes, I donated them too because I didn’t love them”. I am trying to get better about shooing things out of my life that I don’t heartily enjoy. This new habit I’m trying to form has left me slipperless.
Shopping is fairly torturous to me, I avoid rambling around looking for things. I don’t have a lot of belief that anything I will cherish is manufactured in bulk. Thus, when I am disproven it is usually the result of a gift. Fortunately in this instance I stumbled on a work around.
I went looking in my yarn bin for materials to make a crocheted Trotro doll for my niece’s X mas present around the same time I was experiencing slipper loss and just starting to warm up the cabin by woodstove heat.
Years ago I did my student teaching in New Zealand and I still remember the day in the market that I bought some virgin wool. A woman named Nicole made me her confidante. She was in a quandary. She said she had started to raise a few sheep to have wool for her projects. She said she had been naive, she didn’t realize they would multiple so quickly. She promised herself when there were 15 she would find a solution to keep the numbers low. She repromised at 20. She said she now had 30 and couldn’t think of having the lambs slaughtered, but couldn’t kill the old ones either. What should she do, she asked me. Me, a twenty something from America, I had no idea what to say to her. Her wools were soft and varied. Creams to greys and browns and rich charcoal, I could imagine this beautiful flock and the impossibility of trying to decide between them. These are materials I can love. I bought a variety, and way more than this non-consumer could concieve of. When I got it home to my place in NZ n realized my bags were full and I was to depart in a few days I realized I would have to wear it to get it home. I crocheted it into a long sleeveless cloak with a big pocket and traveled home encompassed in the heart of the land of NZ. It stayed that way, for years, I had never intended to keep it in that form, but somehow it remained and went on many more travels with me. Finally a few years ago I set to the task of taking it apart and finally, they are anew
Sometimes moving is just a motion
Sometimes meaning lasts just a moment
Sometimes monotony is just a mirror
Reflecting the mindless motions we make to give meaning to moments.