My measure tilted again — this time in the propposite direction. Which real person am I?
‘I am the one that is me,’ the fish chimed. He’s been climbing up so high — the big boy. He needs a little snack.
Universe tickled forward. A grin, and Rāo returning. We fed it what it needed and moved on this time, avoiding the allegorical death again.
Again we’ve begged for our branch to remain. We’ve worked to make it so. I cannot bleat anymore. Or won’t I: Southeast of the capital, among the deer?
‘I wanted you to do as I…
Do not pry. Ganesha is so unique, don’t you think?
One of the more interesting things I have noticed within our collective allegorical framework is how we turn a blind eye to that which tends to upset us or our understanding of our selves. We think that growth or change upsets us when what tends to upset us more than growth and change is stagnation.
So I have been thinking about my own stagnation.
Introspection has its pains, sure, but the perks one locates therein — if one is open to finding them all as though they were Pokémon! …
I’ve been waiting until now
to say anything about what it is,
but now I am the me that I had been.
Outside, the night produces a white gazelle who casts no shadow. Her obverse self understands and reflects no offspring.
I could make myself happy if I wanted to do so. But the happiest place is where one may experience all things equally all of the time. And, one cannot simply experience the infinity of the sexual experience at all times:
There is not enough infinity for that.
We sat outside again, someone suggested. The morning thought. The land…
As I crossed a bridge of dreams a cat, a man, and two women appeared at a temple of dawn. A Blind willow sang of its wonderland before Owl brought a spring snow to an end of a world.
The cat, the man, and the two women held a key. They waited for years before hearing waves. And when they did, the Girl of Izu danced. We cried in the boat, holding onto one another underground.
There is one who can save you: It is you.
We scoop up a handful of water and we demonstrate its depth. The net…
Yes, yes, yes! Wonderful work, Chris! Thank you so much for sharing your poem and your statement following it.
I'm 1,000% with you as to the conscious nature of the planet itself. I intuit that the planet maintains its own consciousness through the consensus created by virtue of the existence of those who live on and within it who possess consciousness - animals, plants, life. That's what my hunch has been telling me for months now, and I'm working on articulating that hunch through allegory over time in my own works.
Have a wonderful day!
“Sa we try it now?” She inquired with a dash of dare. Her eyes met my plumage and glistened again and again.
“The question is larger than we think, or so we think. And yet [an open pitfall] it’s really not,” he said, remembering himself before proceeding further.
Raven screamed at me from ∞
Don’t go there! What are you doing? Red Alert!
I know what a guide really is: It’s the whole problem and its solution. Guidance is the only thing that does not require thought. Yet you must think.
My plumage turns every color and none…
We’ve been nesting on this branch for a while now. We like the way the sun hits it in the morning. It’s just right for us here; southeast of the capital, among the deer.
We actually moved from the north exclusively because this branch was better in just about every way you could imagine, although we rely primarily on the kindness of strangers to maintain it. Well, we don’t know them yet, but they’re there supporting us for some reason or another. There’s something they want that we have, though we have no inkling what it could be.