Kamton's blog

home in myself

wandering, pondering, poem making, breathe taking.

amd of what?
of nothing, tis the truth
as it comes to me.

no thing, and when tangled up with life forms creations,
we only spin in our places,
our judgmenst all we have left,
and if we make any at all,
we live with that pain.

It is indeed a choice,
love it, or judge it, in any event, changing it is a moot thing.

hurt the babies for my sorry ass? wouldnt think of it.

sleep will work till the door opens up.

don't let the world leave without me...

welcome to my own trains of thought.

 

Hamlet, thee slackard, thy art...

Hamlet, thee slackard,
thy art my mirror,
a one of a multitude
a'dweller o' the Inn
'longside  side  the road,
t'ward  top of the hill.

Dear perceval,
no less Bill Shakes
plenteously faceted Loves,
epiphany brought lover
taskmaster, bar none,
a stranger, angel and demon all.

what truths we seek,
from a jaded palate
which is never sate
are the ones we don't know,
and seeking never finding.

among the mysts,
spring forth rouges
from beyond this one would see,
nay they were born of me.

Rabbits of the warren,
harvey and baker, bugs and velev'teen,
suicidal, and brune,
like stones in the path
to the windmills i charged.

white rabbit, nay, but Alice on squares,
'twas it a a heart of darkness?, thine  eyes couldt see.?

spirit abundant, gone made a right
projected images from the gods alight.

decade's package of moments,
t'wer filled more than  norm,
since mother lost, and babies born.
and sister, gone mad, after a life of disuse,
another child, graced presence,
under this roof.

the joy  not apparent,
was lost for a time,
in looking for the present,
super lime.  .

Not an unusual tale,
but one with a twist,
the small percent of people so blessed,
to see the union of God and the technium,
to see God in all things, even in man

I'd given away my goodies,
thinking I'd none
waiting for a horseman
and indeed he did come

he was here all along,
and sweet Sethlans too.
I could'na see them
for what they were worth,
the ego of expectation blinded the truth

and in the pain of creation,
simple phrases let run loose,
Joan  again at the stake of suffering,
clinging to ideal,
while she herself was God.

'twas a wild and exciting ride,
through the legions of literature
Stepphenwolves on the Grand Mesa
Thor throwing down spears.

lost in a gellery of rouges,
not all of mine devise,
said Booble , and Lore,
the Spurt and the Scriv.
Tom Traupert in marriage,
a clown of mauve hair

from the predatory jabs of insinuation not owned,
to an  irem, and a glitch,
efforts at mirrors nixed
if one is na'looking to  see oneself, 

swing open the doors to the cellar below,
release the prisoners so they may grow,
who knows what aired they'll do,
nay carry on as babes anew.

mayhap merely carve new paths on the hills to the Mount.

 

take the poet's hand and climb

The ascent

'twas in your days you know,

that 15 scribed did so,

contrive to bring, its told,

the whisper of a snowflake

to bear upon the world.

Not through screaming pulpits,

nor through congressional rule,

would the people who could

take up the reigns,

of their destiny

Nay, lost in distraction

of overwhelming thought

the place where God would enter

was locked near shut

We've gone before, says We,

we've said our piece in great measure,

been killed and pummeled

Hipocracy's hand of love, paid on account,

but the red ink lingers, in rainbow colors

the promise as was spoke,

of rain and rainbows,

of coming again

yet how will you know,

lest you look and observe.

Look and observe what is right here before you

look into your home, where that creation springs forth

see the smallest to largest,

and the space in between

and there you will find me

the voice of your dreams

say Nay, like the knights of crusades,

in their slaying said no to God's worth cause

to stand against destruction

and the zealots who pretend to be Cod

say Nee, as those, of the knights who say Nee,

outrageous comedy to hang your hat on

laughter not tears the drive of the force

the source, as its called, the flow of the

Ki

lay down your arms, to the defense of the day

lay down your fears to the moments that be

arrest your own ego, if it does not serve,

the judge of your self, the shape of your heart.

I beacon thee, as I have been so,

by words a fancy, in love, forsooth

in one stage of love 'twas begun.

Another emerged like through a confidence course.

I call you too, to follow my furrow,

plowed by the sweat of my brow,

through dark rooms of ego,

and chakra pointing out

for the sake of the dawn, the sake of the born.

No easy mentor was the one I searched for

no easy task was the one 'twas laid down

in secret corridors of hidden forum rooms

did he poke me and prod me and show me myself.

And yet, I denied the view so afforded,

of motivations untrue to my heart and my soul

of action taken for no useful employ,

a child's tank engine example enough

the message may be found

emblazoned on the cloud,

in the book that are written

with more words than you know

yeah, the truth shall set you free

listen to the truth, for its closer than you know,

its right here and now,

in the pause, in the senses

see the curve on the bough

of the tree just beyond

the twist of the branch, that some forces have grown

the divine measure of the length of your arm,

and the ratio of the turn of Helix

when compared to the rainbow.

Dwell you shall in the place you were born

the moment, which is now, now, now,

delight in the experience of life as it is,

for we are experiencing, and not machines,

or are we then, lost in our crippling thoughts.

Say you that the sparking sunrise, the glory it brings be dark?

Say you that the loving ardor of a husband or wife

be some twisted workshop of a devil

what loss you have suffered in denying creations gift

what Lord on high would suffer you

we've taken mens words for the righteous deeds,

as you may in fact be swayed by these;

it is in offering you the path to your truth that comes

from the ink and pen on this page

it is in the sensible care of the children,

it is not in the ugly states of escapism

its in the freedom of expression,

nay of the doctrines of silence

its in the reasonable efforts of the experience of life.

Take a journey, he said,

to the outside of yourself,

look back upon the life that you have,

and see that you are still breathing,

and when it is painful to go on,

lie told by one your self,

die to that person, lay her to rest,

go on as another, who need not t'be

prisoner, crying on a bed

look beyond yourself,

see! what corner needs sweeping,

lose no sight of the corner of you,

it is inverting the usual

think beyond, rather than in

live within, rather than beyond.

Our flawed operating system,

that “windows XP” in the heart of ourselves,

This system needs update, in kind

Disable the egoic filter which paints it black

new experiences of creations unfolding

grant us freshness and love

called Ego, an ancient role it was given

when primates, or Adam, struggled for survival.

Are we not more than those now?

no matter your view,

'tis the only the ego cares which one you choose.

Go ask who would I be,

if thoughts of differentiation nay be?

In the secrets of the hive, of the honey bee,

yea, busy farm o' ants,

ther're other ways to get our job done,

the key inside us, tarpaulined

till the needed time of unveil.

Tis now, and now, to throw back the shroud

of seperation, and differential, and being left out

you're part of this thing, you just didn't know it

yet some where deep you've known it,

you just didn't know who it was, was calling

it was not the “lord of the rings” with the loudest call,

It was not the

it was God as some call him, all along,

and its the switching on of the DNA to hear the call.

Inside you, is you, a part of the all, apart of the

It comes as anything which makes perfect sense,

which comes in spoons ful of sugar,

even, when seems no beauty arising,

there! the break in the walk

see blades of perfect grass bloom forth.

Is there no perfection in the will of that shoot?

Seeing the beauty in something,

bring it forth in some thing,

bring it forth in all things,

and that shall be the plague of the times

it shall be that the change that is coming,

has begun already, and will grow,

the waking of souls to

the Good the True and the Beautiful.

Daphne writes also

Hello!

 

 I have been to Victory, in Aussie Land... a capital place,  I must say! Pity, such a shortage of monkeys there... I was just saying to my dear Avelyard, "They should bring in more of those dancing monkeys with the little tin cups and quaint hats!" How I would love to make a donation to a cawse such as that!

 

Oh, yes, to see those monkeys beg, even as they look in the window, I suppose one might get offended, if one didn't understand that it was JUST a teeny tiny monkey, after alll, and his petit little peter should never be of any concern for disruption!

 

But you know those provincials, always an axe to grind with them... I remember I saw one of them one day, with an axe and dragging a monkey aways out back and through the fields,  behind the conservatory...what a frightful sound rang out across the meadow, I think they could have heard it clear to Stirling...and after a time, I saw the monkey and that pious reverend butalikes, removed from the encounter, and there was something a matter with the dear reverend... he was grasping his stomach with great concern... I supose he must have come down with a sudden case of the vapors and decided to bleed himself... oddly enough, That simeon he had brought, escaped his grasp and imagine! He ran ran up the tree beyond the help's quarters and entered the main house through a missing slate... but before he disappeared for good, he turned about and threw something to the dogs, which had picked up his sent, thinking a good fox hunt was on....two walnuts, it would seem!

 

I was delighted to see that walnuts were growning on the farm!  I immediately summoned that noel and that nigel, for I favored a nice minced meat pie with my meal! sadly, those ones came back empty handed, and I never saw the monkey again...

 

I had a very odd dream that same night... the Master had not come to me in many a year, and as I recall, that night he did lift my sheet and my shift, as I would allow, and I lay there,... shorty there after, from my very throat came an unexected and demonic scream of delight, further, I saw a glowing cobalt light by the bes side...... Pity, I have not seen it since, and in due consideration of the event, I suspect it was a case of the vapors such that the reverend had been so afflicted with....

 

well that is all for now...feel free to post my correspondence on the square for any who may feel as unfortunate as poor I do at the time... the better to allay any concerns for my welfare...

 

truly yours in Spirit, 

 

Daphne

 

;)

Boatload

Okay, so i am resigned to the boatload of work at hand. 

Those people

Those people

In creation, I have found that my greatest motivation is when I am creating with someone in mind. Perhaps that is the height of narcissism, perhaps it is trying to play up to someone, or perhaps it is just that the thought of the person opens up avenues of introspection and perspective. For whatever the basis of the creation, I accept full critique of my peers.

Sometimes, we can hear our family member's described by other people, in general terms. We all have characteristics of personality, and someone has done the categorization of those traits, and in that regard, organized them according to what would seem a statement of evolution.

However, in a less academic way, sometimes we call it stereotyping, and paint it in a bad light, but often there is usefulness in understanding what personalities you are dealing with on a casual basis. The key may be to keep that delineation to yourself, or at least among other persons involved in study of people.

At one point in my recent life, before the events really started to crank up for the family, we were enjoying a beautiful afternoon to a friends lake house: under blue skies and in sparkling clear water, we swam and tossed back just enough refreshing adult beverages to further warm the soul and lunbricate the laugh box. As it happens, a dear friend of mine, who was finishing medical school, was giving tell of his routine in the final months of his education.

Of course we all like to know how people fare in the emergency room, Stephen having done his duty from an EMT standpoint, and my sister's in their time as nurse “floats”.

Our young doctor-to-be bemoaned the part of medicine many of us forget, “those people” who come in seeking drugs to feed their addiction. Even half buzzed, my head must have swung even a little, the subject resonating like the pipes of the Wanamaker Grand Court Organ,

Nancy.

Of course, she was one of those people, and our thoughts of where she was going to go in this addiction scared the shit out of me. Had she gotten to the point of psychosis that summer? I don't recall the exact time line, but when she lost her job due to  doubling up on the patch and the depth of medicine intoxication, I had visions of the extremes she might go to: tuning tricks on south street, swapping crack for fentynal? Her moral foundations were never of any substance, and I knew if we somehow didn't manage to see her through to getting off of it, we surely would be seeing something rather ugly emerge in her life.

I was seeing it from a perspective of detached sibling: one who had pulled the plug on the relationship several years ago due to the rampage side of her bipolar spin-down.

As the eldest, Helen had more sibling affection left than I did by this point in our lives. I was able to let go a lot, over several chunks of time, but at this juncture, I must have been freshly injured; that My 5 year old didn't know who she was indicated her level of concern for my children.

Helen was trying her best to help her get some perspective on her life, but there was so much shadow material right at the surface of her being that almost any conversation had the potential to erupt into a tirade. But she was so lonely, so sad, I pictured her every time this Chris Issac song played...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xyb2I0NgrYw

Helene tried to offer a clue to the feminine beauty that she possessed, yet denied, out right thwarted in her carriage of self. She was carrying only a few extra pounds, nothing overly grotesque, but it was one area that would have increased her attractiveness, and offered great physical release of the pain she was accruing.She hung her head for a moment, and then the explosion... 

“Get the FUCK out of my house, you fucking bitch... who the fuck do you...”

Well, intelligent Reader, the full drama of that unwholesome event is really best left to the imagination. Suffice to say, Helen left. In our family, we have only recently come to understand that verbal abuse is abuse indeed. Abuse in deed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lRcQZ2tnWeg

I had cut her off at some point, jettisoning guilt, coining or recognizing the term of “vampire relationship” of people who contribute nothing, and take whatever they can. And never awaken to the fact that what they seek, they only have to give, in order to receive. If at times I began to feel the shimmer of guilt, I only had to remember her telling me, that as kids, she with 6 years on me, she would punch me while I slept.

If my dear Doctor is in some projected way holding my hand in this paragraph, i wonder who it shall hold it  when i transcribe the diary. There is a diary, or maybe was a diary. It may yet be on one of my shelves, lost for the while, i don't recall if i kept it: a diary i have not yet had the courage to read, for it speaks of  the story of the men on the roof.

the cause and drive

Is this my part? the questions, the questions. what was being afforded her? Is there really any story here?

she placed her directional control in the hands of the things that arose in her awareness: in her natural awareness, now, as a change, as opposed to the seeking awareness in which she had been so long a slave.The natural arisings which came as a result of operating in the structure of life in which she found herself, confident that what God, or to put it in more personally  desirous  semantics, what creation was bringing, in her internal and external awarenss would be fodder in good measure for  whatever should be.

will there be a work to provide gudiance or insight to others on some topic or other? Perhaps yes, or perhaps no, in which case the wrok she had done would be done in love all the same.

There were two key theories  that Ken Wilber spoke of that she seemed to identify with: A. the myth of the given, and B. the projection of the self.
A.
experiencing the spirit through the lenses you wear, lenses which are ground by the exposures you have had in your life and which you suroound yourself with.

B. losing the sense of completeness of ones self, thinking that another person is the answer to your dreams, that some missing part of you is found in another person, and attributing this holy person with the characteristics which you really posses.

and anyway, the gestalts would be fun to play with anyway. 

the man inside

You seem so familiar.

Of course.

I think you have always been with me. Your the one who I dream about, and always have, that perfect lover who'se face looks so much like my own.

Yes, this is the face I have always had.

Who are you?

You know who I am. I save damsels in distress.

Where are you?

Does it matter?

No except for the fact that your not here.

It was like a dream I was in, the waking realization that the perfect lover, my soul mate, was finally at the other end of my communication. Buried somewhere in time and space, and moving along other tracks, I glimpsed his presence from time to time. He came to me one night, again in a dream....

among the oak forests of a rugged green land, was the Inn where he waited for her. Removed from all semblance of present time, a step back, or perhaps forward into a world of base need, splendid in the natural way, clear in the distraction-less undertaking and participation in life's fullness.

Smoke wisps from the hearth suggested that warmth and sustenance were soon at hand as she removed from Kalle. He was also keen on the possibility of rest and a full belly. He raised and lowered his head several times, snorting once, reigns jingling, in affirmation perhaps, she unstrapped a saddle bag and slung it over her shoulder. Walking to the southern side of the neat little inn, a boy came round to take Kalle from her.

Stable and hay, if you would, please, and a some oats in the morning, perhaps?. Thank you young man. And she handed the boy a ripe delicious pear, grown on her own farm, from the pouch.

Thank you, miss...

Reflections of the store front

Her "shrink" as she even calls herself, said to her one day, "I think your childhood was far more difficult than you want to acknowledge. "

What is one to do with that? is it not best to look at things in the best possible light? Is it not more helpful to recall the ear;y morning bustling of Willie opening the store, putting on coffee and Barkering to his customers, New York Queens type of bantering at its most exuberant, in contrast to remembering the screaming and yelling that went on the night before when Maxie couldn't find a checking account deposit slip?

 The bright shining mornings when Willie was the quintessence of  happy and welcoming general store owner, quick with a complement or witty crack, always on stage, and always willing to help anyone who needed a hand. A ready conversationalist, an opinion giver, a sparing partner for his  Becky, the cook-slash waitress, in the daily drama over in the attached  coffee shop.  

  Is it better to remember both sides of it all? or none of it? the looking back into what was, the remembrance of things past, can it serve a purpose?

Her Step mother sent a lovely e card in honor of her mother's birthday: a store front awakening in the morning, milk spilling kittens, floral arrangements, love and light. In all of the work, there is light and love. shall we just pick out the faded blooms and smell the roses which at there?

on the roof

Gnarls Barkley - Crazy Piano Cover By David Sides

This may be the work worth doing: the revealing of the problems associated with the use of the Fentanyl patch for treating a diagnosis of fibromyalgia.

It may be of use to note how we saw the "disease" progress in our sister and daughter. Seeing the things that were brought into her awareness and how they grew legs perhaps that might be useful for someone to read.

I am of course, concerned with the ability to separate myself from the subjective experience of it. I also question if there is any merit in using the story of my sister's life and death  as a facet of my own awakening, if in deed i can consider myself enlightened. 

 It was after that summer and her passing when my own stuff began. I can say that at least it was not dark, holding up the basis of the myth of the given. 

What would constitute sensationalist projection, and how can it be recognized?

With the windows open when they rose, she said that the house would be cooled down for the day, changing out. the warm air that built through the day before. When the house matched the coolest part of the morning, they would close it up again, against the promise of the first katy-did.

Middle June, and the kids were all about beach shoes for school. They were running down the driveway, in them to wait for the bus, running because it is a driveway that beckons for running feet in its long straightness.

The quiet time of the morning was emerging, first peaceful cuppa to be had now that the peanut butter was spread and cereal bowls emptied. The lengthening days promised that in a few days, mornings would change.

She heard the phone's tones going off, but once again, the receiver was uncradled, and teasing her to find it, vague melodies of chime seemed non-directional to her ears, muffled also in a sofa cushion or beneath an errant beach towel. She sprinted up the steps to where she knew one phone was for sure.

On her sleigh bed she answered my call.

“Good Morning Carole, Its your Daddy...”

I crooned.

“Good morning, Daddy, how are you?” coyly responding was my youngest daughter.

“Ah, well, we had a tough night. Your sister had us up half the night. I hate to bother you, but I think that your should come down so I can talk to you and Helen together about Nancy.”

“okay, I can be right down, is that what you would like.”

Yeah, yeah, Helen is already walking down. Thanks Baby. I hate to bother you, but, well, I'll tell you more when you get here.”

“no problem, I'll see you soon.”

Helen walked in almost as soon as the phone was cradled.:Good Morning”

“Well Good Morning. Nice to see you up with the chickens.”

“well us chickens get chased out of bed by the cats. I've been up since 5, what time did you get up?” Helen was always an early riser, and played up the affectionate teasing- back. “did you save me any coffee?”

“help yourself, there is some there but hurry before Marie gets it. I'll make more. “

I felt beat, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do for your family.

“Carole is on her way down here, so I better make a lot.”

while I did the process of making more, “now I'm not going to make this like you do up on that hill, you will be able to stir it, because it will be short of that mud you make at your house.”

“what's wrong with my mud? Helen giggled.

Looking out the window over the sink, where Maxine had once placed all kinds of statuettes, and Marie now kept them dusted off, looking out past the Garden that was now in full bloom with Iris, and daffodil, an peonies, Helen noted her youngest sister's green SUV pulling in.

“here she is now”

“Carole?”

“Yes Carole. Not Nancy.”

“Good That Nancy better be up at her place sleeping it off.”

We both watched Carole step out of the car, sneaker clad, early summer tan warm on her athletic legs, new balance shorts short, under a tie dye shirt. She brought her own cup also.

“Hello the house” Carole called up through the window.

“Come in, come in”

“Your most welcome, for sure”

“and hows my baby?” I ran over to her, and pinched her cheek softly in greeting. I love all my girls, and bubbling over for them is just what I do.

“I'm good, it's such a beautiful morning. I am actually glad I got out of the house, maybe I'll get something done on an early start”

“Yeah, well, I got news for you, I'm not planning on any early start. I am planning an early stop. Marie didn't even get up, and I'm going back down once you two get the story.” “My 81 year old bones can't take the wild hours that you young ones can go on with.”

The look of happy morning was giving way on my young daughters face to concern as she looked at me.

“Yeah, I can see that. You look whipped. Pray tell what she pulled last night.”

“oh, boy,” sarcasm laden, Helen: “wait till you hear this one.”

“do I want to?”

“No you don't, but you will anyway. Your sister Nancy is in bad shape upstairs. She spent the night down here with Shawn because she said there were people up on the roof of her house talking. Men.”

“Ooohh boy.”

“then she gets down here, and she's still hearing them up on the roof. She said she could hear them all the way down here.”

“She had herself convinced that she heard them form her own house, but that they must have followed her here. She was running around with flashlights looking up at the roof, yelling at them to get down and go away, saying they were running over to the other side when she would look for them on this side.” “she's flipped her wig.”

“good Lord.”

“we almost had the cops here.”

“That effin- bitch”: Helen

Carole's face sunk, but she remained quiet.

We all looked at each other, lost for words, the depth of the implication of the newly pronounced psychosis not lost on any. We've been carried along on the path of her bipolar illness for most of her life, and while disturbing, we were neither surprised or supplied with answers for any of Nancy's circumstances. Providing support, in ways each might be allowed, was the best we could do.

“Where is Shawn? School? “ :Carole

I was happy to report that I had just dropped him off, and she was out of my hair for the time being.

“She's been pretty spaced out lately. Helen and I have been talking about that medication she is taking. And you know I've been concerned about what's going on with Shawn. Art said she missed picking him up from work last weekend, and he drove him home after midnight.” “ I tried calling her but she wont answer her phone, and she is sleeping anytime I stop over.”

“Well, she's wearing two of those damn patches, of course she is spaced out. That medication is the stuff they give to N stage cancer patients.” Voice rising as she spoke... that was Helen's nursing indignation coming out.

“She better go see her doctor about this.”

“yeah, right, she wont go to get her teeth fixed for free, what makes you think she's going to get her lazy ass over to see the doctor for something which might be caused by her feel good patch?”

“she claims she is in pain.”

“we are all in pain, we don't all call it Fibromyalgia”