and the full moon continues….

now it’s a thing.  i need to listen to krisha das, every morning and night.  particularly right now, the maha mantra.  i love him, this is for sure.  and the absolute perfection of sadness, longing, joy, gratitude, forgiveness, pain, and unconditional love that pours from my heart when i listen to this mantra…..no words can describe.  his voice is what it is.  the melody, yes.  the name, yes.  but mostly, his voice and the way they sing back to him, like a snake charmer, like a sunrise.  it’s the closest i can get to feeling oneness.  my bhakti heart has been opened like a coffin, showing no death, only deathless life.  back down to to the ground.  how heavy it’s felt.  yes? i know you’re feeling it too.  no matter what story you are wrapping around the heaviness…you feel it too…and it’s the full moon…it’s causing all the unconscious feelings to swell up in the body, asking to be released.  can you release it?  how?  i don’t know.  let the moon take care of how.  we sat by lake union.  the lit up lights of the skyscrapers across the water, reflecting the color of the lights and the moon, yellow and golden, technology and nature….the fire in the fire pit, surrounded by shells…how she always brings me to the water…how i always need to be brought….the taste of bitter on the lips…being at peace with every feeling.  this mantra.  love.  love bigger than me.  bigger than anything i can express.  and back down.  down into the finger beds.  typing on plastic keys.  back to the “every day is like sunday,” feeling.  the routine.  the two mile radius.  a squashed gypsy heart.  the sacred routine rubbing up agains the creative quest.  isn’t it funny?  the routine and the quest stuck together and in love, like ren and stimpy, like the sun and moon, life and death.  polarized tension coursing through the veins….i am feeling the tug of war, and the serendipity within.  and yet not the serendipity too.  the way i can predict too much.  jade remove the jaded.  wanting to be surprised.  taken into the mouth of a falcon.  living the dream is why i love to read fiction.  i am here like a romantic, so be it.  others exist so differently and opposed.  i am one with them.  with violence and hatred. how it is brutality exists?  what men are plotting?  what women are leading?  who is doing the talking?  can i transcend the need to take a side, love dissolving every border line?  thank god for poetry, saving this moment from logical talons.  i don’t want to say it like it is, not right now.  i am speaking in cryptic tones.  i don’t know what i want to say anymore.  i want to lose myself in love, like his guru said.  like jesus the man did.  that’s all that i care about.  no rules or boundaries.  maybe it’s the moonstone around my neck.  and tenacity.  tomorrow be strong.  somehow.  he said he is usually somewhere else when not chanting.  i wonder how often i leave?  i feel like i am here a lot these days.  i keep just being here and being in the feelings.  a bottom feeder.  open me up and see all the bugs, life feeding on life, feeding on life….and see the stars inside the eyes of the bugs…don’t forget to look there…