You know those old mail slots?
In the old movies
from a world long ago,
with buildings stacked
to dizzying elevations?

Where you’d see envelopes
slip down by
like white birds zipping
through the dark,
as they sped
down their windowed postal shaft,
at an elevator stop station?

sending prayers up
is somewhat like that. . .
a lot of eyes will see them pass
before they reach
their final destination. . .

And then,
sometimes, you have to wait a while
for the answers’
return track
to reach you back
despite your maybe long and taut
anticipation. . .

And the form they take
may not always
clear, quick sense make
to your current view
of what might bring you
further toward a state of progress
or much needed restoration.

Oh, well,
I guess you knew
the problem might be fodder
for further meditation.

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By you,
your own vicinity
is made a better place,

which is
why you
can be sure
far flown infinity
is laid not just
in outer space. . .

It sits, too,
within the heart of you,
a center of humanity
that helps the others trust
in the existence
of unfettered grace.

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Out of my
tiny body

No wonder
and ran away
from where I goes,

or else
did catch me in a snare,

or came more near
to cloak my rearing, roaring head
upon that place where I once trod
with one thick, fang-proof sconce there.

with feet still free
to wiggle toes,
when away
they point their nose,
I may yet have a chahhh-nce here.

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When you’re willing to go there,
you can also
take someone,
although the time it takes
to persuade another
may last a spate
from long to middling to fair,
and you’ll perhaps,
have gone so oft or long,
and you may get to the point,
where you almost call that place your lair,
before the jaunt
where your dear guest
comes at last for their time one.

For now, you’d just best move along
and go there now,
all on your own,

for the sun’s already set,
and, once it’s dark,
it just might be
considerably less fun.

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Body first. . .
breathe. . .
well, what’s that worth?

it helps you sense
from places, patterns
soft or hard,
relaxed or tense,
right now and here,
just what you need. . .

Brain second. . .
those trains
and turns of thought
along each smooth
and wicked curve,
and notice when and where
they’re cutting off your air,
and so have got
your body tied
in countless knots. . .

Slow them down,
dare on a deeper level
to perceive:

what are the gnarliest gnarls down there?

Give them some love,
allow them space,
and time and ease,

Then, with their permission,
find them friends
you can bring in,
to help create
a prettier, smoother scene
with kinder thoughts,
that can start a new brain party,
and a slate to play and write upon
that’s clear and clean,

have those be very friendly thoughts
you love to spend your time around,
and have them carry
cargo of cognition
more pleasing to your present self,
more useful for your forward-looking,
life-fulfilling vision,
which you build
with a
big box of stuff
that makes you happier
and craftier,
and ready
in a brighter future to believe,

and, after your good nurture
has brought that brain and body– yours!–
into better working, loving, playing order,

you can take a little peek
at category number three–
the sum total
of all those countless, nagging trivialities,
which rate, at best, a distant third
to brain-body vitality,
though some of them,
you will nonetheless
select to do
as important
to your whole list
of priorities. . .

you will be free to pick and choose,
but, like as not,
this I think you’re apt to do
quite sparingly,

For this small stuff
is not the vessel
housing your sweet
heart and spirit,
the core of you
for whom your body brain
is actually
the dedicated, loving servant,

So if,
on any day
you your key priorities forget,

“One– body,
two– brain,
three– all the rest.”

your true, wise heart
well knows
that those first twain
are its earthly grounding plain,
and help it see
just where it is
and how its journey goes,

and the others,
+++++by the order
+++++our wise Universe has set,
+++++to our containing
+++++body brain
entirely subservient.

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A plain white paper airplane
tossed. . .

To unseen heights,
that there plane,

to sail in skies
so blue and broad and bright. . .

And who can say
where it will go,
and in what vein?. . .

And whatever, wherever
change will come
when its wings,
sharp creased,
are lively flapped. . .

Yes, what ripples in the world
will come of that?

Perhaps our simple, little plane
will hap,
in good time, to cross,
the stately presence
of the legendary albatross. . .

And, if so,
will that result in peace?

Or will it come to pass in such a way,
whether or not we see,

that it would have
been much better,
if that plain white sheet
of our brave plane
(which, with plain pen,
could have possibly
become a letter),
had been indefinitely detained,
or wandered wide along the ground,
and somewhere there,
got merely lost?

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noon time. . .

“my oh my!” day
hump time

“I am still here, but why?” day. . .

so close to free,”
“I taste it from my skull down to my thigh” day

Impatiently, I sigh day. . .

but fortunately,
I know I’ll be
quite soon flying–

in radical joy-
jump time

before sun slumps
‘neath land and sea,

and we will get
to choose our play,
or else our rest,
in glorious
full moon time.

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