Vibrations of the Mantra

Do you feel those vibrations strong?
I think it’s what is keeping me up at night because the sweet humming in my ears is really making my head feel the pressure of an explosion of lights of colors married with words and songs of the sacred heart.
Oh and the vibrations are shaking and loosening every taut string that craves to be plucked by the skilled hands that shines warmth.
And I’m visited again and again by the angels who are really not whispering at all, but speaking in such a high frequency, the skin tingles to no end and the heart womps instead of bumps.
But I will keep chanting
Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha! Because my soul loves to feel the stir and swirl of the movement!
Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha!
Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha!

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Attunement part 1

I was lost, but now I’m found.
Amazing how grace can touch upon us in the middle of anywhere:
surrounded by metal vessels colored like eight count Crayolas containing heart beats,
Alone in the center of the still slate beyond the expense of time,
Set in a comfortable distance like two souls without hosts,
Or in the warm crevice of another as one eight limbed, two crowned majestic being.
Have you ever sat with eyes wide open staring directly at the object right in front of you, whatever that may be, and gasped at how real life is the moment you allow yourself a fifteen minute break outside of the cloudy pondering of the mind.
We are here in this new place and all the ancient trees and sky and sun stare upon us like amused parents, watching how clumsily we skitter and fumble like Bambi,
Doe-eyed innocence,
With hope,
Ever growing,
Evolving,
Inventing,
And Breathing.

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Vain Morning

I’m seeing it.

I look closely, up real close until the glass fogs.

I can see that the face is still the same but the fine lines are creating subtly increasing dimension and depth like the slow swell of the nervous lover’s breast.
And I stare closer to notice how the eyes never change and is one of the constants in my life. I should know them so well, but I can’t recall ever seeing them in dreams.
If one stares long enough, will the soul peak through?
It is infinite to see in your eyes a mirror staring right back at you, staring right back at you, staring right back at you, staring right back at you… Trailing off the deeper We go, but nevertheless going until it becomes a beat for the gods or angels or aliens. Or maybe the beat travels into outer space and we exist there speaking in song and rhyme. “Dr Suess, I see you”
As well as Tu,
A kangaroo,
And a man singing
Coo coo kachoo.

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In Five

Because I only have 5 minutes to indulge before flying off to my last job today, I grin to think how many random thoughts fly in and out of my head. I’ve figured out, thanks to Mr Coehlo, that my dream job has and will always be to be a superhero.

So much activity happens inside the head and I realized, as I was washing last night’s dishes at 5:00 pm today because I like to spend time on those plates and cups. The feel of the water running hot and the swish as it hits any surface puts me in that meditation, I take lifetime steps back and recall memories, now in technicolor, of myself at four even, though I don’t see myself. It’s a through the eyes kind of picture, and 5 plates done, I see myself flying around in vibrant clothes like a superhero, because what human would not be fascinated with flying?

So I teach, but I must teach music since it’s a secret language. I must teach yoga, because I have an excuse to wear spandexesque fitting clothes all day long. I must teach poetry, the art of writing, and literature because if we can’t describe the fantastic images that only exist in our mind, then we would never have even invented the automobile, or further back still, a pencil. And now I must run off because….

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Musing Nude #5

The best moment out of my gypsy roaming day is that small space of time I get to reflect. I consciously try to stay in the present, but in all honesty, it takes the same kind of discipline that keeps me from taking one more delicious bite of something sinful, or steal one more unwarranted kiss from some kind of bliss. So I allow myself those in between moments in my day to rewind and relive in reverie my favorite parts.
Today as I was driving in the car with Elijah and he was having the best conversations with me, I think I wish my superpower was to freeze time and just hold that moment just for the sake of realizing how magical life is.
“I’m so in love with you Elijah.”
“I’m so in love with you too Mama. Can you buy me a game Mama.”
But he is not trying to play slick, and those two statements are completely separate from each other.
That is the wide eyed innocence I hope can stay with him in adulthood because how can you not help but be honest.
The other moment was driving to this very destination outside of a parking lot with two siblings, a couple cars down, fighting and screaming and crying and then making things right before “mom” comes back.
I felt the vibrations of the earth shake the inner body that feels the tickle of tiny hairs brushing against the invisible dermis. That is a moment of feeling what alive is, the presence. It feels good to take moments and relive the magical parts of the day before journeying on to the next present.

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Musing Nude #4

Does anyone out there ever feel the way I feel? I always wonder. Does anyone out there ever feel the memory of speeding down head first from the heavens with eyes shut so tight that the first sight hits the mouth so dumb before taking a hard hitting grasp as the spot above the brow begins to pang of the already forgotten memory? Or does anyone know that feeling when lying in bed with eyes closed, but the mind so open that the idea of watching something as trite as television again is the beginning of a nightmare that forces yawn to escape the daydream to night dreams?
Or that moment when realization that “I” am not the only one who thinks these things, but even a butterfly floats around absentmindedly while wondering if any other winged thing floats around in ecstasy of the wonders and fruits of this fresh earth.

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Escaping Muse

All day long I had ideas that made my ears ring the Tibetan finger bowls humming, strumming, sighing the sounds sink me, the weak me, so deep into the brown.
But I float around somewhere at the same time pulling weeds from the day and tossing them over my shoulder thinking I should somehow contain them to save time, except it feels good just to fling them past my eye, smiling wide.
And taking a moment now to think back at the days start, playing it back like a momentous slow motion rewind trying to capture some idea of the near distant past.
And I just come up with the, the, the, the stammering child because the excitement is bursting out of my ears and at the same time, moving into this infinite space that will always exist, even If it was too soft to catch.
Or slower than my slow mo, like the sloth, oh the patience sometimes is south but once you can take in a big breath of life, there is something in the center of your body that feels like a bubbling warm excitement though its like that thing that sit on the tip of your tongue.

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Photo: self portrait by my son Elijah Lanikai

Musing Nude #3

While driving sometime ago, I had this urge to really dedicate a good portion of my waking time to study like college days outside of coffee houses and not cafe’s, smoking a pack of cigarettes and reading, outlining, discussing, and more discussing, then more discussing that tangent to any philosophy, though I claimed Existentialism. Study like sitting outside in what always seemed to be a California winter, drinking coffee and buzzing so high off of Caffine and debate, that dawn became what dusk meant for some.

and I reminisce,

Is there a way to adjectivate nostalgia?

Well so I picked up like 15 one dollar used books in the most marvelous used and new book store in downtown, If you’re in LA go to The Last Bookstore.and find the marvel that is stacked upon stacks within cracks, among some of the cracks, bless it be, because at least they know literature.

And just spent a 45 minute rampage looking for a working ball point pen, because you can’t beat the glide of the blood of the soul transferred on slates in sticky black, or royal blue stains priceless secrets to be made tangible.

My first class with myself is Science of Breath A Practical Guide By Swami Rama. Rudolph Ballentine, M.D., and Alan Hymes, M.D. The first chapter says, “Somewhere on the primordial earth, molecules randomly fell into place and life appeared.” and I think that my mental impotence has revived and the imagination is excited. I see the earth is the egg and some sort of sperm sprinkled upon us and the miracle of life manifests. YES! and an orgasm must have been involved and biology and big bang make so much sense.

$1.00 educations: Chance and reason and Dharma, and Existentialism
P.S. I didn’t find that pen, but the feel of graphite scratching the sheet has a different kind of satisfaction as well.

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Insomnia

At Three in the morning, my bionic ears open to the hum of some machine somewhere in the house, followed by that piercing sharp stinging that comes in the stillness of the approach of dawn, yet soothed by soft breaths purring in and out. Moments like these are the reason I have altogether abandoned a ticking clock. When people ask, “How are you doing?” I respond, “Fine, I’m doing fine.” But then why does the time pass so quickly with my eyes open each night more frequently?
The mind stutters.
Then they are followed by blank laments that lack response,
And I lay here going a little mad until the roar of the first distant engine when the light begins to shine and I feel ready to put on my uniform disguised in solid, vibrant hues sans cape to change the world.
I teach, “Breathe! Make it so deep you feel the body spread open like a big red balloon floating almost above ground except for the tip
Of your very longest toe and feel the surge of life! Exhale it out and sink back down in relief.”
I sing,”Listen carefully to the vibrations of the earth before allowing the clutter of thoughts to close back in and drown out the chirping of early morning birds.”
I cry, “Be alive because we are alive! Take a moment to draw in the scent of any flower, such as daffodils which smell like earth!”
And, “Move your steps to the rhythm of that tune stuck in your head desperately pressing to be released from the wall that exists between the space where imagination stirs and place where the five senses snap you back into clarity.”
And thank God that there was once upon a time sense enough to really abandon the analogous ticking time because it makes all the difference in moments like these.

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