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I feel as though I’m surfing

possibility waves as fast as board can catch,

even as I work

breath by breath

to quiet all the noise

finding my way to balance

on surfer’s gait,

quietly weaving the waves

into a surety of illumined shore…

Because I don’t know;

and even the shit

I thought I knew

but moments before,

leaves me guessing a bit

which wave will lead

me into ever deeper waters

and which one

brings me to deep indigo shore.

Challenge within challenge

is I’m not even exactly sure

which shore I’m surfing off of…

not anymore… possibility waves quickening frequencies…

A world which seems to pause

and magnify each incongruity,

just how many poems don’t seem to align intention and the multitude of varying intentions

asks now for silence from me,

to sort noise from clearest choice, preferences becoming me ever more quickly it seems too, like a rogue agent swapping identities before the sun rises…

and are there more moons than I remember or am I seeing double or more worlds again… hard to tell.

A high tide sun rise

a pause in movement

to bring poems like this,

just be, cause.

A movement,

delicious in its ever moving textures, shedding a velvet that I was never meant to wear as protection.

And did I mention I don’t know?

An active surrender

to all I think I know

such that what’s unknown

becomes trusted, and

what’s hiding, reveals

in real time…

Asking again perhaps because

it already feels another forever,

another quickening of sorts

is speeding up processing

or requesting ever more to process, hard to tell which one,

if not merely two sides

a coin in the air to call…

What’s true is the poem.

…and those who can integrate words into being, becoming tomorrow before us…

There was that moment after all,

when words spoken, became the moment so completely,

the moments could be given

as shared experience…

But to remember such presence,

such presence become me,

allowing poem to flow

spilled ink upon a tomorrow

sharpening pens to screenplay,

soundtracks of these times…

And as the fellas next to me,

often too loud,

an an expanded generation of gamblers, very little self awareness,

as it relates to obvious anxiety,

about our collective future,

betting on outcome of masters,

all but a many dimensional mirror

holding us to us in a multitude of life as human incarnations,

not the cause but a symptom perhaps of all the ways we’ve disconnected ourselves from this OneLife…

Coming on 250 mass murders this year so far, and it’s April 9th,

A crook somehow a likely presidential candidate;

And the snail’s pace by which there are those simply willing to admit there’s an apartheid state for our Palestinian cousins… I mean, damn.

Not sure how this projects out collective hearts exactly, but it does; and it may even show us a clearer vision of our collective tomorrows, unless we chose to surf those possibility waters back to our hearts.

There’s a craziness become us,

and an untangling amongst all us surfers as to who chooses what beach to land upon, and which frequency will guide us most into our wavelike choices creating…

Given the complexities of this multiverse we all occupy in moments shared, it’s hard to say what is and what might be;

even harder to know how best to steward more than this poem as to whether moments like this help create our next or but a moment ago moments…

but I can share this…

as you choose to know, that’s what’s likely to occur, at least for you, landing you upon whatever wave you surf to shore…

With an equatorial calling us all home to heart before we surrender our last perceivably unique word over to AI as she starts to remake and transform humanity… and I purposely say she because I’m hopeful in dangerous times for hope.

With this thought, I take another sip from my left hand and let my breath that’s built up a bit go with an aloud… ahhh

Cheers to the next moment

we surf waves together…