Monday, October 8, 2007

just what IS swirls of sexvines?

swirls of sexvines
intoxicating night perfume
flowers calling moths
enticing em to mix pollen
imagine new forms
invite danger
potent species into the forest

a memory of aroma of a night
when i feared being only a moth
my death was death of the universe locked in my skull
infested with vines sinews of thoughts and longings

bible verses came to attack
the jungle rotted them to ant food

longing for something to read i picked out stars with my tongue
but they stung
i burrowed under leaves
seeped into roots

the stars called me up through veins in the night
i became many and the rain washed me into puddles
i birthed a multitude of minute beings
eating each other living in each others bellies
stitching earth together
in laughter
and it keeps growing

what sexvines really means:
i got sick of the mired in piss degeneracy of bible thumping name calling argueing on refo and thought a fresh burst of dream vines swirling through with sensuality color would be apropriate.

swirls because this earth we are born into is a swirling through of convective currents under sunflow it's swirling through us and in fact we ourselves (not selves) are the same swirling rivers of Earth flow only slower

why the sex? because it's sensous and the fertility, the creativity, the lush detail of this life on earth is not from a logical mind of god but the sexingbirthingdying trial and error game of life.

why the sex? because of a woman i once met there.

then the dreamworld of intoxicating night perfumes why do i want intoxication? i wanted to loosen everyone up, i wanted to scramble, warp the logical lines of sophistry. dream world: what do we come out of? can we delineate our history or is it a misty past, hard to track down which mutation did this, which populations merged, which protein or genetic circuit was on the cusp of bifurcation...

intoxicated dreamworld 'cause i was alwasy up late looking looking for my beloved.... like the song of solomon, like magical tikkun ley'l one night, the heady perfume of play of the garden of pardes that torah can be.

the play. of course the outrageousness of insects and flowers having sex wth each other. the perfume of the flowers intoxicate the insects, the creativity of evolution to craft flowers that can trick wasps to have sex with them thus engaging in the flowers' sex acts with each other, all to mix genes to invent, invent, invent. to trust your mate choice to the whimsy of moth flight in the night.

new forms, danger, bursts of new speceis opening a new realm in the rainforest so much god's plan on the refo, so tightly held that there is a plan. but it's so contingent, so much play. [standing under the eternal nightvault of stars identifying ourselves with the eternal unchanging dance of the planets we are horrified by any suggestion of contingency, that WE might have been a contingent dream of the forest. We demand that we are the inevitable outcome of a father love]

what does it mean to me this mix of species, spices? that there is such a mix and the stories they make with each other. Each level of creation sets the stage for the next round of creation. that species interact creatively at all is the message. we puffed up with our own importance baby Gautamas think that we in the image of a michaelangelo god thought everything up, that WE domesticated wheat and cows and dogs and women.... We refuse to see that it's a give and take out there and critters have always been chasing each other 'round and 'round the evolutionary spiral, enticing each other into creative relationship.

so i revel in this Earthful of squaredance/swirldance. It is my source of life. This ecology of critters living inside each other eating each other in hypersea. It's a world of interfaces out there not of individuals trapped inside each one's own impenetrable boundary. the boundary of the ego. ecosystems, this earth is a swirl, we are rivers and the riverbanks are slow rivers of cycles of elements morphing round and round from breath to flesh to river to mud to breath again.

and the coordination? do the stars the planets, the cold simple mathematics of planetary orbits mind of an eternal ruler rule and coordinate it all? does a royal mind manage this splendrous Earth that supports our flesh and the history of our creativity? NO. It's managed by that multitude of tiny critters in the muds in the leaves living in each other's bellies birthing and dying in give and take stitching it all together.

and the stars stinging? does that mean anything? sitting numb with nothing to read on the muddy forest floor human mind yearns to stretch. the stars have always called to the human imagination. their perfection, their aloofness, their suggestion of eternal unchangingness. and the planet's simple dances in time called us to learn to count. called us to get lost in the crystal clarity of mathematics another way to enter eternity. such mathematical sharpness stings, clashes with the muddy messy day to day human drama.

don't forget the starvault as skullvault and the night when only a moth awakens to the brilliance and depth of human mind that can imagine the whole universe that can contain an image of the complex drama of life as if on a stage. that becomes at times more detailed and more intense than the stage out there and hence the idea develops in humanity that the more intense stage of reality the more real stage of reality is the one contemplated in human meditation and ecstacy. and it's something like the eternal starvault. it's up there. crystal clear heaven unsullied by sex passion abortion disease old age and death random boom and bust of species and extinction.

and if a single human in his skullvault can hold that whole image within him, then that single human is an image of the eternal cosmos and thus the death of an individual human is a cosmic sin. so why on Earth was that eternal cosmic image placed in finite flesh that can rot in horror or be tiger food?

so now the swirling horrifying night begins

And if the stars sting too much, if the mathematics becomes too crystal clear i want to burrow into the glorious messy textured aromatic details of bugs and mushrooms under the leaves the chemistry in the mud.

and the stars calling me into the veins in the night? that's the spriral of evolution i suppose. the creativity of time.. but it's not the right image. nothing is calling us to evolve into more... just the play of poetry. imprecise.

and all the while the sexswirl of flesh keeps laughing and growing

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