Pdlyons's Explorationson today’s tray : notebook, sunglasses, reflection, and coffee.
What day is this? This morning sun streams into the bed room. To the point of settling back into bed with coffee, glad I brought sun glasses. Went to turn the phone on, saw my reflection. Cool I’ll get a picture but the phone had died, no charge. So narcissus like I stare bright suns in my two black eyes smiling.
~
on todays table – dandelions, book, glasses, eyeglasses, sky, fences and coffee
the wind plys my hair
whips at the pages of my book
breaking my attention
Look Look Look
I give in to sunlight across wild grass and dandelion
white puffs across a powder blue sky
melodies of birds known and unknown
Look Look Look
so to see better I close my eyes
and the wind eases
a whisper now
to sympathize
all these busy days you would let go
all these hungry thoughts you would not feed
what courage must there be to let go to be free
to not make a single thing up.
Sometimes
the sun will find me all silvery through wet windows
easy breath noting each thought goes to some unfindable place
like
wishing you were here sharing such amazement
as it too goes unhindered
~
this morning at blue wren house ~
I don’t mind cooking
making something nourishing hydrating pleasurable.
I don’t mind clean up
restoration to a peaceful state
the chaos of creation.
I don’t mind sitting out on the veranda
an acrobat of birds
strobing cumulus sky
subtle whispering trees
a good morning coffee
with you
on todays tray, grey,languages, heritage, future & coffee
5 4 23 This morning at Blue Wren House ~
I don’t know the language so I can’t say for sure
But like the Inuit fifty words for snow,
Irish must have at least that many for grey.
Today’s grey
Makes the grass brighter
The trees limbs black
And that flat pearl sky un movable.
Dochorraith Liath
~
What get s left behind
This time
New neighbourhoods gone old
Buildings restaurants bars construction company’s factories
Started by great grandparents, grandparents,
Maintained by parents
Always wanting something better for us
Got to watch us leave.
Perhaps remembering towns villages cities
Those they knew
Then only knew through stories photographs
then those they knew by how the future seeking to be free
Will like their heritage always pull away.
pdlyons photo
on today’s tray Catholic spiritual path, mother and child, wrathgod, toxic masculinity & coffee
31 3 23
I’m thinking about reclamation of the catholic spiritual path. How exclusion is not a spiritual path.
Mary’s sacrifice remains unobliterated despite thousand of years of toxic masculine re writes. She was there for every inch of the way. She knew Jesus better than anyone.
She suffered every nail every thorn every piercing spear point. Her only child. Her only son.
The story about Jesus and Mary is to teach maintain and restoration of the sacred mother and her relationship with her child, children. The antidote to the wrath-god of the old testament.
When we respect, hold sacred the tears of the mother for the child more than the dictates of the masculine ego overlords, then we can begin to re enter the garden. Then we begin to see the heaven upon this earth.
We only have wrathgod’s word that he created anything.
To subjugate is not a creative act.
Jesus is not the old testament messiah.
He is the example of peace
Love of a mother so great that she gave her only son.
That peace and love is as sacred as it can get.
Where there is an insistence on the importance of the “male” over the mother there is a patriarchal patch oppressing the truth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Despite all the opportunities
To sing to love to play
To heal to comfort
Rather indulge in petty ignorance’s
Proud to display
As if creating misery
A thing to celebrate
~~~~~~~~
Slender secret ghosts vulnerable to love
If it were long ago and my name was Jesus
Would you change your name for me
Would you be my Mary
on todays tray – american guns children constitution wtf & coffee
28 03 23
So, it’s kind of like the Bible in that it is set in stone? And where it says weapons for all that’s just what you worship? However, this is an interpretation that you worship right? Something you have decided is set in stone no matter how much suffering is caused.
Shouldn’t a government for the people assess how much damage is being done to the life liberty and pursuit of happiness that the weapons for all approach has wrought? Shouldn’t an approach that for example doesn’t care how many children are murdered be revisited? Shouldn’t the people of this government demand it? Since when did the Constitution become a religious idol to be worshiped?
So even if we say fine the problem isn’t guns its people. Shouldn’t the people then participate in a federal background check which is updated regularly, an education and licencing program as well an insurance program? How would you all feel if the auto industry was free to sell cars to whoever wanted and could afford them and there was no requirement for drivers licence or insurance?
Never mind the piece of paper doesn’t mention cars. How about what kind of people sacrifice their kids to a piece of paper as interpreted by those who are at best corporate hacks at worse just don’t care how many children are murdered.
If you can’t figure out a way to better care for your electorate and the children of this whole country then you need to be replaced by someone who would at least be willing to try. To say that because the constitution says this is the way it should be and there fore there’s not an issue to be resolved. Should be a firing offence
My thought:
This is not a gun or a persons problem
It is a social problem.
If you tolerate this nothing can be done approach
You too are complicit
Look up the numbers of the dead and wounded the numbers might astound you
Look up the numbers of those traumatised – will you even find a number?
Think about how this will impact the society you live in?
The fact that the United States of America cannot find a better way is true tragedy
Here’s a mortal sin for you – the constitution was never meant to be set in stone. It was meant to evolve.
On today’s tray ~ Woman Blood Christ Female Darkness
23 3 23
Grail Woman Blood Bride Christ
Easy to read the new testament with feminist eye. The goddess is there before us. The only missing part is ourself. To read with our heart not with someone else’s law.
Try Eve ~
Serpent ancient symbol of immortality
Knowledge wisdom tree of knowledge
Every oppressor dictator in history considered knowledge to be a sin.
There is more mannishness than godliness in the wrathgod’s jealousy.
Eve the mother offering immortality – life to her children and to the one she loves.
Someone has deemed that a sin worthy of being exiled.
Again, smells like toxic masculinity rather than god to me.
So, we are exiled from Eden/eve.
We are exiled from the mother. The one who gives all in favour for the one who doles out.
The one who loves freely as the mother as the Christ.
Love.
Put it back. Make it real.
Every feast day for every woman saint together in the front pews women should sit together. Every event for Mary. line the pews together. Every rosary sit together. Show every priest the solidarity of the mother with her children. Mary with Christ. Children with the Mother Church.
What Christ has wrought with eve
What Christ has Wrought with Mary
Let no mere man break asunder.
One of the most female based religions needs the involvement of women in order to be restored. Healed.
The new testament of Christ is to be read as antidote to the old testament of wrathgod. That’s the rebel Jesus. Love over idolatry. Kindness over stone.
Once We Knew the Dark
No matter where days may differ but darkness is the same.
What if I lead you by the mouth?
Places underwater you could breathe in
Fingers taught on instruments stranger than bones
Drawn by strings reminiscent of words long ago
Familiar colours since extinct.
When winter was all there was could you find reasons to celebrate?
No matter how elaborate windows intricate trees harmonic songs
What does it take to lure a silver sun?
Bleaktitude chased
Hot whiskey voices
Oak wood smoke
CúirtRed berry holly
Slender secret ghosts vulnerable to love.
If it were long ago and my name was Jesus
Would you change your name for me?
Would you be my Mary?
I have become food for other creatures
Things I never knew existed indulge themselves in me
Grey not white birds mark my passing secret self
No evidence during that time of my existence
Yet even so something still remains:
A dying ember tenderness unquestioned.
Drawn to the wound in you moon strong as my own
A thing to be fingered or fucked a place to meet or loose ourselves.
What makes me want to reach in wonder what shape your creatures take as I do?
Unlike them others, reverse rodents unable to stay,
I’m not afraid. I know nothing survives the future.
Why wait for secrets? When we forget enough we die.
On todays tray:
stories, energy, equanimity, democracy, boomers, oppression, religion , and coffee.
21 3 23
I have often told my self stories
Then believed them to be true simply because I was the one who told them
These have been the cause of all my suffering
~~~~~~~~~~
There is energy. There is us needing to identify these energies. To categorise, conceptualise, judge. The defining of energies makes us feel solid, in control. That’s why joy, peace, kindness usually seen as strength. Not like anger or hatred, these give us a delusion of being solid, strong. These mask our fear of not knowing who or what we might really be. Through them we pretend to know what we are – firm solid strong hero of our own story.
There is energy.
It needs no identification
In order to be
But it takes a bit of courage
To let go of the pretence of being solid.
Reading life like poetry expands your world
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EQUINIMITY = LIBERATION
There is energy.
Not
There is energy that is good
There is energy that is bad.
There are types
Tired energy
Joyous
Angry
Peaceful
Etc
Or
There is energy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Whatever tells you
Don’t look
Don’t care
Don’t question
Don’t learn
Don’t love
Don’t live
That isn’t democracy or religion,
That’s oppression.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
True Democracy
See I was taught that democracy takes courage. The courage to allow the rights of the other. Not only their right to exist but their rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That it takes democratic courage to allow the other a voice, a choice, a privacy, an equality.
The belief that majority rules is erroneous with regards to true democracy. Otherwise, everything depends on the personal belief of the many. This is only might makes right, this is not democracy. Democracy is the courage of all to allow the human and civil rights of all.
The question we should be asking people is – do you really want to live in a country where the your rights and the rights of others may justifiably be revoked every time the majority demographic shifts?
Today when I look at my country that’s what I see. Rather than the nurturing of courage, it seems to perpetuate the right to bully, the right to instil fear, the right to make money at all costs, the right of might – with no regard for the amount of misery, tragedy, or instability it causes its own citizens or the rest of world.
It has always taken extreme courage to be democratic. It still does.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Boomerz
I live only in memory
The day to day does not inspire me
I only want to sit here think about what used to be.
Here only in my own home.
Locked doors, paid taxes, insurance policies, protect me.
TV, petrol chemicals, nourish me.
People not like me outrage me.
by PD Lyons
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is much easier to philosophise about pain
While it’s not active
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first time I went to a funeral was for the wife of one of my then sister in laws friends. She had shot herself in the head. She wasn’t anyone I knew well but I’d met here now and then. She seemed so very happy. Like they were a good match, and their little boy was doted on. I’d heard how when her husband came home from work he found her. I could only imagine so I did. Her lovely blonde hair blood clots brain. And what about her face? I think she used a rifle or a shot gun. Pistols were harder to get in those days. Fortunately, the son was at school or out or something. Maybe she didn’t want him to see. Any way she was 24 only a few years older than myself. I’d left not really wanting to stay long. But not before the little fellow tried to get the coffin open so he could be with mommy.
It might be because of this my heart has always been open to those who choose to end their lives and those who survive choice. You know the families friends loved ones friends. While I can understand all their emotional and reactions I never get how other folk make it their business to get angry and demonstrative about it. At times even ridiculing the dead person. I guess since anger always comes from fear they must be afraid of what they cant control and feel threatened in some way by a person’s choice even though it has nothing to do with them.
But family and loved ones etc I think that they must be accepted and respected allowed their expressions.
Sometimes the best we can do is stand beside the grieving and keep our silence as respect and encouragement.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We had come to that place
Where sometimes a river, a chasm, an ocean, a darkness
We, unlike you could go no further.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Snow comes soft fragile slowly
Each unique contribution
Until stopping the world in its tracks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We’re all going to be hurting
At times we’ll be tempted to lash out.
As if anger can push away our hurt.
Do your best to not give in to that urge.
The more you allow yourself to feel
The more you allow yourself to heal.
The more you lash out,
The more the hurt grows.
Over the years I would learn more about suicide and families. My work in residential treatment centres and drug addiction and jut everyday life ( no pun intended)
Stainless un-marked sky
Against a powder green wall single bed
Magazine photos yellow cellophane taped
No underwear favourite red t-shirt
30/06 lever action
Blue barrel fingerprints
Weevil ticking toes
Flys hum against the glass
Until heat makes everything
Even outside
Still.
Beneath that shirt
Bump each little island
Up to where if a boy
An Adams apple ‘d be.
Knees steady. Butt end
On a white board floor.
Spidering fingers.
Raw cotton breath.
Knowing it’s loaded.
Stainless un-marked
Alone in your room
Sky
Last Poem Before Oregon
Slept in groves of oranges
Visited by only wet nurse bees
Shaded by impossible leaves
Cloud drifting shapes of which made harlequin
Dreams disturbed gently by nimble hums
A voice like Marcello young again
Lip sticking fully curved
Remember the time
We discovered our deep lush alikeness
And rose, perfect stamens
A fruit of aching beauty
Wrote
for Olga
 | Edward-David Ruiz on Now Safe in Snug Harbour, (som… |
| Edward-David Ruiz on your body is not an enemy… |
 | pdlyons on Women Buying Guns In America,… |
| Edward-David Ruiz on Women Buying Guns In America,… |
| pdlyons on On My Mother’s Side, poe… |
