Le Lapin

A mind filled by the heart sees a world full of beauty and compassion.

Contents

. ignorance . intensity . indignity . iniquity

Intensity

to be of great depth

to strain in stretching out

to form from extreme feeling

COMES TO PASS

When my hands are up

my guard is down

more happiness arose from my heart

than from my mind

so far as what I’ve witness

come to pass.

Having tried to outrun

buckets of emptiness overcome

heated pavements hell bent

spent, exhausted, all out of past done

fetch the watering cans out from

the back of the attic

wash out the webs

of too many answers

and spiders poised

I suppose to test your faith in

whether or not things

better not left to unfold

can be cared for well enough

to be secured and hold up an end

so the damned things stay behind

the veil of whoever cast those spells anyway

So when your hands go up

your guard begs your feet better

have sturdy contact with the ground

so happiness can come

from your heart not your my mind

for far as long if that love shall last.

Crumbling thoughts keep me

from mastering peace everyone says

comes from within

and even a glue tap never running dry

could hold everything

that has to come apart

together.

Our hands are up

and the guards are marching down

the street prepared

for what we all hope never comes

the happiness waits

in a gaze away from the scene

birds are chirping

over the loudspeaker mic

bumping

the people are empowered

and using their bodies to

share their minds unrest

for their wages barely clean up the mess

everyone has littered the streets

with these days.

When in love

we find where the

dreamtime myths typify

the whispered lies

stories for those with their eyes closed

a majesty's heart soars

within and through beyond

there is this world

I know we can both hold.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL I.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

A mind filled by the heart sees a world full of beauty and compassion.

Contents

. ignorance . intensity . indignity . iniquity

Indignity

to enact baseness

to conduct unworthiness

to impatiently dominate

DUST

This candle will sit up on the shelf tired and limp with a burned out wick

refused to be lit

a gentle tap on the wax exposes a dry filament

lighting again

this timedust quickly takesfast to fire.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL I.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

A mind filled by the heart sees a world full of beauty and compassion.

Contents

. ignorance . intensity . indignity . iniquity

Ignorance

to fail to notice

to avoid understanding

to lack and to want

NOVEMBER

Today turned over too many leaves, fallen

scuffed over and under moist autumn air

sniffed, coughed, and thought through a

trail of decent years, tiring, and yet temporary

disorientation is succinct but most inefficient

when describing

the feeling of, something dying

while continuing to pour through

a stinking mold of the past

remedied only by a stirred salt bath

floated upon love realized, gone awry

such the Midwestern plains damn the miles

far from any coastal springs of air

sunken by the filtration of limed stones

depressed by ice tomes

missed a displacement

stricken by of a history sketched

of transactional wills

my hand attempts to reveal

their adornments to form

from a vigour sweetened to overcome

the reticence of control by forces unknown

uneasy, indiscernible

for whom cares to know

the subjective reality aching

to fulfill the sophistic void

remaking the marvel of madness

easily dodged, bestowed me

broadened horizons of considerable standards

ensuring few shores find home for their tides here.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL I.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

A mind filled by the heart sees a world full of beauty and compassion.

Contents

. ignorance . intensity . indignity . iniquity

Ignorance

to fail to notice

to avoid understanding

to lack and to want

FREEZE FRAME

Wakened by each day remindedthe world’s not built for rugged solitary accordyet beckoned by the premise of an intentional stride traipsing through the streetswondering where the fantasy of a white dress implanted into a projection of downpour soakedsheer viscose fraughtfully clingingthere must have been some movieand in such running picture framessomeone to be running towardto take me home in something more tangible thana memory of a frozen framemelted back into liferefusing to be held in loops of our favourite parts though it seems the painful bitsare more prone to keep circuitingcannot they be tossed out with hellish heelsno good for running in anywaybetween the story worth tellingand the space between the head and soulmaybe the now we are woven withinwhere words failed to dowhat unsaid symbols, films, sills of desire assayfade to pale under the penetrable lightexposing the significance of existence as an echo upon the lands where we find ourselvesholding each others’ hands.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL I.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

A mind filled by the heart sees a world full of beauty and compassion.

Contents

. ignorance . intensity . indignity . iniquity

Ignorance

to fail to notice

to avoid understanding

to lack and to want

CHILLY IN JULY

The nights’ eagerly await

the sort of embrace

that make the neighbours take notice

the floorboards moan

for footsteps move inner rhythms

in time to the rotation of our axis

a brief realisation to this heart's song —

nothing particularly wrong

upon looking toward a star spotted sky for signs

only mildly amiss some hallowed longing

barking from a book of empty pages

promising entryway to finding whether or not spaces

provide any places feeling of home

awaiting the arrival of fondness

each void corrugated by transitory halls

land at acrylic gates promising inked marks

by uniformed officers signifying a welcome trespass

filling empty boxes as a strange right of entry

obligatory by no cosmic force

for after all, when I asked the moon

no promise nor comets were delivered or answers given

downed by the heavens to suffice for such fantasy rituals

drifts back to the reach for a sweater chill in the air weather

mirrored by the indulgent cavern carved

no knitted garment can squelch or fill

my wordless reaching gaze for comfort

on an arms wrapped tight sort of night.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL I.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

A mind filled by the heart sees a world full of beauty and compassion.

Contents

. ignorance . intensity . indignity . iniquity

Ignorance

to fail to notice

to avoid understanding

to lack and to want

NO TIME FOR SONG

The black birds sing along

to the refrain of the train at the end of the block

and I’m sitting outside alongside

my thoughts

in a place of impermanence

at least that is what I wish and beg of this

being to just be

while I’m growing up —

I know the never is better than saying farewell forever

to this place a little like when I was younger

feeling bound for something greater

I was so shaky and sure I could set my course

trying to ignore a voice

leading the sway from mediocrity

for all around was seen painfully, so plainly

there was something I knew I had

to prove, and I wound up finding out

aside from what I cooked up through feelings

of almost, but never there and doubt

aided in a half year boiling

upon the brim of breaking

stirred down all the bubbles

mercy’s strike fortunately reduced  the troubles

creating an acute sense of awareness

to taking care and tending the song

once sung so clearly, while lost momentarily

was all a long

still residing within me.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL I.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

A mind filled by the heart sees a world full of beauty and compassion.

© Rachel Wolfe

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL I.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Rachel Wolfe.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

Contents

. ignorance . intensity . indignity . iniquity

Ignorance

to fail to notice

to avoid understanding

to lack and to want

Rewriting these books has been terribly sad. I began going around saying I hate poetry and genuinely feeling that as true. I hate writing too and words in general. I’ve never enjoyed grammar, syntax, or the uncertainty of what I’m saying landing properly in the listener or reader.

In editing these poems, I could see self-indulgence, flippancy, painful reaches towards joy, and all the places where I cut myself off, didn’t speak up, or follow through with what I wanted to say.

The words in these pages revealed how an individual self subjugates for the sake of others.

This kind of virtuous way has no moral, and perhaps revealed to me 13 years later the root of my depression was myself. Perhaps the root of the depression for many others too is the holding back of expression.

As souls we are here having experiences and have awareness of each other. We can know very well the meaning of the golden rule and pretend to ignore the consequences of our actions until they catch up to us.

We are catching up with ourselves, and reality is holding up a mirror all the time. If I ever write poems again, though I swear not to, I should do only as the gifted camera does for me, aligns the panes of a frame as an impression of what is there. Describing as a witness gave me the nutrition of truth. While I’m never entirely sure what happens within a reader, my intention is for a safe space for whatever these words give to you.

I held back because I was afraid. Afraid of hurting someone, afraid of being wrong, afraid so long until I abdicated my own voice and buried it in a word document that nagged on me until I decided to just do this and then set it free into a world like a kite without anyone holding the string.

I put myself and my soul in compromising positions. I made deals that hurt me, that kept me trapped in lies, which is another word for story. I saw the lies other people were telling and used that as justification to continue holding back telling myself something was ok when it wasn’t.

Rewriting has been a process of writing reality. Authoring something coming through me, that inspired another question about who I am. Who is Rachel? it’s a name. And what about Marie. Is accepting what is given what we are? Or can we author and be agents of truth. Instead of stories, I wonder if these words will describe a reality in a way photographs do. To realise oneself as bearing a pen in hand, shows the pen stronger than the sword. The pen has the ability to form, carve, penetrate, evoke tears, make us bleed, alter our cellular structure.

I read somewhere reality is in black and white. And colours are the aromas of the stories. Black and white images document what occurred.

Words, we speak to each other are not just words. They are actions and objects we catapult at each other. Verbal abuse is a spiritual abuse of wars people wage on each other for any given alibi. Words can warp or distort and pretend to not be said or done, like any imaginary tool. They happen in the realm of our spirit.

And so I do want to apologise for any of the words in these pages that caused pain. I never want anyone else to have to endure these things if they don’t have to. If we could lessen each others darkness and be more naive and sincere, that is my prayer woven in these pages.

As the black and white impressions here are, the things I went through. They self validate through the power of the pen. A power we all have that gets activated by remembering.

I trust somehow we will all remember the truth. In time.

Le Lapin is reader-supported. To receive the PDF poetry books with photography and have access to the audio of each poem read aloud in Paris while on residency, become a paid subscriber.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

Many of the posts made in Le Lapin are based in the view of platonic idealism and artistic poetism. In this post, I wish to open space to ask a few questions and offer a more personal entry. Readers are always invited to comment, and some do by email, which benefits only me. Therefore, I really wish for you to comment in the comment section. Le Lapin gives me a sense it may change forms. Knowingly these next weeks, paid subscribers will have access to the poetry read aloud and receive the PDF copies of the books. After the poems, Le Lapin is planned to merge with Lapin on a group collaboration with Richard Grossinger and Ruslana Remennikova. I have been considering interviewing people because I have found conversation to generate the most creative energy, and I welcome your thoughts about that direction.

Tolerance for disagreement or so-called negative thought seems important to maintain as homogeneity fosters similarity instead of diversity. While too much negatively can harm, too little adversity stunts growth. I didn’t realize until recently how tolerant I was to negativity and found that was likely due to understanding positive energy and love have always revealed themselves as more powerful. And while two opposing thoughts can be held simultaneously, the distinction between robotic function and neuroplastic mobility relies on the dance of light and metabolism of cellular respiration. We have easily more than two processes without reacting against some big machine; we have 12+ processes expanding into dimensional holographic space-time, and it has always been this way.

Our bodies already contain the most sophisticated technology I have seen, though perhaps is often take for granted. We have the capacity to create curved architecture, we can get to different countries, and change the ways we monocrop or adapt to weather. These are remarkable capacities to create with life. So often, as I am creating, dancing back and forth between doing one thing or another, oscillating, I have a driver inside my heart that moves me much more than what can be called mind. This is not a romantic motor, because it’s not retroactive or rose tinted…it sees dark and in the dark too. The mind motor I found was easily influenced and controlled. My heart though? It could howl and speak for my life in a way my mind couldn’t reconcile. So I noticed quite quickly this sort of splitting happening with people, the outsourcing of interior function, the less able to remember: what it means to love.

So I wonder: Has human creation become taboo? are people truly in favour of the somewhat psychic modality of: “tell my my fate” mirrored in the game interfaces of ARTIFICIAL Intelligence. These new virtual realities seem to animate the same kind of subconscious awareness the mystical practices of the past did, or the dreamworld would reveal in sleep. And what will become of the future? When I was a child, I had imaginations of cities because I grew up in nature.

Always easily overwhelmed by cities in their current inception, is not the cities fault. Each city creates its own resonance through collective thoughtforms, and to make any kind of change there, a penetrating manoeuvre would have to be done formally, ideally through art, design, or something that could give the thoughtform buzz being generated some pause.

Being in Paris has been full of personal challenges, remembering, growth, and often feels like walking through the books or paintings I studied. The buzz of unsettled tension and wonder about the choices people face in the future is everywhere, and yet people seem more relaxed about it within Paris than when I was visiting parts of California. I had previously been quite antagonistic about the implementation of technology, but then I remembered my kindergarden self drawing flying cars, likely from seeing cartoons, and designing underwater living units, for people who didn’t want to live in high rises or in houses. There was an innovator that got chewed up for awhile, that has come back out to play while completing these poems. I haven’t been terribly busy with things expected of someone staying in Paris awhile, as there seems an enormous number of activities, that could take years to ever really get to know. Experience gobbling seems dangerous and unfaithful to a kind of trust in my heart as a guide to exactly the things I care most about creating.

Living in the unknown, without conclusions has forced me to make deeper contact inside the ventricles that connect me with life. Though this realm is often invisible, I have a sense most people know it’s that realm that matters most.

The notion of being of the earth or an alien is not foreign to me. I’m not necessarily where I came from, where I am, or where I am going. The notion of Identity has always seemed a construct, and lately Identity seems to be a fixation. I often find it quite easy to distinguish a human from someone repeating what they heard before, and even if the machine sounds almost human, the artificial chats almost read exactly as New Age dogma.

Outside of the limitations of my personal physique and values, there are NEU social moulds I have attempted to resist with great personal consequence, as the so called older moulds feel more honest. Had I become less conscientious, perhaps I would have experienced less empathy. I had tried to become more neu-feminist and I felt fake. Whatever perversion of the ideals aimed to aid women to have the same rights as men became some kind of psychological flip for men to give up being men? The wars of the sexes seem to be the most inane of all. We have each other and in my eyes, had darn well learn to get along.

Though I am glad I had not acquiesced and pretended I was not concerned about the shapes and forms emerging, and how much agency humans would need to cultivate. Instead of temporary ease, to find health I had no other choice but to find, or rather invent some kind of faith, while living in the unknown. Do you think faith can be built without a super structure? Can faith in life work for you?

I also wonder what you think about the notion of a pen name? Why on earth does the dictionary deem an alias akin to a thief? And if so, then what does society make of Madonna? And what about the Magdalene energy we have been robbed (otherwise known as truth)?

So if a rose remains a rose no matter what it is called? What do you think it matters what someone calls you? Is it the words or the energetic resonance behind their words that must make it past a psychological filter through language, or sonic filter FELT and made real by the intention of the light of love, or volatility of distrust and fear, that makes each other what we are, to each other.

Finding beauty throughout the riots and demonstrations for calm.

The garbage finally got picked up.

The chrysanthemums changed colours in the span of a few weeks.

Making rabbits a theme.

While enjoying the always inviting twilight.

Looking forward to developing the HP5 Film of this tree and others.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

We live in a place that measures value and merit in some very strange ways sometimes.

How many seconds are in a day? Quick, but don’t worry; I already searched up the answer for you: 86,400 seconds. As the information goblin within tends to desire more of a mechanic form of knowing:

A million seconds is 12 days.

A billion seconds is 31 years.

A trillion seconds is 31,688 years.

Data likely forgotten if not applied or written as a task for an A.I.

What else can be forgotten when the appearance of trash poses as art? What happens to humans capability to know and think when the action is abdicated to another entity? Seems like an inevitable outcome and yet, here I am posing the question about why we need to remember what trash is? Stinky; that’s for sure. Hoarding trash might be an illness, and storing it and lighting to fire in the streets might be a comparable pinnacle to the hubris in taking violent action.

Is trash transfixingly interesting? I did’t think so, but when I had asked others what they thought, it was suggested people would be interested to see the mess. So, I went out on the Parisian streets the other night to expose some precious HP5 film on the waste, and came back with a smattering of images I would rather had not even had on my iPhone (let alone the film in the middle of a stilt-tree photo project to develop later). A few hours, I woke up sweating, spinning, and feeling ill. The kind of chaotic and grief striking madness of this scene was too much for me. I’m usually one to try to toughen myself up because I’m told I should have thicker skin, or that I am tough already based on the things I’ve lived through, but this perspective I want to share is not mine alone and that’s why these are questions. Is it grandiose to ascertain that the emperor is not wearing any clothes?

1,513,900,800 seconds, ago Farrar, Straus & Giroux published Tom Wolfe’s, The Painted Word (April 1975). A book far from the post-modern grad school I attended. The style of Adorno cultural criticism revered as intelligence eventually shown itself as intellectual arrogance based on the assumption middle or working class people are less than, not capable of knowledge, or should be systematically withheld from the truth.

The horrific part of the age of the Internet has not been the ease at which truth can be found but the ease at which Popularity or Celebrity itself is the marker of who to listen to. Add that if someone is outraged, sad, upset, then what kind of devices are people going to resort to? In the absense of deep listening, and the presense of solipsitic thought: who dare say the truth? GARBAGE IS AWFUL. It’s bad for our nervous systems, we’ve tried to pretend we are solving the consequence by punishing ourselves with virtue signalling or shaming behaviours…but to see garbage on fire and in person is to smell all that what was or is wretched and held back, released into the air. A place few would likely like to go, and yet people do and have to.

So the thing about anything created that I’ve long implored people in the Visual Literacy course I advocate for sharing, is that people SPEAK HOW YOU SEE. If you are being forced to perform compelled speech, you are doing not only yourself but all of us a disservice. Being able to speak how one sees allows for what DaVinci called mental turbulence, as well as input from peers and the ideas to change and mature.

Disservice and apatahy, leads to foul stinking rot. Then there were the sirens, shouts, and bangs. In many ways, humans impress me with their ability to inflict and endure so much strife and pain. So the difference between the streets and the galleries has grown profanely slim in varied degrees of grandeur and abjection. Aside effect of privilege shaming culture has reminded me of the crisis of the spirit that can occur in someone’s lived experience of Maslow’s hierarchy. When Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen had made couture (11 years ago) of what people who sleep in the streets wear- a kind of attitudinal position of focus on the designs for people to wear because we don’t care signalled a kind of awareness of a particular strategic mentality on the structure of capitalism.

Thankfully, I know people sincerely working to change fast fashion (Tone Tobiasson) and bring value to the art of garment making; raising the value sometimes will raise the price tag, and the conversation I had with a man running several financially successful clothing stands at Furu Shopping Senter did have me question those ideals. The idea that capitalism is to blame seems to make everyone either a servant, martyr, messiah, or some other Biblical archetype trapped in the chaotic stew of life. Since I missed out on living through the 70’s, I’m living through right now and seeing things are quite similar, but I am not promoting spiritual bypassing drugs to help calm us all down. I’m saying we can regulate our pulses with our breath, the ancient wisdom was never not true but made false as a way to create insanity and make certain people be wrong, so others could be right. And now we are in a place where the congruence of abject and grandeur are crossing the line from fantasy into reality.

What happens when indifference or the coerced implication of accepting trash as art happens? and no one dare say a thing? I would like to draw out this ancient fart because it seems to smell better than the garbage I’ve witnessed recently:

“The price good men pay for indifference to public affairs is to be ruled by evil men.” -PLATO

The point of critique is not to tear apart, burn, cancel, hate, but to describe something for what it is or seems to be. And the duty of an artist is not merely self expression, which is part of being a human being really. This is not to say it’s an easy task, I often choke on words when I try to speak, sweat when I write, stutter and get flustered- but I practice. English isn’t even my first language, dance is! (and yours probably too).

The thing about the truth is it’s not saying this is how it is forever, but that it observes the tendencies for certain principles to create actions, reliably over time. Since science is supposedly our revered dogma now, we are past due for the application of the method. And since either Covid or our collective nervous system overwhelm seems to have harmed our random access memory feature, the internet was somewhat reliable, but already from the The American Museum of Natural History they are missing the part about questioning the conclusions drawn and making sure you did not get the answer to the question asked. Mind you, this whole process isn’t as well established you might believe; just a little over 100 years old.

The Scientific Method:

1. Define a Question to Investigate

2. Make Predictions

3. Gather Data

4. Analyze the Data

5. Draw Conclusions

6. QUESTION THE CONCLUSIONS

7. And repeat the process over and over, this is how we reform and discover epistemology

The thing about the method and the internet is, we need reliable sources, which brings me to the biggest lie repeated until it was a belief: experts have your best interest at heart. This one was a doozy, but the phrase “it takes a village” rings true. When it comes to knowing, I have to reveal my bias as an empiricist, meaning, I rely on my own senses. This does not mean I rely on my individual subjectivity alone. That would easily turn anyone into a tyrant or idiot. The state of the world today has given me over 13 years of aware witness of the pariahs as the center stage in humanity. This was a debate a mentor and I went through often about the way Hitler’s mental infection permeates the rotting attitude evident in the apathy today. Having enough care to speak up, let alone stand up, is considered real when signaled in violence, but what about the beauty of Being There for someone. Being reliable and sturdy with boundaries. Thankfully, something w…

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The wane in the usage of the word divinity reflects the attitude at which the mind has been treated by established fact creators.

Inso as much as the mainstream media bloats perception, the notion that changing someone’s mind is either the highest form of intelligence or the deepest form of abuse. How did I arrive at that understanding? Though a lifelong pursuit of truth that does not change (regardless of what is thought), lengthy conversations with my friend and colleague, and a lot of hands on experience working with my own life and mind.

So much of what we believe we are becomes formed before we can recall. This emphasis on the indentity can create an entire life of experiences that are not made by your own choice making. You see, the way I think of divinity is based on the physics of time and space as they were taught to me. Divinity becomes processes of discernment and difference in practice. The elements all around our bodies are also within our bodies. The filtering system of the diaphragm and the complexity of this neural network of veins respirated with the brain performs a pump of life we can gain deeper awareness with how the movements related to heart, visions, scents, and other intuitive sensations work in concert together.

We are all born with different senses that can be cultivated and divided in many ways. We are all different, which is different than saying we are all one and the same. The more reality gets denied, the more of the glory of what it is and can be becomes denied as well.

The stain on divinity gets blamed on religion, because of a few bad actors, traitors of truth. And the fixation on the characters becomes a distraction, as much in life can be.

Life is what we divine of it. And the more the senses are remembered as yours, with full ownership and responsibility to compose with, a world of beauty becomes formed with the might of your mind.

Having agency with your mind, means also hearing what people are really saying, and choosing whether you agree or do not agree. Oftentimes fear and the social need for a group to feel safe within will become a gateway or barrier to remembering your innate ability to divine a course with life.

And based on the various meanings different search results will find, the diving god is as much within as out there; and the ability to see, patterns, insights, through the subtle layers we point to as reality are already as malleable as the mind can be. As I’ve witnessed minds filled by the thoughts of others, whether its the media or mass opinion, are often seeing reality quite differently than minds that think for themselves. That is but one example of a pattern to see that leads to insight of a life in a chord with fear or love.

And how powerful can words be? I’ll always remember how I quivered when someone told me: love was a surplus value. That thought has no power over me, but when I connect with the meaning, it is perhaps one of the saddest perspectives on life, that sets the thinker into a dependence on fiat currency to create with life or not. Yet, I allow thoughts I do not agree with to remain in the background as those disagreements are like a sculptors’ tools; the disagreements distinguish this from that, refining the depth at which choices and genetic activations are expressed. And I found this type of divining life best done without a guru. Few others can know your life as well as you do.

And the pen is powerful in the type of story you want told of your life. It’s up to you.

Become a paid-subscriber at any time to receive digital copies of the forthcoming poetry books: Poetry, Prose &Suche. All small gifts matter and all kindness compounds. May you be blessed.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe