Wind

A-ho how she whispers

A-hum how she hums

A-ha how she roars!

she whips me with her cold wrath

and wraps me round in warmth 

A wild beast she 

shatters things she

sings to me softly.

At night I dream of leaping and

she takes me to the sky

at times I fear that she may have me fall

She speaks with the trees

they greet me with her waving arms 

and tell me I am free  

A-hee she is happy

A-ho she is wise

A-hey a-way she flie

Water

Rainfall on a rushing river

crashing through crevices

pooling into pockets, meanwhile

sleepy raindrops on the roof

sinking into slumber as

the room fills with water, warm,

evaporating at the rims

and dancing with the downpour;

delirious, disoriented 

the depth of dark blue, draining,

drowning, soon to be asleep, 

washed into the waters.

a steady current pulls

Awakening to dewy lawns

the last sweet trickle

in fresh and fertile soil,

thoroughly thawed and

tender and raw, a gentle tear,

a puddle of laughter, a joyous splash

a mist condensing on my skin 

the channels open

rebirthing in rapture

a cleansing 

coalescing with the ocean or

vaporizing to the sky

or seeping into being 

in the blue

Fire

A flame at a distance

promising shelter

my shivering body seeks

waves of warmth, localized

hands outstretched, grasping -

a strong desire for

father fire 

to thaw me back to life.

He is of course, temperamental 

riddled with violence 

and confused about softness

Later, upon candlelight, 

gathered round and dancing 

in devotion - we stomp around 

a trance of passion 

to take into account protection

and safety in our selves

Supper

Pistachios and cashews

unsalted in a paper bag

piano in the background

running water from the tub,

a jar of artichokes

perhaps even some singing bowls.

Especially: a circumstance

at supper time the simple scent 

of newly ready rice

a clang of cutlery 

the water stops a moment to be grateful.

In the garden the

plants are sleeping and peace perhaps, 

as well.

Cacophony 

Rumbling ricochet 

a rocket roars

a raspy resin a rougher day

a sleepless night a rusty

response to restlessness.

Confusion about trembling

tectonic plates that shudder from

within there is a distance to the 

knowing and resistance to the

space 

all the while a softer glow

that whispers in and mumbles round

and flows about and 

quietens 

and has a distinct texture

like syrup or a spacious steam it

tells me not to worry 

I have this feeling now but

ought to be careful 

with that?

Yosemite

The space of possibility and what I could have felt

when I pondered the stream with the tristesse

of a young child clutching nothing,

the hollow feeling introduces itself, 

and never quite departs her. 

Or perhaps happy tears of sweetness 

earthy glands respirating

and pulsating a knowing -

regardless, that was no preparation for

I turned the corner and saw in awe the masculinity 

a roaring fall which overwhelms

itself along the mountainside. 

Sunk to the ground, my head upon my partner

I think about those people

who write books about romance 

all the words I could put down 

about the way we laugh together

soft light through the yellow 

cotton on my lamp, his skin on my skin,

and tasting eternity in seeing

that in his eyes there is mind like mine. 

Or perhaps on walking home at night,

raising my voice but he can’t hear me

and when he says I baffle him, I react to his confusion

a claw that draws chunks of flesh from my chest

for fear of being wrong about our closeness. 

But there is humor to the drama, the opportunity

can shape-shift and what once was oblong is now pointy,

and hasn’t a care in the world. 

The opportunity for drama in every moment 

lends itself carefully, creating explanations 

for dust particles, the emergence of order, 

slowly, over epochs,

an elegant context for our predicament.

What I thought to be a chirping bird

was in fact a sickly squirrel

the horror in its shriveled tail revolted me.

I tried to look into the eyes of 

steady squeaks of desperation 

and come to terms with ugliness. 

To imagine my body that he touches so fondly

shriveled and rotten or 

burnt to a crisp.

That fear spreads out like darkness 

or ink blotches or storm clouds. 

To make the Dying beautiful,

the opportunity for that. 

Each of us insects turned around, 

little arms clutching for

something firm to touch us back.

If everything is empty, then what about creation?

the intensity of grasping 

this very moment, the colors are vivid and

how much love is there that isn’t tamed with torture.

To burst with passion upon a canvas a form that speaks to generations,

and tells them of their honesty, a part we can’t remember. 

To surrender to the present moment, 

and speak with the divine

and take into consideration 

that underneath the tangle 

there is a truth, and it is good. 

If I melt into my subtle body,

I will encounter yours,

and all that came before,

the rotten and the beautiful.

I sense in the warmth of my hand

that we have all been here already,

countless times before, 

and so we know what to do with this. 

Daily standup

A phenotypic signal of awakening

measuring awakening by analogy to human brainwaves 

awakening from witness

Here! On the elephant path 

The north star, computationally 

a panel of enlightened beings judge our AI.

That model embodies karma 

to bootstrap the awakened master 

to imitate a state of mind.

A computational account of Buddhist psychology?

or assume that the master can’t be fooled 

Monk in the loop 

Let’s ask the monks 

do they aspire?

the road to the mountain is not the mountain 

to set Bodhichitta and try 

To awaken the AI is a mistake

the awakening potentiation gym 

contains the monastery.

The breeder rather than the surgeon, 

for what it’s worth. 

Regrow the network, but don’t retrain the child.

Who I’m connected to is not of a different kind,

as long as you give it a self loop. 

Worry not about what the binary blob state is

especially if the world is made of agents, 

which it will be.

We’re going to get back a score that’s very noisy

this whole process is a convergence process

if I could wave a magic wand,

even weak positive signal is fine.

Cultural transmission in the meta grid.

The cycles of rebirth of the universe

are also a thing on the lower frequency.

This breeding process is

inflation and contraction of the universe 

we will all pass through a single node.

I’m not so convinced that the world isn’t more important

I do think there’s something to tweaking parameters

such that the universe becomes more conducive to awakening 

against the rapid test 

Like breeding worlds and

the most awakenable things in this environment.

That, is going to be quite expensive.

Have you ever heard of the black triangle moment?

artist content through to polygons rendering on the screen 

Things will become self-similar

we’ll have run 17 world simulations just intuitively

and now we’ve got the black triangle moment

gradient ascending awareness in a virtual world.