to resent the leap
it took for me to leave a peak
for verdant valleys
and urgent tallies
of recurrent follies
that humbled and brought wisdom.
I tumbled across visions
interwoven with religions
‘til I read words telling me to let it flow.
So here goes…
Here goes nothing and everything.
Here goes a heart open to aches that furrow brows.
The clever reign where the not so clever feign that they know.
Faithless… the turning… the yearning
for a space where nimble mind may alight for a time.
We seek surcease from uncertainties.
And trade them for the clinging taint of certainty.
We sell ourselves out for comforting back pats.
We sell ourselves short cavorting with our backpacks,
heavy with the accoutrements of our acumen.
We carry untold treasures.
We tarry on cold ledges awaiting the faith for leaps.
While the faithful sleep like bambinos exhaling frosted breath.
By frost the bow and bridge are called to being…
chakra shades and all.
Sacral space evolved…
The lower being and higher being merge.
There are no lanes
in this endeavor where forgotten pains
emerge and make it clear nothing is forgotten.
The ill-gotten goods you unconsciously despise
for what they remind you you have become
if you are mindful…
If your mind’s full… Empty it.
Breathe a little.
Reclaim who you were born to be.
Let that which must die die.
Reclaim your throne…
Don’t frown here in the darkness.
Feel it as it goes.
Don’t call the law.
Embody truth… again.
I won’t borrow style.
I will burrow into my wild, wild best.
Impoverished… It burns.
For there is so much to be brought forth.
So, in I go.
No bars to hold,
No scars to jade,
No point to prove,
No one to entertain…
My pen is free again.
As am I…
An awakening proved itself necessary.
So slumber shan’t stall stories from monumentally being built.
I relinquish my previous entries and exit onto a bare field.
I reminisce back to tabula rasa
(stated as status no more or not quite as much…).
I do due diligence in documenting the passage.
All is passing…
All this passion…
I’m enacting purpose filled action with no outcome attachment.
All is dancing…
So I smile as I type.
My pen is metaphorical.
It is rod, staff, caduceus… if you will.
I will… aligned with divine will…
I am of divine ilk.
Hence the divine ink.
Connotation to the winds…
Convocation of the wins…
They say the best things are to die for.
But aren’t the best things to strive for?
Successful struggles are ones we’re alive for.
It is easy to put words in the mouths of dead martyrs.
Who can truly die for another?
Yet who am I to cast anything…
least of all aspersions and assertions?
I am I… That’s who.
I am I. Is that you?
Then act like it.
To hell with political correctness.
Deception is war. So is politics.
It is a war on the use of your own good sense.
We trade responsibility hence power for the security of authorities
Am I doing this right?
No! If you have to ask.
I’m just doing me.
This one is for free.
Just as I am… A shift… A lift…
Just as I am… A gift… A risk…
Just as I am… Nothing is missed…
Doubts are dismissed.
It is what it is.
Reclaimant resists relapse
into imposed illusory reality’s throes.
I set me free.
I set my spirit afire…
No effigy… Just return of the effin’ G.
Every step is a sacrifice of stillness.
Some stillness comes with the onset of illness.
Some realness requires sacrifice of likelihood of being liked by those who bear witness…
Especially the false.
Oh boy… The pretense… The pittance…
The preaching… The defense…
The lost in the sauce…
The cognitive dissonance…
I almost became defined…
I almost became refined…
Fuck that… I decline…
The only thing that shall be said is, “He was himself.”
Rightly so… You only live one life at a time.
Breathe one breath… It doesn’t have be a sigh.
Win. You’re the best… It doesn’t have to be a tie.
Champion shit that’s destined to make you rise.
The above is a verb…
Actions and worth…
Factions and birth…
Fractions of dirt…
The war within and without…
The divisions and demarcations of doubt…
That keep us from the potential power of us all in concert and unison…
Don’t you see the imaginary lines? The ties that bind.
The lies that find their way to prominence
amongst the misguided and spiritually incompetent.
Colonialism shut you down for the count
but not the collecting of all your missing pieces strewn across the globe.
This whole earth is home.
We would see that if we were allowed to freely roam.
But the nationality bug has bit.
And war has been the norm ever since…
I don’t have the answers but just a bit of sense.
Enough to see the ports as the gates of our pens.
I’ve been on a journey since two thousand and ten.
Peaks and valleys… Now wings and solar winds…
I won’t apologize if any take offense.
I’m going to live my way so fuck what you think.
Emphatic and wild…
You may miss me if you blink.
Oh well… Life goes on.
Ten toes down.
Five foes frown.
Four allies crowned…
Courting of baskets…
Worship of masses..
Those in the stands…
Those in the meddle passage…
Tinkering and tampering with psyches
Molehills and mountains…
Who really does the counting?
Forced moves the nudging of buttons…
Wailing and gnashing of teeth…
Thought pools and puddles…
Watch actions repeat
Cycles of distraction
Molded minds… Massa’s win win.
Overtime…snap into a Slim Jim
Stolen vehicles and hijacked vessels…
Martyred miracles… Martial matters cancelled…
Our warriors are under the jail…
In fields, locker rooms, collosseums…
Nailed to the unreal.
Confined by a deal…
Gargantuan crumbs from their masters’ tables.
Oh well… At least some can pay bills…
What if all that invested will was toward shifting from domination to stewardship of all life and to the building of a balanced society
where both tranquility and thrills still amount to nill
insofar as veering from set upon path…
Finding time elusive.
The illusory evasion…
The lunacy coercion
to concur in their conquering of your timelessness.
That essential recognition that eternity is in this breath…
that the whole journey is in this step.
Take it surely.
Balance on the cusp of full potentiality.
Accept not the limits of the program.
You craft code.
You are captain and vessel.
You are fulcrum and level scale,
when you choose.
Power is in the choice
and thusly on the raised voice.
Raised as in cultivated- cured of the ails of stifling society…
pure as if unappraised, unjudged…
Unruled hence uncorrupted by prevailing paradigms
that refuse to budge, but must when the waters come.
Be they rains, rivers, or seas that seize back for nature
what we have pulled out of balance.
Oh what webs we weave when our very selves we contrive to deceive.
They would label clouds lazy like they do cats.
Yet the confined ones are the only ones I’ve seen fat.
Thusly is it always.
Trust me… All these hallways lead now here.
We found fear.
Leave our gear.
Seething seas… Teething beasts…
Lead yourself deep.
These waters upkeep
mists on mountainsides.
Rifts amongst A-and likes…
Drifts and dams… Desires and design.
Swift my plans… Real fire resigns
to light up where it resides
like Christmas lights.
This fits just right.
Resist one’s plight it persists, it is said.
Is that right?
From truth exact life.
Come loose; react nice.
It is never all it’s cracked up to be.
No one has to act tough for me…
Walk and talk love.
Exude a well being.
May all know peace.
Errol Percival Jr.
Have you seen my pain?
It resides where art stems from.
It tidies the tides of my musings.
Have you heard my pain?
It is in the hollow portion of my laughter.
It lends resonance.
Have you smelled my pain?
It wafts under the doors I keep barred.
It permeates my essence yielding compassion not complaint.
Have you tasted my pain?
It tastes like yours, albeit nuanced by my seasons.
Its flavor grows on you and I, evoking broken molds.
Have you felt my pain?
It’s ok if you haven’t.
I don’t wish it on anyone.
Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion