Dawn comes, and with it,
Your footprints on this earth.
This house has been empty all night
save the single flame of a lamp, waiting.
I gather the dust of your presence,
breathe in your fragrance
And your light spills into me.

Am an anarchist?

The fire isnt blazing anymore. But it is quietly sufficient, you would have to get really close for the warmth. And there is much needed rest in being self contained. I have a suspicion that I'm a closet anarchist. A spiritual anarchist. A strange term even to me. Every thing I have been writing of late eventually leads there, and I find myself at a loss to communicate without preaching. So I figure let me label myself as such, before I am forced into it. :)

Here's a sample of what I'm writing now:
What is right? and what is wrong? There's none, except what expereince teaches us.
Others' experience as well. If we are wise enough to want to avoid those same pitfalls, along with some introspection. Our intellect that can zip through a thousand different permutations and combinations of actions and long term consequences. What is right is what is beneficial to one's self. What is beneficial to us in the long run is also beneficial to the collective. and what is wrong? whatever is harmful to the collective, is harmful to our own psyche in the long run as well. Taking it a few threads deeper, there is something that works on our psyche, alters it towards content or misery, towards victim or master of destiny. How else does one say to the child " the fire will burn you, bad company can lead you to misery, smoking and drinking will eventually make you less than a man, and lust will kill all the joy of inncence in you, some things, habits will dull your awareness, lead you to misery. And all misery leads to some disease of the physical and mental body. And it is a long climb out of that dark well" ?

Are not all ethics and morals laid out thusly? Only fear is more powerful than reason. Hell works better than heaven. Perhaps a long time ago, when human intellect and emotional intelligence was still evolving, there was a need to coerce everyone for the common good. Only it took strange turns, because authority and power are corrupting, and hunger for them acts slyly. The will to subjugate everyone else.

Our human system is not so flimsy as to need external ethics imposed on us. And rules and moral laws are degrading. They attack the back bone of the human spirit. Within us we all seek a natural balance, one that existed within us a very very long time ago before sophisticated cunning started. It is born of a choice, a free will, one that unleashes reactions within and without when we swing too far from that balance. We swing, we learn, we go back to that state of principles already built within us. It is a natural state of dignity, of nurturing - ourselves, those in our care and each other. A state that is geared towards our further evolution.

Ignorance after all, is not a mere lack of information. It is the lack of awareness of the process of one's self.

Amongst the crowd that applauds you
I stand quiet, tonguetied,
for merely to think of you
is to be with you in silent awe,

You speak to me,
not with words
but your hands,
your eyes,
your heart.

With you majesty has a form -
the immense gravity of the stars,
and love is an ocean
immeasurable, uncharted.

And love between us is wordless,
unceremonious,
neither witnessed nor vowed,
but
with my spirit
that flows into you.

These moments with you,
tender buds of promises,
I gather to my heart.

From somewhere deep within the recesses of black restfulness a memory stirred, slept before it woke fully
and stirred again. In the movement arose a semi awareness, of its own existence. Of its own stirring. In
a half conscious stupor it dreamt of a world spun into being, a cocoon built of dust. It rested. Memories
passed it. There had been light. While life fluttered like the urge of a seed. It pushed forth, each
heartbeat an infinitessimal movement, a tiny leap towards awakening. A stir of the limbs, and it woke
to the soft fluttering of life. Wings. Still moist. Body. Raw, tender. Life.

Between waking and awake is a thousand slips. The abyss of illusions. The sloth of tamas, slavery to the depraved senses of a gross existence, and the dulled intellect. Unthinking, unstriving.

Between life and alive are degrees of consciousness. Ascension. Captain of the soul, master of fate.
The glory of life. To be alive is to savor the present. At the focal point of the greatest convergence of energies and awareness.