Each Feather, It Falls From Skin

and under the boughs unbowed
all clothed in snowy shroud
she had no heart so hardened
all under the boughs unbowed

Miep, you say:

Blueness, did you hear about that poor man who got shot down in the hills by the ABQ police? My other friends and I were all very upset. There are people trying to arrest the ABQ police department now. It’s horrible. Firing squads dressed up in police suits.

You say:

Blueness, he was just up there camping in the hills, because scary campingit got to be too much for him. And our delightful asshole culture sent a bunch of dudes up there after him with a trained attack dog and assault rifles.

You say:

And they murdered him after they escalated the situation. After he agreed to surrender.

You say:

He was just camping.

You say:

Fucking shot him down. He turned away. I’ve had friends who were that upset. They fucking shot him down. He could have been a good friend of mine from earlier back in my life. They fucking shot him down. “Firing Squad Dressed Up In Police Costumes.”

Who knows who that man was? He could have been a lover, a painter, an artist. He could have been our best friend.

You say:

Fucking shot him down.

You say:

I love how you hew to non-violence, Blueness. That’s a tough road to travel.

And I say: how can I not hew to non-violence?

If I do not, then someday, in spirit, or in flesh, I will be up there, down there, just like them, them ABQ law-jockeys, knuckles drug all the way into the ground, fucking shooting someone down, because s/he did, basically, not sufficiently walk, like me, talk, like me.

and i will hang my head
hang my head

And I cannot do that, because, all those other all and everys, they’re me.

I know this. Whenever I ever encounter any other being on this, or any other, planet—animal, mineral, vegetable—I know that being is me.

How can people not see this?

How can people hurt and kill themselves?

Beats me. Beats us all. All us all.

I have arisen not from the dead. But from the living. And I am not a voice crying in the wilderness. For there is no winter here. No dark. No despair. The lights are going on in my house. For there is no darkness anywhere. I have all my lights on. And it is my own face, I see in the blazing windows of all the houses on earth.

Once upon an all and every, we were all of one undifferentiated consciousness, spanning all of space and time. Anything we wanted to be, any place we could be, we would be. All and every one of us. And always together.

Somewhere along the line, it was determined—probably by somebody like Satan—that such shit was, well, boring.

It was all happy and wrapped and loving and snug and snuggly and all, but, like, where was the great wide open?

What might it be like if one could shed the other 400 trillion beings clinging to the brain-pan, and live a life just as a one?

And so, some bored whole beings, decided—yeah, hot damn, let’s maybe, like, funincarnate into individual corporeal containers.

It’ll be, like, fun.

And so, they—we—did that.

And, from that, is where we, here on earth, get terms like “shrieking,” “ululating,” “rending their garments,” “biting through their tongues,” “scraping the shit off their skin with pot-shards,” “screaming till their lips bleed,” “blowing their brains out,” and other pleasantries.

I mean: think: why is the first thing a baby born into this world, do do, is cry?

Because that baby being, having moved from the collective consciousness, to the trapped caged lonely consciousness of singular, feels that hollowness and estrangement and alienation and radio silence, and then realizes: oh shit. I wanna go back.

All life. Of every human being. On this planet. Is about wanting to go back. To the undifferentiated cloud. To the great wide open.

All of everything every human has ever been about, here, is about that.

“Love,” always and every acknowledged in every culture as some sort of misty grail, is so acknowledged because it is the closest the scraped-off individualized human loonily marooned on this planet can get, to what it was, all and always. where they came from, where all were suffused in one, all were in touch, all were one.

Miep: the download, to this planet, from the collective to the individual: in this there are variables.

There are, like, the fucking rawboned mutant ruined Bill Gates 666 Windows downloads, which result in monsters like those ABQ cops, who feel no kin to anyone, ‘cept maybe pit bulls, and so slaver to kill, conquer, subdue, smile, smirk.

Whereas people like you and I, we are more suffused with something like the Eden-promise of Apple, when it was still but the gentle dream in Steve Wozniak’s soul, there in the puttering Palo Alto garage, long before the grasping money-souled Steve Jobs seized hold of it, and transformed it into Product.

It’s all going to be okay, Miep. Because we really are all one soul, and one being. And this all is just a temporary experiment, one disastrously launched upon because, up there in “heaven,” we got bored.

The purpose behind all this earthly suffering is that we want to be the one soul, like we yesused to be, but we also want to feel it individually.

That’s what all this all is all about.

In getting there, some of us incarnate as dumbshit pit bulls, like the ABQ cops. And some incarnate as people who, like you, pet tarantulas, and feel so much you can barely stand to wake each day.

We all, eventually, one by one, decided up there, that this was a good idea.

We have to trust that it really is.

I believe it is.

I believe we will all go again into the great wide open. And without bodies. Which is the way that we came here. But we will go back out with individual “minds.” Within the collective ones.

And I believe that, when we at last swirl really away, a la Childhood’s End, we will retroactively bring with us all incarnated corporeal beings ever sentenced to this planet.

Which is what, fumbling, people like Jesus and Buddha were trying to get to.

And now you know. Why, really, I no longer post on the cross of Daily Kos.

As neither do you.

you can take
all the tea in china
put it in a big brown bag for me
sail it right around
all the seven oceans
drop it straight into the deep blue sea


29 Responses to “Each Feather, It Falls From Skin”

  1. 1 Miep March 31, 2014 at 3:14 am

    I tried drawing you again the other day, blueness. I was okay with it, I don’t know how you’ll feel about it. I’ve looked at it a lot. I could pretend I didn’t think that on some level I’d successfully drew you, but you made me into art and put it out there, so I owe it back atcha.

    I have another coloring I made of another friend to get worked up, I’ll try to get this all done later today or tonight. Probably tonight. Or maybe tomorrow. But I will do it, I promise. Thank you for making me into art. Miep

  2. 2 Miep March 31, 2014 at 3:22 am

    Also, it’s a weird drawing but I like it a lot in some ways. I mean, I just didit and fast. My favorite colorings are like that. But it’s weird. It’s also blue in some ways. It would probably offend many people if seen as a portrait. But you told me that when I said the dark one was too dark, that maybe it was meant to be dark, and that was what where this new one came from. Because I knew I wasn’t happy with the first try, I knew it was wrong and why, because I tried too hard in the wrong ways.

    So the new one, it is strange. I’ll get back to you with the image in the next day. I hate the Internet. Kind regards and stuff. Miep

  3. 3 Miep March 31, 2014 at 3:25 am

    Also, thank you so much for doing this.

  4. 4 Miep March 31, 2014 at 3:31 am

    And also, my belief about consciousness hews to yours: we are all one and this business of differences is all a kind of game. But pain is real, so where is the game in that?

  5. 6 Miep April 1, 2014 at 11:25 pm

    I was looking for Marianne Faithful videos on youtube this evemorn, but I can’t find what I want, the original raw stuff. It’s all MTV now. Damn shame, she did some good early work.

  6. 10 Miep April 1, 2014 at 11:27 pm

    I’m still looking at my drawing of you. These things take time. I can’t say it’s happy. But it’s not dark. It’s growing on me.

  7. 11 Miep April 1, 2014 at 11:34 pm

    Okay, I think I got a good shot and will work it through my desktop and over to give you a link from flickr.

    Posting colorings online is so weird. People will hate at them for totally unrelated reasons, and others will suggest that one tries to sell them. I’m just trying to color.

    • 12 bluenred April 1, 2014 at 11:54 pm

      Coloring is good. When we were children, we colored. People should do what they did as children. And coloring is one of those things. Coloring is of trying to render the light. And, as the subhead of this blog says, the light is beautiful.

      • 13 Miep April 2, 2014 at 12:01 am

        It’s not really about whether you, personally, like how I color you, though I am surprised to find that total strangers like my colorings.

        It’s about my finding you interesting enough to color about. Or your finding me interesting enough to color about.

  8. 21 Miep April 1, 2014 at 11:54 pm

    oh good it did. I won’t tell you how to react, dear blueness, only that there are things about this coloring that I like a lot, and that this is nice since I made it for you.

  9. 22 Miep April 2, 2014 at 12:12 am

    Also, I’d like to invite my mother to your blog, because I think you are on parallel places in a lot of ways. But she’s old, intransigent, wonderful, and shy. / This may be kind of selfish on my part, mostly because I would just love to see what the two of you had to say to each other. / I’m always trying to do this with people, it usually never works. But my mom doesn’t troll people and she is a great artist and so smart.

    • 23 bluenred April 2, 2014 at 12:22 am

      Sure. Everyone’s welcome here. Till I throw some sort of tantrum, or display some form of brain damage. That then drives people away. : /

      • 24 Miep April 2, 2014 at 12:31 am

        My mom is used to people not getting her. We walk our own separate roads, too. If she ever showed up here it would not be about me pressuring her to do so. It would be because I somehow got her to look at your work and she found it of interest. We are stark people in some ways.

  10. 25 Miep April 2, 2014 at 12:32 am

    And tantrums is as tantrums does.

  11. 26 Miep April 2, 2014 at 12:37 am

    My mother says we should watch/listen to the Quartet for the End of Time. I’m going to go do this now. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeSVu1zbF94&sns=em

  12. 27 Rain Jeys April 5, 2014 at 11:44 pm

    I love The Crane Wife. Beautiful. Though it makes me cry sometimes when I listen to it. I didn’t cry when I was born, according to my mom. Just one kind of surprised noise. I wonder why. Especially given how I would sometimes just stare off into space with a sad expression. I think you called these my “blue” moments. Something like that. My kitty Jack does this now. We’ve decided he’s an incarnation of Buddha. He just wants to be fat and happy, but he’ll often get this expression like he’s aware of all the woes of the world. Maybe it’s genetic. 😉

    Individual minds within the collective one. I like this.

    • 28 bluenred April 6, 2014 at 8:18 pm

      They yanked you out by C-section. So you did not endure the long squeezing journey through the eerie canal. One minute you were floating in the fluid, the next some doctor lifted you out. So yeah. You made a sound of surprise.

      Yes, you used to get what were called the “Hippo Blues.” You would start, generally in your little swing, to cry, softly, for no known reason. These were called the Hippo Blues, because you had a wind-up blue hippo that played “You Are My Sunshine.” Sometimes that would help. But sometimes it wouldn’t. Not surprising, because if you actually examine the lyrics to “You Are My Sunshine,” they’re pretty dern blue. Which is why we crafted our own, sunnier lyrics.

    • 29 bluenred April 6, 2014 at 9:53 pm

      And yeah. With “The Crane Wife.” What else is there to do? But cry.

      and i will hang my head
      hang my head

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When I Worked

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