solarium
The solarium is a diner with a view....
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 8:38 AM
0 comments
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Gazebo
A gazebo out of a satellite dish? Why not, recycle....
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 8:37 AM
0 comments
House frontal
The redwood stump cannot obscure the whole house....
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 8:37 AM
0 comments
Meditation calms
Our Meditation Room gives us both peace when stresses build up....
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 8:34 AM
0 comments
Holiday Blessings
Visit and see another image every month...
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:45 AM
0 comments
Our Greeting Card
We send Best Wishes to You and Yours....
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:44 AM
0 comments
Marriage Ceremony
As we ever evolve, our strengths arise from experiences and encounters. We two find our love uniting us, forming another, a third that grows between, beyond and within us. In acknowledging this love, we share, as an experience akin to an ever-growing tree, up, down, and outward, we see ourselves in one another. Seeing one another mirroring one another in stages that precede this one, we know love on a deep psychic and soul level. As such, we know this love deserves respect beyond acknowledgment and unto stated commitment of intent. Our experiences of encountering one another blossom into another stage in this proclamation of our continuing dedication and service to one another, perpetual sharing and tending of our love, and nurturing and edifying one another throughout our lifetimes in union.
Therefore, with these words, gazes, energies, touches, gestures, movements, and embraces, given and received, through loving above all, and hearing, speaking, seeing, feeling, smelling, tasting, and sensing, we two join in ritual and sacred union. We hereby testify that we do these things knowingly and lovingly, of sound minds, thoughts, souls, emotions, and bodies, in complete and total agreement and accord; without reservation or hesitation do we join.
We light sacred candles and incense to symbolize seeing, hearing, smelling, and the flames of our shared passion and love, and to represent our eternal union with one another and our interconnectedness with all.
We partake of this sacred sacrament of wine, bread, and pomegranate to symbolize tasting and sharing one another’s blood and body, of our commitment to this union, of the ultimate sacrifice either of us is willing to make if needed, and of the recognized trials and tribulations that such a union entails.
We sprinkle one another with this sacred water to symbolize feeling the baptism of one another’s nurturance, and the reassurance of its continuance with this pledge.
We anoint one another with this sacred oil to symbolize the sacredness of one another, to share in the joy of being present with one another.
We share these powerful written and spoken words with one another to commemorate our love for one another, and to enter them and this ceremony in our minds with indelible freshness to rememory in times of need.
We share these images with one another to declare an emphasis on our togetherness, to release negative energy affiliated with past happenings, and to increase our shared understandings of one another so that we may grow however we do.
We share these sacred songs with one another, composed for this event, in honor of one another and eachother-together, to carry the strands of our soul music into one another’s souls forever.
We give of ourselves, one to the other, in this sacred union, in this ritual ceremony, in all facets of our lives, to be stewards of one another and the world, to love and encourage love, and to be and notice one another Being in many moments.
Therefore, with these words, gazes, energies, touches, gestures, movements, and embraces, given and received, through loving above all, and hearing, speaking, seeing, feeling, smelling, tasting, and sensing, we two join in ritual and sacred union. We hereby testify that we do these things knowingly and lovingly, of sound minds, thoughts, souls, emotions, and bodies, in complete and total agreement and accord; without reservation or hesitation do we join.
We light sacred candles and incense to symbolize seeing, hearing, smelling, and the flames of our shared passion and love, and to represent our eternal union with one another and our interconnectedness with all.
We partake of this sacred sacrament of wine, bread, and pomegranate to symbolize tasting and sharing one another’s blood and body, of our commitment to this union, of the ultimate sacrifice either of us is willing to make if needed, and of the recognized trials and tribulations that such a union entails.
We sprinkle one another with this sacred water to symbolize feeling the baptism of one another’s nurturance, and the reassurance of its continuance with this pledge.
We anoint one another with this sacred oil to symbolize the sacredness of one another, to share in the joy of being present with one another.
We share these powerful written and spoken words with one another to commemorate our love for one another, and to enter them and this ceremony in our minds with indelible freshness to rememory in times of need.
We share these images with one another to declare an emphasis on our togetherness, to release negative energy affiliated with past happenings, and to increase our shared understandings of one another so that we may grow however we do.
We share these sacred songs with one another, composed for this event, in honor of one another and eachother-together, to carry the strands of our soul music into one another’s souls forever.
We give of ourselves, one to the other, in this sacred union, in this ritual ceremony, in all facets of our lives, to be stewards of one another and the world, to love and encourage love, and to be and notice one another Being in many moments.
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:35 AM
0 comments
We Three
There exist those whom I love more than myself
Lisé and family come to mind initially…
And, then, there is Sequoia de O’…
The home and property…
And, now, here is a place that I would defend with my life
Here is a woman I would defend with my life
So that now I understand somewhat, what others have expressed…
We three, ah, and what does that mean to my husband and what does that mean to me?
It means, in part, I fancy, the Third, of which we have spoken and written and made Ours
And it also means a third which still looms and hovers above me and us in the most whimsical and dangerous of times… and will this son that I feel urging me on to accept him
To accept his father’s seed—will Om Ptah actually become part of We Three
Or will he remain a part of the poiesis that will remain forever a part of who and what I am
And what is my husband and what are WE?
Ooh, I scamper into dells whose names have usurped glades
Whose names pile atop valleys that once were foothills
And, once a mountain seems scaled is when it shows down
Much like a pillow that conforms to one’s head is fluffed tomorrow
Yet once engaged becomes a bludgeon shifting dreams of shadows
Leave me…and return breath as a journey shows lost worlds in reach
So too do I wish to breach your innermost interior so nothing is…
And, I, too, scamper into the knolls of the fairies to meet the fairy King and Queen
Daring to stand in all glory and humility before them… And, I, lost in shadow and light
And light and shadow, as the two become one and reveal themselves as yet another Third
Which itself, Speaks: It is as exactly as you have imagined it to be and yet not at all
Because it is so much more… and in my confusion and simultaneous bliss
I long for Poseidon and the mermaids to bring me back to the elemental of my elementals
The glorious ocean in which I need no explanations
‘Ere I wish for something phenomenal, the rain strikes again
First a knocking of gentlest ticks and then a patter to thunder
Wonder…you a star of yonder yore and I of other lore—we store
Upon one another’s shores, we find port and mooring sure
A fortnight goes by that does not know gratitude for and from us
We continue, sailing our retinues, seeing sequoia and birch stands
A back and front area take shape with life in places to thrive that knows it’s so—as we do…
The rain—ah, the rain, does it move you with excitement, poignancy, peace, as it does me?
And the more it pounds, the more I feel EVERYTHING! How ironic, my love, that you question my interest, my love, my curiosity, because there are objects d’art that I have not asked you about – trophies about which have been left unspoken—other things that have become a part of Sequoia de O’ that I have not questioned, which seems rather stranger to me
As I sit here writing this, and which equally makes sense when I put myself in your place:
But don’t you know by now that I want to know EVERYTHING!!! No, really, EVERYTHING… and the only thing to do with that is to let you tell me everything in pieces and in parts in your own time, not because of my lack of interest, but precisely because I know that we have a lifetime in which to reveal these things and more to one another….
Ah, you rain love and developing treasures related upon whomsoever is now…
Nay, it is not red billowing flowers alone that induce such rhetoric…nay…
Not a cloud within or without or beyond or between, but a peculiar interexistence felt
That calls me ever onward and inward, and as a result, ever exploratory—for you are inexhaustible
Not simply the redwood groves that grow forever and closer circumambulate our repose
No, it is more than even the helixical fractality of life: I thought none other could know….
What you are refutes logic, for to me you are oxygen…
Nay, sunlight and carbon dioxide that produces oxygen and glucose during…
Water and more water and so water that is so necessary to the process
Don’t you know by now how much I love you, my love, my husband, by baby?
Don’t you know by now how much you feed me as the willow tree, as the
ANY tree feeds the inevitable and hungry breeze?
I am in you, with you, by you, beside you, ARE YOU
And will be so until eternity ends, which is forever and never and a day….
Soothing waters flowing coolly continually…without challenge or hindrance…
It seems as if a quest of heroes of olde, and yet I know I am no Odysseus or Jason…
So what check I may make, regardless of imaginary deck or stake
There is no treasure worth killing others that we have not found in one another
Yes, and so, killing anyone softly, is nothing more than forgetting how loud anyone could be…
A boring bore I’ve bored of myself; and so I shall think no more on this and instead dwell on YOU!
WHY R U STILL HERE?
Oh, yes, I recall…
To make an ass out of your ridiculousness shown herein….
I am in you, with you, by you, beside you, ARE YOU
And will be so until eternity ends, which is forever and never and a day….
I am with you, still
Your ass, your willing ridiculousness shown
Within and without and withal…
Sorry, now the process has been determined obnoxious!
So, although I would add ice to make it now
What is better is to slowly add ice for later.
We join, for a confused moment, what came well before us
Wondering at our desire for lack of supplies…
Still, we see horse manure shall enrich the property,
And a male dog shall protect us all!
You need only need ask…
And whatever you request, I will try my utmost to provide for you…
Amidst the utter confusion and lack of understanding of the twists and turns that this
Writing has taken… Still, my love is as pure as and full as ever it has been or ever will be…
None of this was intended for confusion slates
Nor for me to request any certain thing
You provide anything I could desire, yet, you wonder…
Away from me…
And who am I to tell you how these things you see are not what I mean?
For, regardless of my input, this is a core, a shamanic element…
I am after all what I say I am…
Lisé and family come to mind initially…
And, then, there is Sequoia de O’…
The home and property…
And, now, here is a place that I would defend with my life
Here is a woman I would defend with my life
So that now I understand somewhat, what others have expressed…
We three, ah, and what does that mean to my husband and what does that mean to me?
It means, in part, I fancy, the Third, of which we have spoken and written and made Ours
And it also means a third which still looms and hovers above me and us in the most whimsical and dangerous of times… and will this son that I feel urging me on to accept him
To accept his father’s seed—will Om Ptah actually become part of We Three
Or will he remain a part of the poiesis that will remain forever a part of who and what I am
And what is my husband and what are WE?
Ooh, I scamper into dells whose names have usurped glades
Whose names pile atop valleys that once were foothills
And, once a mountain seems scaled is when it shows down
Much like a pillow that conforms to one’s head is fluffed tomorrow
Yet once engaged becomes a bludgeon shifting dreams of shadows
Leave me…and return breath as a journey shows lost worlds in reach
So too do I wish to breach your innermost interior so nothing is…
And, I, too, scamper into the knolls of the fairies to meet the fairy King and Queen
Daring to stand in all glory and humility before them… And, I, lost in shadow and light
And light and shadow, as the two become one and reveal themselves as yet another Third
Which itself, Speaks: It is as exactly as you have imagined it to be and yet not at all
Because it is so much more… and in my confusion and simultaneous bliss
I long for Poseidon and the mermaids to bring me back to the elemental of my elementals
The glorious ocean in which I need no explanations
‘Ere I wish for something phenomenal, the rain strikes again
First a knocking of gentlest ticks and then a patter to thunder
Wonder…you a star of yonder yore and I of other lore—we store
Upon one another’s shores, we find port and mooring sure
A fortnight goes by that does not know gratitude for and from us
We continue, sailing our retinues, seeing sequoia and birch stands
A back and front area take shape with life in places to thrive that knows it’s so—as we do…
The rain—ah, the rain, does it move you with excitement, poignancy, peace, as it does me?
And the more it pounds, the more I feel EVERYTHING! How ironic, my love, that you question my interest, my love, my curiosity, because there are objects d’art that I have not asked you about – trophies about which have been left unspoken—other things that have become a part of Sequoia de O’ that I have not questioned, which seems rather stranger to me
As I sit here writing this, and which equally makes sense when I put myself in your place:
But don’t you know by now that I want to know EVERYTHING!!! No, really, EVERYTHING… and the only thing to do with that is to let you tell me everything in pieces and in parts in your own time, not because of my lack of interest, but precisely because I know that we have a lifetime in which to reveal these things and more to one another….
Ah, you rain love and developing treasures related upon whomsoever is now…
Nay, it is not red billowing flowers alone that induce such rhetoric…nay…
Not a cloud within or without or beyond or between, but a peculiar interexistence felt
That calls me ever onward and inward, and as a result, ever exploratory—for you are inexhaustible
Not simply the redwood groves that grow forever and closer circumambulate our repose
No, it is more than even the helixical fractality of life: I thought none other could know….
What you are refutes logic, for to me you are oxygen…
Nay, sunlight and carbon dioxide that produces oxygen and glucose during…
Water and more water and so water that is so necessary to the process
Don’t you know by now how much I love you, my love, my husband, by baby?
Don’t you know by now how much you feed me as the willow tree, as the
ANY tree feeds the inevitable and hungry breeze?
I am in you, with you, by you, beside you, ARE YOU
And will be so until eternity ends, which is forever and never and a day….
Soothing waters flowing coolly continually…without challenge or hindrance…
It seems as if a quest of heroes of olde, and yet I know I am no Odysseus or Jason…
So what check I may make, regardless of imaginary deck or stake
There is no treasure worth killing others that we have not found in one another
Yes, and so, killing anyone softly, is nothing more than forgetting how loud anyone could be…
A boring bore I’ve bored of myself; and so I shall think no more on this and instead dwell on YOU!
WHY R U STILL HERE?
Oh, yes, I recall…
To make an ass out of your ridiculousness shown herein….
I am in you, with you, by you, beside you, ARE YOU
And will be so until eternity ends, which is forever and never and a day….
I am with you, still
Your ass, your willing ridiculousness shown
Within and without and withal…
Sorry, now the process has been determined obnoxious!
So, although I would add ice to make it now
What is better is to slowly add ice for later.
We join, for a confused moment, what came well before us
Wondering at our desire for lack of supplies…
Still, we see horse manure shall enrich the property,
And a male dog shall protect us all!
You need only need ask…
And whatever you request, I will try my utmost to provide for you…
Amidst the utter confusion and lack of understanding of the twists and turns that this
Writing has taken… Still, my love is as pure as and full as ever it has been or ever will be…
None of this was intended for confusion slates
Nor for me to request any certain thing
You provide anything I could desire, yet, you wonder…
Away from me…
And who am I to tell you how these things you see are not what I mean?
For, regardless of my input, this is a core, a shamanic element…
I am after all what I say I am…
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:35 AM
0 comments
The Sound a Tree that is us Two…
Blank slate, time to move into the fresh sounds of our lokeng tonight
Some would question, others know no questions related to such
Much would be the queries of the sounds emanating
Free, fresh and unobstructed all of us to ourselves
For a few moments no work just play in its variant manifestations
On the threshold of sounds to be that will become of our own making
Making the world tree that is you and me
Recalling
A dog at Rodin’s portal chasing wet sticks
A dog in view of feather weights
A dog on the lawn by the tree of bay
None on a leash…
Cerberus, the three-headed guard at the river styx
Anubis who guides us through-out our lives
And weighs our hearts against the lightness of a feather
Apollo, the most obscure, chasing Daphne like the dog that many a man is
But most importantly, free
Feeling like
A Picasso bull
Needing to writhe in vines
Fervor builds as beauty reposes
Amidst grape leaves fluttering
Doth a more thump my pulser
Be still my beating heart
As it pulses for the Lokeng that begins as poetry
And will transform itself as the evening turns into the deep of night
And as I wind my way through the labyrinth of understanding your references
You surreptitiously and playfully sneak peaks
Making the world tree that is you and me
Forty-nine days under a tree
Or was it seven,
Anyway, what with the rays blinding me
I saw little other than the terror of heaven
Who tried to deviate purpose into possession
Possessed by the Lady O’Domestico
Fingers tendrils
Hands leaves
Arms branch out
Chest trunks
Waist no bark—I shout!
Legs firm, feet root grounded
Head swivels to see the false moon
Running through glimmering deep woods
And I sigh an acornic relief
For now lover and I are one
Not trapped by but transformed by
Not turned into but turning within together
Two sexes into one
Two individualities into one
Having individuated turning now to the unity of the one
That we are together within the divinity of the Oak Tree
Making the world tree that is you and me
What if every wave were a slinky? {listen to this, NOW}
Treeless and treeful nonetheless
Tearful peerless mouthful issues
Into ways of hearing colors
Of seeing vibrations
So that what is breath
Tastes like the fragrance of long-past fallen leaves in jump
Here is not there nor where but whenever
And whenever is nowhether for our simplicity
Enjoin nothing to feel it all
And within the lack is much
Therein I revel in L’O
Is it not so, S’O
SOPotter, Sir O’Domestico, Sir Oriam
That L’O is your Lady
The Lady O’Domestico, Lady Oriam
Is Your Lover
Loveling in our lokeng,
Revealing herself in You
Making the world tree that is you and me
How can I say, Lisé so they understand?
S’O, L’O, so low the slow show knowing
Clothes loss trailing the strenuous
Mixing, frenetic is now
And she moves beneath me
A rhythm that soaks into my soul
Sweat is our air
Muscles tense and relax
We sigh in gratitude there
For the plenitude of what once rare seemed lost
Not archaic any longer
No archaeological dig unearths
The ancient connection
And we feel it in its embrace of our souls
For there is no escaping the tomb
There is no escaping the waves of energy we ride
Surfers of the underworld, nay, but of everyworld
For we make no such distinction while in this field
And it is not Elysian I speak of
It is not Halcyion I dare utter
It is not the Paradisical Eden
Or any other kink of what was once flowing
What we offer is one and whole to the other
And in your river I dive as deep and swim as far as….
As I come into you my love,
Further, deeper, higher, lower than I have ever delved before
And I release my love
In waves of orgasm
Gushing like the waves of the sea
Like the sound of one slinky slapping
Like the feel of one hand clapping
Like the brilliance of your mind mapping
The helixical fractality of our existence
Releasing waves of pleasure
Like the waves of the sea
I melt into you and am complete
Making the world tree that is you and me
Leases given for lesser rinds
Not for chaste observance of graver
Rather the giver shivers in vivid
Remembrance of what word winds
For always when coolness finds
Heat encompassing the glossing
Of love in its bloom
We see the doom of not a June gloom
But that of a one thinking they know better
And this then forms the fetter
I’d pry away from my eyes or another’s
For words do not come lightly
And though they jump spritely
From one’s fingers
And sluggishly from whomever else’s
These classifications have no bearing
Where love seeks Redwoods north of here
Nor when love roosts here
For this time spent with you
Has and will always make me do
Things that I never conjured before
Thinking myself some sort of Merlin afore
Now I know the magic pervades all
And resides not in just me
Making the world tree that is you and me
It is not about me myselfing Iness
Nor about you yourselfing Thouness
As you know
But the togetherness
That we embody and as specters
Upon the breezes of centuries forward
Shall frolic and feel again
What it is to be a tree
What it is to feel the tree next to us
And know it is You or I
And in that instant
Become the seeds or nuts we drop
To grow again
In dappled sunlight
Underneath our own canopies
And then to look up at ourselves
Still together,
We will know the real we that we are now
And we do
And that is what makes me love you!
Blank slate, time to move into the fresh sounds of our lokeng tonight
Some would question, others know no questions related to such
Much would be the queries of the sounds emanating
Free, fresh and unobstructed all of us to ourselves
For a few moments no work just play in its variant manifestations
On the threshold of sounds to be that will become of our own making
Making the world tree that is you and me
Some would question, others know no questions related to such
Much would be the queries of the sounds emanating
Free, fresh and unobstructed all of us to ourselves
For a few moments no work just play in its variant manifestations
On the threshold of sounds to be that will become of our own making
Making the world tree that is you and me
Recalling
A dog at Rodin’s portal chasing wet sticks
A dog in view of feather weights
A dog on the lawn by the tree of bay
None on a leash…
Cerberus, the three-headed guard at the river styx
Anubis who guides us through-out our lives
And weighs our hearts against the lightness of a feather
Apollo, the most obscure, chasing Daphne like the dog that many a man is
But most importantly, free
Feeling like
A Picasso bull
Needing to writhe in vines
Fervor builds as beauty reposes
Amidst grape leaves fluttering
Doth a more thump my pulser
Be still my beating heart
As it pulses for the Lokeng that begins as poetry
And will transform itself as the evening turns into the deep of night
And as I wind my way through the labyrinth of understanding your references
You surreptitiously and playfully sneak peaks
Making the world tree that is you and me
Forty-nine days under a tree
Or was it seven,
Anyway, what with the rays blinding me
I saw little other than the terror of heaven
Who tried to deviate purpose into possession
Possessed by the Lady O’Domestico
Fingers tendrils
Hands leaves
Arms branch out
Chest trunks
Waist no bark—I shout!
Legs firm, feet root grounded
Head swivels to see the false moon
Running through glimmering deep woods
And I sigh an acornic relief
For now lover and I are one
Not trapped by but transformed by
Not turned into but turning within together
Two sexes into one
Two individualities into one
Having individuated turning now to the unity of the one
That we are together within the divinity of the Oak Tree
Making the world tree that is you and me
What if every wave were a slinky? {listen to this, NOW}
Treeless and treeful nonetheless
Tearful peerless mouthful issues
Into ways of hearing colors
Of seeing vibrations
So that what is breath
Tastes like the fragrance of long-past fallen leaves in jump
Here is not there nor where but whenever
And whenever is nowhether for our simplicity
Enjoin nothing to feel it all
And within the lack is much
Therein I revel in L’O
Is it not so, S’O
SOPotter, Sir O’Domestico, Sir Oriam
That L’O is your Lady
The Lady O’Domestico, Lady Oriam
Is Your Lover
Loveling in our lokeng,
Revealing herself in You
Making the world tree that is you and me
How can I say, Lisé so they understand?
S’O, L’O, so low the slow show knowing
Clothes loss trailing the strenuous
Mixing, frenetic is now
And she moves beneath me
A rhythm that soaks into my soul
Sweat is our air
Muscles tense and relax
We sigh in gratitude there
For the plenitude of what once rare seemed lost
Not archaic any longer
No archaeological dig unearths
The ancient connection
And we feel it in its embrace of our souls
For there is no escaping the tomb
There is no escaping the waves of energy we ride
Surfers of the underworld, nay, but of everyworld
For we make no such distinction while in this field
And it is not Elysian I speak of
It is not Halcyion I dare utter
It is not the Paradisical Eden
Or any other kink of what was once flowing
What we offer is one and whole to the other
And in your river I dive as deep and swim as far as….
As I come into you my love,
Further, deeper, higher, lower than I have ever delved before
And I release my love
In waves of orgasm
Gushing like the waves of the sea
Like the sound of one slinky slapping
Like the feel of one hand clapping
Like the brilliance of your mind mapping
The helixical fractality of our existence
Releasing waves of pleasure
Like the waves of the sea
I melt into you and am complete
Making the world tree that is you and me
Leases given for lesser rinds
Not for chaste observance of graver
Rather the giver shivers in vivid
Remembrance of what word winds
For always when coolness finds
Heat encompassing the glossing
Of love in its bloom
We see the doom of not a June gloom
But that of a one thinking they know better
And this then forms the fetter
I’d pry away from my eyes or another’s
For words do not come lightly
And though they jump spritely
From one’s fingers
And sluggishly from whomever else’s
These classifications have no bearing
Where love seeks Redwoods north of here
Nor when love roosts here
For this time spent with you
Has and will always make me do
Things that I never conjured before
Thinking myself some sort of Merlin afore
Now I know the magic pervades all
And resides not in just me
Making the world tree that is you and me
It is not about me myselfing Iness
Nor about you yourselfing Thouness
As you know
But the togetherness
That we embody and as specters
Upon the breezes of centuries forward
Shall frolic and feel again
What it is to be a tree
What it is to feel the tree next to us
And know it is You or I
And in that instant
Become the seeds or nuts we drop
To grow again
In dappled sunlight
Underneath our own canopies
And then to look up at ourselves
Still together,
We will know the real we that we are now
And we do
And that is what makes me love you!
Blank slate, time to move into the fresh sounds of our lokeng tonight
Some would question, others know no questions related to such
Much would be the queries of the sounds emanating
Free, fresh and unobstructed all of us to ourselves
For a few moments no work just play in its variant manifestations
On the threshold of sounds to be that will become of our own making
Making the world tree that is you and me
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:33 AM
0 comments
Tarot Piece
Start with a spear then thrust with the sword to parry with the fool
And fill the cups with divine guidance to thwart the negative from gaining
Too much ground with the shields as perfect defenses, defenseless,
But full of energies related to the task at hand
More than a simple request for absolution at the hands of a perceived deity
More than the loss of innocence at realizing reality
More than the more of whatever one could imagine as being beyond…
I see the truth in the cards and the ambiguity and the uncertainty and I know not what anything is for, and yet, I am sensing a direction, if only because a path is ahead and I must take a step—must choose, and so why not with the guidance of the spears, the swords, the fool, the cups, with divine guidance defending as it renders me defenseless.
Why not indeed?
Yet…a squeaky voice utters from amidst the cracks of the veneer…
There is no tomorrow when today we are, as there is no future in seeing the past alone
For in that loneliness no weapons or their adherents shall protect adequately from the trials sure
To overtake and overcome those ready not for the ride that is sure to embark
As a journey of endurance-testing and enwombed sacrifice
Life, for life is that which takes us
Without breath and forewarning…
And fill the cups with divine guidance to thwart the negative from gaining
Too much ground with the shields as perfect defenses, defenseless,
But full of energies related to the task at hand
More than a simple request for absolution at the hands of a perceived deity
More than the loss of innocence at realizing reality
More than the more of whatever one could imagine as being beyond…
I see the truth in the cards and the ambiguity and the uncertainty and I know not what anything is for, and yet, I am sensing a direction, if only because a path is ahead and I must take a step—must choose, and so why not with the guidance of the spears, the swords, the fool, the cups, with divine guidance defending as it renders me defenseless.
Why not indeed?
Yet…a squeaky voice utters from amidst the cracks of the veneer…
There is no tomorrow when today we are, as there is no future in seeing the past alone
For in that loneliness no weapons or their adherents shall protect adequately from the trials sure
To overtake and overcome those ready not for the ride that is sure to embark
As a journey of endurance-testing and enwombed sacrifice
Life, for life is that which takes us
Without breath and forewarning…
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:32 AM
0 comments
Relational Interlude
A hungry Hungarian fastly spoke slowly to me
Of black opals and purple moons
But more importantly conscious swoons
A shadow arises and suddenly transports me
Wine and more wine,
Dionysus is calling me
And yet…
In spite of the yearning to go wild
And to be dismembered
There is equally the pull towards at-one-ment
Not of the patheticism of fear and control
Engendered by the religions of old and new
But of a different kind and nature
That is calling me to you to us to re-connect to all of the selves that we have been
Throughout times
Well we do to relive moments of lokeng
For the lore assembled
Colors of flames flicker thoughts into mental spheres
Here we wait for messages send fragments at times
And so the dissembled is reassembled
Dismemberment a dream long past
Nature arises to hold the moment
The moment passes
Time fills the life
Being is
We
And what more can I say that has any sort of importance
Despite its redundancy or its quaintness at best or its overuse as worst
Than to say that
I love you
Beyond words
Beyond space
Beyond time
I love you in a way that connects all that is word, space and time
I love you in a way that transcends word, space and time
I love you in a way that is brought home to and that is
Word, space and time
I love you as purely as what I can explain is in my heart
And yet what is beyond all explanation.
It is all that I am,
And despite the fact that it is, I fear, not all that impressive
Nevertheless, it is true
I love you as the truth of who I am
Impressive is as impressive does
And when we feel its power we know we need
Another does of what it is that love in its throes does
To us, for in this midst the river returns not once or twice
But overmore again and again
A flotilla of crossings
A barrage of droppings
Sediment accumulates
Sentiment gesticulates
In thundering responses to returns
Here we see the love that will feed
The challenge of that which thrice
Over moves between us in glossings
Working amongst souls of toppings
Passion inside chances what burns
Liminality herein flows when
Of black opals and purple moons
But more importantly conscious swoons
A shadow arises and suddenly transports me
Wine and more wine,
Dionysus is calling me
And yet…
In spite of the yearning to go wild
And to be dismembered
There is equally the pull towards at-one-ment
Not of the patheticism of fear and control
Engendered by the religions of old and new
But of a different kind and nature
That is calling me to you to us to re-connect to all of the selves that we have been
Throughout times
Well we do to relive moments of lokeng
For the lore assembled
Colors of flames flicker thoughts into mental spheres
Here we wait for messages send fragments at times
And so the dissembled is reassembled
Dismemberment a dream long past
Nature arises to hold the moment
The moment passes
Time fills the life
Being is
We
And what more can I say that has any sort of importance
Despite its redundancy or its quaintness at best or its overuse as worst
Than to say that
I love you
Beyond words
Beyond space
Beyond time
I love you in a way that connects all that is word, space and time
I love you in a way that transcends word, space and time
I love you in a way that is brought home to and that is
Word, space and time
I love you as purely as what I can explain is in my heart
And yet what is beyond all explanation.
It is all that I am,
And despite the fact that it is, I fear, not all that impressive
Nevertheless, it is true
I love you as the truth of who I am
Impressive is as impressive does
And when we feel its power we know we need
Another does of what it is that love in its throes does
To us, for in this midst the river returns not once or twice
But overmore again and again
A flotilla of crossings
A barrage of droppings
Sediment accumulates
Sentiment gesticulates
In thundering responses to returns
Here we see the love that will feed
The challenge of that which thrice
Over moves between us in glossings
Working amongst souls of toppings
Passion inside chances what burns
Liminality herein flows when
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:32 AM
0 comments
Our Love at S'd'O'
If I ask myself, Who am I?
What comes to mind is not simply an individual devoid of other…
Not only a man of thirty-eight with graying beard and hair…
More than a husband and artist of considerable contribution…
But, rather, a co-creator, a co-conspirator in a budding life…
A lover and partner whose goals include a Third of encompassing fashion…
And a coniunctio embodied in continual transformation that astounds!
Alchemists may have conjured the perfect heirosgamos in experiments
That did or did not embrace an actual other
And who is to say, based on jumbled texts and archaic symbology
Bewildering jargon uttered to obscure psychic process
What they did achieve or what their process involved?
I only offer that here, in this age, we have formed a heirosgamos of untold
Proportions and uniformity, which in its unfoldment fosters perfect awe!
Ah Awe. To be reserved for God! I was once told by a spiritual mentor
Whose teachings led me to independence of thought in the spiritual realm
Just as my independence of thought – independence one of the Other –
Nay, of all others, since the times of my childhood and undoubtedly even before
Led me equally to the bliss of discovering the voice of my Soul
And still, such a lonely road, was this lone journey of one from the one to the One…
Sometimes the shadow searching in the dark was all that I could see
But in the ultimate surrender of that, I was led to you…
My husband, my lover, my friend, my muse, my co-creator, my co-conspirator in the creation of a life
That is… what it is I cannot say for to say is to limit It, which I dare not do
But what I can say is that, to have been graced
With this opportunity to journey in partnership
Has brought to me the most sublime and real feeling of gratitude that I have ever experienced
It is, indeed, the experience of genuine Awe!
And now, when my awareness brings me to that place of knowing that I Am
The I Am that I Am consists of so much more depth
So much more complexity than ever before
Because it consists of you and it is no longer just me or Me
Nay, it is our Third
Embracing and unfolding you and me and us in a magnificence of alchemical energy
That must be the coniunctio of which was spoken
And if, perchance, it isn’t, then we will make it so
Because we say so, and live So!
Mmm…mmm…mmm…
Mum’s the word that isn’t spoken, although it may trumpet internally infernally loud!
What we, and in this use of ‘we’ and forever more I mean you and I and the Third,
Feel pales in comparison to what we see pales in comparison to what we think
Pales in comparison to what we imagine pales in comparison to what we know pales in comparison to what we sense pales in comparison to what we experience pales in comparison to what we feel….
And right now, what I feel is what we feel, and it is sublime—there is nothing else than sublimity
Who knew?
When embarking on a new path one does not question the where and the how or the what, and definitely not the why…
Yet, we both felt something that denied conventions
That altered destinations
That complicated salutations
That brought us to exultations
Now I ask, is this righteous?
Righteous in a sense of spiritual embodiment, in form and physicality
In mind and intent
In spirit and soul
Have we lost a part of a whole only to make more of a whole of it all?
Yes!
In bridges falling, skies coloring stars white and suns painting pinks about
We lose no sight over the inner moving through seven times an infinitude of stages
A tree speaks, it sings, the moss silences the gray fog stills
A drop drips to dewy moisture
In the folds of an entire universe within
Without, heralds announce triumph of a Third
In that I succor respites long past for they know nothing of now
Wings fluttering in yellow and white
Fluffy lace and splashy lion
Seeds in a poppy field
Remembering its sempervirens passed…
Odes I have written, and this is not one, unless we consider what has past
In that case, I ode it all, as I owe it all to an eye like Horus
A feather that weighs right
And just peace of solitude amidst love and happiness that knows no bounds
Fly
Fly like the six-foot Raven’s wings amidst tallest trees in the world….
That we ride among
And thrive within
The Beauty with which you speak, my Love, overwhelms me
Silences me with tears, not of joy or of sorrow
Of what I cannot even speak
You’d think that, next to the giants that I have lived and that I now live
That I ‘d be used to you… or accepting of what comes through you
But your expression never ceases to amaze me and the pain that it causes me is so sweet
Yes, who would have expected? Who would have known? Who could have told?
Except as is told in the ancient texts
There in the akashic records does it tell of our soul journey leading us to this moment in time
That the veil was lifted in a split in the cosmic fabric to reveal to each of us our destiny
Is perhaps and unfortunately for some not as unique as the manner in which we acted
Fully and completely and immediately upon it
And so, in so short a period of linear time
Here we are – writing in the library – the Library – of Sequoia de O’
of our Love, our Third, our alchemy
The giant sempervirens, the coastal bluffs, the caterpillars, water crystals and butterflies,
Orion, Ursula Major and Minor
As you write of Artemis and I of triggering events
And we laugh at their connections in the morning
As you cup my breasts and belly and I your thighs and…
And rest my head in the arc of your chest while I listen to you breathe your love into me
Can I shelter the moss that grows fragiley on paths’ edges
To give it better purchase so that it might green something gray or brown or black?
Can I take green and make it blue so that the sky has a common thread of decency
After it enters my soul, to commingle with what has been named the green chlorophyllic flow
From leaf all the way to root tendril?
Can I tend the diverse sages growing and surrounding we
So that they too echo wisdom in tune with heartthrobs we push unknowing?
Can I take red and make its oxygenated splash my heart for the world to purely ingest?
Can I open to skies splitting my consciousness and blowing through my shadows, in order that the light and the dark integrate to see common ground?
Can I take blue and make it see itself in a stroke of chance purgatory?
Can I welter ordered rays that strike dewdrops with arrays of brilliance and topple crystal mounds over molehills in Ides long forgotten?
Can I take yellow gold into more than Yukonic recall, more than iconic repast, more than any box it has escaped into freedom similar to that of amor’s escapades on mountains lost?
Can I find humility and nurturance needed for the royalty enveloping me, for the death by drowning already incurred, as we swim out of that death into regality?
Can I take purple and make it an opportunity worthy of its storied past, an opportunity that shall not lose one askance at the royal decorum, and instead shall be lost in rapport?
Can I follow the passion and derangement in striking flames of lost imaginings and see it has altered its path to seek out mine own?
Can I take orange and place it nimbly next to the turquoise caftan worn by my love?
And, if I seek white and black only to discover their grayness, finding plenty without either,
Shall I then transfigure my soul to be only that white and black seen before a gray veil illuminated more?
And, can I then take that white, black, and gray and discover portals unfound, undiscovered within the moss of hirsute-not-less astute in the firmament soaked in beams coating palaces of mottled flawless amethyst?
Here, as jury and judge, I offer only that of the warranted reflections of the master whom I love more than my own life, my wife:
Yes and so be it!
For, I used to see it as all black or white all dark or light, all wrong or all right
Now I see it as shades of grey, distinctions, slowly, surely fading away…
Here, in Sequoia de O’ distinctions are overcome as a horrible lack of muddiness might threaten it all, undergirding something unintended so that it might fester, instead clarity shows through like the light of warm colors leading to blues and eventually to purple, and in this happenstance following of the chakric outlines, we find grace has found us and we simply laugh…
What comes to mind is not simply an individual devoid of other…
Not only a man of thirty-eight with graying beard and hair…
More than a husband and artist of considerable contribution…
But, rather, a co-creator, a co-conspirator in a budding life…
A lover and partner whose goals include a Third of encompassing fashion…
And a coniunctio embodied in continual transformation that astounds!
Alchemists may have conjured the perfect heirosgamos in experiments
That did or did not embrace an actual other
And who is to say, based on jumbled texts and archaic symbology
Bewildering jargon uttered to obscure psychic process
What they did achieve or what their process involved?
I only offer that here, in this age, we have formed a heirosgamos of untold
Proportions and uniformity, which in its unfoldment fosters perfect awe!
Ah Awe. To be reserved for God! I was once told by a spiritual mentor
Whose teachings led me to independence of thought in the spiritual realm
Just as my independence of thought – independence one of the Other –
Nay, of all others, since the times of my childhood and undoubtedly even before
Led me equally to the bliss of discovering the voice of my Soul
And still, such a lonely road, was this lone journey of one from the one to the One…
Sometimes the shadow searching in the dark was all that I could see
But in the ultimate surrender of that, I was led to you…
My husband, my lover, my friend, my muse, my co-creator, my co-conspirator in the creation of a life
That is… what it is I cannot say for to say is to limit It, which I dare not do
But what I can say is that, to have been graced
With this opportunity to journey in partnership
Has brought to me the most sublime and real feeling of gratitude that I have ever experienced
It is, indeed, the experience of genuine Awe!
And now, when my awareness brings me to that place of knowing that I Am
The I Am that I Am consists of so much more depth
So much more complexity than ever before
Because it consists of you and it is no longer just me or Me
Nay, it is our Third
Embracing and unfolding you and me and us in a magnificence of alchemical energy
That must be the coniunctio of which was spoken
And if, perchance, it isn’t, then we will make it so
Because we say so, and live So!
Mmm…mmm…mmm…
Mum’s the word that isn’t spoken, although it may trumpet internally infernally loud!
What we, and in this use of ‘we’ and forever more I mean you and I and the Third,
Feel pales in comparison to what we see pales in comparison to what we think
Pales in comparison to what we imagine pales in comparison to what we know pales in comparison to what we sense pales in comparison to what we experience pales in comparison to what we feel….
And right now, what I feel is what we feel, and it is sublime—there is nothing else than sublimity
Who knew?
When embarking on a new path one does not question the where and the how or the what, and definitely not the why…
Yet, we both felt something that denied conventions
That altered destinations
That complicated salutations
That brought us to exultations
Now I ask, is this righteous?
Righteous in a sense of spiritual embodiment, in form and physicality
In mind and intent
In spirit and soul
Have we lost a part of a whole only to make more of a whole of it all?
Yes!
In bridges falling, skies coloring stars white and suns painting pinks about
We lose no sight over the inner moving through seven times an infinitude of stages
A tree speaks, it sings, the moss silences the gray fog stills
A drop drips to dewy moisture
In the folds of an entire universe within
Without, heralds announce triumph of a Third
In that I succor respites long past for they know nothing of now
Wings fluttering in yellow and white
Fluffy lace and splashy lion
Seeds in a poppy field
Remembering its sempervirens passed…
Odes I have written, and this is not one, unless we consider what has past
In that case, I ode it all, as I owe it all to an eye like Horus
A feather that weighs right
And just peace of solitude amidst love and happiness that knows no bounds
Fly
Fly like the six-foot Raven’s wings amidst tallest trees in the world….
That we ride among
And thrive within
The Beauty with which you speak, my Love, overwhelms me
Silences me with tears, not of joy or of sorrow
Of what I cannot even speak
You’d think that, next to the giants that I have lived and that I now live
That I ‘d be used to you… or accepting of what comes through you
But your expression never ceases to amaze me and the pain that it causes me is so sweet
Yes, who would have expected? Who would have known? Who could have told?
Except as is told in the ancient texts
There in the akashic records does it tell of our soul journey leading us to this moment in time
That the veil was lifted in a split in the cosmic fabric to reveal to each of us our destiny
Is perhaps and unfortunately for some not as unique as the manner in which we acted
Fully and completely and immediately upon it
And so, in so short a period of linear time
Here we are – writing in the library – the Library – of Sequoia de O’
of our Love, our Third, our alchemy
The giant sempervirens, the coastal bluffs, the caterpillars, water crystals and butterflies,
Orion, Ursula Major and Minor
As you write of Artemis and I of triggering events
And we laugh at their connections in the morning
As you cup my breasts and belly and I your thighs and…
And rest my head in the arc of your chest while I listen to you breathe your love into me
Can I shelter the moss that grows fragiley on paths’ edges
To give it better purchase so that it might green something gray or brown or black?
Can I take green and make it blue so that the sky has a common thread of decency
After it enters my soul, to commingle with what has been named the green chlorophyllic flow
From leaf all the way to root tendril?
Can I tend the diverse sages growing and surrounding we
So that they too echo wisdom in tune with heartthrobs we push unknowing?
Can I take red and make its oxygenated splash my heart for the world to purely ingest?
Can I open to skies splitting my consciousness and blowing through my shadows, in order that the light and the dark integrate to see common ground?
Can I take blue and make it see itself in a stroke of chance purgatory?
Can I welter ordered rays that strike dewdrops with arrays of brilliance and topple crystal mounds over molehills in Ides long forgotten?
Can I take yellow gold into more than Yukonic recall, more than iconic repast, more than any box it has escaped into freedom similar to that of amor’s escapades on mountains lost?
Can I find humility and nurturance needed for the royalty enveloping me, for the death by drowning already incurred, as we swim out of that death into regality?
Can I take purple and make it an opportunity worthy of its storied past, an opportunity that shall not lose one askance at the royal decorum, and instead shall be lost in rapport?
Can I follow the passion and derangement in striking flames of lost imaginings and see it has altered its path to seek out mine own?
Can I take orange and place it nimbly next to the turquoise caftan worn by my love?
And, if I seek white and black only to discover their grayness, finding plenty without either,
Shall I then transfigure my soul to be only that white and black seen before a gray veil illuminated more?
And, can I then take that white, black, and gray and discover portals unfound, undiscovered within the moss of hirsute-not-less astute in the firmament soaked in beams coating palaces of mottled flawless amethyst?
Here, as jury and judge, I offer only that of the warranted reflections of the master whom I love more than my own life, my wife:
Yes and so be it!
For, I used to see it as all black or white all dark or light, all wrong or all right
Now I see it as shades of grey, distinctions, slowly, surely fading away…
Here, in Sequoia de O’ distinctions are overcome as a horrible lack of muddiness might threaten it all, undergirding something unintended so that it might fester, instead clarity shows through like the light of warm colors leading to blues and eventually to purple, and in this happenstance following of the chakric outlines, we find grace has found us and we simply laugh…
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:31 AM
0 comments
On Doing and Being
Out of a balance of water and fire emerges a chariot bearing wind and earth twofold, messages of harmony and introspection, right path, right choices, new passion and love, returning solidity from soul work and depth of searching lead to a new stance now undergone. Here, now, a woman of intensity—who is love in their own mind, in their manifestation of ego and self?—and I become more, and it is she who brings these tidings, among others, via a reading of spirit-filled cards. Lisé Oriam….
… to Scott Oriam. My Sir. The world’s Sir Oriam and mine as that for now as well, until the world demands of him more and in that, he become the world’s. And who else could I even imagine to bring these tidings, via a reading or otherwise, but to him. A mythologizer of poeisis. An articulation of just one of the media in which he expresses his brilliance is only to diminish the wholeness in which I find him expressing the Muses and their Mother, Memory. And to a man of such intensity that, I quiver, and my knees become weak, and my sex gets hot and begins to drip with just the thought of his touch, his whisper, and I long for his command, because it brings me ever more into the power, into the intensity of who I am. Scott Oriam….
She told me on the porch that the feminine was manifesting, and very strong within me. This notion reflects in the horizontal beam of the ‘Celtic Tree of Life—or Cross’ with a Charioteer on the far left, followed by the Sister of Water (crossed or covered by the Ten of Earth), with the Sister of Fire next, and culminating in the Mother or Fire. The Ten of Fire crowns the vertical axis, with the above-mentioned Sister of Water draped by the Ten of Earth and both above the Eight of Water. Wow, the feminine definitely illuminates the strong connection with compassion and service that flows freely from within, guided by the intuition in nearly all things. Yes, it is no small wonder that we two have manifested one the other, for our individual soul work and processes, albeit very different, arrive at similar places. An endearing idea that interconnectedness rules, that compassion and love allow this vision to further, and that furthermore, each of us is accountable for our every action and thought. It is not a simple prescription to morality that drives, rather, it is a definite ability to be receptive to what intuition tells us is right. This great woman of mystery humbles all others in her loving presence and we shake and pale in her illumination. For, she is: Lisé Oriam!
Stop it! I am nothing. No thing. This is not meant to express anything other than the truth, for the Lisé of which my Lover, my companion, my confidante, my Muse speaks, is none other than a humble girl who, before him, only dreamed of, nay remembered, a love as great as ours. And so, it is in this love, it is to this love, it is as a result of this love that I owe him my life as I experience it in this moment. Connected to and in communion with Selene, Artemis, Isis, Hathor, the lover and mate of the Soul Journeyer. For he is in this moment of forever, eternally everything that I ever dreamed of, or is that, remembered, in a man, a Lover, a mate, my mate. Please excuse me for my confusion… An ancient memory of Atlantean priest and priestess, and that of seaman coming and going without regard for the heart of a humble peasant girl who accepts her fate to love such a man. And mayhap, now that I’ve done my own soul work, mayhap, this time, he’ll stay… My Scott Oriam!
She who dares call herself no thing, who dealt a Three of Wind, Mother of Fire, Six of Earth, and Five of Water in the final vertical of the spread to arrive at a final outcome that spoke of previous processes endured, yet led to understanding deeper those struggles—she dares call herself no thing? Nay, I, for one, will have none of it, for it is unbecoming one as wise and full of spirit, love, intellect, emotion and psyche, so well-developed, to call herself no thing! Rather, to the point of the poets of love: she is every thing! Everything to me and everything to those who conduct business with her. For they realize that what they do would be so less successful without her that now they beckon to her from afar on conference calls to ensure the deals go through. Who else commands such respect—perhaps many, but none who do so operate with such high degrees of integrity and loving compassion that others can see and feel in the midst of their negotiations—that their very opinion is courted on mundane life activities by these very same business people? If I could grasp her essence in my clenched hand, it would be a hand as gigantor as that of Zeus. If I could say all there is to say about her, positively, it would fill every library that ever was, and this is not an exaggeration, as I witness myself, I could fill many libraries, already and have only known her for less than a year. Should I take the entire vision she has and make a movie out of it, it would run until the end of time. Should I tread the breadth of the earth in search of the end of her shadow, I would need to head into space in order to better seek its end. Ah, such are the boasting of those whose egos overtake their Selves, yet this comes from one who humbly calls himself her lover. So, take this with whatever grain thee shall, Lady Oriam is the penultimate!
And what else can I say? What else can I add to this our continuing and never ending precious and eternal dialogue? That there is nothing that I can say, nothing that I can write, that you do not add to, that you do not articulate more profoundly, more broadly, more deeply, more beautifully than me, which I then see as a feeble attempt on my part, but which does not diminish me, but only completes me by what you say, by what you offer to add to me. I was a shadow of an artist, ignorant of what it even meant to be a mythologizer of poeisis. And you have taught me so much and teach me every single moment of the night and day. And still, this does nothing to communicate what you are and what you do for me. And, I’m not going to try and explain, except to say that my love and respect for this man and for every aspect of what he reveals to me each and every day and into the night is beyond what can be spoken of; and so, in speaking of myself as no thing, I mean no diminishment of me, for in so doing, I only diminish the significance of what I feel for him, which is so full, so complete, so complex, so multitudinous that, I am drawn back into sexual metaphor, not because this is the mode of communication, but because it speaks volumes and I am rendered in this moment unable to speak of anything in any way but in volumes when it comes to the greatest love that I have known in my life: you make me want to devour the sources of your energy: your recently shaved head, your neck, your shoulders, your chest, your nether regions; and yet, I am equally moved to re-plenish you, to nourish you, to feed you for ever more; to give to you my juices, which are an expression of my divine love. For I love you more than I have ever loved another in my life. And that’s just the way it is, so say what you will, conclude this dialogue however you will, knowing that it will not alter how I feel, much less how I feel about you.
Ah….ah…ah..ah. He breathes, not in anticipation of her breathing later, which shall come hurried, of that we know, but, and in spite of it, instead, this ah directs itself to the love. The love she feels for me, for the he, here, is the mirror of love I feel for her. And, in the midst of reading about colors and states of dying in the Tibetan Book of the Dead, what has come to mind is that color has no system in their minds. That indeed color is in absentia from the spirit world, other than to say that this deity is that color, and this one is that color, for they hold no specific gradation or even fixation to direction. The lesson herein, is one already learned and surmised, which is that Nature, in her very nature, does not conform to any certain color in any direction. Except that we can say that yellow in the sunrise occurs—providing there are minimal clouds, and that pinks occur in a sunset, depending again on clouds. Now, a sunset experienced and participated in by and with this very same wondrous incarnation named herein as Lisé Oriam, was indicative of these very ideas and notions of color not being steadfastly adherent to any certain direction; for we saw an evolution of colors within that sunset that seemed like several days within one night. This sunset went from white to silver and gray to blue and silver to blue and gray to blue and indigo and white to blue and bluer and bluish and rose to indigo and violet to lavender and amethyst to blue and gray and white and peach to blue and white and burgundy and orange and purple and pink and red to oh, why go on….it was incredible. No sunset conceived by any director would include these changes, for they would ‘theem incontheivable’! Lisé and I encountered, saw, were seen and encountered, basically participated in this sunset, with the lens of both of us and that of the digital age looking on, and in one sense recording it for posterity’s sake…it was beautiful and we loved it, soaking in the very essence of nature herself—and this was the wonder of the universe as some sing…………….. I dream of a universe, I see it, it is not a dream as in ‘I have a dream,’ rather, it is something I see—is this the same thing? One sounds more hopeful and wishful, whereas the other is definite, without being so. Is this to denigrate those who call their ideas and notions dreams? No! It is meant to demonstrate a vital difference between the vision that some have and the hopes that others have that drive them to try to make social change, while those who see it move toward the vision—there is no trying in the latter, only doing. Is it important though for those who do not share the seeing to call it a dream so that they can then hope? I think that paradigm is no longer relevant in this society. Now, we need Do and Be, so that we are full of Doing and Being, and in this way we show others how to Do and Be, and thereby make more aliveness out of living. Doing and Being is what Lisé and Scott Oriam recommend and practice.
… to Scott Oriam. My Sir. The world’s Sir Oriam and mine as that for now as well, until the world demands of him more and in that, he become the world’s. And who else could I even imagine to bring these tidings, via a reading or otherwise, but to him. A mythologizer of poeisis. An articulation of just one of the media in which he expresses his brilliance is only to diminish the wholeness in which I find him expressing the Muses and their Mother, Memory. And to a man of such intensity that, I quiver, and my knees become weak, and my sex gets hot and begins to drip with just the thought of his touch, his whisper, and I long for his command, because it brings me ever more into the power, into the intensity of who I am. Scott Oriam….
She told me on the porch that the feminine was manifesting, and very strong within me. This notion reflects in the horizontal beam of the ‘Celtic Tree of Life—or Cross’ with a Charioteer on the far left, followed by the Sister of Water (crossed or covered by the Ten of Earth), with the Sister of Fire next, and culminating in the Mother or Fire. The Ten of Fire crowns the vertical axis, with the above-mentioned Sister of Water draped by the Ten of Earth and both above the Eight of Water. Wow, the feminine definitely illuminates the strong connection with compassion and service that flows freely from within, guided by the intuition in nearly all things. Yes, it is no small wonder that we two have manifested one the other, for our individual soul work and processes, albeit very different, arrive at similar places. An endearing idea that interconnectedness rules, that compassion and love allow this vision to further, and that furthermore, each of us is accountable for our every action and thought. It is not a simple prescription to morality that drives, rather, it is a definite ability to be receptive to what intuition tells us is right. This great woman of mystery humbles all others in her loving presence and we shake and pale in her illumination. For, she is: Lisé Oriam!
Stop it! I am nothing. No thing. This is not meant to express anything other than the truth, for the Lisé of which my Lover, my companion, my confidante, my Muse speaks, is none other than a humble girl who, before him, only dreamed of, nay remembered, a love as great as ours. And so, it is in this love, it is to this love, it is as a result of this love that I owe him my life as I experience it in this moment. Connected to and in communion with Selene, Artemis, Isis, Hathor, the lover and mate of the Soul Journeyer. For he is in this moment of forever, eternally everything that I ever dreamed of, or is that, remembered, in a man, a Lover, a mate, my mate. Please excuse me for my confusion… An ancient memory of Atlantean priest and priestess, and that of seaman coming and going without regard for the heart of a humble peasant girl who accepts her fate to love such a man. And mayhap, now that I’ve done my own soul work, mayhap, this time, he’ll stay… My Scott Oriam!
She who dares call herself no thing, who dealt a Three of Wind, Mother of Fire, Six of Earth, and Five of Water in the final vertical of the spread to arrive at a final outcome that spoke of previous processes endured, yet led to understanding deeper those struggles—she dares call herself no thing? Nay, I, for one, will have none of it, for it is unbecoming one as wise and full of spirit, love, intellect, emotion and psyche, so well-developed, to call herself no thing! Rather, to the point of the poets of love: she is every thing! Everything to me and everything to those who conduct business with her. For they realize that what they do would be so less successful without her that now they beckon to her from afar on conference calls to ensure the deals go through. Who else commands such respect—perhaps many, but none who do so operate with such high degrees of integrity and loving compassion that others can see and feel in the midst of their negotiations—that their very opinion is courted on mundane life activities by these very same business people? If I could grasp her essence in my clenched hand, it would be a hand as gigantor as that of Zeus. If I could say all there is to say about her, positively, it would fill every library that ever was, and this is not an exaggeration, as I witness myself, I could fill many libraries, already and have only known her for less than a year. Should I take the entire vision she has and make a movie out of it, it would run until the end of time. Should I tread the breadth of the earth in search of the end of her shadow, I would need to head into space in order to better seek its end. Ah, such are the boasting of those whose egos overtake their Selves, yet this comes from one who humbly calls himself her lover. So, take this with whatever grain thee shall, Lady Oriam is the penultimate!
And what else can I say? What else can I add to this our continuing and never ending precious and eternal dialogue? That there is nothing that I can say, nothing that I can write, that you do not add to, that you do not articulate more profoundly, more broadly, more deeply, more beautifully than me, which I then see as a feeble attempt on my part, but which does not diminish me, but only completes me by what you say, by what you offer to add to me. I was a shadow of an artist, ignorant of what it even meant to be a mythologizer of poeisis. And you have taught me so much and teach me every single moment of the night and day. And still, this does nothing to communicate what you are and what you do for me. And, I’m not going to try and explain, except to say that my love and respect for this man and for every aspect of what he reveals to me each and every day and into the night is beyond what can be spoken of; and so, in speaking of myself as no thing, I mean no diminishment of me, for in so doing, I only diminish the significance of what I feel for him, which is so full, so complete, so complex, so multitudinous that, I am drawn back into sexual metaphor, not because this is the mode of communication, but because it speaks volumes and I am rendered in this moment unable to speak of anything in any way but in volumes when it comes to the greatest love that I have known in my life: you make me want to devour the sources of your energy: your recently shaved head, your neck, your shoulders, your chest, your nether regions; and yet, I am equally moved to re-plenish you, to nourish you, to feed you for ever more; to give to you my juices, which are an expression of my divine love. For I love you more than I have ever loved another in my life. And that’s just the way it is, so say what you will, conclude this dialogue however you will, knowing that it will not alter how I feel, much less how I feel about you.
Ah….ah…ah..ah. He breathes, not in anticipation of her breathing later, which shall come hurried, of that we know, but, and in spite of it, instead, this ah directs itself to the love. The love she feels for me, for the he, here, is the mirror of love I feel for her. And, in the midst of reading about colors and states of dying in the Tibetan Book of the Dead, what has come to mind is that color has no system in their minds. That indeed color is in absentia from the spirit world, other than to say that this deity is that color, and this one is that color, for they hold no specific gradation or even fixation to direction. The lesson herein, is one already learned and surmised, which is that Nature, in her very nature, does not conform to any certain color in any direction. Except that we can say that yellow in the sunrise occurs—providing there are minimal clouds, and that pinks occur in a sunset, depending again on clouds. Now, a sunset experienced and participated in by and with this very same wondrous incarnation named herein as Lisé Oriam, was indicative of these very ideas and notions of color not being steadfastly adherent to any certain direction; for we saw an evolution of colors within that sunset that seemed like several days within one night. This sunset went from white to silver and gray to blue and silver to blue and gray to blue and indigo and white to blue and bluer and bluish and rose to indigo and violet to lavender and amethyst to blue and gray and white and peach to blue and white and burgundy and orange and purple and pink and red to oh, why go on….it was incredible. No sunset conceived by any director would include these changes, for they would ‘theem incontheivable’! Lisé and I encountered, saw, were seen and encountered, basically participated in this sunset, with the lens of both of us and that of the digital age looking on, and in one sense recording it for posterity’s sake…it was beautiful and we loved it, soaking in the very essence of nature herself—and this was the wonder of the universe as some sing…………….. I dream of a universe, I see it, it is not a dream as in ‘I have a dream,’ rather, it is something I see—is this the same thing? One sounds more hopeful and wishful, whereas the other is definite, without being so. Is this to denigrate those who call their ideas and notions dreams? No! It is meant to demonstrate a vital difference between the vision that some have and the hopes that others have that drive them to try to make social change, while those who see it move toward the vision—there is no trying in the latter, only doing. Is it important though for those who do not share the seeing to call it a dream so that they can then hope? I think that paradigm is no longer relevant in this society. Now, we need Do and Be, so that we are full of Doing and Being, and in this way we show others how to Do and Be, and thereby make more aliveness out of living. Doing and Being is what Lisé and Scott Oriam recommend and practice.
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:30 AM
0 comments
Oceans of Swords in a Memory
Oceans of swords in a memory
of what will be...
Fields of wands directing us
to the moment
Here is not now that whether we
would have it as so could be,
rather here is now as it is!
And the laughter in the tears,
and the tears in our laughter
are like the sound of one hand clapping
WHICH AS IT CLAPS IN THE UNENDING CHORUS
ARISES A FLOW THAT KNOWS NO OTHER
FOR IN THE IN-BETWEEN, IN THAT THAT IS
WE SEE THE REALITY OF INTERCONNECTEDNESS
OF THE ETHER!
And the molecules change and soar and transfigure themselves
and us in ways beyond our wildest imaginations
TRANSFORMATION OF THE INNER OCEANS LIKE FLIGHTS
OF FEATHERS UNDETERMINED PAST SIMPLE
CHRYSALIS AND INTO BODIES EMBODIED
BY CHANGE, MIGRATION AND FUEL- WE
HIBERNATE NOT-WE INSTEAD SOAR!
of what will be...
Fields of wands directing us
to the moment
Here is not now that whether we
would have it as so could be,
rather here is now as it is!
And the laughter in the tears,
and the tears in our laughter
are like the sound of one hand clapping
WHICH AS IT CLAPS IN THE UNENDING CHORUS
ARISES A FLOW THAT KNOWS NO OTHER
FOR IN THE IN-BETWEEN, IN THAT THAT IS
WE SEE THE REALITY OF INTERCONNECTEDNESS
OF THE ETHER!
And the molecules change and soar and transfigure themselves
and us in ways beyond our wildest imaginations
TRANSFORMATION OF THE INNER OCEANS LIKE FLIGHTS
OF FEATHERS UNDETERMINED PAST SIMPLE
CHRYSALIS AND INTO BODIES EMBODIED
BY CHANGE, MIGRATION AND FUEL- WE
HIBERNATE NOT-WE INSTEAD SOAR!
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:29 AM
0 comments
Magic Murmurs Under the Stone
Magic murmurs under the stone, canopied by fern fronds beneath a great Mulberry
From here to there arises bespeckled light arcing across the shimmering wind
Cavernity inheres echoing parallax, for initiated open new mysteries hourly
Herewith, philosophies, sciences, psychologies, and all host of doctrinal notions rescind
What holds fast to realize the change upon their skin in numbers sloughing off society
Where does this lead us but to ponder on new
And when doing so, do we not see the necessity for returning to old
In conjunction with what has been learned through
Accepting blindly and wide-eyedly whatsoever any are told
In unification we feel tiredly refreshed whereby life grows bold
How does trend transform into requirement
When has the we benignly stated meant
More or less than it once acceptedly did
And how have we allowed it to mean more than an author’s experiment
In ambiguity, which yet somehow is the goal splendid
So that when I say I love you
The you must be named
And to say we know differences from similarities
Without a proper designation is stated wrongly
For it is impossible to understand the we from yesterday to today
Nonetheless, I love you…
You are so brilliant and beautiful
So full of love and inner warmth
That radiates into your surround
That I am fortunate enough to frequent
For this and more I love you…
Magic murmurs under the stones, the stones of a million years
That have stood companion to the ferns, the trees, the winds in the darkest thickets of forests
That have communed with the lakes, the rivers, the oceans in the currents of the deep
That have offered themselves to serve humanity from its most ancient beginnings
In earthly survival and the sublimity of the heaven from within and without
And everything in between
Firemaker, altar, weapon, the artist’s and the alchemist’s medium alike
And if we have listened to the sounds in the whispers
If we have tried to decipher the meaning within the sounds
What would we hear within the magic of the murmur?
Of this I can only speak for myself
That I love you
That I have always loved you and
That I will always love you
And in your love and my love for you I am redeemed
I am reborn for every thousand deaths I die
In that love I sink to the deepest places of place
I ride to the outer edges of the edge
I soar to galaxies unknown
And I float in a nameless, placeless, faceless sea of bliss
Two clay mounds form in my fingers…
Later, a painting drips from brushes…
Meanwhile, words drop from leaves to assemble poems…
And I think of you, without knowing you…aching…
But comforted, for I know we two will be…
Songs polish a guitar and struggle from strings to sing
Studiousness and edging lead to a living full
Where memories of rocks, ferns, trees, forests below consciousness
Percolate, distilling responses to the incredible
Facets of knowing and trusting
Choosing to polish the facets of knowing and trusting between us
Ours a metaphorical diamond the symbol of our union
And so, too, has it been so long that I have dreamed of you…
Remembering without knowing…
Knowing without seeing…
Feeling without subject or object
Surrendering without expectation
Percolating, distilling responses to the almost nothing
Yet never not trusting when you finally appeared
All trust and naiveté returning upon looking deeply into your eyes
And never looking back…
To our once shared back
To our now shared bed
To our union
Howeven can poetry illuminate
The undersides of rocks and forests above and below land
Wheneven truisms fall blithely into our laps and we sup from the ambrosia
Nectar woven into the tapestries of our lived lives
In our being do we then neglect what came to say we know what comes
In order to change we need do nothing
Change comes as the inevitability of rain where trees at home congregate
The leaves falling or simply growing
Reflect seasonal interludes as surely as the deepest recesses find
A rhythm
This rhythm is one we have found and relish in its abundances
From here to there arises bespeckled light arcing across the shimmering wind
Cavernity inheres echoing parallax, for initiated open new mysteries hourly
Herewith, philosophies, sciences, psychologies, and all host of doctrinal notions rescind
What holds fast to realize the change upon their skin in numbers sloughing off society
Where does this lead us but to ponder on new
And when doing so, do we not see the necessity for returning to old
In conjunction with what has been learned through
Accepting blindly and wide-eyedly whatsoever any are told
In unification we feel tiredly refreshed whereby life grows bold
How does trend transform into requirement
When has the we benignly stated meant
More or less than it once acceptedly did
And how have we allowed it to mean more than an author’s experiment
In ambiguity, which yet somehow is the goal splendid
So that when I say I love you
The you must be named
And to say we know differences from similarities
Without a proper designation is stated wrongly
For it is impossible to understand the we from yesterday to today
Nonetheless, I love you…
You are so brilliant and beautiful
So full of love and inner warmth
That radiates into your surround
That I am fortunate enough to frequent
For this and more I love you…
Magic murmurs under the stones, the stones of a million years
That have stood companion to the ferns, the trees, the winds in the darkest thickets of forests
That have communed with the lakes, the rivers, the oceans in the currents of the deep
That have offered themselves to serve humanity from its most ancient beginnings
In earthly survival and the sublimity of the heaven from within and without
And everything in between
Firemaker, altar, weapon, the artist’s and the alchemist’s medium alike
And if we have listened to the sounds in the whispers
If we have tried to decipher the meaning within the sounds
What would we hear within the magic of the murmur?
Of this I can only speak for myself
That I love you
That I have always loved you and
That I will always love you
And in your love and my love for you I am redeemed
I am reborn for every thousand deaths I die
In that love I sink to the deepest places of place
I ride to the outer edges of the edge
I soar to galaxies unknown
And I float in a nameless, placeless, faceless sea of bliss
Two clay mounds form in my fingers…
Later, a painting drips from brushes…
Meanwhile, words drop from leaves to assemble poems…
And I think of you, without knowing you…aching…
But comforted, for I know we two will be…
Songs polish a guitar and struggle from strings to sing
Studiousness and edging lead to a living full
Where memories of rocks, ferns, trees, forests below consciousness
Percolate, distilling responses to the incredible
Facets of knowing and trusting
Choosing to polish the facets of knowing and trusting between us
Ours a metaphorical diamond the symbol of our union
And so, too, has it been so long that I have dreamed of you…
Remembering without knowing…
Knowing without seeing…
Feeling without subject or object
Surrendering without expectation
Percolating, distilling responses to the almost nothing
Yet never not trusting when you finally appeared
All trust and naiveté returning upon looking deeply into your eyes
And never looking back…
To our once shared back
To our now shared bed
To our union
Howeven can poetry illuminate
The undersides of rocks and forests above and below land
Wheneven truisms fall blithely into our laps and we sup from the ambrosia
Nectar woven into the tapestries of our lived lives
In our being do we then neglect what came to say we know what comes
In order to change we need do nothing
Change comes as the inevitability of rain where trees at home congregate
The leaves falling or simply growing
Reflect seasonal interludes as surely as the deepest recesses find
A rhythm
This rhythm is one we have found and relish in its abundances
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:28 AM
0 comments
Scott Dedicates to Lisé
Love runs rampant
Feeling this is the day of renewal
That has nothing to do with doings
That has nothing to do with feelings
For it is something to do with soulings
And in this awareness comes a woman
Named Lisé whose energy kills me
It runs me over again and again
Feeling this is the day of renewal
That has nothing to do with doings
That has nothing to do with feelings
For it is something to do with soulings
And in this awareness comes a woman
Named Lisé whose energy kills me
It runs me over again and again
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:26 AM
0 comments
In the Finding of the Souls
In the finding of the souls
A mixture of love and remembrance overwhelms
It is the strangeness of being one
Before one knows the other
Before one sees the other
But as one has been with the other
It is a reunion
Give me that new love
Beyond the old paradigms
The old ghosts of today through the past
Wherein people get lost
In the way it should be and not feeling what is….
This is not as we are….
It is at one and the same time
A dim and unrelenting remembrance and
Dream of what ever could be
Coming true as true can be
We are ever changed
Ever changing
By the interchange
Of spherical energies that emanate
From the innate
And transcendental beingness of
Our Souls’ transcendence into the
Beingness of now
Whirlwind of embraces
Sounds traverse woods of lost loves
Leaves speaking languages hidden
In caves of learning
In wombs of memories
Crafting what we shared and know
What felt itself before we lived again
In the midst of echoing traces
We elevate over instances
What once grasped and held
Holding us without warmth
We gave into all…transforming energies
They flowed through warming us
They became us
And in that instant we saw self, I, me, we and ourselves as one….
Just… just… just…
To have this moment with you
To write to sing to love with you
To create envisioning visions with you
Just… just… just…
This and so much more than I have could have imagined
Following our bliss
To the blissful clouds
To the mists of our own Avalon
Opening ourselves to the unknown and uncertainty of what is
So that the new mythology may be revealed to us
This new mythology arises into a semblance
Of revelation not borne of redemption
Or any other archaic notion
Where doth the information come from
Doth it channel forth from voids in Chaos
Doth it channel forth from unspaces in Gaia
Doth it channel forth from unlight in darkness
Doth it channel forth from undark in lightness
Wherefrom matters little as whatwith and wherewithal matter
Smatterings of this and thou resonate
Into summer reverie of dismemberment
It is the knowledge of the integration of death
And of life that enters psyche and soul
Herein is import for reform
And so change we will
Into the Change that is what we vision
As the most articulatable quality of That that is
Ever changing into the Change of That that is…
And what of tomorrow?
Ride with me ride me let me ride you and
We’ll see what we see
Riding mutual energies into oblivion
We scream streaming sweet release
For we know the known and the unknown
We’ve known what we thought and what we unthought
Where did the losses go?
Where did the chances go?
If we find nothing other than us
We have found the changes that make a world!
A mixture of love and remembrance overwhelms
It is the strangeness of being one
Before one knows the other
Before one sees the other
But as one has been with the other
It is a reunion
Give me that new love
Beyond the old paradigms
The old ghosts of today through the past
Wherein people get lost
In the way it should be and not feeling what is….
This is not as we are….
It is at one and the same time
A dim and unrelenting remembrance and
Dream of what ever could be
Coming true as true can be
We are ever changed
Ever changing
By the interchange
Of spherical energies that emanate
From the innate
And transcendental beingness of
Our Souls’ transcendence into the
Beingness of now
Whirlwind of embraces
Sounds traverse woods of lost loves
Leaves speaking languages hidden
In caves of learning
In wombs of memories
Crafting what we shared and know
What felt itself before we lived again
In the midst of echoing traces
We elevate over instances
What once grasped and held
Holding us without warmth
We gave into all…transforming energies
They flowed through warming us
They became us
And in that instant we saw self, I, me, we and ourselves as one….
Just… just… just…
To have this moment with you
To write to sing to love with you
To create envisioning visions with you
Just… just… just…
This and so much more than I have could have imagined
Following our bliss
To the blissful clouds
To the mists of our own Avalon
Opening ourselves to the unknown and uncertainty of what is
So that the new mythology may be revealed to us
This new mythology arises into a semblance
Of revelation not borne of redemption
Or any other archaic notion
Where doth the information come from
Doth it channel forth from voids in Chaos
Doth it channel forth from unspaces in Gaia
Doth it channel forth from unlight in darkness
Doth it channel forth from undark in lightness
Wherefrom matters little as whatwith and wherewithal matter
Smatterings of this and thou resonate
Into summer reverie of dismemberment
It is the knowledge of the integration of death
And of life that enters psyche and soul
Herein is import for reform
And so change we will
Into the Change that is what we vision
As the most articulatable quality of That that is
Ever changing into the Change of That that is…
And what of tomorrow?
Ride with me ride me let me ride you and
We’ll see what we see
Riding mutual energies into oblivion
We scream streaming sweet release
For we know the known and the unknown
We’ve known what we thought and what we unthought
Where did the losses go?
Where did the chances go?
If we find nothing other than us
We have found the changes that make a world!
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:24 AM
0 comments
Ïsuite or ïSuite
We thought we were being creatively unique, not realizing our bubble shares the same stratosphere as the planet, when we pursued a series of new Ïsuite softwares, which were focused upon making life easier for consumers who are fortunate enough to own sufficiently reliable computers. We spent numerous hours devising new softwares, and I share only a select few below.
Clam-Clan Rock Row. Why there? Why now? i-figure: a software program that contains many of the Kosmos' natural mysteries. Lets you: go figure the meaning of it all.
Ïfigure: placing you in the midst of figuring life out… What do you most want to figure out?
i-write/right/Wright, a program dedicated to righting the wrongs of historical reference in educational institutions, in this series of software, all the wrongs in historical books shall be righted and your children and the future of America can move forward to correcting those wrongs, instead of hiding them. The Wright brothers were not the first airplane in flight, oh no, it was…. As you can see, we write the right Wright history!
Clam-Clan Rock Row. Why there? Why now? i-figure: a software program that contains many of the Kosmos' natural mysteries. Lets you: go figure the meaning of it all.
Ïfigure: placing you in the midst of figuring life out… What do you most want to figure out?
i-write/right/Wright, a program dedicated to righting the wrongs of historical reference in educational institutions, in this series of software, all the wrongs in historical books shall be righted and your children and the future of America can move forward to correcting those wrongs, instead of hiding them. The Wright brothers were not the first airplane in flight, oh no, it was…. As you can see, we write the right Wright history!
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:15 AM
0 comments
Lisé Hamilton’s observation on Wednesday, May 26, 2004, 6:37 pm…
Twisted fingers to wish for something to come true represent a microcosm of the helixical fractal nature of the world….
posted by Scott Michael Potter @ 7:13 AM
0 comments
