OUT OF CONTEXT©

ORDINARY LIFE

LONG AGO

in the days of once upon a time

a magical person ingested a mushroom

or perhaps it was the other way around

he had read that in those days magic was alive

the mushroom was like Comet, he said

reporting from personal experience

it cleansed the doors of perception

 an experience sorely needed in today's troubled world

being of the Order of Exalted Ones

his words were taken quite seriously

pretty soon musicians were singing about it

a Sitar was imported from India

Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

got cleansed

at last everyone was on the way to nirvana

so I did the trip

scrubbed those doors really, really

oiled them

saw light through some of them

like stained glass in cathedrals

doors most people don't even know are there

mandalas in the sky

without all that tedious meditation

well, folks, let me tell you

he was mistaken

yes, the doors are there

stained glass, mandalas, Sitars and all that

clean them ever so clean

it doesn't matter

not portals to nirvana

nirvana is just a word

which is where the trip began

and so it will end there

nothing external, no experience, no category

will encompass the urge which leads further

even Ken Keysey's bus will not get there

there being no there there

and so all I can say

in the ludicrous event of saying anything at all

is why not go shopping

buy only what you need

mushrooms at the market are fine

have a nice day

it may be your last

but then

who are you?

don't try to read about it

for each and every culture

ordinary life is the way

ORDINARY MAGIC

the gold scale on our front porch in Los Gatos

weighed stardust

if nothing else

a dry well sheltered by our garage

was useless

heaven was avocado leaves in late afternoon glow

 green

just before sunset

distance and years forgotten

reincarnated each liquid amber fall

a spangle of cafeteria bracelets trailing sparklers, fireworks

sunbeams just beyond reach

a garden spider's jeweled  web

cobble stoned streets

dams of mud, sticks and stones

rivulets and ripples

now taking form

in Santa Clara

NOTHING EXTRAORDINARY

BEYOND THE USUAL DRUM BEAT

birds flutter off to blonde horizons

wood print sky clatters into history

shuffles out of hearing

struggles of the day have reached completion

leaving energy for

a contemplation of leaves

sailors reaching home port

images slowly fading

dust to silt

nude beach rising

at low tide

bang cog raffle day

gargoyles on hot coals

the gods hurl bolts of shimmering silk

spiders gather for a group insurance forum

this entourage of realtors and used car sales(wo)men

bodes well for pickup trucks

lined up like elephants

on their way to a safe deposit box

many bags of corn for popping

butter and salt

postage stamps, once collected

are ripe for hurricanes

all those emperors and nations

superseded

drum beat fading

muscles on a hammock yawning

animal spirits

office drones seek geodesic domes

a new age living

spaces shaped in their origin

let them shuffle

until finally there isn't much to say

nothing extraordinary