On the Three Estates Sales of Lunacy: Uncensored Reflections & the Comforting Contours of Catharsi (

1^st Estate)  Giving words to sorrow,

Or

2^nd Estate)  Giving sorrow to words,

That is the question

I’ve lived both worlds

The first seems complete Zen

(like Zen needs completion)

The second is the first with an itch

The 2^nd Estate is boundlessness generosity with both time and space and heart.  It dances in a tree like a bird, safe and connected by instinct, perhaps.  But it knows fear.  It lives outside in.  It is contemplative at some level of the protections of the masks called, “Tragedy & Comedy”. 

The 1^st Estate is boundless and generous without knowing the walls of the prison of the word called, “Time” and comes from the place where the spirit heart comes from.  It dances on the precipice of passion, knows no judgment, even when entwined in the Sonata Dance with a pal called, “Pain”.  This Estate spills out everything in the spirit of ‘Effort not Outcome’ and burrows into itself for others to mine for the truth behind freedom.  It seems to but doesn’t edit the memories of the 2^nd Estate…rather, it casts the experiences of sublimity to those fishes that nibble on the lure called “Softness” .  But what Estate listens to the kindness of the other Estate & simply witnesses by example? 

This paradox is where the Wounded Healer comes in, often through the agency of crisis.  It happens when the uncensored reflections an Estate threaten to dry up the other Estate.  It sneaks into the 1^st Estate at the point of…”and burrows into itself for others”…you know…the part that you sensed that didn’t quite fir into the flow of the 1^st Estate’s Premise. 

…and that is why people feel lost.

Yes, I know…

Sometimes the stories of our lives mean the most by necessity at the end of what we call our life.  Therefore, I suggest we die frequently.  Die to self (ishness).  Articulate the details of your life without an agenda to the child within everyone (it is the only part that hears like that anyway, and such are the kingdom of heaven) when possible.  When and if that fails, drink coffee or something.  However you get there (listen carefully) just do forget to go.

Being is more important than becoming.  The comfort of the contours of catharsis is awake in the light place that leaves us…with what we were all along anyway.  “God don’t make junk.”

So, as the world and maybe I run off to another Garage Sale to comfort myself with someone else’s discomfort, know that love never dies.  My Scrabble Word is “SEQUOIA” because they hold each other up through their root system.  Now it’s your turn.

An old good friend from before I was born will always have a home and a root in my heart.  I can’t create that part of who I am, it just is…it doesn’t need ‘controlled acceptance” (“You gotta accept this…”), and it sure doesn’t need to be cured by some Head Shrinker who doesn’t know the first thing about deepest passion!  LOL!  All said in love.

My heart has all the medicine it needs.  My heart is my medicine (Medicine Bag) and when I die, it will hopefully be empty so I know I have not wasted one single drop of love that is possessed.  “You can’t keep it unless you give it away.”  But the question I have is, will someone hold my hand when I go?  Or were the Eagles right?  “Your prison is walking through this world all alone” (those words will be in my next poem/writing). 

So goes the heart of a Warrior Poet.