THE GREAT LET GO

“I hope I’m not too late.”

Act I: Pulse to Pulse.


Hand to wrist, hand to wrist,

the call, the traffic, the previous engagement, the stressors, the that and this and that and this, and this

                                      hand to wrist
                                                                       tun tun
                                                                       tun tun

subtle blood stream parade
mi muñeca en tu mano, mi mano en tu muñeca—

life is made like this.


Don’t let go of that wrist, 
watch where the hands itch to impulsively go instead:



“Beware the barrenness of a busy life.”
—Socrates

Act II: Coffee Enema.


This green liquid reverses the trajectory.

A contraband guided meditation is carrying me through this wave of retention. Hold on to let go. 

Let this caffeine move you and through you and be moved by you, 
you will remember through the simplicity of bottom up, 
that your insides are not so far, 

and in their growling rage
—the painful clearing of all that has been left in you without a place—
you'll remember that your insides are very much alive, 

and Badu on the delta waves coos:

“you came here
to set something straight….

waaaaaaaaaaake up

wake up

wake up…..”

Drums
and then,

“you need…”

…
…
tun tun tun
…
…
…


“to follow your heart.”


ah.

explosion.

insides out,

coffee directly to the bloodstream, will surely help you

wake up.

Act III: Fifteen minutes could save you fifteen percent or more on letting your bad mood spill into all of your Relations.


“I always wake up in a bad mood”
—Miley Cyrus


Yes, and

the call to enter the garden, to lay out the soggy blanket and try, try to make a change.

Because you hear your mother and father blaming each other across time and space and in your judgement of them the message comes,

“nothing changes if nothing changes.”

and you want desperately to zap out and have the message be only for them,

but you know, you know,
that it is for you.

So you change.

Change from blame,

to three cups of tea out by the tree.

And by the third cup,

you do.

Because a leaf practices more patience than an ego, 
and the ego doesn’t have veins. A leaf does.

If it doesn’t have a pulse, don’t trust it.

Intermission: Sit on your sack of hay, and Sing.


Someone told you this myth, right at the peak of a Saturnian transit that is meant to bring you to your knees. 

A myth where some king has nothing left to do. 
His kindom falls apart, he loses everything, 
and in the desolate nothing,
he sits down to rest on a pile of hay, 
and begins to sing to keep himself company.

In time, a princess arrives, 
and life begins to re-assemble, 
to self-assemble.



The only way to fall to your knees, is to be brought there. 
The only way to go when you get there, is in.
The only way back out, is through.
And the only way through, is to sing.

Act IV: Seeing Sound.


If you are going to chant om, and before the throat can even soften to utter the emanation, 
a thought is already reeling about all the ways it will sound like trash…
there forms a closure in the stratosphere 
that will squeeze you to the stifling limit 
of who you think you are…

…if you close your eyes, 
and before the body is to make sound, 
you imagine the song of your ancestors, 
of the gods, of the angels singing through you, 

if you imagine yourself getting out of your own way 
and letting a miracle play through your Om, 
and you hear it, 
and send your voice out to meet the vision,

you will find that we indeed, 
can see sound, 
and that what we call vision, 
the images we conjure in our imagination and our dreams, 
may not all be so ocular, visual, eye-ball driven as we think.

All this material reality we think we see,
is actually,
a song.

It’s called

uni-verse

after all.

Act V: “Falling Together” 
by Jamie xx and Oona Doherty.


“What's that
There
That thing moving in the middle
Look again
That
Pale blue dancer

Look again at that dot
Surrounded by all that space
Such a small thing
Almost nothing
Surrounded by darkness
Surrounded by what's called
Everything else

Look again at that dot
That's here
That stage
That dancer
There's a whole world in that dancer
A microcosm of everyone you love
Everyone you know
Every human being who ever was

When he turns his head
It's not his head turning
But all the heads turning
When she raises her hand
It's not her hand rising
But all the hands rising

Look again
This is a very small stage
In a vast cosmic arena
A little pile of dust suspended in a light beam
Struggling for significance
But what's it about?

Look again at that dancer
What the fuck?
That's it
That's all there is
Us
A lonely speck
In the great enveloping cosmic dark

In all this vastness
There is no hint that
Help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves
So alright
Yeah
I will have a double
Yes, I will fall
Open arms into and out of my own ego
Let go, let go, let go
The great let go

Look again at that dancer
That's you
You're here
That's us
With open arms
Falling into a deep dark blue abyss
Through time and space and regret
Privilege and denial
And dance
And dance
And dance

Arch up
Look up
To where we were
Where we are
Nothing to do
But to treat and be treated with kindness
Preserve one another
And cherish
Cherish the pale blue dot”