Descension=

Descending beyond mention...

Descent off the grid;

Comes up a lot in the Zodiac as a sign

That's on the slide...

Are you descending?...

Are you decent?...

Do you live in your world day to day without pants,

Or do you dive into your psychic maelstrom from time

To time to balance the ongoing chaos of what's outside,

And avoid a repeat fracas?...

I see descension as a state of action

Where we face our depth

and future friction

With vigor and a stalwart sense of attention...

...Coming to terms with what's been questioned,

And what is yet to be...

Descension+Ingestion+Invested Efforts equals

Wrenching myself out of the gutter and

Discerning what's on tap...

...There are so many odd shaped tasties that are waiting in my lap

And hanging plump upon the drooping network of criss-cross branches!...

To descend is to not only to slough off the table when

A hand has brushed your fruit jelly preserves,

But also to elevate to an elated state,

because if:

“As above, so below; as below, so above”– The Kybalion

Is to be believed then that this upward descent

Cascades and climaxes like a spent glass of water

Exploding mid-air for no one but the thorough-fair,

And much less the common man...

Hard to see it if you can, and when you blink

The whole plan shrinks and is immediately swallowed up...

Descension is a cool glass of promise,

Maybe now or maybe never...

Time to drop into the spot-lit void,

And vanish off the written stage.

©

Bunny Villaire

6/29/22

How do you know what you want, unless someone else has had it? How do you choose to pursue success, unless you believe it makes you happy?

Why is it that, I cannot be satisfied with any accolades, any amount of achievements.

For when I choose to label something I have done with satisfaction as ‘success’, it is then my heart says ‘no, more has to be done until that word can be said’.

How many days will it take, how many posts on social media about careers, relationships, and friends will it take until I say ‘I succeeded.’

Or will it be at the end of my life that I look back and still think ‘I could have succeeded more’.

Why are we driven to this idea of success, this forward-moving train of hustle, power, work, ambition…

Success is this mountain peak that has been famously talked about - it has streams, rivers, a gorgeous wildlife and an evening sunset that makes one stop and stare.

But as we are climbing up this mountain, we are thinking ‘is this the place?’, ‘do I need to climb up more?’, ‘what happens if I stay here?’, ‘but everybody else is climbing up!’

How do I stop and sit, when the whole world is telling me to keep going up?

(*I realize of course the thing is not what it sounds, but here is where I stick my pick:)

He was climbing and sweating. Funny how going up the escalator takes so much effort. He’d taken all the right steps, all the proper precautionary measures… He knew how to outfit; how to fit in; how to stand out just enough to the established yet speculative eye.

But after all these years, today for some reason, having come this far, come all this way, almost to the very, very pinnacle… After having bowed so very low, and groveled down enough for such and such esteem, he now felt a growing discomfort around the collar.

Perhaps his heart was no longer in it? The win: what did it mean? His pulse raced still. A wave of nausea and heat spread across his ample mid drift and a once stalwart chest. A farce suddenly dawned on him in the bright spotlights closing in. Just a few more minutes…

To what? Confusion was setting in. A meeting, yes of course it was! A very important meeting. He needed to prop himself up on all the fragile lines within the building he himself had been so busy building on the back of this who and that deal, and deed, and whatnot receipt.

These stairs suddenly seemed to have so many zombied hands mechanically reaching… from his finely tailored pantleg, to his underpants; from shirtsleeve to his ears… a hissing sound so much like a big balloon deflating, dirigible ...and then he was falling back, backwards, on his bottom, to the very bottom, and someone was stripping him of his Tissot Powermatic and his keys, his last shirt, and now thumbing through his leather wallet. Lies upon lies were cuing in suit, barebreasted as he was, now.

Lights were fading fast. He whispered hoarsely; he had to “make it up to…” but he was in for quite a shock. He might not make it at all... The doors of Heaven of course are closed to the camel’s obsequious cousin who carries more than two humps of baggage.

He’d have to tell the truth. Face the facts. Just once would be enough, to himself, to save this life… Stand clear! And in his darkness, it was soundlessly recognized, the Defibrillator only works sometimes...

06.29.2022

Pick a Word & Pick it Apart Challenge @Last

Now here's a word shrouded and coy

that flips and negates at every turn...

From whence this conniving K?

like a knave

guarding at attention

the centerfold

within the gates

--prohibited--

the N and the O!

And beware the jaw

that's clench

at the end

like a steely trap

growling and shaking

its head

None hear the W, but aye

it's there...

so be careful

how ye tread

we may be

bitten yet.

2022 JUN 30