The urge to put to paper what can never be written.

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Craig May

Craig May's ZBS Playlist

Craig May

The Ticklish Bee

Chapter One…

A Sun Lit Prayer

The ticklish bee was a monochrome of ideas, he had an uncanny ability to see only that which is and laughed of the rest. He never dwelled in yesterday or tomorrow, he was always free to greet what appeared. In his ever rapturous joy the ticklish bee revelled in all company, He never judged another and only saw what was there to see. All the other bees admired him greatly, but they were concerned for him, for they feared for his safety, the ticklish bee was so care free that they all wondered how indeed he could steer free of trouble and attend to what needed to be. The queen after all was a tyrant and would not tolerate such an insulant bee. No indeed, if she was aware of such a bee in her service he would loose his head surely. All the other bees were acutely aware of this and did their best to shield the ticklish bee from the queens glazed glare. The only problem was the ticklish bee was ticklish you see, he could not enter the cup of a flower without lighting it up with laughter. The other bees were horrified initially, they did their best to assign the ticklish bee other tasks that would not lead to a ticklish end but no matter what he did the ticklish bee would always end up in trouble, although the trouble was oblivious to him, you see he just could not see such things as trouble or sorrow or the need to attend to a queen who to the other bees seemed of her rocker. But not to the ticklish bee, he just saw what was there to see.

One beautiful morning the bees were on the lookout for more lush flower cups to extract the elixir that gave their honey a special glean.

Like a squadron, they flew in unison in the glorious sunshine, intently focused on returning with the goods as they knew the queen would not be pleased if they showed up without the prized cargo. The ticklish bee as always was buzzing behind the well drilled squadron, enjoying the sunshine and scenery, he just couldn’t see the need to be in such a rush, he loved the feeling of the sun on his wings but especially on his tummy as he would fly like a swimmer swimming backstroke, the sun light gleaming of his warm tummy, a blissful look in his eye, he would wink an acknowledgement to the great orb in the sky as a token of his appreciation and think how nice to be out on such a glorious day riding the breeze. He liked to whistle too whilst warming his tummy and gently kick his legs, all six to propel him ever so slightly across the clear blue sky. The sun propagated a subtle tickle upon his budda belly promoting a cute little giggle.  He liked to gently tip his head back and watch the other bees flying in formation and upside down too. Why would they do that he would think and gently giggle the thought away in good nature. This enraged a number of the other bees as they had only a certain amount of the time at hand. The queen was very punctual and insisted rather tellingly that the clock must rule the day in the preparation of her honey that was famous across the land. The ticklish bee though had no such concerns, he just loved to giggle to the high heavens despite he’s supposed circumstances, he had a way of seeing through the unreal and zoning in on the real. This is what endeared him to his fellow bees, as much as they did not understand him, they were irresistibly drawn to his immutable joy and comedy......

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Chris Gaskin

Who is  in the box?

The box they put me in.

The one I could not get out of.

Cause I did not know it was there.

But was it there?

Isn’t it as false as the self I believe to be in it?

Is it Illusion vs illusion?

Or are they one and the same?


Soon Be Home

switch to the bigger view

if your own clogs up

do it now no need to wait for weeks

in misery or set out hunting yourself

you’re not a snark

you’re still here

even when you think you’ve gone

even when you feel you’ve gone

even when you panic: gone

– you haven’t left

– you can’t lose yourself

– you didn’t go anywhere

you are here

just stop looking over there

that is a mis-vision

you can’t head yourself off at the pass

can’t find what hasn’t been lost

you may only displace yourself in the looking

prior to any plotted movement

before all thinkings of awayness

there you are –

so what use in conjuring up distance?

what you are is beyond all this going away business...

there is no need to search for anything

no need to recover yourself

no need even to practice for an hour –

you are here

so long as you stop imaging

you are not

and if you have ceased to be here

then correct yourself / untilt your own ship

at keel / set your own eyes straight

no need to run about righting the world –

it’s not a picture frame on a wall

unrectify your own imagined slant, and there you are –

the undeparted – everything back in focus

that cannot be seen

– So

get off your horses; stay all metaphors;

leave the dead poets alone

(none are needed)

stop grubbing up graveyard images

and interring yourself

(it isn’t necessary)

drop the conviction / cease taking sides /

refrain from creating this world with your thought

(just pack it in)

and be

leave all else but this alone / deal with

your own mind and we’ll soon be home

James Lucas

A New Perspective

To see what is before you in a single frame.  A happening all at once.  The theater draped against an infinity of never ending nothingness.  It is behind and over and under and around and through.  The act of failing to capture it leaves the mind in an enlivened confusion.

I was never at home in this world so I took my stride off into the deep without trepidation or lament.  I once thought myself an alien on this little blue planet.  The story however, is even more improbable and delightfully strange.  This little blue planet has found its home in me.

I am not a body.  I see a bubble, a window.  I peer at a halved globe.  When I stay home, a shimmering light, a warm wind, a wave of contentment fills the entire frame.  Periodically, in rhythm, the air escapes and collapses this globe.  The globe fills with air again and this is called night and day.

The mind quiets.  Not from discipline, or trance, or dullness.  The jaw has dropped and shattered by the explosion of silence.  The joy ecstasized from a single atom; it's delight in blinking into being; It is too much for the little heart of this human form to capture.

Eric Mills

All That Is (lyrics for song shared in Music tab)

This is everything

There's no incompleteness anywhere.

Took a journey of a lifetime

Trying to find that which never came to fruition

When the wholeness of all that is

Shouted out so loud I couldn't hear but I listened

It was saying something I could never comprehend

It was pointing to something I could never find

Rather than search for something new

Rather, get lost in now with you

Rather than knowing what to do

Rather, be free

I was struggling to find some peace

Caught in a deadlock of reason and superstition

Then the puzzle of Reality fell apart at my feet

And there was nothing that was missing

It was pointing to something I had never left

It was saying something that simply couldn't be expressed

Rather than search for something new

Rather, get lost in now with you

Rather than knowing what to do

Rather, be free

So sublime

I forget all that I know

All that I know is real

By Donna M

Until Arrives The Dawn

Wandering doesn’t mean lost

Tho the forest is thick and dark

But as soon as the sun peeks

Over the trees

The flame bursts from the spark

It takes a while to see the forest

When all the trees are filled

With endless scraps of what’s not real

And 'what’s happening' seems as killed

Sometimes it takes the mouths of babes

The gentle whisper of trust

To move the seeming unmovable weight

And the "mountain" whirls to dust

Nothing’s ever damaged

in the hurricane of fear

No matter how far the dream’s progressed

The Truth of Us is Here

No one decides just when to wake

That’s destiny ancient song

It’s just a moment’s play on play

Until arrives the dawn.

And then the Sun’s the brightest star

And new fields come in view

And do I need show Gratitude

When your shore needs mine too?

By Tanya Martinez-Cardenas

The Truth

I thought I was writing.

I thought I was thinking of all the words…all these “years.”

I thought I was the one who liked to write,

And yet, they weren’t my words.

To think they were so foreign

So far apart from who I thought I was

To know that something else was doing it all

That was fulfilling some type of script playing out in front of me.

Every time I wake up,

There I am.

There is an unfolding.

My thoughts think the day can be predicted

That it knows each event that will take place,

Until something happens, that sets everything in a different direction.

There is a laughter that comes from deep within

Or at least it comes from somewhere.

It’s not me.

Yet, it's what is being experienced.

How can this body feel so much?

How is my heart able to feel so much connection and energy

From itself and when others are in its proximity?

It happens to someone that isn’t me, clearly.

However, there is an experiencing of it.

All my senses come alive.

They are agents acting like tree roots

Allowing the energy flow of all that is living and breathing

To saturate me completely.

I can feel it all, even when I shut it out.

Something breathes it in and something breathes it all out.

The experiencing of so many sensations, I have come to know as

anger, frustration, anxiety, impatience, kindness, compassion, love—

It’s all here

It’s all here

This body dives in and out of it like water.

The thoughts come with so many ideas

None of them in correlation with what this body does.

There is a detachment, when you look closely.

As the mind moves chaotically,

The body does something entirely different.

How did I not notice before?

There is a story playing out in the head

The body just moves.

Two different things are going on.

Here where time rules,

This happens endlessly

Over and over.

This is a universe where stories cannot exist without time

And time cannot exist without stories.

Master weavers of words, ancient playwrights

Painted this universe with stories from the beginning.

With radio, television, film, the internet, different forms of stories appear and take shape

Through the landscape of time.

The mind says, “I lived through it all.”

But, the body never lives that story.

It was never bound to the mind, time, or stories.

All seemed to be happening to a someone,

When no one was in control

Not the mind

Not the body

Not a me.

No story, no movie ever started or played out.

It was all imagination.

We gave the stories all the meaning, we thought they had.

I could say, “You can wake up now.” But, you have never been asleep or awake.

The Truth is…you have never been.

The Truth is...The Truth has nothing to do with the story.

By Matt Julian

Blessed be the archer,

Who's poison tipped arrow penetrates the armour of that which I'm not,

Laced with the message,

Let the poison course through my veins until it overflows onto the tips my very own arrows and into the ink with which I scribe.

Blessed be the archer.

By Jaxob Ophiuchi

"Too Hungry, These Ghosts"

Reality is too real for us

So we temper it with thoughts

Caught up in the myth of "me"

Hustling ghosts

Into believing in us

Just a pile of old sheets

Just a hamper of dirty costumes

The posthumous identity

Can't conceive

How preposterous

This idea we're believing in is

Don't you see it?

We're made out of dirty laundry

And it becomes crystal clear

That even were we to clean our worn out suits, these

Roles we wear are out of fashion

The emperor wears no clothes