Moojo Cafe

sore/soar

if i wasn't so sore
i could soar
not sore like i've
overworked my muscles
sore like i've
overworked my ego
who has time to
work on having a fit
body when it takes
so much energy to
have a fit?

you know how someone
will say 'i'm really steamed!'
think about that
think about stepping into
a steam bath and just
letting all that built-up
tension melt away
then think about what it
means to get really
steamed over something
one's about the release
of tension and one's
about building it up...
and containing it

no wonder i'm sore

quitting

i mean it this time
no, really
this is it
for real
no more hemming
and hawing
no more wishy-washy
B.S. this time i
really mean it!

~ Quitters affirmation

curve

the curve of the earth
the arc of the horizon
what lies beyond sight lines?
what bends beyond eyesight?
that which we cannot see
holds sway over
our dominion that which
we cannot hear
unsettles our nerves
threatens our beliefs
finds us defending
our views even when
they're held without being
able to see the
opposition
we stand firmly in our faith
that what we hold
to be true is fact
stand firmly in our
belief that sides
must be chosen
battle lines must be drawn
arms must be
taken up to take down
the other

but what if instead of
placing our energy on
defending our borders both
external and internal
what if instead of seeking
vengeance on those
who dare to differ
we let our eyes relax
and bend with the horizon
what if we begin to
focus on the far distance
instead of the tips of
our noses
what if instead of seeing
the world as a mass
of linear sharp angles
we begin to bend with
the earth begin to
appreciate her curves

i just don't get it

i just don't get
how fear leads to anger
how insecurity leads to rage
how we can turn
our vulnerability
inside out and
put our dramas
on a mental stage
to lash out at our brothers
to curse out at our sisters
let our thoughts
be run by fears
when what we really want
is to dissolve
in a release
of quiet tears
where is that middle place
between fear and rage
that place where we
stop ourselves
where we quietly
turn the page
let our anger
morph into tears
let shouted words
go unspoken
let our hearts
become quiet
before our spirits
get broken
take me there please
to a gentler place
and time
where i care less
about saving face
and more about communion
with the divine

the experiment

welcome to my laboratory
where i'm conducting
an experiment on
the power of ease
don't mind that woman
over there with all
the wires and sensors
attached to her body
i know she seems to
be thrashing around
and yes her groans and
mutterings can get
quite loud but honestly
she's not in pain she just
thinks she is
you see, she insists
on doing things
the hard way
i keep telling her
that if she'd just relax
and let things unfold
if she'd just get out of
that very busy head of
hers and slow down
her thoughts life would
get so much easier
but, well, you can see
i haven't had
much success
honestly i would
have thought we'd be
wrapping up this
experiment decades ago
but (sigh) we're
still here

time machine

when most hear the words
'time machine' they think of
time travel of blasting
themselves through the
ether into another space
maybe a parallel universe
maybe a future moment
maybe a distant galaxy
but when i hear the words
'time machine' i think
of manufacturing of the
ability to create more
time to learn how to
manifest a multiplication
of those scant 24 hours
yet i know myself well
enough to know that even
if that number expanded
to 48 or 72 i'd probably
still feel the pinch
because it's not more
time i crave it's an
expansion of the time
i already have i want
to turn my conception
of time on its head
to stop thinking of each
hour as something i've
lost treating each moment
instead as a portal
into the divine

passion

i live in the house
of shame keeper
of the flame
voices piped in
constantly echoes bouncing
off the walls they
taunt and jeer and
lay claim to my fear
who are you to dare
have what you want?

i live in the house
of shame keeper
of the myth
that tries to bellow
at me in my 
noisiest moments
to keep my passion
caged to extinguish
my flame in the name
of should

i live in the house
of shame keeper
of the blame that strains
to break my back
with its weight that
flogs my soul with its
pain that dares me
to rise up against it
to lay claim to that which
is rightly mine

sleep

sleep, you elusive beast
i've chased you for
as long as i can remember
there are few
pleasures stronger
than those moments
when you look back over
your shoulder with
a gentle face
as you slow your pace
and allow me
to catch you

fridge space

my fridge has too much
space too many gaps
too many of some items
not nearly enough of most
i have tons of salad
dressing but nothing to dress
lots of condiments but
nowhere to slather them
gallon upon gallon of water
but very little to eat
and what does my freezer
say about me?  with
multiple ice trays and only
one lonely entree?

my fridge space suggests
i'm all flash and no substance
all surface and no depth
that i deny myself
the sensuality of food
and care more about how
things taste than whether
or not they're filling
or nutritious

and it would be right...
at least about the latter.  ;)

foul

it seems to me that we
spend so much of our lives
calling 'foul' on each other
looking for trespasses
against our egos against
our beliefs and principles
against things we feel
compelled to defend
often vehemently
behaviors that aggravate
us obligations that nag
at us dogma that binds
us to narrow swaths of
experience

it also seems to me that
we'd be much better
served by our selves if we
spent a lot less time focused
on the fouls of others and
more time focused on how
we're committing the ultimate
fouls against our natures
through denial of pleasure
not giving our creativity
good measure and listening
to the inner voice that's
screaming to be
heard