lighter load

lighter load


The young guy leaning against a building asked me " Do you want to hear a human allegory?"
his brown eyes/ water too deep to measure
his hands held scribbled notes on tablet
I do a double take
"Well, sure"
he says " If I smile at you, you smile back"
& I do to his
" If I sneer at you, he/she wants you to smile back"
“If you smile at a sneer you won't have to carry anything away"
lighter load

Overheard/underwater

"I was just thinking of Paris too"
"It is like telepathic waves"
a metro tunnel under the Atlantic, no Stations before the other side.

Ging Gang Gooly

Mirabai painting

It’s somewhere very busy—

the trainset of this mind—

where i’m a well-fed baby

            ‘round all the toys to find—

and hopping off the seasaw—

            and scrambling up the slide—

or melting heads from G. I. Joes

            (where fire ants abide)—

a plastic zoo beneath the sand—

            a space ship—in the sky—

beneath the porch—the tender thing

            that grows out from my eyes—

until i’m somewhere suddenly

            i wasn’t where before—

this is—you see—the way it goes—

            through door in door to door.

It’s somewhere strange and busy—

            in somewhere moreso still.

The whorls would make me dizzy—

            if i remembered to be ill—

but on from on these plays i go—

            rebounding rhyming whims—

glancing reflection in these words—

            vowing—i am not him.

(Inspired by Emily "Em-Dash" Dickinson and Scooter "Compost Pile" Cascadia)

IMUNURI Prompt: Snippet

IMUNURI Alchemy Dazzles at Two Portland Shows

First: IMUNURI Poets Scooter, Daniel, J and TK will stir it up at two interactive poetry confabs in Portland in two weeks.

Please help us spread the word to folks in the Portland Area who would enjoy a great night of readings, music, collaborative poetry making, open sharing and more. Shows take place:

Saturday, August 11, 6-8 pm Bipartisan Cafe 7901 SE Stark

Sunday, August 12, 7-9 pm Tabor Space 5441 SE Belmont

$5-10 suggested donation. No one turned away.

Now, for this week's prompt, take a snippet.
Overhear something at a bus stop, in the office, around the block. Grab a bit of a conversation from the playground, the line at the DMV, the elevator or the supermarket. Steal some words that weren't intended for your attention. Repeat them to yourself so you don't forget them before you get a chance to write them down. Consider carrying a scrap of paper and a stumpy pencil with you this week so you can be ready.

ALTERNATELY, don't leave your snippet to chance. Ask somebody for a sentence, a phrase, part of a story, an idea or an inspiration.

What amazing tale does that airy, momentary comment indicate? If you asked for details, for clarification, elucidation, evidence, what might you uncover? What can you invent around the snippet? Use it as inspiration to write. Be unexpected. Be interested. Be unmistakable.

labels: snippet, your name, poem

my brain a compost pile steaming

my brain a compost pile steaming

needs another layer of leaf mulch 

to stop the stink to sink to depth to reconnect

nerves are worms, moving and making

new dirt (thought) out of shit (shit)

my brain a loamy heap steaming

churns yesterday's detritus into tomorrow's flowers

grey matter brown matter gooey stew

there is nothing left out, no castoffs, no away

no escape

i settle into the underground tramways

the neural-vermal chutes and slithers

until still as a morning settling into itself

i come clear, whole, 

ready to nurture seedlings and sprouts  

these new/ancient thoughts

recursive in their curvilinear clarity

weaving themselves into braided leaves

bright blossom then heaving back to muck

then sliming again into smooth soft dirt

liberate my inner liberace: song cycle and reflection on LIBERACE PRAISES THE BIGBANG

"Want the change. Be inspired by the flame

where everything shines as it disappears…"

--Rainer Maria Rilke (2005), Sonnets to Orpheus, Part 2, XIII, p. 117

Translated by Anita Barrows & Joanna Macy 

[cycles are interposing interweaving simultaneously chanted incanted shimmied and shaking]

cycle 1:

big as a rainbow dinosaur

soaring with sunset wings

blurred by galaxies on fire

big as a rainbow dinosaur

cycle 2 (syncopation):

shake. rattle with the razzle-dazzle.

shake. rattle with the razzle-dazzle.

cycle 3 (syncopation):

glitz. glam. glamour with the glitter.

glitz. glam. glamour with the glitter.

cycle 1 (variant – down deep):

big as a rainbow dinosaur

big as a rainbow dinosaur

reflection:

Since we are part of the explosion of all-matter into the enormous enhugening universe which is scale upon scale of shimmering creating massive explosioning sparkling starshining creativity, it’s no wonder we’re drawn to glitter rainbow plumage and starshine. It’s how Einstein, eye shadow, Cinderella, Liberace, KISS, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” Rilke, bridesmaids, Cher, dew-drenched webs and roses, disco balls, and the Milky Way (along with you and i) all celebrate the bigbang. 

No shame champagne ~ ( invitation to read, click and gyrate )

this unconcsious host of Self

rolling and boiling off the scum

no shame... 

this abundantly full bottomed heart

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxNqRFBqWzU

Liberace’s Libertine Libretto

 

up in my mind’s tree house

I had to do some serious pruning
up in the branches of my brain
with roots too shallow
stunted growth my ruining
one of those new arrivals


only reason for our survivals
lucky stars deign
to slow our demise
salve our barks with aloe
allow one more sun to rise
up in my mind’s tree house
learning not to tell lies

Prompt: Liberace Poem

Get on your flamenco, your rhinestones, your swag. Liberate your inner Liberace...

In the heat of summer, during the party days of sunshine, go wild and write festooned with glitter, sparkle, and shine. Night fever? Go for it.

 What is wild in you, that wants to dance and croon? Write from that place.

 ...or...

 Smile for five minutes without stopping, then write.

 ...or...

Disco dance for 10 minutes (glitter globe optional but good), then write a poem.

Praise, exhort, cavort! Write from your inner flame, and welcome to the auspicious circle of flowing frolicking creativity....

Tagwords: liberace, poem, [poet's moniker]

"Girl Child" ~ streaming

shy one at her open window

with belly hardware stripped

framed by a canvas of morning light

her wakeful time to black out 

beneath the growl of her presence

a silhouette in her periphery

beneath a wish to crush

under what hides behind

her mother's costumed glances

her chosen fabric

the thinly spun sheen

of soft cream reverie

Moisture Burns Off

A heaviness on waking
burns off like dew
moisture of the morning
dream trails left by some
unsuspecting wish to be
or to love or have love
only forgetting no possession
brings such things
no accomplishment
weighs in as favor
making any wish true


There is something here
at work       abiding
more brilliant even
than the sun
for it shines always
and looking beyond
the eyes yes yes yes
yeses reveal what is
eyes possibly of heart
beyond breath even
You are what is


Neither moist nor arid
distressed or elated
lost or remembered
virtuous or awry
engaged or foot-dragging
each and all of these
burn off in the sun
of their own making
like the dew
of this morning
a morning of night

What is
has
no
equal
force
= or ≠
cannot
be measured
and left
whole
simultaneously

Instead unfold within
ourselves resplendent
beyond the fascination
with things that break
only to be
rebuilt oncemore
trimming satisfaction
from something
that can only
be diminished
by its very nature

IMUNURI Prompt: The interior of Thought

"A Thought went up my mind today —
That I have had before —
But did not finish — some way back —
I could not fix the Year —"

Emily Dickinson begins that way to talk about the inner landscape of her mind. The poem, which goes on for another two stanzas, seems mainly to describe a subtle, surprising sensation of an unknown but strangely familiar sequence of synapse firings. The entire poem is internal, mental, emotional. It includes no description or narration of any external stimulus offered as trigger or result.

So while we're inside Emily's mind, we look around and notice an interesting thing: her mind has an "up." The word flits by so quickly, one might miss it looking for an explanation as to what the "Thought" comprises. But the poem never offers specifics about that. Instead, the upness of the mind catches the attention. It is intriguing, definite and curious.

What does your internal landscape look like? What is inside your emotional/intellectual body? 

This week, go in with your camera of words and take some snapshots that show what it's like in the space where your thoughts appear, move, vanish, and recur.


keywords: interior, poem, your name

The play of fragmentation

In Mother Teresa's prayer

She asks her Jesus for deliverance

From the desire to be loved, extolled

From the fear of being slandered or forgotten

Remember the stories of how she moved

Like a blue flame

Through the streets of Calcutta

The glowing embers of love's disciples at her feet

Carrying the virus

The doubt that had infected her courage

Collecting lost, broken pieces of the Christ

The dusty mass

The frame of a being

Gathering this one into her freedom

Into her care

The holding preceded by a recognition

The one who is the long lost friend

The one who she could have mothered

The one who could have mothered her

At a still point in time

The entire family is seen in the dying woman's face

A clanless, tribeless whole

Abiding in the ordinary divinity of the heart

Freed from the trap

Of love needing love's proof

my sister root

my sister root
calls to me
across vibrant
interliminal
space
electrons wide
reverberant
timeless

together we slide into the rich soil
who cares if it's been months or years
we are always growing together still
intertwining
wefting (weave, from old english wefan, Germanic)*
thrown across, twisting sinuous
whole

when we talk
however long the distance
we discover how deeply we've
continued along, flopping and sloping
across each other's life chords,
nurturing,
mycorrhizal,
the root-weave-mesh
a kind of harp plucking
hum
in gaian dirt
helping the sister root drink



* with thanks to Lauren Raine, Spider Woman's Hands
http://www.rainewalker.com/spiderwoman%20page.htm

Thunderstorms, sky-grace-flowers

In the spring when the tide of renewal flows over me, I feel re-embedded in wholeness. The sweet spirit of being-filled-from-within by sky-grace-flowers

cleanses the drive from me. I have laid down the calendar book, which was a metronome over a cliff.

Tonight thunderstorms loom and the sky greens in spring heat. I hope for the fire that is brighter even than magnolia blossoms, something to mark the path to stars and planets. A jagged walkway, sudden, liminal, luminal, stark. Instead of parking, we wander in the city thrum twilight. Even though there are no storms tonight, the promise of illumination keeps me moving, hoping, breathing.

April 2012

by hand by measure by hour we are asked to choose how much to see of the world

Window blinds … well named. We stay in a place where the blinds are embedded in the windows, a fierce protection against the fierce light. Every one of the blinds must be hand turned in one little corner to open, a dial to open the lids to the sky.

Is there anything else I need to figure out? Is there anything else that’s needed as the thin weak fire morning sun comes through the tops of windows long lidded – by hand by measure by hour we are asked to choose how much to see of the world.

Mostly, I choose to cocoon. It could be a prison house, how strange it is to be kept from the friluftsliv (free-air-life). I shut out the smoke from the fire, and also the butte and mountains. I shut out the birds, the spreading oak. It takes so much energy to run through the home, every window, and open the sky, or pull down the air.

Conferences: I come to beautiful places then engage in strange rituals of sitting, hour on hour, in rooms without windows. In one, only the top corner of the room reveals the friluftsliv-freeairlife. Released from eight in thirteen days of full-day room-being,

Is it an affront to the windowless body to get up and dance for a minute, then immediately sit back and have people talk for hours in room tombs?

May 22, 2012

Bee-ku too (w/thanks to Daniel)

Bee-ku too (w/thanks to Daniel)

Shirtless - no boots on
Stuck in knee deep bee honey
Becalmed - empty sail

Moon Bee Moon / Moonbeam Moo [Improvisational Riffstream Song Notes]

[waning moon insomnia song workshop with notations -notations for an improvisational multiharmony riffstream...]

Bunny Bee, "Cow Jumping Over the Moon"

background drone and chorus:

moon bee moon
moonbeam moo
moon bee moon
moonbeam moo
moon bee moon
moonbeam moo
moon bee moon
moonbeam moo

x 999  [at least 4 lines of this oft sprinkled throughout the stanzas below - could be a drone (ha) in the background]

the cow who jumped over the moon
was in the field at night, under the moon
watching what do the bees do
after they gather the pollen all (the) day

chorus 1


the cow and the bee(s) and the moon
all know how to fly
    [[(long held on know/how each note) all knoooooow hooooooow to fly]]

[under the moon]

[maybe:  - not sure of placement - or in round 2 sub for stanza x above?]
the buzzing twirling busy busy bee
was in the field at  (or all) night, under the moon
watching what do the [smooth] cows do
after they chew in the field all the day
[what do they do?]


and/or

the swirling swooning space swimming moon
was in the field at night, being the moon
wondering what do the cows do
after they chew in the field all the day
[what do they do?]

[maybe: - not sure of placement - or in round 3 sub in for stanza x's above? - maybe put in after the cow is the bee is the moon?]
the swirling swooning space swimming moon
was in the field at night, being the moon
wondering what do the (buzzing) bees do
after they gather the pollen all the day
[what do they do?]


the cow is the bee is the moon
all know how to fly
[under the moon -- or -- what do they do]

cows become bees become moon
under the night time sky
[under the moon]
[that's what they do]

sometimes bees need a rest
and the cows know (they) how to rest  [variant: cows really know how to rest]
[under the moon]
chorus
cows like sipping from the flowers
in the lithe [little] [buzzing]bodies of bees
[under the moon]
[that's what they do]
[under the moon]
chorus


variant:

sometimes the moon needs a rest
and the cows know (they) really know how to rest
[under the moon]

chorus
the moon she likes sipping from the flowers
in the lithe, little buzzing bodies of bees
[under the moon]

[that's what they do]
[under the moon]

chorus 

Huyssen, Campbell & Garbett, "Bumble Bee Cow"

cows need to dance
cows need to dance [or - cows need a chance]
[that's what they do]
(under the moon)
[that's what they do]

and/or
cows really do like to dance
cows really do like to dance  [or cows they really do like a dance]
(under the moon)

[could switch to] bees really do like to dance
bees really do like a dance / under the moon /that's what they do/under the moon]

the moon she really does like to dance
the moon she really knows how to dance
under the moon bee moon moonbeam moo...

the cow is the bee is the moon
all know how to fly
[under the moon -- or what do they do]

cows become bees become moon
under the night time sky
[under the moon]
[that's what they do]

moon bee moon
moonbeam moo
moon bee moon
moonbeam moo

that's what they do
under the moon
that's what they do

under the moon
that's what they do
under the moon

the cow is the bee is the moon
all know how to fly
cow becomes bee becomes moon
under the night time sky


that's what they do
under the moon
that's what they do

under the moon
that's what they do
under the moon
moon bee moon
moonbeam moo
moonbeam moo
moon bee moon...

cow becomes bee becomes moon
under the night time sky

under the moon
that's what they do
under the moon

that's what they do
under the moon
that's what they do






Accompanying Album Cover Image Notes: 

[image would be of a cow with wings on a flower in the moonlight]
Kind of a mix of these two images:
images:

this
Bunnybee "Cow Jumping Over the Moon" - in context at http://www.bunnybeedesigns.co.uk/PRODUCTPAGE.php?product=CowJumpingOverTheMoon&view=noBkPic&background=fasle&details=false&color=blueproduct=CowJumpingOverTheMoon
http://www.bunnybeedesigns.co.uk/img/CowJumpingOverTheMoon.jpg

plus
Huyssen, Campbell & Garbett, "Bumble Bee Cow" - in context at http://stamford.cowparade.com/cow/large/53
http://stamford.cowparade.com/image/cow/large/2602.jpg

plus pollinating a flower

(Taurus waning moon)

Hive-ku

Honies:
when you go out,
I need a couple things:
groceries and spackle.

Prompt: Beehive (Be Hive) Collaborations

Bilby, 2009, Natural Beehive

Write a poem inspired by the beehive, by bees, by large collaborations humming along.

Are you busy as a bee? Buzzing about?
Gathering nectar? Savoring honey?

Considering having fun with one or more of these options:

• The old name for bees, and for those who tended them, is "Melissa." Write a love letter to "Melissa" in honor of the pollinating that bees do, making so much fruit and food and seed possible...

• Go outside and find a bee or gaze at flowers. Watch the bee for five to ten minutes, then write a poem
• Gather 10 words symbolizing or reflecting characteristics that help us collaborate ... then use these to write a poem
• Spend an hour of today (whether in an office or a farmer's market or a bus or ...) experiencing with extended senses, how you are part of something larger. Feel your antenna, what do you feel with them? What is your hive like? What directional dances do you share to help others find the juicy flowers? How are you helping build the hive? 

Labels: poem, bees, [poet's moniker]

Aruna, 2009, Natural Bee Hives in Vellapara, Kerala, Wikimedia Commons

Image Credits

Bilby, 2009, Wikimedia commons, Natural Beehive, Coromandel Valley, South Australia
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Natural_Beehive.jpg
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d6/Natural_Beehive.jpg


Image of a wild hive from Wikimedia Commons. First,
Second, Aruna, Natural Bee Nests in Rock Cavities in Vellapara, India, 2009, Creative Commons, http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Wild_beehives_in_Vellapara,_Kerala.jpg#

VACANT LOT ~ a 2nd Tribute to the urban farm

A sure footed approach makes it down intact

Most are hunched and pulling at the ground

In the garden

He takes their hands and brings them to their knees

For these kids... that's a steep plunge

You could say, he's somewhat of a

Messianic farmer

Recruiting young disciples for his outdoor hearth

Taking their rage under his wing

Sanctifying it

Stirring it's heat into a ground of  true and forgotten wealth

The soul of another Vacant Lot revived

Made holy for a while

Trust-timed to explode abundance

It's hard not to notice, how patiently

He's raking in the alfalfa meal, the potassium

How he's developing a knack for

Deterring flea beetles and face to fist contact

This evening, he strolls with a steady stride

Around volatile corners of flare-up kids

Their gunship alleys

Each face reminds him of someone he knew

Each one, not letting him forget

If you asked him how he does it, he might say

"It's like harvesting seed...

You know what to look for...You gather when they're ready...”

Pause

“You pray for good conditions

Long enough to establish roots”

Episode

It’s the word that opens the door,

fires the synapse picture throughout my body.

I ask if you want to watch another episode.

Another episode. We’re forty-five together,

we have a child, a European Sleepworks bed.

We’ve been to Bangkok and Amsterdam

and Sandy Eggo. Where haven’t we been?

Sleep is our only pause between episodes,

and even the roustings and night make

some kind of plot. My whole body

is with your whole body; and in a second

I’m overcome with the lucky circumstance,

melted into a sort of love-flavored Jell-o.

But with all natural flavors. And then

we watch another episode and go to sleep.

Going our own way together

Going our own way together


I’M
drum solo
unburied from the ashes of a pit fire,
hand painted instruments in hand,
headed north to join
IMUNURI
poets,
in the cascades of their lives,
(UN)der
Mt. Hood
to blow cornets  in Portland
neighborhoods
to pitch our words
into Northern Light
mutations of our poetry
incense burning tonight.
U-R-I

Interdependence Day: I am You and You are I (A Folk Song Madrigal)

{Yes, just imagine a dozen voices on the chorus, yes you can learn it, just hum along 'til you catch the flowless flow... - [bracketed words are add-on flexible] and [[double brackets indicate variants]]  }

Chorus:
Drenched in sharing
all the words and poetry [flowing on]
Drenched in sharing
I am you and you are I [without end].
Quenched in caring
What is yours and what is me?  [[or: What is yours and what is mine?]]
Quenched in caring
I am you and you are I.


Verses (order goes, first each with chorus between, then all together in a row with several choruses in a row afterward)




Interdependence Day: I am You and You are I (Song)

Swimming the lake in the boat without end
Along the shores of the waterless flow
Flowing on...

{Chorus}

Flowing in the lake waters without end
Along the bank of the stoneless flow
Flowing on...

{Chorus}

Floating in the lake on a back without bend
Along the bankless waters that flow
Flowing on...


{Chorus}

Swimming the lake in the boat without end
Along the shores of the waterless flow
Flowing on...
Flowing in the lake waters without end
Along the bank of the stoneless flow
Flowing on...
Floating in the lake on a back without bend
Along the bankless waters that flow
Flowing on...


Chorus: Drenched in sharing
all the words and poetry [flowing on]
Drenched in sharing 
I am you and you are I [without end / flowing on].
Quenched in caring
What is yours and what is me?  [[or: What is yours and what is mine?]]
Quenched in caring
I am you and you are I.  [flowing on...]

(Repeat Chorus x 2  or free form repeat amongst Imunuri's)

Sound trial link here [not all variants or riffs in there yet, would be better with a dozen folks, maybe we'll tape a version live in Portland if folks are game : ) ]

Possible artwork (riff and transparency on some open source artwork above) - I am You and You are I - Presence Venn Diagram

Special Prompt: I Am You And You Are I ( I M U N U R I )

Poets of Imunuri:

Hand-painted trumpets and cornets by Juleez

Reach for the trumpets,

Photo by Yungshu Chao

Start burning the incense,


  

Art by Harvey the Pooka

Get out your best quill pen...

Here's a special prompt in preparation for our upcoming chapbook and Portland Oregon road tour!

Take our blog's namesake as your prompt:
"I am You And You Are I."

Birth something beautiful, bold, memorable, creative, fabulous, quirky, and/or eccentric...

Consider: 
How are we part of each other?
Are we soul-twined in the tapestry of life?
Is poetry a form of group be-ing?
Does the spark of our group call and response, conjuring, and collaboration make us part of creation? Make us Creation? Make us part of each other?
How are you and I breathing each other?
Is poem-making mutualistic like tree exhalation being human inbreath outbreathing breath for tree? Are we entirely co-existing, overlayerings of hue and tone?
Does poetry increase our inner and outer being, expand our edges, unfurl us?
Am I already speaking your words while writing this, because I am you and you are I?

Labels: poem, imunuri, [poet's moniker]




PS notice how the cross section profile of a trumpet looks like faces in relief? Is that an example of how I am You and You are I?

Bonus PS: Please put forward poems(s) of yours to be included in the chapbook. Choose the ones that move you most. If you have favorites by other poets, let them know. Submissions by Friday, July 6, please and thank you thank you thank you





Image credits: 
1. Juleez Hand Painted Trumpets and Cornets, www.juleez.com. In context: http://www.juleez.com/shop/hand-painted-musical-instruments-juleez/original-hand-painted-trumpets-juleez.html  Actual image location: http://www.juleez.com/magento/media/catalog/category/TRUMPETS.jpg
2. Smoking Incense Burner in Nepal. Yungshu Chao/iStockphoto. In context on Science Daily: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/05/080520110415.htm
3. Harvey the Pooka (2012). The Quill Pen. http://harveythepooka.deviantart.com/art/The-Quill-Pen-46543436
4. Baroque (left) and modern trumpet mouthpieces, from Essential Vermeer. In context:http://www.essentialvermeer.com/music/trumpet.html. Actual image location: http://www.essentialvermeer.com/music/musicimages/mouthpieces.jpg

5. A Chorus of Trumpets Sculpture (2011)- by Artist Howard Kalish, installed at Indiana State Rankin Plaza. In context: http://www.indstate.edu/news/news.php?newsid=2915 Image location: http://isuphoto.smugmug.com/Other/Media-Services/Trumpets/i-M3X8g2H/0/L/102511trumpets-9351-L.jpg

Self Storage ~ A Jig

Inspired by the tune of Merrily Kissed the Quaker and Cunla by Pierre Bensusan

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzU98dg8laY


I'm dancing this dance of density
Around and around the propensity
To keep and keep and keep and keep
So many things that I simply can't sleep

Self storage is now going on twenty
It's been months and months a plenty
Commiserating with so many like me
Stuffing things tight so creatively

I picked a place that I really like
So getting there is not a big hike
Only now it feels like a second home
My first one being wherever I roam

In one place and then another
My only satisfaction is the bother
To create the appearance I am free
Free of the weight (but paying a fee)

I have cups and I have saucers
I have pillows and a poem by Chaucer
Bags and bags of miscellaneous things
This gentle soul even saves strings

I'm dancing this dance of density
Around and around the propensity
To keep and keep and keep and keep
So many things that I simply can't sleep

I want to be free I want to be me
But somehow I remain on bended knee
Praying and praying to be released
Somehow not seeing this is a love feast

I've been storing my Self for myself
Happy now to clear the shelf
Break open the plates put out to offer
Tasting courage, 'tis the key to the coffer

What a Love Feast, can I give it away?
Who will grace it, receive it without any sway?
Releasing confusion and old loyalties
It all comes now free of royalties

I've been dancing a dance of density
Around and around the propensity
Of having to keep and keep and keep
But now I'm giving it away in my sleep

No more need to keep my Self from my self
No hesitating, withholding of oneself
Putting it out there as a tender offer
It's voice, it's vision and heart of this coffer

Unlocking this lock the key being free
Singing and dancing this jig I am me
Fancy that being free to relax let go
Enjoying what is ~ simply sharing the flow