Shoveling I-Cycles
He said he planned to freeze to death.
Did he mean to have his body frozen?
Stored to hatch again later,
leftovers out of time's deep freezer of waiting.
No, not that.
He responds with undeniable dismissal,
this would not be his investment in future plans.
I hope and believe that I will choose
when to freeze my death.
I remember his hope
stepping out into Connecticut's perfect nor'easter,
stern at onslaught,
like pilgrims and nearby islands of granite
states and histories,
but then dragging more gracefully out
into lacey fluff
floating toward quintessential kitschey views
framed from inside
by silent flickering orange flames
licking coal black constitutional wood stove
New England casual propriety,
radiating waspish welcome warmth,
but with appropriate restraint,
while I remember to step
onto my snow covered front porch,
evenly blanketed front to back,
as if devoid of shingled Cape Cod roof.
This would be a good connected way too die.
Shoveling snow in Promised Land's
evening post-storm quiet,
waiting for far off snow huffers and blowers
to finally rest.
Without anger or disappointment.
How could we become a better time and place
to re-enter timeless freedom of empathic light?
Fearless deep enriching flight
into nesting night
of death's diastatic elational surprise,
floating out as in
to continue WinWin play
as recreating love-life
by day
and regenerating CoLover's Love of love ourselves
each climaxing full-moon night,
speaking through nor'easter' wind
of light redemption
and bright winged mythic co-reception.
If I were of his fearless content mind
to fade in frosty sublime light,
now would be my time
to threshold off
into enculturing adventures
of co-relational Earthen Love,
holding off my WinWin Climax re-transformation
until this night's threshold,
freezing away from carnating restraint
of graceless angry fear of lively shadows
and losing ego's permacultured golden age
to flow into disincarnate freedom
full as loving tic elating grace,
recomposing Earth's Tribal Golden Embryo,
a grand transitional opera
in four snow-bound limbs
of crystal-frosted dancing light
elating pure true resonance.
He planned to freeze his death
to love Earth's Paradise,
echoing co-radical Presence.
My warmth becomes distracting
to this Bodhisattva Revolution
into cosmic-conscious decomposition
of Gaia's delicious musical comedy
sung full-timed operatic pretension
until cold brings time's threshold
storm inviting steadier-state contemplation,
love Beloved freezing Presence,
free at last to climax multicultural Elation.
Funny, now, to remember
his pre-climatic drama,
requiring death
to embrace love's timelessly available freedom,
when each breath engages sacrament
baptizing love's diastatic promise,
then purging Passion Stories back out
to feed Earth's ravenous trees of upside-down rooting wisdom.
It's all so intensely rich and deep,
frosty,
shoveling snow,
remembering a friend
who chose to freeze his living,
celebrating a dance of Full Moon dying
to prehend already present EarthArising Presence.
CoMessiah breathing in Connecticut's normative normal
natural business
nor'eastern Paradise Transition,
shoveling deeply within
newly laid embryonic blanketing womb
tomb.
I hope our kids won't worry or ever fear
that we've chosen frozen to death out here
over all our over-heated operatic flame
of life in quiet reConnecting home.
He said he planned to freeze to death
to sit with passionate Earth's Tribe,
co-rising Time's elating love,
CoPresent.
Even so,
I hope he misses me
as I miss him.
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