A Tempest of Simplicity (Love vs Sex 251)

I lost my heart

to a tempest of simplicity,

and once I was caught

beyond my will and desire

to escape such an odd manifestational paradox,

I realized that there was no tempest before me,

but only the vivacious rippling and vibrational energy

of contact, melding, and attempted integration

of two existences

which are so oft

catastrophically cleaved from one another;

between a soul of heaven and a world of unknowing flesh;

between crucifixion by the many, knowingly or not,

for the grace shown and proffered by the one;

between an attempted revival enacted by empathy and faith upon apathy and despair;

between the primordial forces of chaotic entropy and the stable orchestrations of synergistic and harmonious union.

It wasn’t a tempest at all

but the orbiting gates of heaven spinning, swirling, and dancing upon the earth.

And deeper

within that skin and those bones,

it was a fragment of heaven itself,

grace undulating incarnate.

An aspect of an essence, I now knew that I had always belonged to as well.

There was no fleeing from its path,

no attempted escape,

there needn’t be,

because there was no fear.

There was only a desire to join with it in a yin and yang of the most joyful appreciation imaginable;

to love it for the simple and pure sake of knowing that it also loved freely, respectfully, and without abandon, anything capable of such energy and attention.

My heart,

my soul,

my essence,

my appreciation and desire,

my compulsive joy and laughter,

had once again,

been simply called home to union with my tribe,

to the inclusive energy and bond of heaven’s blessing and it’s amazingly profound grace.

Cribb          2018

Maybe You Should Tell Them (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 238)

The most beautiful creatures that I have found in this universe hold the world upside right and keep it from twisting upside down on a constant basis. Their efforts go underappreciated by most despite their endless contribution to all and their filling of everyone else’s bucket but their own. It seems natural for them as if they might be an angel of existence hellbent on spreading their light and love to any corner of the universe that is particularly in need at any given moment. So few truly, genuinely, and devoutly lift others up, even their own flesh and blood, but these angels do and they do it without question. They are rare. They are exquisite. They are beyond beautiful. They shine like a wayward comet streaking through a dark night to stir up all of the moon glow, fairy dust, and other precious particles of primordial light that normally swirl about our souls too silently in their radiance and energy for us to acknowledge and to accept; too silently for us to believe, to have complete and utter faith in. These gorgeous creatures awaken all of us from such silence, disbelief, and despair. They shine undeniable and unassailable light and love throughout all the realms of existence. That’s just what they do and if you happen to be fortunate enough to cross paths with one of these extraordinary angels, maybe you should tell them, break your own silence for them as they have done for you in their essence and existence. Maybe you should tell them that you see them, that you really do see them, for who and what they choose to be.

Cribb          2018

Saying Goodbye to Einstein (The Veterinarian)

About six weeks ago a man brought his fourteen year old cat named Einstein into my hospital for an examination. He obviously cared about Einstein and believed that he had suffered some sort of a wound to his face and jaw region.

I had to tell him then that the chance was overwhelming that the lesion wasn’t a wound, but rather a nasty malignant tumor that had reached a state beyond feasible removal. We attempted to “treat the treatable” with antibiotics and steroids, but as originally predicted the treatment had no effect.

This gentleman had to euthanize Einstein last Friday. He was understandably upset; a real grown man does often cry when they suffer a genuine heartfelt loss. While we were in the actual process of calmly restraining the patient, finding a vein, and giving the lethal injection, Einstein’s owner spoke with me. He never stopped caressing his cat in the process.

Einstein’s owner had been to Vietnam on four different active engagement deployments. He had been bayoneted and shot. He had thought that after every single active engagement completed, he had finished his obligated active service duty and that he would be allowed to head home to finish his enrollment in a non-war zone. He was not “exactly” given the option.

He also related a near death experience that he had at the hospital a few years ago while suffering an aortic dissection or aortic rupture. Only a tiny percentage of people survive such a condition. He told me that while he was lying there waiting to be rushed somewhere for surgery, he kept trying to joke with the nurses and the doctors attending to him. He was more relaxed than they were and apparently they had been extremely alarmed. He said “Dr. Cribb, after everything I had been through in Vietnam, after all of that carnage and pain, I thought to myself, if I have to go, this bleeding out thing isn’t such a bad way to make my exit.”

And during the caressing, and the shedding of tears, and the melancholy smiles of shared understanding over his conversation and experiences, Einstein passed away peacefully in silence. There was a feeling of lightness in that room afterwards, sad but still light. We continued to share a few more words about all of it within that lightness for a moment or two, but eventually it became time to part. With a somber smile and a steady hand, Einstein’s owner scooped him up in a blanket and took him home for burial.

Dr. Cribb          2018

Verbalized, It Becomes an Ethical Problem (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 236)

“Words, words, words.” And what’s in a word? Answer: corpses, millions of corpses. And the moral of that is, Keep Your Trap Shut; or if you must open it, never take what comes out of it too seriously. Katy kept our traps firmly shut. She had the instinctive wisdom that taboos the four-letter words (and a fortiori the scientific polysyllables), while tacitly taking for granted the daily and nightly four-letter acts to which they refer. In silence, an act is an act is an act. Verbalized and discussed, it becomes an ethical problem, a casus belli, the source of a neurosis.

The Genius & The Goddess

Aldous Huxley          1955

Cribb Comment: Keeping within the context of the entire novel, it appears that Huxley is illustrating the difficulty of resolving and unifying the antagonistic paradox he feels exists between spiritual grace (verbally expressed awareness and contemplation) and animal grace (instinctual physical behavior) in a union between two souls that each originate out of opposite ends of this spectrum. Elsewhere in the novel, he appears to suggest that “human grace” is also a part of this dynamic and that the complete spectrum must be incorporated together in unison if an individual is to attain the highest level of awareness and transcendence possible in our existence.

Cribb          2018

The Act and Threat of Opening Up (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 235)

If you feel guilt, shame or anxiety when you actually open up to someone as the real you, as your genuine inner essence of perception, experience, and contemplation, by sharing a raw and fully exposed conversation with them, you should not be ashamed, nor fear that person, nor assume that you have overburdened that person with something unjust or sinful.

You should reflect and understand why you felt a visceral perception that you could be yourself, fully vulnerable and uncloaked, in your interaction with that person and you should also consider why your normal and longstanding inner circle of friends, family, and associates has marked you to feel that guilt, shame, and anxiety whenever you have tried to let the real you come out and play in your true glorious splendor in the past. Do not confuse those who have done such marking on your soul with those who are scapegoated as the abomination for trying to reverse the spell, for trying to reverse the curse.

There are dangerous doppelgangers, mimics, and chameleons who might sweep in and take advantage of a soul yearning to free itself openly, but those imposters will always be posturing, leveraging, and controlling in intent, kind of like that marking inner circle, but just better at it than that collective.

The genuine empaths, the lovers of shared core essence, will not posture, leverage, or destabilize another soul, so that they might feed upon it or pull its strings. They will help lift you out of all the traps, darkness, and deception, because they genuinely delight in seeing you shine in your own unique and fulminant radiance.

The authentic and adept empath removes the marks of the inner circles and the marks of the mimickers, counters the curses, and slays the shame, guilt, and anxiety if you allow them the opportunity. They worship you like no other and they do so not out of need, boredom or self empowerment. They worship you like no other, because they perceive that core essences are intended to shine in the undeniable exquisite beauty of their unique individual composition. That shine is the universal element of union, love, and unyielding transcendence. That shine is the culminating and supreme grace of our collective existence.

Cribb          2018

Orgasm, Agenda, Assimilation, Need, and the Tides (Love vs Sex 249)

But fun for me was sneaking off to peer into a tidal pool to grasp the intricacies of the creatures that lived there. Sustenance for me was tied to ecosystem and habitat, orgasm the sudden realization of the interconnectivity of living things. Observation had always meant more to me than interaction. He knew all of this, I think. But I never could express myself that well to him, although I did try, and he did listen. And yet, I was nothing but expression in other ways. My sole gift or talent, I believe now, was that places could impress themselves upon me, and I could become a part of them with ease. Even a bar was a type of ecosystem, if a crude one, and to someone entering, someone without my husbands agenda, that person could have seen me sitting there and had no trouble imaging that I was happy in my little bubble of silence. Would have had no trouble believing I fit in.

Yet even as my husband wanted me to be assimilated in a sense, the irony was that he wanted to stand out.

“Ghost bird, do you love me?” he whispered once in the dark, before he left for his expedition training, even though he was the ghost. “Ghost bird, do you need me?” I loved him, but I didn’t need him, and I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. A ghost bird might be a hawk in one place, a crow in another, depending on the context. The sparrow that shot up into the blue sky one morning might transform mid-flight into an osprey the next. This was the way of things here. There were no reasons so mighty that they could override the desire to be in accord with the tides and the passage of seasons and the rhythms underlying everything around me.


Jeff Vandermeer          2014

No Hell (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 218)

Mama said the stars are the universe’s eyes.
I can feel them watching over me most of the time.
We grew up believing we could learn how to fly.
We came from the earth, but we belong to the sky.
I saw your soul without the skin attached,
and you’ve got the guts of a coyote pack.
We’ve been kissed, we’ve been cut, but we do what needs the doing.
We’re just rainbows dreaming we are human.
Please excuse the lights shooting out of my head.
I keep them in a cage, but they come out when they see a friend (you must be a friend).
You’re never really gonna have control of it all,
so you best get cool with where your chips gonna fall.
We are the sun and mother’s milk and cuss words and poetry.

There’s no use in running, unless you run like heck.
The best things we’ve learned, we learned from the wreck.
Jesus coming back as a woman this time,
handing out hugs in the clinic line.
Someone tell the devil we don’t need no hell.
We’re all pretty good at beating up ourselves.

As kids we believed that the angels talked.
Everything is magic, til you think it’s not.
It’s easy to be thankful for the things you’ve got.
It takes guts to give thanks for the things you’ve lost
We grew up believing good wins over bad,
So you gave away your heart but the wolves attacked.
(But then a bigger heart grew back)
Please excuse the words coming out of my mouth,
I’m a happy man, but there are some things I need to get out…

There’s no use in running, unless you run like heck.
The best things we’ve learned, we learned from the wreck.
Jesus coming back as a woman this time,
handing out hugs in the clinic line.
Someone tell the devil we don’t need no hell.
We’re all pretty good at beating up ourselves.

Cloud Cult – Lyrics*

*You should check out the song if you are not familiar with it.