Drinking coffee with two books in my hand listening to Miles Davis’ So What.
A few thoughts.
The journey is an ongoing float down the river and expanding as time passes. The phenomenon of surrender is fascinating when realizing how it manifests.
I find the treacherous peril becomes an observance. The need to climb a mountain and stand on top to see dissolves with the realization there is a better view here. The depths of the dark river are giddily waded through upon discovery of a knee deep sandy bottom.
There is an unexpected evenness that can be disorienting until it touches the edge of everything all at once.
My life is full of many simple things that left to their own accord, are blossoming into effortless attraction.
I’m starting to feel the realization of intention, better yet the lack of concern for the destination.
Time dissipates and freedom blankets me. Maybe you see the same kaleidoscope.
Hop to, toddEugene
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 9:36 AM UTC
Layers of fog tickle our skin warmed by the rising clear sun,
and our bodies are filled with vibrations of energy when our hiking feet touch the luscious earth.
Birds welcome our arrival and trees dance in a light dawning breeze that entice us to shimmy and twirl within a crowd heretofore unseen; surprised at our awareness and pleased with our gratitude.
Down into the embrace of sweet morning thoughts, opening our pores to the possibility of transposition and timelessness comes a wave of acceptance and a sign of approval.
We sit and watch the tumbling glitter of white froth and gray deepness in a movement that endures the reach of finality; breathing down the slope and exhaling puffs of rain on the distant peaks.
We awake from our travel to the beginning while watching us pass by to the edge of nothing; jumping and laughing when we know that it is all one destination.
This moment, shared and complete is unknown and profound.
All from a place we do not have to leave from or look to or hear about. Our own…
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 4:47 PM UTC
Dancing, gliding to a beat of calling birds,
moving still with a rhythmic cadence from a long lost sonata.
Furrowed fields, waving up a graduated bluff
brings curiosity, climbing, seeking, buffeted by gentle breezes through the confetti leaves.
A lone tree stands, guarding the rolling down, only to be passed and wishing good luck.
Bright sunny, yellow flowers, nodding their acceptance,
smiles wide with toddler enclosed costumes, welcoming to a new horizon.
Steps filled with flight, lightness and being of a place of never ending expansion,
never alone and accompanied by a peaceful past soul; graceful and vibrant.
One.
You,
And us,
Living a dream,
Together with the light,
Past all of the fears,
Never looking back to what was,
Being in the moment with our peace,
Lifting our faces to the joy,
Dancing to the rhythm within,
Watching our souls fly,
Playing the music,
Together us,
We.
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 4:47 PM UTC
Slithering, angles, winding and slow, traversing on a macadam conveyor belt, grounded and merciless. Time is considered, possibly coerced only to sneer relentlessly back through clouds of vapor and weary destinations.
Rivulets wandering on paths only known to their past; chaotic and dear with ravishing certainty. Arrival pending, souls eager for movement; interrupted by explosions of juxtaposing steel and hulking imposition.
Frightening suddenness balanced with settling calm; anticipating a glow of tunneling grace and beauty. Merriment abounds surrounded by bursts of dandelion puffs; a glistening mountain stream light and alive, scented with decades of sandalwood and jasmine.
Bright and coolness hunkers into dreams of sustenance and allure, pleading back cloaks of ambition and tarrying the morn into a lull of sedated warmth.
Bursts of neon washing waves of brushed slate metal; contrasting a backlit gloom that is congealed to a muted, unadorned precipice; that risks away oversaturated hubris into a disaffected cadence.
Pureness and wonder, dancing into jagged edges of gnawing rawness from a jaded journey; slaying dragons and languor from a somnolent arboretum.
A rosepink flush derived from a psychedelic prism; and a renewed animal heat, transforming a singular urgency to a pool of mellifluous nectar.
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 4:46 PM UTC
Why?
DO you know that feeling when you ask someone for directions, even though you know where you’re going and get angry with yourself for not knowing?
DO you know that feeling when you apply for that job knowing you are marking down the day when you give that up and look for the next job?
DO you know that feeling when you capitulate to live a life that is scripted for you, that is on the roadmap that everyone clings to yet everyone despises?
DO you know that feeling when you question “Well how did I get here?” And there is a ream of paper loaded with the answer, just waiting for response time. Why?
The idea that there is someone inside of you enabling that conversation with yourself. Two of us , always at odds because he knows your every move, predicts it and then mocks you when you **** up.
Speak like she wants, dress up like he wants, dance like they want, **** like indecisive wants, work like they want, love like we all want and think like it wants. Why?
Two of us, living day to day, never coming to an agreement because somehow your bluster shines and you don’t need help. You swagger on the boulevard, trust the way to get what you want, seize the road to riches and you are the king.
And you are the one that is chafed, you are the one that flies into a rage while driving on a road and have no empathy for how other driver feels. You are the one that boils over from nothing, from such a surprising place that has no origin and seeks all home. Why?
There is huge rage and you’re not sure why it is so big. It comes from nowhere and it pours out like a molten flow of vitriolic lava, seeking to scorch and burn, eager to destroy whatever stands in your way and you are scared. You are terrified because you don’t comprehend what it means but why it is so intimate and why it is so appropriate and yet it is heinous.
You’re a good person, you are full of love, you care for other people, you really want to make everything OK. Where does the poison come from and what is it’s purpose. Why?
Every now and then you have an exchange with that other guy. You conform to interact thinking you compliancy and he is settled and will be acceptant. That conversation with yourself while you brush your teeth and wonder why YOU are not happy. And there is an answer that you find in your eyes that is deeper than the most distant empty space between the oldest stars in the universe.
He answers, “You know the answer ************ you have it all inside of you and yet you hide behind the fear.” The fear of not understanding why you can’t accept it, why you can’t accept the idea, why you can’t accept …me. Why?
It comes from the vault guy. He lives in a locked room with a huge steel door that can’t be opened from the inside. It’s dark and plain and blends together and offers no expanse. He has been there since you were old enough to form words and thoughts and fears. He can only come out when it is safe and non-judgmental and expected.
He is in this vault and HE is the one that is ******* ****** Why does he have to stay in there? Why does he live alone with great thoughts but is sequestered in a patented place. Why can’t he be out and the one that lives in each moment and somehow understands that that is all there is? Why?
See, he is the cool one, with all the allure and charm and warmth. He is the one that writes great poetry. He is the one that turns everyday illusion into a Rorschach full of meaning and depth and beauty.
He finds it from his guts, from his heart and from the stream that is ceaseless and pure and unaltered. From a place of unfiltered joy and gratitude. And yet HE lives in a vault. Why?
All he wants is to walk in the same place, to see the same magic, to hear the lilt of the world, to touch the sensual electric of fine curves and silken hair, to smell the scent of a warm ocean breeze under a cavernous full moon. To be treated with love and compassion and understanding.
To be accepted for who he really is. Do you understand?
Why not?
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 4:45 PM UTC
A familiar look towards possibilities of comfort and passion; easing a day of uncertainty into the rapture of beatitude.
Yes…felicity with supplement and energy; a journey replenished with surfeit rays of light, moving and guarding, washing the path into pools of twinkling bursts of sparkle.
Seeking and searching amidst pecks of rain; viewing a boring discovery through pods of ants marching to a wanderlust beat.
Traveling through lace rainbows and cinnamon-tongued garniture to places of secretive fantasy and carnal celebration.
Unspoken recognition in an ethereal desire; consummated beneath a sky clipped with symmetrical lavender swabs quieted to a stop; languid, still with wonder and awe.
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 4:43 PM UTC
Caterpillars winding through speeding leaves of green, undersized white shimmer; plugging into the hub of centipedes.
Full of color, rhythm and anxious wandering. One side facing the other, laughing but passive; wondering what the destination would look like. Chatter, chatter friends, family arm in arm; packed with assurance yet youthful apprehension.
Sidewalks guide the train of feet, flitting and crawling. Some stuck like glue and others fluttering from their privileged perch. Can each be questioned? Do they reveal their story or bury their head in formulaic prose?
Now, a reclusive respite from the scurry, no urgency to ride the no use ride. White marble and 70’s disco funk playing, delivering a long untouched vibe. A cool, familiar wave of longing to the past.
Must move again but stillness is a calming adhesive, stay quiet in space, stay put in time while remembering the peaceful settling wave.
Walk again
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 4:42 PM UTC
Sitting atop a mountain peak, deep in a forest of green topped trees and flashy lightning bolts.
Remembrances of promises taken, fleeting moments of ardor and lust; washed away with a drowning downpour amidst tables of hapless lovers and wandering hearts.
There is a recognition of current and cleansing paths; undulating in poses of chairs and dancers, wondering when their number will be played.
Sated, yet ravenous for deepening discovery; a walk in the jungle, safe jungle while savannahs are planned.
Titillating journeys that were once fraught with indecision; now a gleaming highway of immense freedom and delight.
What was the name of that road?
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 4:42 PM UTC
Wondering songs, lifted on a carpet of lace green moss and serpentine streams; charming neighbors and reassuring those in attendance.
There is no uncertainty in where it will end, but a joy of the flutter of familiar flowers; a nearness and constant presence without the sameness of the past.
Where is the path, where does the story bed down at night?
Underneath a cacophony of language and a channel of uninterrupted flow; where once a whistle lay now a puff and a twitch.
It matters not the direction of the wind; nor the scent of an old day; it matters not if young or old, nor the size of the dream.
If only to see the queasy colors filled with riffling dance, endless yet comforting on the spine of creation; mesmerizing — enthralling with abundance, uncaring unto a never-ending destination.
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 4:41 PM UTC
We gather amidst the classic architecture of paper winning measurements. Larger and larger came the list of numbers with meaning and direction. Reciprocation unstacked in a flight of bridging steps.
Time spent dreaming guides a glimpse of patterns and contrast. Undulation of form from vibration, endlessly cajoling; dancing with promise but never to imagine where it stops.
It doesn’t matter, rather seeing a walk to the idea, settle or so; it is OK to keep moving and inquiring.
Dance, lift, fly unfettered, sing the song that is playing in our eyes. Sometimes rapids, others a meandering slumber with a shower of ease and drawing heat. Follow the design, it never lags but remains seeking, pulling, answering.
Wind patterns shaping the curves and pillows keeping pace, tumultuous frantic smiling bliss. Carried with care as a gratitude that gleams with pink and shine. Fresh, new like never seen before and unaware of a how a deeply ingrained presence exhibits truth.
Startled in a state of reflection and reminiscent of sweet pasts and glide. Yes, it is possible because if I am who am I catching fish and bottling heat and rolling --- then it can be desired without a search for inquiry.
Let it be. Endure the suggestion into act.
Be quiet and exult.
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 4:40 PM UTC