We are only at the threshold
as humanity we stand , teetering on the edge , a fork in the road , what does 50 years away look like?

Every mind , body and soul counts - creating our collective reality , we all matter much more than we currently stand for , under the bulging , bulbous stench of dictational media, our priorities rest on worn out laurels and a crumbling podium stretched out into the abyss of ego

how many people can smile due to an action you make today?

currently my standing is at 2, but i hope to make that at least 15 by the end of the day

the silent songs to croon me to sleep , the voiced heart of hearts that i saw you in and the lumiouns nights that fell apart in open sighs and drifting moons on crashing tides and sleepless nights full of worry. Sing me awake.

A note: Notice what feeling, if any, arise when reading the writing in-between the stars, let it breathe and keep that feeling or no feeling until a new one arises. - Saeng-Fah *

the tickling smile that only ever , ever appears on the corner of lips * Don’t lose your head , we’re all mad in here.

Sumptuously deliciously mad.

* the last , late rainstorm, unexpected, a long time after the rainy season had ended *  The signs are just so queer…like nothing you’ve imagined,

* the slight intrigue that feels familiar * before, it had seemed that there was no tomorrow or yesterday…* the look …well it’s almost too good to be true, because there isin’t.

Swimming in the water all you can do is float. There is no time to build to that point where there is acceptance, like the time right now. That all we have is time, all we create, all we collide into is the time we make.

creepy guy, standing at the street corner, writing rhymes under the street lamp, who you thought was an ax murderer as you walked by* All we spiral out of makes more, of whatever we built time with last time that’s fo sho!!

dips his hat at you as you pass by, the night all of a sudden get’s serious but stop making it and start feeling it, well then…

* the sigh of the wind ripples a stalk of wheat, where a ladybird sits, she has 16 spots, all around her spreads a field of yellow wheat ablaze in the afternoon sunlight. Under the Oak tree sits the french boy from downtown Paris, he softly strums the guitar as he hears the drumbeat. Beyond the tree lies the open Savannah, the planes where we run wild, where we run free, two by two, i’ll be the crow or will you be the fox? Never mind dear, we’ll be a mixture of the two. Slip in and out of each others forms. I don’t even know who’s who anymore, or where i put that last potion…ahh which one was it?….ahh After several hours of delay , and drinking coffee from the stand where there was a guy who smelt like tacos and several types of salsa, our gate was finally opened it was the smoke from the caterpillars lips….

Now we’ve arrived here, we may as well just stay… It’s the *cough scenic route. *cough

It seems that i return to places and faces
i once saw with different eyes to see the different ways of seeing
London , Krungtheap seem almost alien upon return
from another land
This , i suspect is the essence of travel , slow paces relaxation is the task , is the quest
on , on  , on leaving imprints of emotion in every place
picking up new ways of feeling of believing , of hearing

shedding , malting , unraveling - traveling whilst sitting still with those loves, found in the dimmest of dim , those who shed light on the opaque din that enveloped the ears and melted wax into the drums to clear out the cobwebs of old webs left undone who move in the physical realms
touchdown , landing
meet me at the place where we met , this vibration calls me without a doubt to your home , to your house where i'll turn up at the door with a bottle of wine

you can choose where we dine !

Room 14 with the starfruit tree and pink blossoms out front and a Sala perfect for dances
Stargazing and rain dances
In the shadows of mother in the hearts of others
i found the beat , the movements of time and space co - create
I am part of the convoy to welcome in the rains of spiritual nourishment , for myself included

What better place than black sanded temples of resistance and Art Cafe's with deep sea explorers as their musical accompaniment
Searching for secret beaches only to find temple forests ,  vast cliffs of vast air and vast sea playing with the light that rains down in sheets to the ocean floor , refracting into golden hues of deep blue , white froth and aqua

Finally a beach , packed to the brim

expectation killed the cat