Inside curtain of wind, senses rise and focused mind begins to hear. Stream of song reverberates, as music of breath balances heartbeat. As vibrant twinkling stars lead thoughts into pastures of lighted clouds.
Sleep eludes. while words tumbled off finger tips, and road to poem starts its pulsating journey. They circulate, as if air particles are filled with jargon untouched by human mind.
“Who speaks in yonder hall of prism faceted mind?” I ask at 3AM when many sleep?
Is it Shakespeare's shadowed form, as guide perched in realms unseen. He echoes a “to write or not to write, that be the question.” He tickles senses to awaken breath with, “he who writes harbors gold.”
Or could it be Hemingway who invites self to dance amid sprinkle seedlings of a vision to paint on a rainy night.
Perhaps it’s Poe a grand puppeteer of words, who once lived in human form. A talented soul in matrex of universe who wishes to share with transfusion to tweak my prose with Ravens song.
Maybe its an alien who stops a while in earths space to reveal message for those craving wisdom half awake. A message to move as pioneer everyday celebration of ones sacred self.
Inside stage of moment even the bird sleeps, and crickets hibernate on winter night.
Inside the solitude of gentle sparks of creative energies fingers dance. They march on tapping into holding tank of language meant to deposit on page.
Alas time moves on, as daybreak hints to arrive and moon slowly ascends biding farewell.
As undercurrents of sound shift and writer guides ceases to feed with their divine song.
As I bid thee fine reader good day, and my cavorting fingers rest making way for self to return to sleep pastures.
Till we meet again parting is such sweet sorry.
When sleep eludes and I can't sleep I connect. Connect to the breath to my divine gifts to that vortex of those in other realms. Perhaps you believe not oh reader which is fine as we all have our paths. Or maybe you think its possible but still wonder how.
It is a process of purging the doubts as was the journey I traveled for quite some time. It was with focus and surrendering to the power of light that allows me to scribe. It is something I am grateful for as well as those who come to visit my poetic stage.
Life is indeed a gift meant to experience both the dark and light the tears and laughter the gratitude and excitment. WE ARE NOT ALONE and that in itself takes time to really understand. Once known life becomes a holiday of experiences, (even the challenging ones) May you all connect to life's magic and be that clown performer (plain cloths division)
P.S. I am and have been a professional clown for 32 years