Discover,
cradle,
nurture,
blossom,
co-exist,
release,
reflect,
W­onder,
dream…

Puddles of rain form gelatin-like amoebas on a shiny black rail.
Waiting to be windswept and float off to another landing place.

Unmoved by vociferous bluejays, hypersensitive and affected by mounds of coffee and glucose; their rushing with urgent energy to be heard and to speak truths unfounded and non-sensical.

All still beyond a longing for certainty; quiet in the flow of illusion that roils incessantly yet uncontrolled and preordained.

Tears of joy to soothe a parched sphere; and we begin again…

Gray straight rain, no wind, multi-dimension layers of meaning; each strand a voice of information that starts and ends at the same place.

There is initially a tangled array of random movement brought forth with an awareness  of  the cross-dimensional  configuration showing a deep reaching tunnel of bits and pouring of perpendicular abstraction that makes sense only to the unintended.

Each carrying a spark of finality upon touchdown, only to be rudely laughed at by the wizards of universal motion. Bouncing, dancing, splattering to a river of smooth, wet rollicking journey.

Rolling, meandering films of sheen, coating the ground in an endless search for a destination while understanding  that the cycle is perpetual; dancing up to the stars to await another episode of release.

It began with such directed energy of meaning and now succumbs to a humid, vaporized blanket of tranquility causing dropping lines, shunning leaves and streaming rivulets of anticipation; waiting to commune and chortle and mock the dryness that it mottles into one simple palette.

Never ceasing energy mops the residue in a retreating, shimmying, calculated tidal return; undulating shapes and recognition of the same existence being instantly different and we may not realize the illusion before us.

Each moment storing a placeholder in memory of the washing of the earth and our consciousness that flows from story to story; time telling a silent and certain rendition of rivers past that unifies its path with vibrational filaments in a sing-song lilt of joy.

Sitting in place, watching for each breath to follow. Sitting in place while the pulse of the universe passed through, washing over me like a quilted array of colorful threads.

Waiting, resisting any urge to categorize it while breathing…..

From here to vapor clouds of yellow-green shapes, familiar and yet strikingly new and delightfully unique; letting go of any hold on my place, sitting in place.

Complete stillness in unison with an amplified propulsion of movement, surging through my body while the crafted, colorful texture buffets any notion that it could ever stop.

The fabric woven from strands of green, red, rainbow hues, standing and waving but endless; recognizing its elusive presence. Here, then gone, new forms and ideas.

There, but whipped away in a reality of thought; throbbing back to a joyous cacophony of brilliant cobalt spots melding into pools of glaze and meandering laughter. Rich with a deep knowledge of comfort and creation.

Rolling conveyors of electrified strands in textile grids, carrying me through existence; not away but throughout. Not alone but connected in a field of saturated love and reaffirming energy. Beckoning to participate in a communal array of shared newness and fascinated creativity.

Beating, pulsating, reverberating through my being; lifting and transporting from here to here. Flashing, stunning, gripping yet gently releasing me to a river-stream of floating and mellow current.

Elusive to comprehend yet immediately sure. Breathing with a singular rhythm but bombarded with a magnanimous abundance of photons, blasting through into an ambling state. Smiling, soothing, mirthful but astoundingly reassuring and irrevocably present.

Sitting in place, wanting to stay and receive while being pulled to a new place of possibility and self-perpetuation.

Sitting in place in the middle of nothing. Delirious.

Like a sliding sheath of film, soft, irradescent, miraculously covering my self.

Dreamt up portions of sustenance and well being, the rain welcomed  me as a gentle greeting and cosmic fluidity; splendid with intelligence and mirthful interaction.

The inception lingered with the varying waves of music, tapping and rolling away to begin again.

And why not follow that same predilection for curiosity and discovery of the unknown; wandering aimlessly with precision and amazement.

Stop in a side lot with complete pre-non-existence and feel wildly at home. No where to reach, no where to stretch, everywhere to see and touch and feel.

Taken along as if childlike and never questioning where it was To Be. No other place exists and yet I can imagine them all in sparkling memoirs; dancing, looking, playing, living.

So I’ll move again and be enriched with their story, those that we seek to hear what it is. To ingest a guide to sense their rumble and animation.

Silence is dawning with the borders of the next groove calling for  participation. Rendition, apparition,  bee-bopping to where it was and this place now.

If it pulls then I guess it is good to go.

Waves come to greet me like curious dogs inspecting a new person, testing for good or bad.

Tentative yet friendly, playful and carefree, omnipotent and elevated with tender edges; touching, sniffing, wary but hopeful.

Hopeful that there is a place for the inevitable.

Hopeful that they will be cared for; perpetuated even knowing that it is the breath of the universe.

Vast and whole, powerful and massive; while gently and meekly ever dissipating.

But not ending, feeding itself and sustaining the ebb.

Flowing like a mane of lava, brushed and rippled by a cold October wind; carrying the scents of galaxies past, and of future stars.

Nudging, licking, smiling; a loving way for fearful and weary travelers.

A sunlit path opens to a sparkling patio of popping fairies, illuminating their joy to a slumbering neighborhood.

Heaves of breath rise up and in, running at a cadence beyond control; wrapping my soul in a velvety embrace of soothing mystery.

Inviting our neutrality to dance and mingle away the feelings of billions of other; observe, come, join and smile.

Let our beings meld and take wonder of the ultimate lungs; breathing and exhaling and evermore following a journey of creation.

Not capricious on a cliffs edge, rather a surge of incessant freedom in the sea before us.

This is all still yet turbulent, our fantasy of fulfillment; and now we join to bring a portrait home for keeping.

Swim, hop and delight; we are one.

Red-haired ginger top dancers, swaying and bopping to a cold ****** of life; foot to foot to keep the dormant chlorophyll reminded and their toes warm.

Appealing to and beckoning the wind-swept frosts of frozen steam, passing, tickling, taunting; both seeking solace in a still flow of life.

Suddenly, dark waves of menacing blankets cover and restrict; jolting the audience into rigid attention.

Tousled hair still delights subjects finding joy and comfort from deliberate interconnection; unison of energies perpetuate the sameness from distant beginnings.

Planted seeds have grown into peeping bleats for nourishment, for remembrance and for return.
All the troupe releases into a frenzy of whirling smiles wafting on the ripples of a gray dance floor, twisting, leaping and whispering chords of satisfaction.

Now the beat of the sparkles illuminates a wandering sense of souls, yearning for a path to continue the journey; seeking destination in a cosmic swirl of limitless float.

Where once were separate entities of thought and perception, there are now images of a unified universal soup; blending our moment into an endless cascade of beauty and possibility.

Moss green wallpaper splashes past my open deck,
swirling and shooting like a dulled electrical current.
 
The gray sky is dripping in anticipation and fermenting with the washable universe,
covering us in a soft embrace that nudges our edge to a wonderful glow.
 
Flowers reaching, leaves bursting, hearts opening to the beautiful possibility of
dance throughout the day,
one step, then another, then another, twirling upon buoyant beds of Earth until the sun sets and we retreat into a bed of peace.
 
Slumber, hold, touch and discover; settling down to a deep place of dreams and joy.

Yes….

There were rough seas filled with flower petal edges of turbulence and razor prawns,
waiting to open up a tumbling soul.

Only to let go of the need to understand, an optimum trajectory of will leaped into the broth and brought relief and ultimate indifference to the cutting possibility; rather a soothing shudder of calm and blissful undulation.

Yes, thanks, yes is the response! Immersed but floating in the sway of comfort and grace. Yes!

Stand-alone peace, chilling on a favorite dune with fantasies of the abundance of succulent morsels; shared with friends and loved ones. All of us forgetting any of the beat of time, reveling in enough; no where to go and eons of travel to get there.

Warm waves unraveled sheaths of golden fleece to meet the blue/pink wash of clouds and sky; revealing a tapestry of imagination that is endless upon endless dreams.

No where to go and eons of travel to get there…

A purple and gold wildcat appears spewing toxic spittle in an anger formed growl,
yet carrying sweet souls to enlightenment and dreams of knowledge and wisdom.
Loading and laughing, unaware their transporter has schemes of entrapment and scourge;
tho’ displacement maneuvers the terror and supposition replaces uncertainty.

Where is the lioness to manage the pride, on their own in an unending expanse of brick and asphalt savanna?
Home, secure in the evolution of time, knowing in parental intuition that cubs will find food;  that universal bestowment slakes a wandering thirst.
Surrogate providers fill their souls with care and culture, edifice and education; creating new and unimagined expanses with layers of fleece and grooming.

There is a prowl although harmless in subjugation to a delightful dance; tamed by civilized possibilities and invincible bloodline caution.
The young lioness realizes a newfound equality in the face of self-important rights of passage; patiently waiting, hunting with her cooperative sisters and feeding manes of observance.

Feline grace becomes the royal presence necessary to trust a new way, to forge an uncharted territory filled with tradition.
New cubs become armed with embellished string theory and a profound sense of purpose, guided by decisions of chance and courage.
Brave, the lioness! Brave the keeper of the cubs, together nurturing innate inference without forethought.
Arrive and be still.

Sister.

She has an electric heart that beams as if a signal fire in the vast valley of lost journey’s and misplaced deeds, always flickering and dancing to a tune that comes from a certain place; melodic and rhythmic from a choral score of exalted angels.

This heart connects she and I and you and he and her and there, beating comfort and joy and possibilities, never drawn to the mirror but upon the brilliant expanse before her in wonder.

Her heart brings a smile of home and peace and unending flow like a stream that trickles though the meadow, seeking and accepting the smoothed and jagged stones with nary a thought.

One heart that feeds many is immense and brimming, chock full of compassion and genuine curiosity; finding ways to top off and to wrap and embrace.

Life-filled heart believes from a voice that is present in every exchange, sharing and moving and making and doing; offering what exists and suggesting what is true.

Magnificent soul touches with precognition that is heard as a lyric of yesteryear and passed on like a bard on the levy; heartfelt.

This heart is cherished with a sense of reverence and love, to be held with grateful hands and craving thirst; slaked as if poured through a cascading vessel of bliss.

Her heart. My heart. The heart of us all.

Sister.

The morning comes at me in sideways, frenzied swirls; urging the heart to beat faster and the pace to quicken.

It’s energy dissipates into crystallized coatings of sugar and ice cream, covering a path that is the same yet treacherously deceiving; beckoning to run and frolic like a setter after a leaf.

The stride is low and measured with a bounce of flowing possibilities, somehow dismissing the bald, slick mountain orb that holds no one; that holds our existence like glue.

Patterns emerge under a delightful artist notion, layers upon layers, textures melding with form, colors yearning to find their own personality; creating itself from a falling idea.

Tendrils of fluid, wispy inquisitiveness seek to insert their purpose onto the canvas; like rivers of rolling acrylic from the oversaturated master brush. White and grayish drips making their way to an authentic resting place with delving curiosity and untethered adventure.

Cracks, shrieks of cold anguish across the water; or is it chortles of delight at the incessant rage of an unsatisfied bluster?

The force is at my back, not to push and mold me but to buffet the noise from the useless chatter; to comfort and warm like a soothing bundle of goose down without a floor.

Dark draped and pliant as ink; resting on the pinpricks of stars and their steel pins.
Wrapping  and bundling us in a pose of obstinance and theory; still alive but inert with the weight of nothingness.

Seeking and pulling into a container of black soup, the strength of fear was no match for sharing.
Once, a race began to meet on the other side of spatial creation; opposite but circling like sexed schoolmates on a crisp autumn day.

Time as full as galaxies and their grandchildren, never slowing to consummate a dream.
Air still beatable, vapor fogging the porthole of eternity to leave only a thought. Many thoughts in lineup, creating a community of ideas and filling the vessel with voice.

Moving, transcended outside into the film, looking back to the throng; mightily laughing at the joy of one.
Gulping stars like candy and dust from the crest of curling waves; removing the glue and melting into an orb of amniotic stew.

Knowing one, being one, as one.

I can sleep on my pillow of love and eternal travel.

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

Beginning the movement, catches my eye amidst dead leaves in perplexing folly yet imagined many times before; in between reality and fantastical imagery conjured from a contemplative journey. Awake!

Riding beside the troupe blowing and skimming with a twirl of gaiety and precision, colorful pinwheels taunting beneath a synchronized sequence bequeathed with unknown passage and certain conclusion.

The wind becomes a partner that carries them like a beige velvet flying carpet, dancing to a silent orchestra intention; meandering to a landing pattern meant to rejuvenate yet another design.

They have no destination which is odd. Somehow they are both aware of the vaporous soup filled with magnificent color and lines and nary a thought about where to go; it musn’t be plied for satisfaction.

The mirth of it all! Acting as if there was control over their trip and showing off in a bodacious manner, the pile snaked and flicked its lightening colored tongue along the gray bespeckled pavement. Reciprocation came while the observant outfitted a seat on a similar trolly, arriving by the far sea of imagination.

We are twisted together and unfurled in a maniacal gavotte of sensuous interpretation, transporting us along a path of wafting field grass and bubble-wrapped white pillows of cloud; static except edgeless.

How can this be? We believed we set on foot for arrival only to chuckle later that we have never manifested an anchor of adhesion; understanding that we are perpetual and stirred with a never-ending abundance of transcendence.

Not farther away, not closer to anticipation. Centered in a profusion of ideas and symbiotic embrace; we are wrapped in cavernous layers of gradient billowing fabric that becomes what we see behind our closed eyes. It is never the same…

Once considered turbulence we now know is a replete carriage of weightless feathering, delivering dreams with unexpected alacrity and reassurance.

Now that theatrical scene before me has relevance and authenticity unto itself and my own participation. My attention has been captured and granted free access whenever desired.

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?