Snow Lift

See it.

Feel it.

Waving hands.

Awake faces.

Every molecule is calm.

Oh, what is it about you, Snow?

So pure.

so true.

Never a fluke

even if

you come as a mere flake.

Like a blanket, you envelop me, Snow.

Places To Be

The fifth cloud,...

halfway into heaven

yet not quite an ascension.

Crimson hearts flow their way.

Cherry hearts float up high and away.

A lingering voice says they are all

but one same big ol' trap.

So, what do you gotta lose?

Grab a cherry heart or two.

Float up high!

So high, high enough

to lose the sight

of things devoid of light.

There,

silence shall speak aloud.

Worth Repeating

This is an old scribble I can enjoy again and again.

Love is the Road Home

It might be a free ride

but you still have to pay the price.

Heart for heart makes the sweet price.

I'm jus runnin' on love,

don't really need sleep.

All the fuel I need is love.

It never felt this right

even when the tides seem to be pulling

left and right.

It just never has felt this right.

Love makes sense with you.

Peace never has shown her face up until now.

Staring in someone's eyes has never been such a pleasure

Or have I ever known a bigger gift from up above.

Please know this with all your heart, mind, and soul.

I want to give you my heart...

the truth is probably that

it is already with you.

Ego Choke

To each one

plays a different tune

but

it's all music.

The point

here

is

the yin and yang of things.

Ego

or

Soul.

Choose.

Choose the lead.

Let the rest rest

and

all may be but tools.

The Window of Clarity

doesn't rest

when

you rest.

A Breath of Genius

"Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really merely commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the planning, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chain of events, working through generations and leading to the most outer results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable."

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Grey Flight

More than twice

I contemplated deep and wide

in the pool of the greatest swirls

about just takin' the greyest dove out for a ride.

You know,

I like to know

that you know.

It will never but always be in the now.

The power of now

riding way deep in the backseat

of that fine classic cherry bomb

flippin' pancakes and makin' bacons hiss with a fine sizzle.

It's just that cafe in that time.

Sky-peering window up high,

linoleum down low,

cutup counter just right.

The greyest dove descends on my shoulder,

says it could be just about time.

Never that shade of grey would depart as a choice,

just as grey as I could choose.

Now the cafe shrinks in my rearview mirror,

it doesn't really matter what I drive.

It's the shade of grey I ride.

Did you not know, grey is the new white.

The Taste of Punk and Keds

Oh, Americana,

What a dream!

No better place to beam

about than the skating realm.

It's just the glide's gleam.

Like cream

in a cup of coffee,

there is no turning back

to black.

Rollerskating's got its own mack.

It's just a dream.

Oh, Americana!

Document-Worthy (Old) Rant

You are indeed food to my soul

never any more fruit I have ever seen in my bowl.

It's like you feed me life,

Its important that you know

you make me feel vibrant now

And that life really resounds of goodness and amazing magic.

Still,

I feel like screaming

Hasn't anyone got a clue?

Earth is screaming

As this piece of truth is way overdue

What are we gonna keep on with?

Spilling tar over our eyes,

Tripping over our egos,

Distracting ourselves with figments of cowshit.

I'm sick and tired of it.

Just like a plain wave of nausea,

Sure, something like claustra.

There's no clarity.

Don't you see it?

The frantic birds overhead,

fluctuating temperatures in the weather,

little children coughing

because their bodies cannot decide.

Elderlies in winter coats on warm days

in wise preparation for the next onset (wave) of cold.

Do you fucking see it

like I do?

Do I just scatter my thoughts badly,

Am I not clear?

Tell me, I haven't got a clue.

We r all supposed to be a team.

How come do I feel like saying every cuss word I know?

But with a hint of floating revelation,

I experience a breeze of satisfaction.

Satisfaction never stays.

Like the breeze,

It travels through you.

"One day,... I'm going to walk through THIS wall."

A woman once said with utter determination.

A benz lover dismissed the determination

And thought of it as a form of dementation.

They think benzs are the safest vehicles around.

All I'm askin' is what do we really know.

What expires quicker than a dead fish left outside.

Thoughts!

Thoughts expire so fast.

They electrify and then diminish almost in unison.

So, we gotta act fast.

Of Brumal Beauty

Go ahead.

Seriously.

Unlatch your mind.

Can you hear it begging you?

After all, being born is quite a startling surprise.

The true mind lies before our present minds.

The true mind tells us where to look and go.

Our present minds shuffle and shift between thoughts.

Shuffle, turn, tumble, tip-toe.

If anything, it's like a wedge.

Now soak down in your heart.

Let silence be its dialect.

There your true mind will begin to form.

I repeat, begin to form.

A seed does not provide fruit.

Like a vast farmland with a gate at the front,

you are miles from the gate.

Still, you see the gate.

Be gravitated.

Mind not the speed.

As long as the heart sings only silence,

you are well on your way.

Silence.

You must wonder.

How is silence a pathway?

Silence, I will say,

as opposed to various brews of emotions.

We are before our thoughts and emotions.

We form our thoughts and emotions.

See the connection?

We form them.

We are not given them.

See the farmland now?

I bet it is closer.

Travel well.

Cotton White Tuesday Afternoon

Strands of ropes,

long and strong with invisible ends.

Within each and every one lurks...

celestial quality, spirit, and ethereal significance.

The ground view unlike the bird-eye view holds a kinky catch-22.

Kinda hidden in the haze of mortality.

When things are really good,

you stop yourself for a good look

and maybe a deep gust of your given reality.

You don't want it to end.

When things aren't so good,

you stop yourself for a good look

and maybe a retrospective mental backflip.

You want to turn the wheel.

Still, either way,

you don't want it to end.

Either way,

we will respond to Mortality.

Either way,

we stare in the face of Choice.

It is in the way we choose to think and live

that will define how we may prosper.

I know,...

words are way easy.

The Catch-22 is nicely tucked under the rug.

Pull it out and dance well.

Then, my conscience wants to say

the Other Side sends us love all the time.

A Falling Sun

It all started with a peel of orange.

Not an orange peel

but

a peel of orange.

Then,...

a soft strip of pink.

Soon

it started to rain

shades of a sunset.

Not long after

my gut screamed at me,

"Look up!"

So, I looked.

The earth nearly shook.

No, it was my conscious mind in for a shake.

Blackness stood before the falling peels of colors

that belonged to the sun.

More like my reaction than my response

was

"Where is God?!"

Peels of hope and vibrance in colors continued to fall.

Drink your water.

Eat your food.

Love love.

Fiction can qualify as education.

French Coffee Over Italian Roll

I often find myself on a battleground.

You just gotta understand.

Time for you may seem scarce...

I've just been my own best friend

as well as my own worst enemy

for so long.

It's just hard to open the door

and invite someone else into the haze of my lore.

I trust

you understand

and

relate.

Sure, let's get away.

Give it all away.

Wishes and dreams,

cries for freedom

pervade sweet silence

only to drown the voices.

Soon I shall wake to France

and remember to draw the curtain.

A Doubt's Dance

Are you really me?

Am I really you?

Tell me,

how can it be otherwise?

Mirror, mirror,

who is staring at me?

Am I really you?

Are you really me?

Destroy the box.

Defy the gravity of our waking illusion.

I know it is very illusory.

One second,

you think

you've done it.

The next,

you're back in the box.

It's like entering a Mario's Warp Zone.

Press B

You enter the shimmery green tunnel.

You are on a new level.

Only it is not Nintendo.

Just life.

Carpe Diem!

Oh you...

what a sad soul.

Why the achy heart?

Water is still transparent.

Food still is luminous with health

as the mind is with triggers of divine creativity.

Why the mirthless misery?

How the glimpse of blackening clouds in the midst of sunshine?

What is the dragging mystery?

Recollections.

Flashbacks.

Spirals.

Haunting lives.

Split seconds of forgotten memories.

Invisible swirl of tattered cloths.

Can you put a clock on it?

Does now require time?

Will time ever materialize?

Passersby.

Strangers.

None other than yourself.

Life.

Laughter.

Tears.

Fleeting vehicles.

Rhythmic pedaling.

Anxious footsteps.

Smile, anyway.

Stick out your tongue.

It's okay.

hindsight over yonder

Deep, deep down...

I'll admit

there is a faltering wish

I hold back from all the shooting stars...

that have befallen before my eyes.

The wish is...

for a long glimpse of perfection.

A very ironic taste now is lodged on a fork.

Quietly vivid,...

a thought floats through that taste.

How is perfection ever captured?

How do you know if something is perfect?

Perfection should hold nothing accountable.

So, now,...

is invisibility a form of perfection somehow?

If anything,

the moment that intertwines

an aging afternoon and a young evening

might just be a step closer to an arm's reach...

towards perfection.

For all the things we know,

the splatter of a penny in a whirlpool

may spell

out

"Perfection might equal the demise of all imperfections."

Zombification

Who knew?

Contentment is like a perfected abyss of gratitude yet contentment that lasts for longer than 3 hours in the same temperature will inevitably wither into scraps of coal. Bits of coal, I say,

because one soon forgets the comfort of the fire in which the coals provided in the beginning

and is ridiculed by the smoke and smothering temperature once the flame becomes mere temperature. Contentment is also a temperate function.

Still, I beg the heavens not to allow my sense of gratitude to dwindle to nil.

But a heinous crime! Yes, nothing but a horrific crime it is to forget the road you have paved up until the moment of possible permanence in such a fleeting emotion as contentment shows its face.

What is it,... is it a deprivation of appreciation for monochromatic bliss? Now this question is going to do nothing but pack a thick-as-heavy-cream syringe of questions. What good is this syringe going to do for anything? Maybe a cup of dark coffee for a drinker who doesn't like it the way he likes his women; black.

Seriously...

I doubt you or I would want to deal with that syringe. So, let's just toss it right here on this shiny, wet pavement. At least it is not oozing blood. It is just heavy cream. When ingested, minor nausea is the worst ailment for a non-allergic consumer.

Anyway, the point is...

Contentment easily makes a person sleepy. Ecstasy is after all not a form of contentment.

Oh, the lessons I learn.

A fine Questionnaire to Self

So, now I need permission to rant?

Permission from myself, even?

What sense is this?

When does one know one's mind is utterly warped?

What good is ranting?

What good is marveling?

Isn't there plenty more good in marveling?

So, bringing a rant on is only emitting a rant?

If clearing a rant is omitting a rant, how does one clear it?

You know, I figure I would get this off my chest.

A rant or not, who would frinklin' notice.

At this point, things feel rather vain...

Ain't jack I can do about it.

As soon as I'm out of the clouds,

I probably will better see how I can mound this nonsense.

Still, hanging I am onto a thread of pure gratitude.

Actually, I probably should just take up baking and cleaning.

Chunag Tzu and a bling of his incredible lighting.

philanthropic_travel.jpg

The fish trap exists because of the fish. Once you've gotten the fish you can forget the trap. The rabbit snare exists because of the rabbit. Once you've gotten the rabbit, you can forget the snare. Words exist because of meaning. Once you've gotten the meaning, you can forget the words. Where can I find a man who has forgotten words so I can talk with him?

~Chuang Tzu

A Glimpse of Recklessness at 16.

Utter freedom. Total bliss. Wavering glee.

Only glee wavered because I did not know what a fuller self really felt like. Only I knew how a blossoming ego felt. You could call it the beginning of a certain sprouting branch from a frailly rooted tree.

"So, I have a surprise for you."

"A new car?!"

"Well, not a new car but it is your car. Curfew will be set. Allowance will be set. Drive carefully."

"Wow...." ideas of wondrous elusion flooded my 16-year-old mind as I envisioned myself being in a box on wheels which appeared to define freedom. No mom. No having-t0-space-out-right-next-to-someone just for a moment of breathable space. No compromising,...well, except with the law. That I would see very shortly after.

Rolling in the driveway with what I thought as extreme poise and style in a little go-cartish Nissan Sentra LX, I was picking up my best friend whom I have known since 1st grade. The front seats sported very primally decorative seat covers. Very flesh-amusing they were especially in the cooler seasons for that they warmed the seats well. In between the seats on the ceiling of the car was a little tube of black light. Black light was a necessary visual supplement on that leg of my journey. Tupac, Madonna, Eazy E, Rage against the Machine, and probably more Tupac commonly accompanied my tape player. It was mid-90's. We didn't really have bargains for CD players then. They did cost way too much. Besides, cassettes were still all over. I did always like it a little bit old-school anyway.

"Ready to go?" I was good as overly ready to run around town and show my Star Trek-loving friend what the rawness of a 16-year-old mind could venture into reality.

"Sure..." she stood there pushing her eyeglasses back in place. It was almost as if she was not excited but I always could put her in gear. I think she liked the rides I went on myself...only for so much. Sometimes she would want in, sometimes she wanted to just tag along for the sights. "Hey, what's wrong?" turning my head towards the window so I would not blow my Newport Lights smoke in her face.

She tried not to peer at me with the building anxiety that was spurring inside of her. There was something bleeding in the wrong color. I like it only blood red not that I was at all fascinated with the sight of blood. Basically, when something is held back, the blood is good as neon yellow or slimy green. Funky. Bad funky. Degrees of funkiness, sure, but why give a tiny seed of bad funkiness a chance even if it is just something you can lightly blow under the rug.

"I'm just nervous..."

"Nervous about what?" I was trying to adjust the radio volume so I could better feel the bass with a gently fuming cigarette in the same hand.

"You amaze me..." she looked at me in the middle of her held breath.

"What, me?" a grin couldn't help but dance all over my face.

"You are driving,....you are also putting your lipstick on not to mention choosing your music in the middle of it all besides lighting a cigarette on the side...all at the same time."

"Yeah, that's called multi-tasking." I was a sweet cake with a pompous icing.

Only if I knew what certain nostalgia would look like then. I would have known better how to select lighting for my memory lane.

Always natural.

Never that ridiculous flash.

Between Verification and Validation

A dizzy reality in its calmest state

is what I currently live.

I sense you

in the air I breathe.

Receptive but not zealously alert I am

for signs that shall come forth.

Might I awaken to an expansion

of mental girth.

All is in the pattern of an infinite wreath.

So, shall this journey hold sips of smooth exhilaration

and the destination

a never-ending ocean of sweet mirth.

A Wall's Rattle

The clickety tocks of a clock,...

I find myself begging them to slow down

as I nudge them to speed up a nice notch.

I ask to see.

I ask to be.

I ask for a vision.

I ask to become.

For a fine vision, kindly drop in my lap

...and my grasp

a palette of certain colors and a layout of fine bristles

and maybe a little sight of heaven's window...

Some will say that is a bit much

to ask of our Sweet Mother

and Divine Father.

If I ask not, what can I utter.

Sure,...

I could always settle for a SLR.

Join me for a jog?

A great weave of deep cobalt blue and a certain pattern of stars heightened my taste for life. There were lines in the sky that were drawn by no human that one night. That sweet countryside spot on Genoa avenue is deeply etched in my memory like an aftertaste of something really delicious three days later. Times come like a still hummingbird when you know you've tasted magic and this is one of them.

A conversation about a closet that held a stalk of potent living zones that come to life through simple forms of ingestion evolved from a rhetorical discussion to a whirlwind onset of vibrant anticipation and eagerness between him, me, and the ever so expanding bubble. As fellow freethinkers and artists of our own mediums, we could not help but adore each other. Only mere, mere inklings told us that we were in for a magical journey that one summer night.

"Then, we should really eat a very healthy dinner to set us off for the most righteous sail." I was climbing a hill of some strategy to reap the purest benefits of that certain cup of tea.

"Yes, it will be good to get a bunch of good vitamins in...our tea is going to be so good..." the grin on his face trailed right off with his thought.

His pointing finger gently carried my eyes to the top of a wooden bread holder where three tin cans stood plastered with gentle imageries of angel fairies whose eyes were gently closed with slightly bowed heads leading to calligraphies of ethereally penetrating messages. Given by the air of his confidence, it was almost as if I could see him reminiscing all the amazing cups of tea that were brewed by his own hand. If there was a designated hat for a tea guru, he would have been wearing it right then. It was one of those vanishing split seconds where you want to swear that you saw a spirit.

Tea was waiting for the moonrise. The upper-level apartment possessed the rich aura of an old social spot. There was a feeling of densely-lived stories that gently bounced off the dark wooden walls. The burgundy red carpet and the brown walls complimented a certain decade. The room in the far back stood apart from the rest of the place. It had hardwood floors that emanated something like wordless wisdom that was begging to be spoken. It was like it could tell me all about Shakespeare, Thoreau, Rumi, Bill Hicks, and even all the thinkable conspiracies through frequencies of vibrations only if I would take a moment to lie down on the bare floor. Instead of doing just that, I froze a few angles into digital memory. There was also a window at the end of that room that seemed to possess its own dialect. It could tell you all about rain in a whole different light than the other windows in that dwelling. Talk about unspoken wisdom. Angles matter.

All duties that needed attention were attended to in a very attentive fashion. Dusk was approaching following a thick wave of gently cooling summer air. As dusk slowly transformed into night, time neared. It was just a matter of brewing that tea with enough honor towards universal love. Timely, an aroma of sweet herbs and sweeter magic filled the air in the corridor of that kitchen with something that moved swiftly like a happily suspenseful tune. In addition to the anticipation of what was to come, there was a soft humming that felt very promising.

*teakettle whistle*

Something like adrenaline kicked in.

*cupboard opens*

Two murkily transparent crimson red teacups stood on the counter between the stovetop and the sink peering up at us. The stillness of those teacups only made them look like they were resisting urges to dance. The whistling teakettle eased down as my partner of the upcoming universal emprise picked it up. At the very cradle of the tea's potency, he mindfully poured two cupfuls. As the teacups settled, they were brought to a toast thanking the night that was just about to unveil itself.

*clink*

*eye contact*

*exchange of smirky grins*

*sip*

"This is gooooood." I marveled once the tea met my throat.

"Mmhmm, sure is." He agreed.

We sat down with our teacups at the rectangularly round table and looked through some of the pictures I took over that year. Various images of different subjects gradually built into a supple feast for our eyes and thoughts. As we trekked about a conversation of creating a portfolio for my photos, an awakened sensation came. A pulsating vibration started to come to life in what I knew as my veins.

"I just gotta be outside." I knew I could not be confined to a walled cube even if it was pleasant to the eye and the mind.

"Absolutely, let's go." he concurred with a slight nod and proceeded to open the door for me and then let himself out.

The night was shy of many stars and still a virgin of moonlight. Sitting down on the top of the stairs that led down to a sprawling green surrounded with trees and plants of lush leaves, he and I happily sat in sheer silence. American Spirit was lit and inhaled as a heightening sense of alarming bodily sensations evolved into soft ecstasy. It couldn't have been reggae, jazz, or rock. It was just the whispers of nature and universal resonance. As the night became a deep cobalt blue, the moon was peering through the swaying leaves of that majestic tree which had a willowy feel. It hovered partly over us

"Do you feel it?" he peered over to me with his eyes asking a bigger question.

"Oh, I do. Do you?" I looked back at him with a smile that was just growing on its own.

"You bet." his grin was effortlessly turning into an appreciative burst of laughter.

We leaned back onto the wooden deck and rest our heads. The stars were arriving for the night. It was quite a blanket of gorgeous speckles that laid above us. It did not take but a few blinks of our eyes to notice what we were seeing.

A dome of a vastly glorious web was being knitted before our eyes in the night sky that held a deep shade of cobalt blue. It was so far but so near. Every single star was taken by a thread.

"Do you see... that?" I looked over to him emanating total astonishment in utter calmness.

"Yeah..." he seemed to trail off in thought as if he was wondering whether he was seeing what I was.

"This just proves Albert's thought on everything being relative. This is VISUAL PROOF, Marc." my amazement of the phenomenon that was gracing my sensory perception took over. I continued, "Do you see the strings between the stars?"

"Yes, I do. It's just so beautiful." he almost was too calm to have truly witnessed the miracle I was seeing.

Momentarily, the presence of that cosmic connectivity raised us upon our feet. After descending the stairs, we found ourselves surrounded with vivid green that was bursting and becoming bigger with life. It was like everything was hiding and just came out that night. The trees, stalks of plants, grass were swaying ever so softly in complete unison. The grass never felt so soft against my feet. I felt so much like a child surrendering oneself to the universe. I couldn't resist looking back up at the sky to see if the stars were still connected with finely glowing strings. I looked.

They were.

The sway of that one majestically mounded tree drew us near it.

Clemens the cat seemed to appear out of nowhere with his eyes fixated on us. Not a single thing was silent or rampaging. Yes, everything was in pure unison. It was like a visual proof of oneness. We floated on our feet all over the green inhaling the given shade of consciousness. The small country road and the line of its gentle streetlights slightly left of the living green invited our floating feet. Walking forward, there was not a trace of inkling to look back. None whatsoever.

Not many other times would entice the magic of walking barefooted with the power of a waterfall. We had plenty of company in the laughing breeze, dancing leaves, mysteries of the velvety thickets that seemed to peer at us with a synchronous balance of loving curiosity and nourishing care all under the alluring security of moonlight. It seemed like we were walking towards another reality. Even after a while, it was hard to turn back for the burgundy red carpet and dark brown walls. Everything seemed so safe and warm.

Okay, must I not trail off on something like my soapbox in the middle of a shiny forest. As you see, it was quite a night's journey. The power of any turning point is that there is no turning back. This experience revealed to me on a humble level how connected we all really are.

The universe speaks well of romance.

A Serendipity of Being Toe-Deep

Treading water

can sometime resemble

a certain recollection,

perhaps, from...

another lifetime.

Slipping the toes in the water

can sometime be described

as going through a surreal portal.

Going forward in the water,

deeper and deeper,

the deeper one enters the water,

the water is no longer just water.

A transformation happens in the water.

The surreal portal widens,

what remains lies as a choice.

Submerge

and live beyond the surreal portal

or

turn back

and abandon the water.

What sayeth you?

The 3:30 AM Shooting Star

Soaking in virtual reality I was with a certain universal relativity hovering over my presence when the figure of a child walked towards me from the hallway. It was nearly pitch black in my eyesight when I looked away from the computer. It was a very vulnerable hour of a brand-new day. The dawn was slowly floating onwards to the moon that seemed to contentedly hang perfectly angular amongst the speckles of glowing dots also known as stars. Still, dawn was taking its sweet time when that I realized the child was my daughter in pain.
"Mama, my leg huuuurts. It realllly hurts."
"Oh, are you doing some more growing?"
"This really hurts a lot more than those times."
"Really? Breathe it out. Come lay besides me."
I set a place for her right next to me on the floor in Grandma's living room. I looked at her as she gulped down a good sip of water granting way to a belief of further relief. As she caught her breath after a longer sip, Autumn looked up at me with big, peering eyes. Finding myself mesmerized by the color of her eyes, it was just always a long ripple of a mental wave trying to name a known shade of green. Well, I can't just settle for hazel. After kissing her forehead, I looked in her eyes and told her the pain is only going to subside without words. Only brief moments after I returned to the good-as-invisible tubes of virtual reality, Autumn, my daughter, insisted the pain was taking over her peace of mind.
"Okay, tell you what, let's get up.", we stood up and headed for the door of the apartment building that I've known for too long. I will say some "too long's" achieve a sweet place in the heart, anyway. However, the apartment building did not always have doors enclosing its entry. Pushing the door open looking back facing Autumn, she looked at me with a gleam of something like calm zest in her eyes.
Quietly we set off barefooted for the whole block. Two whole different realms of memories were going through Autumn's and my minds as our bare feet rhythmically hit the cement. As a split second took place, a thought shot to mind and made me chuckle from the inside, "I am taking my daughter on a 3:30 AM walk. This excellent mark probably will last me for a long time."

About 16 inches shorter of a horizon carried a girl of seven and half peering about her world in a way she's never seen before. A grin infallibly found its home on her sweet face as she looked slightly up towards me, "We are walking in the middle of the night!"
"Yup, we sure are." I confirmed the reality of her delight.
By this time, we were more than halfway around the block. Our view right then was a little playground below the wondrous sky colored in a shade of midnight blue. So many tiny glowing dots seemed to smile upon us. As a heightening crispiness of silence fell upon our smiling beings, a shooting glowing dot fell right in my eyesight. A very confirmed sense of magic instantly warmed the veins of my body that so happened to parallel as a channel. Right then, I knew it did not matter if Autumn saw the shooting star or not because we were one. Separateness is only an illusion, yes, a rather persistent one as Albert said reality was.

Well, life is one beautiful illusion and can you just imagine the beauty of truth?

Earth Bath

I feel quite washed out.

Life has been a series of waves;

some majestic,

others almost too small to credit...

To be washed out,

would you think

of it

as an end

or

an awakening?

Sunlight penetrates the rounded corner

of your shoulder

as

the zone brought upon by

gently shut eyes

resonates the outline of your body

like you are watching from the view of a bird.

Your head rests on your raised and slightly bent,

partially folded arms

as your stomach presses

against the cushion

of warm, fine sand.

Slowly you scan

the present vibrations

rhythmically beaming

from the center

of your body.

Might you take notice

of what is old

or what is new?

To me,

to you,

may float a different side of the coin.

I assure you, still,...

it is the same coin.

So, to be washed out

is to be awakened.

The question remains.

What do you awaken to?

A new piece to the bigger picture?

More or less,

yes,

a "new" piece.

However,...

New doesn't mean new.

It easily could mean rediscovered.

There may not be really anything new.

Even the birth of a roaring dawn

might be anything but new.

New is only of the conditioned mind.

Dive in to the basin that dares no entry of any uttered word.

Just a note to my dear fellow folk.

This is not to systematize my blog,
but we all know this is a huge system
run on wires and unseen waves.
So,...
please kindly consider
everything on this page
Copyrighted...
They are after all copyrighted.

a refined grunt

Something about the night,

the falling daylight.

Of the calm moonlight

foregoing the brazen daylight.

The effortless topple of a leaf,

the unbudging roots of a tree.

Still, I'm pissed.

Pissed like the yellowest shade of piss.

Conscience on my back,

always keeping me in or from my place.

What is it about?

Truly, clues lay vastly scattered.

A fresh pot of sunshine,

the hydration of swirling rain.

Will that suffice?

Oh, it must.

A tale told through a window.

At this hour the moonlit ripples of the bay is telling its own story.

"I just heard some commotion," an emerald-eyed girl of about seven peered about her surroundings. She thought she heard something different. Only if she knew it was a beam straight from the heart of the universe that awoke her. Only the deepest well of her being could grant her such a recollection. Until a fleeting moment of such certainty takes place, she will wander like every one of us who smiles at the most precious feelings without knowing where they come from.

Lunch at the beach, only to be thrown a wildly flocking blanket of savagely starved seagulls, was cut stump-short like a severed bloody thumb. Not even a wink of sleep or a muster of thought came marching around. However, a warming contention prospered as a good lay in the sun took place. A little more than a prickle of digestive juice that must have belonged to a seagull came flying onto the calf and foot. A smile on the face paralleled an internal nod. So, the seagull knows something. After all, who could question the creatures of peak-high clouds. Like the well-draped leaves of a willow tree, the afternoon hour swayed and then toppled like a leaf out of a wide-open window.

The sun came to salute the day in heavenly perfect air and light. A few questions brewed into existence as the mysteriously surreal sunset of an early summer eve sank beyond the horizon. Something gently tapped on the inside, "Even that you receive many ordinary days with bits of magic, this is surely not an ordinary day." A sure embrace was unavoidable even that the exact melody remained unknown to the observer. Still, the daylight melted with a mesmerizing blend of red, orange, and rich coral.

A little chivalry compliments the litheness of cosmic encounters.

A block away after something like a momentous reunion, stood an ol' drinking trough under yellow yet grey lights and cows were rather asleep in a mobile sense. Having steered a few miles elsewhere, a glad clink of two bottles gave way to seats under the starry fog. After a while, science determined itself a part of magic somehow. The air had something like an uncanny yet a novel familiarity that could not help but reverberate what might have been beams of universal resonance. Sometimes the air between certain entities can make like a warm blanket of sweet morning dew wrapped in a rainbow. And that was only... moments but moons ago.

Living on Borrowed Time

Is it really the case?

Are we living on borrowed time?

Where does time go?

Does it just diminish in thin air?

Or wait,...

is it the total opposite?

Borrowed time

just might be

a fictitious approach to life.

After all,

life as we know it

is as temporary as

permanent it appears

to us.

Temporal measures

fall far from

the infinite measures

we receive in feelings.

So,

what could that say?

Something about self-discovery, perhaps...

it is like a labyrinth...

mazes,

levels,

shapes,

colors.

Open the vault

in the heart,..

maybe just then,

borrowed time would be no more.

Loose change for reality

My sight is angled diagonally upward.

Behind the figure of a man,

shines an utter contention

in the glare

of sunlight from high above my eyes.

The figure says with a smile

and a book in hand,

"Would this be a good place to read?"

The atmosphere feels so still

like it is a moment to let seep

deep

in the existence

I know as mine.

Questions in the form of answers.

A cobalt blue convertible car sat on the side of the road.

It was but a faraway lone road.

A vast savanna sprawled on the other side

of the road.

Lions and tigers grazed

on the bright yellow grounds

which resembled

the terrain of a desert mountain.

I only looked away for a second.

Before I knew it,

Tex was on the other side

appearing more like a moving dot

with an figure of a dog.

"Look over there",

I was alerted.

only to notice the lion whooshing Tex

high in the air like a tossed ball arching to its receiver.

With a crouched heart,

I watched Tex land right on the ground

next to a tiger.

Still, he was like a moving dot

with the figure of a dog.

"We have to let him go."

as I looked on at the oddly tranquil ruckus

as we watched from afar.

Countdown to bliss

Do I forget to sleep

or

Do I forget to rise?

I rise

for nothing

but

an illusory desire...

so it seems.

For all the desires

that color this world,

nothing remains solid.

If this finds you willing

for such an angle,

it's just a big, beautiful illusion.

Only when we discover the marrow

of this floating mediocrity

in our so-called reality,

comes a waltz of clarity.

Once we depart,

shall they impart.

Then we may understand.

I tell you,

my friend,

fear no more.

Maybe believing in dreams

can take us there now.

So, tell me, friend

what is the harm

in believing...

Believe your dreams

and

I mine.

It's just a matter of time

before they intertwine

and

that we live in universal magic.