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.