Oh, to sit quietly in this moment of time for this moment is my truth, capturing thoughts of a lifetime, blinking away despair and joy alike, remaining forever reflecting, truth tranquility, gone in a flash, no longer knowing what was before.
Oh, to sit in this moment of time for this moment is my truth, peaceful bliss given unto me, hearts filled grace, pouring freely like the sea. Scintillated presence emitting thousands of generations before, remaining forever not, gone just like that.
Oh, to sit in this moment of time for this moment is my truth, tugging sorts of the…
Little Joey, from tree-trunk to tree-trunk pulling on khakis, jeans, or whoever listens, seeking poppa, adult presence being near, the search continues. Always accounted for most profound memories dancing with inspirational, shadow-marked calling brightest of days, inserting dialogue with self, mydriasis’ full spectrum.
Joey is becoming ‘We,’ no longer I, self-fading blackened past looking up to the one to be, higher self, and adulthood of nth degree. More truth serum needed, not necessarily, a child as mentioned earlier to adult, we are becoming, and we ‘just are’ belonging.
Aged and worn redwood, sequoia dreaming of once planted seed, recalling the…
Calcimining Canvas, white-washed recreating Steps within, directional or spatial resolution obscuring thoughts, splatter paint, misled realities of once before. Becoming not as they say, who they prefer, what they believed to be correct, scientific proof seekers not in this reality.
Myopia lashing out, monomania telling truths, flip-side sort of, megalodon, prehistoric beliefs notwithstanding visionary cause translucency, transparently abrupt stopping in one’s tracks. Dangerous as one torts, sounding loud and clear, yet mastery falls deaf to ancient story-lines.
The daily grind, stopping sticks thrown, spinning no longer, screeching halt striking the walking dead, afflicted by collective, self-inflicting sounding alarms, crying out…
The idea of stepping into the canvas is not to say this way or that way is right or wrong it’s an invite of a sort. An invitation to see with a new perspective, varying from what the world around us dictates.
Whether diving into a canvas creating art upon a tapestry or seeing the world as a great Canvas with beauty all around. Each new day an opportunity to admire its magnificence.
The canvas is open to interpretation, open for all to see, open to create and co-create as seen fit. With varying colors within the canvas, differing ideologies…
It is not without saying, pain and suffering existential hold of human psychotic continuation, intercalating the daily grind, introducing new possibilities, transcending constructs of being. Within our own chasten beliefs, like a distant galaxy waiting to be discovered, we need only fuel transportation, completing life’s journey.
Seeking out this pursuit of happiness, unbeknownst absolute meaning of what may be, nevertheless, forward appetence, fiercest of intensities, eyes burning hot with a laser-like vision for what’s to come. In a glimpse, given unto me, purest of joy, peaceful tranquility-I did it, it found me-this is Eudaimonia! …
Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Paralleled song between insomnia and routine of our days, the question remains as to which routine came first, ritualistic day or insomniac by night. Daily routine attaching to comforting foods nourishing moments; seeking peace and tranquility, seducing thoughts, balancing between day and night, escaping the pains of insomnolence.
Nightless sleep, in and out of realities, real or dream uncertainties, waking or remaining within the dream world, back and forth between timelines of old and new. …
Triggers, traumas, ingrained thinking thought processes, passerby incognito. Strange as it is, what was, no longer, new ways of being. Ways of the old, broken thread, resewn patch-like quilting time, into the unknown beseech my soul.
Proving self, showing off the new Grand Prix, home-run, touchdowns, broken bones, badges of honor, assembly no longer required. Acceptance of being, present moment, breath-taking views of nothingness, everything at its focal point, clarity is at hand.
Beer goggles, cloudy vision, blurred lines blowing out the Yamaha speakers, cleansing breath, centered being, Zen garden nurturing within. …
All I want is to come to a place
knowing of deep peace
peace as such the morning sun
kissing a ripened peach
covered in morning dew.
Encountering wild boars
hungry butchers attacking bears
Forest beds wetting themselves
filling unusable specimen jars.
Crying spirits, Sister Eagle
Two Owls comforting calls
Oh, the sorrow of landing bird
coming home to emptied nest
tempted plummeting to Mother’s bed
restricted spreading of a single feather.
Spirit of the wind mimicking hearts’ felt musical song chirps turning into symphonic flickers into illuminating light transmitting purest of emotions Mystical…
I am reminded of that gentle kiss, soulful caress, heart’s vibratory response to your passing through. From the first time, singing to the masses, lofted balcony, singing an antiphon, ephemeral reminder spirit was always present.
Once forgotten, traveling to foreign lands, experiencing life’s greatest of mysteries. Thence came an invite, calling as if on time, requesting forgotten cleverness, purchasing bewilderment, heartstrings tug-o-war, past generational notion, and future sense of being.
Accepting hesitantly, uncertain to whence this came, expansiveness insanely spreading, Spirit called by name. I am here, what is it you want of me? …