Waking Unreality

Red stripes and little red pipes.  Useless and unneeded are not clueless but unheeded.  We have problems with problems in this crazy Kmart kingdom.  Some we take to far, others we hold like our wishing star.  Ballanced so well we fall, fly straight up and stall.  Do we sink into a stupor without time?  Will we wake at the lights sweet chime?  So much it asks, two laughing masks.  Now and now and how and how.  The truth will shine, but is it mine?  So easy it is to look, turn the page; open the book.  All is seen there within, be it truth or fantasy's kin.  But how lost we are, eyes upthrust to golden wishing star.  Tripping over unexpected feet, shocked to find our own red meat.  How can we not but stop and stare, fleeting feeling if running dare.  Waking unreality, nothing but a fallacy.  Drift and dream, castles and cream.  Move and dance, dunes and romance.  I dont see this line, that holds your world from mine.  But we all often hold back, doors tight without slack.  Easy way out, lose scream and shout.  Quick rush, little blush.  Win, and already thinking of what's been.  Waking unreality, such a little fallacy.  Life is such a little crack, starts and then can't hold back.  Thinking of the cradle, a place calm and stable.  A flowers day dream of a seed, from the ground its never freed.  The last creed that we have left, from sunny farm to darkest cleft.   Grow and thrive, be alive.  But how blind we are, nearsighted or far.  We need the now or need the then, but can we find our ballance again?

Green Dreams

Waking driftings, nothing holding me down. Just a blur, just a passing frown. Green dreams of my children’s eyes. An imagine that makes me want to drop to my knees. Some thoughts are so big you cant think them. Some dreams are so crisp overcast glow, then burn your eyes. Then shine like ravens in battlefield skies. Dead ends are so mystifying to us, aren’t they? We always love to see that cliff or wall. But sometimes all I want to see is what lies behind it. What is it in me that drives such flagellation of other lives when all I have is now. Maybe it is in such that I allow myself to see what I hid from myself in my heart.

Pan en, then… Is that enough? Do we need more? Pan en pain, pan en tears, pan en silver light’s caresses. Theos en pan.

How can I turn wrong in such purity? Then why still fear my maturity? I guess that’s the lesson in these green dreams. Fear is not in my heart. The skies are overcast but wrap around us like angels wings. How can any of this be real when it feels so easy, so right. Just like in dreams when nothing seems to connect, and no one seems to notice, least of all the dreamer. What is the lesson if not that its very disconnected flow is a sacred Chao. What level do we perceive from? The Chao is a unique snowflake in Chaos blizzards dance. And oh how it dances and flows to its own beautiful music. Some can see past Chao and its twins, with grids of majesty and tearful power. Sometimes I can see the fragments spinning in my life and just accept them as they are. They still glint from the light source, for all fragments shine. Lost nows. It is these that we hold on to so tightly that we cut ourselves. Nows that can never be lost but in our hearts. When we despair of the break from now, and the pattern it follows. Will its edges be jagged or smooth? Will they be sharp or course? Gentle or hard?

But what, then, is this but window dressing? Would we scoff at The Three Graces if placed in the window of a Burger King? Would Monet’s fire be any less if placed in a rough hewn frame? Why do we dance so in the frames of our lives… All still shines from the soft sweet light at its center…

All I wonder about now… am I falling into it, or away from it? Do fragments spin away? Or past?

Time will tell… Time will tell.

Songs.

What is it about sharing experiences that make us so keen on being able to retell a tale that we lose ourselves out of the moment.  Sometimes I am places that are so perfect I try to hide behind my camera.  Sometimes I'm glad when I don't have one.

I found a place of such overwhelming beauty that all I could think was how to capture it.  What a relief when I realized I couldn't, and that all I was left with was living it.  To be forced to be current.

And such wonders it was, rolls of whispy clouds folding back on themselves, glowing gold and silver.  A blue dome so delicate it could break at any puff of breeze into green or pink.  Tall grass waving softly over smears of colored flowers.

Look at me, doing it again..  Trying to share it all, but what a poor stand in..  These black and white crudeities, meaningless meanings enclosed in something so meaningful.  What an odd thing is our song, only in that we all sing to eachother.