Cross Hatch Skies.

Angels tracks.

Soft roar of evermore, a growling underscore.
Understated ascendancy; clear and painful dependency.
Precarious in standing, outstretched their handing.
Always watching, never subsiding, sometimes dancing, quiet abiding.
Eyes inclined, hearts and minds.  Delirious nights, imagined flights.
Angels wings and wispy things.  Clear blue skies and heartbeat sings.
Willows in a wish; wisp in a moon.  Be still and ready, I'll be their soon.

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.

Time, and the becoming there of

Every time I feel sure, again nothing is as it seems. Cold metal a forgotten dream. Now warm and liquid, now glowing from within with golden rays, quietly, faintly. But even the candle rages an inferno in the dark, cold, night. Now we count the days as they pass. The hours shift around in the stack, and only a few seem worth looking forward to. Oh how time changes us. But its all just an illusion. On how many levels? That the question, I guess.

Bridges rise and fall on the wind, and the torch follows its will, not mine. Ashes and dust replace mighty noble strength. And the wheel turns and all things return. But not for oh so long...

I know not what the morrow gifts us, but I can say, that for now, I am happy. I don't want to label this, I just want it to live on forever. Trust is something I will never give up on. I still give it away at every turn. I'm following my guiding star, and she will always keep me safe.

Thanksgiving

Its good to be thankful, it keeps things in perspective. Truth be told I love Thanksgiving. Yet somehow I always end up thinking about what some people say about Thanksgiving: A day celebrating the colonist's imperialistic conquering of the helpless natives of the Americas. What a depressing way of looking at things, and I don't think it has any relevance on the holiday. Every year building up to this time, I hear it again and think... How sad. I don't know how much about the first holiday is just Americana Folklore, and how much of it really happened, but I like to think that the first Thanksgiving was a happy day. There is no one denying that we did some fairly nefarious things to the Native American, but that wouldn't be for some time. I like to think there really was this wonderful sitting down of two peoples to enjoy the bounty of the lands. Does it really matter? No one really could say what happened all those years ago. I'm sure its been romanticized, no question there. But its strange that on the one day we have set aside to actively be thankful, some people choose to focus on some of the darker pages in history. I don't even think I am an optimist. But I would rather think about happy things when I have a choice, and I think we all get that choice every day.
We can be happy and thankful, without feeling guilty. Is that where this comes from? Are people just feeling guilty because we really do have so much? But when I stop and think about all the things that have really made me happy, and that I am thankful for, none of them are material. I think about love and kindness. I think about friends and family. I think about the simple joys of life. These are all things that are limitless, and me having them does not mean someone is missing them.
I just want to feel happy, I think we all do. Yet I am surrounded by things that say I shouldn't be. I think of the institutions that are built on guilt and despair. Some, it could be argued, do some good. Some, I would argue, do some bad. Its almost to easy to take shots at the church, well here goes anyway. The first step spreading most religion is first spreading the idea that you need saving/fixing. That at some fundamental level, there is something wrong with you. The second step is "But its okay, because we can fix that." It would make me very happy to see a religion or church that started with the idea that everything really is great, and if you don't feel that way, we can help you see that. I think I would go to that church when I was feeling down... And I gave up on church long ago. Relief charities are the next thing to come to mind. You have to guilt people into giving, and helping those who need it most. You start by showing sad and dieing people, then you ask for a credit card number. Some charities do great things for the betterment of mankind. Its just where the focus is that bothers me. Why can't we start by showing how happy people are when relief does arrive? Show people being helped, healed and fed, then ask for a credit card number. I would give to that charity, and I would feel better about it too.

The Hidden Ra

Its strange how different things are in this day and age. There are fundamental assumptions we make everyday about the world around us, and beyond, which were completely hidden from the ancients. In no great way do these effect our lives on their own. But in mass, as the giant of modern knowledge, I think they alter our perspectives. Everyone hides from the cold specter of great understanding.
The reality is overwhelming. It is too large, too huge, and way too shocking for out minds to encapsulate, analyze and label. So we just don’t see it most of the time. But now and again I try to really understand our place in the universe… I try and I fail. It basically can not be truly understood, but sometimes I feel like I get closer to the truth. Not much closer, maybe a step or two in a journey that would take a lifetime and beyond.
It’s a humbling step. I think about how small I feel compared to the world, and how small the world feels compared to the solar system, and how small the solar system is compared with endless space. I think of galaxies and try not to see them as a picture on a wall, or a pretty poster, but as what they truly are. I feel so incredibly small.
How much easier it is to think the way we used to. To think of stars as gods dancing across the heavens, looking down on us. To think of stars as a thousand frozen dreams, forever winking quiet warmth. To think of stars as a shell of lights just out of reach, marking the end of all creation. To think of stars as a road of souls, slowly making their way to the underworld and everlasting peace. We now know all these things to be far fetched at best, but they are so much more effortless to understand then the truth. And every fiction is so much more reassuring and comforting then the monumentally uncaring reality.
…How untrue are these thoughts really? Everything I know about stars fits just fine into a standard definition of God. Stars are so large and powerful that they are beyond our thoughts. In the unfathomable and hellish nightmare of that power, the heavy elements were created out of simple hydrogen and helium. There was once a star who worked for billions and billions of years to create us. Such time as has not passed sense the formation of the world. And then when it was done, and the building blocks were ready, it burst and sent its work unto creation. Sacrificing its self for its creation. All that was floated for billions of years more. Slowly fitting its self back together… And from the ashes of that sacrifice, the ground we stand on was created. And from that sacrifice was born a new sun. The son of the creator of all things.
And that sun works now, every day it churns and shines, granting us life. It is the fuel of nearly all living things. We rely on it for everything. And it is also creating too, the work of creation is never finished. One day, many, many years from now, the son will join the father in a monumental Armageddon, and another great sacrifice. And the world will be consumed and remade, its fragments mixed with the elements being forged this very second. And in time beyond time, the worlds will reformed.
It all reminds me of a big black book I read once...

Once, in Solana Beach

I was sitting on a the platform of a train station, on a solid concrete bench. My back pressed to a wall that towered over me. This station is dug into a mountain, and the tracks lay at the bottom of a deep ravine with 40 foot walls, climbing sharply away into the clear blue sky. Sitting at the bottom, stuck uncomfortably close to the tracks, no where to go, no where to hide, no one around. The silence was a thick blanket, slowly working its way around me. Tighter and tighter, it enfolded me in its warm embrace, lulling me into peace.

From a long way off it came, quite at first, ignored and forgotten amid the drifting points of light in my mind. Each a little thought, waiting patiently for its chance to burst into a little flash under my minds wandering gaze. It flashed brighter and brighter, growing more insistent with each pulse. Soon I turned my attention to it, and knew that every pulse was a distant horn blowing. It wasn’t hard to guess what it meant, I was in a train station after all. But I also knew there was no trains scheduled for hours. When the lumbering beast finally came roaring and growling into view, it was a yellow goliath with miles of empty, multilevel car carriers. I expected to see it pass on by, but it came screeching to a noisy halt on the double track on the far side of the station. It slowed, and just as it came to stop, a thousand loose metal doors gave one last thunderous slam of protest, and then silence came slamming back into the gorge. The faceless beast sat quietly, and never have I heard such quiet.

Just as the stillness again entranced me back into a stupor, and my mind defocused among the dancing lights, a felt a strange tremor in the ground. Moments later I heard the first report of the horn. It was higher pitch then the first, and from the other direction. I looked on expectantly, but could see little. It got louder and louder, and it became hard to focus on anything else. When the yellow monstrosity finally came charging into sight, it was like a rabid bull, bellowing its protest at each of the master’s goads. It moved with the total assurance anything that would dare stand up to it would be destroyed, and it would hardly take notice. Unfathomable and impersonal, it came at me like it was hungering for my blood. I wanted to move, to run, ancient instincts were ripping at my mind. But there was no where to go, the walls pressed in all around. The horn screamed its challenge, the ground shook, and then it was on me. A blast of hellish air whipped my face, forcing me to turn away from the maelstrom. One moment suddenly stopped leading to another. Among the chaos, the whipping wind, the roaring sound, the shaking ground, I lost myself. Every point of light dancing in my mind was ripped away on the relentless wind from the wings of a thousand demons. In the storm there was nothing but madness and fury. The train seemed to go on forever, each car over 22 feet tall, clanging and banging, blocking out the sun. I just mere feet away, huddled on my bench, defenseless toward the onslaught. I felt like my mind fractured, and everything inside just came pouring out. Just as I thought it would go on forever, without warning, it stopped. It was over with such abruptness that it to was a great shock in its self. All of a sudden it was just over, and I felt helplessly empty.

Silence consumed the ashes of the conflagration. From a long way off thoughts came swirling back, timid and vigilant. Weaving closer and scattering away, then jagging back. Just as I reached out to embrace them, and comfort them, the forgotten machine made a piercing wail. With a lurch and a great crash of protest from a thousand angry doors, it returned to life. Thought scattered again to the winds. Digging deeply into its tracks, it started its headlong rush away. Moments past, and I was left in a daze as its last car disappeared like a dream come morning. Thoughts returned, one or two at a time, but I simply ignored them. They all felt so small, so meaningless, in the wake of passing gods. Tranquility packed in around the spaces between the soft glowing points, bringing their dance to a slow halt. I sat there in a daze.