Summer Sickness

Pissin' away another day in paradise. What ever happened to growing up? It is surly expected of me, and yet I feel like I'm going backwards. Summer sickness. Coming chill creeping over me, will I notice the falling? Will the cold snap snap me out of this cruse? I hope so. We have some time. All I can talk about is the cold and its still scorched earth outside; roasted emerald days.

Now the pain starts and still it doesn't stop. The oil burns lower, drip drop. Drip drop.

And yet, and yet... Complacency is just a word. There is something here, a quietness in the mind, a stillness in the heart. Paradise, sans beaches and paper drink accoutrements. Waiting, again and always and forever. A sleepy time, a time for quiet and selfishness. Soon the sun will lift from the horizon, and it will be a time of activity. But a wise man can find himself in either. I just wonder if I am wise.

No Turns

The Knight unfound is lost amid faces sunk into our ground.

Show me, hear me, I beg, I plea. May I stay, dare I flee?

Will I show you, will you see? You’re here, after all. Come to see my fall?

Guide my heart, little star. Show me now, is it far?

Where do roads go past this scar?

Roar of days ancient fire twist ‘round my finger, twisting mire.

Will I show you, will you see? The knight unfound, with sleeping bee.

No matter the path I take from here, all is peaceful fear.

“No turns, next 50 miles”, no burns, no smiles.

Knifes edge highway, follow your glowing skyway.

No lines to cross, just uncomplicated direction. No bumps or humps, a subtle detection.

Loops with no condition, quiet night’s introspection. Pain’s stealthy blight, black hearts affection.

Forward or onward, a decisions resurrection. Temptation, a courageous heart’s great imperfection.

Take these wanderings, mind disinfection. Born to fly, gravity’s harsh interjection.

If only to hold, this glowing recollection. Fear the fear, this long disconnection.

Above and below, both paths reflection. Do I see, or is this just my predilection?

I am unclear, even my own objection. Guide me along, proper deflection.

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.

Actual Fantasy

I live in a world of fantasies, how terribly normal they are.  Nothing holds me back besides my own thoughts.  Always battling with my thoughts, my expectations, my wishes.  Who am I fighting?  I'm fighting on both sides, its a civil war, with Artillery.  Just tossing mindless bombs, uncaring where they land, knowing that it doesn't really matter, in the end I will hit something important and cause yet another halt.  It was once said, all wars are civil.  At once it is the greatest truth and worst sick joke the world has ever seen, depeneding on the meaning.  All wars are civil because all wars are with oneself, projected outward, or worse still, focused inward.  But no war is civil.  All wars are horrible things, with no true winner, and oh so many losers... Losers without number, mothers weeping alone in dark places, fathers with dead eyes, brothers with heavy hearts, sisters with warm silent tears, and yourself.  Inside we are all of these things.  So imagine the destruction of a war turned inward.  Imagine being on both sides of a war, imagine every blow to be one to your soul.

I'm done standing in my own way.  I'm done with these wars of our fathers.  There is in this world such a thing as nonlinear shift in any system.  We see it all the time, where logic and structure brake down.  Sometimes its at the ends and beginnings, sometimes just at random places.  The moment before change, great change, feels much like any other, normal, boring, unimportant.  The second before the spark ignites a twig, sets off a branch, lights a tree, burns a forest.  Such a small place in time and space, such a small thing, and even before it is a small thing, even before it is, it was nothing.  Just another peaceful moment in a forest, the birds singing, the flowers embracing the sun with out a care.  Just another moment like so many others.

There needs to be no progression; that is a system I look for in nature.  Its what I seek so that's what I find.  What else would I see if I got out of the way?  What else would I see if "I" got out of the way?  Where does fantasy end and reality begin?  Can you point to a place and say "Here, this is it."?  I can't, just as I see the world I see past the world, because I am in my perception of the world.  My perception is the world.  So why do I perceive a world of linier expansion?  Easy, because I expect to see it, so the better question is why do I perceive a world of liner expansion?  Its a long and boring answer, and maybe its not worth going into.  Why give it all more energy then it already steals, quick and silent and so seductive.  The best question of all is why not stop?

Secrets are best when shared.  This is not a contradiction.

The war is done.  This moment needs no deflection, no conflict.  It can be that easy.

Letting go

What foolishness is this?  The worlds too beautiful a place to lay such thoughts bare.  I don’t want to mar that charming landscape with my beliefs which I was holding so strongly.  I am just as well off writing on a page and burning it.  Its all about letting go, so now its gone.  Its really gone.

Outside the snow is falling in perfect chaotic eddies, there is a chill in the air, and the birds are flying overhead.

Yesterday I was as sick as I have ever been.  Ever.  I ended up in a hospital where I got a few bags of salty goodness stuck right into my veins.  I even got to try a wonderful little drug that they give to chemotherapy patients for anti-nausea.  Still I have so much to be thankful for, the care was excellent.  Today I feel wonderful.  There are these amazing pleasures that I didn’t even know I had, every day.  Just being able to drink a full glass of warmish water is heavenly now.  I’ve never been so grateful for half a cup of cold soup.  Just walking around the room brings me joy.  They had to fetch me a wheelchair after about 6 steps yesterday.

The universe is a good place to be.  I think I’ll stay.  And maybe I wont worry so much about these silly thoughts in my head.

Unspeakable

I have been overwhelmed with a strange feeling. It was so ineffable, I don't think I understand it even now. It just started one day. I don't even know when it began, but I know when I noticed it. Then one day I woke up and felt it fading away like a sweet and interrupted dream. It was a such a sweet feeling, in its strange way.

Cold sunlight slanting in windows, shining its golden orange light on a white wall. Polygonal trees with sprites for branches, rolling square and pointed hills. Frozen passes with high cliffs all around. A small, cramped room under a humble castle. Simple walls of dirt and wooden logs holding up a rock ceiling. A school that flies away from danger. A fairy tail romance between a lion and a wolf. A bare birch tree against a clear blue sky. Sitting on an unsettled beach. Its warm on the beach, but the sun is hidden by clouds. The waves are silent and disregarded. Cloth somethings flapping in the wind, slowly shifting and creaking with the uncertain breeze. My feet curl into coarse and wet sand. In my hand a stately old book, bound in leather. A sense of total freedom. A sense that everything that needed doing is already done. A sense of melancholy nostalgia. A feeling of being so alone. Its not a bad feeling, it even goes unnoticed. For now... The smell of air fresh from the heater, being pumped into the room. The smell of brand new carpet, and of white painted walls. Of humidity and palm trees and the sea. Of rain and wind and air-conditioning. Of destruction.

Does it make any sense yet? I'm sure its all so meaningless to you. Each of these fragments have so much attached to them for me. They tell a story of a time that's long past, but still lives on in memory. Its not the fragments that have been with me these last days, but the feelings. The feelings bring the fragments, not the other way around. Why should they come back so strongly all of a sudden? Strange as it sounds, I think it all started when I took ill. It could just be coincidence, I know, but still... Its the only thing I could point at. And now that I am getting better I am losing touch with it all. Soon it will be gone, I know that. I will miss it, I think.