In pungent depths
The gentle movement of truth sounds,
And images of timeless words
In endless moments bloom . . .
There was a time like that,
When life roared heavy
In my ears, and
Everything came unstuck.
The stars glittered
And clanged together, and
Something new came of
The earth shook and
Just for that awesome moment.
If it is true that every single moment
Holds endless possibility,
And every life is its own story
In which each moment leads
Naturally to the next,
How is the leap made to
Another of those possibilities
In a single moment, that
Alters the story intentionally and forever,
That suddenly adds newness,
Purpose, depth, and excitement,
A touch of the exotic perhaps,
How is the great leap made
From this moment to the dream,
The only leap worth making.
Mercury is in retrograde, which often causes thinking backward. It is cold and it is winter, and during hibernation, the mind works in mysterious ways.
How many Thursdays have I been here.
Number of years x 52, add leap year Thursdays, minus days to this years birthday, and minus 1 since I was born on Friday and missed Thursday that week.
That’s a lot of Thursdays.
Winter Fields, Oil on Canvas, 1989
I think I will take a stroll through my enduring soul, and take a really good look at where I’ve been.
I know my experience here, planted on this planet from somewhere else I can only surmise, and from where elses before that I can barely imagine.
What was I when I first began? In what world then, those lingering eons ago?
What are these places I go? Where does all the life come from, the images, and the dreams?
What is all this stuff that makes me human and the rest of it that makes me think I am not.
I celebrate my body, its healing, and its potential. I celebrate my life and the truth that living teaches me. I celebrate that there are such things as transformation, and thought, vision, sound, wind, and passion.
I celebrate the endless rays of all possibilities, the movement of the timeless rhythm of all things, and the spirit bent on creation.
I celebrate that there is a natural way of things beyond my interference, and life to be lived beyond imagination. I celebrate that we have each other to love, that the pieces do come together eventually, and that there is more to life than what we see.
I celebrate the wisdom that comes when I listen, the power of the present when I am still, and the delight of my spirit when I dance.
I celebrate my dreams and my wanderings, and I celebrate that, at least in my illusion, I exist. Let the wind blow. Let the stars sing, and let the dance be endless.
My life is similar to and different from everybody else’s on the planet. We share who we are in every action and every word whether we are aware of it or not, regardless of how we’re doing it.
It is wonderfully mysterious that we are here together without any of us knowing how we got here, where we came from, who we are, or knowing anything for sure. Most of the stuff in our heads floats around among us all, the humanity of which we are, each one of us a part.
So we walk a solo journey among others doing the same. That’s how it is here. We seek, and we find. We lose and we are found. Though there may be a world between us, it is no distance at all.
There are the night owls and early birds,
The jesters and judges,
The seers and the sleepers, and
The same and the different.
There are your doers and your thinkers,
Your followers and your follow me-ers,
Your easy-goers and your strugglers,
The travellers, and the staying put.
There are the smilers and the grumblers,
The high fliers and the surface skimmers,
The expanders and the shrinkers,
And everything in between.
There are the dreamers and
There are bringers of the dream,
The disappointed and the bringers of hope,
The lost in despair, and those who throw the rope.