Vision

Oh, sky eyes.
If only you saw more.

Perhaps you should close for a while.

Then
I could show you stars inside
To make your heart beat
Wilder than
Any lion.

You might
speak
Real words, then.
Sing songs loudly, fiercely, defiantly.

Love gladly, wildly, honestly, truly.

Finding yourself,
You would be changed.

Burned but healed.
Bereft, but lifted.
Robbed, but renewed.
Tormented, but tended.

I think you will ever only notice surface waves,
Smiling,

I will hum, close my eyes, and feel
Again.
I will see more, still.

Spring Rites

Green wonderful, wind surely around the metals and spikes - my fingers confusing waterfire; igniting liquid inner flame, scattering shot-like sparks of celebration in a peering sky: celebration showers; showers of glee and glow and song and search, spreading out in glittering, flaming searching rainbow arcs of quench.

Impossibly soft moss - like a sigh - spread out the wonder of love beneath the shaded canopy
of dappled wooded solid lungs, exhaling life into the blue ball garden.

Birds, trill a trace of "lay we down a verse, and song, and moment of continuance to you, whispering
live, and languid, ye lions."

Oh, wind, move the watering sky deep amongst the fronded froth of 'spring forth', beckoning sun and shared sand wind to your brief rest, 'tween times.

Harken to the running rivers leaping and dancing, swelling buds to burst the earth, sudden petal wheels, whirring.

Here is

Wild All,

Undulating.  Here am I....waving..

Ho Hums

Ye me le.
The birds cavorting remind me that Sergio still hums of the circuit Universe with a smile.
Blinking Winking, meanwhile,
Tinkers with the eyes we need to
See More.
The spreading current draws in, breathes out, shimmy shake and
Linear circular expanse, at once, all electric fuzz crochet breaths.
We are black wired and
Ready.
Come, Sound.

Emergence

Earth shakes itself awake again.
The yaw maw wah of bird cries reeling across the dimpled grasses waving
Lose themselves with the latest rain, melting into drops and drops and drops.
The birds droop, waving dripping feathers and swooping lazily into trench top feeders;
Prize fighters knocking about, before the fight for worms begins.

This year, I feel differently towards them.

My egg shell - built so assiduously amidst the dark and uncertain - has cracked.

I feel the fluid movement of myself as the membrane melts and,
Tenuously,
My quiet self
Emerges,
Blinking and trembling.

Tomorrow

In the deep quiet of the day's end
I walk into the night; uncertain, breathless, fired and impassioned;
I raise a haunted face to an ink-filled sky.
It blinks back at me,
Waiting.

sign posted on tree with small axe

BIGGALL'S WIGGLES
(fISH LURES AND CURIO ITEMS FOR THE
FISHERMAN AND HIS FAMILY)
tIRD LAKE FROM TA LEFT OF SNONKER'S
BOATHOUSE

SQUEAKED IN, ONTARIO


HEY, YAS! I JUS' HAD TO RITE YAS AND LET YAS NO
DAT DA ONE STEP UP NEAR 'TA FRONT
IS DERN NEAR A KILLER.
 ME AND MA WENT TO
BUY ONE OF 'EM LITTLE SPECKLED LOORS
WHAT LOOK LIKE PUMPERNICKEL LOAVES
(HERE DEY'RE A REAL TREAT FOR DA MUSKEY),
AND 'TA 'TING JES SEEMED TO LOOM OUT OF
NOWWAIRS, TO CAUSE ME GREAT PERSONAL PAIN.
MIND YA',
I BOUNCED A BIT, WHAT WIT' DA WEATHER BEIN' COLD, AND
                                             THE WISER'S
BEING WAR, 'N ALL, BUT STILL, YOU SHOULD
REALLY MEBBE PUT A FLASHIN' SIGHN NEAR DA
BIG PINE ON DA LEFT, WHAT TO WARN PEOPLE
                                             WIT, LIKE.

JESS BEIN' A CONCERNET CITIZEN. also, I
LOST MY HAIRPIECE, WHAT MA GOT ME, TREE
CHRISTMASSES BACK, AND IT SORTA' FEELS
LIKE A LONG TRIP ON A COLD NIGHT, IF YAS
KNOW WHAT I MEAN.....GETTIN' PERSONAL, LIKE.

sincerely, THE FIDDLIN'S.....WHAT LIVE OVER NEAR
                                                TA OLD ROCK JUT.

Bag Lunch, Delivered xo

The exquisite gift of someone bringing you lunch.
What does this bring?
…
     A picnic into monotony
…...:respite in the midst of the processed and mechanical: evidence of greenery,
        wild frond flinging and Amazonia roll for joy,  amidst the incessant steel of intellectual erection, realized.

And you thought it was just a BLT.

Thought for the Day

All the world's a Stage,
and the Earth is
Adam's Cage.

Optical callusion

Exquisite air absent matter...
Removed, but replaced within cortex flash:
Orb transmit;
Shudder-shimmer-shake..
Complete.
Enveloped within, without, in
Murmur murmured more against eyes, ears, mouth, neck, hand:
Breath,
Met.
...And still, a twirl-whirl-furl of stars inked white hot
In ebony sky:
Present, absent, present, absent,
Finding
Space
Matter meaning in
Current, realized.

Progress

The mist is risen;
I see its mysterious fingers curling slowly around the greening, waving trancelike
In grasses and fronds profusely undulating.
I feel the greening in me, wishing it
Sanely
In the soil's
Eyes.

New Day

We seek the matched exquisite inner unknown,
Finding Other, and
All.

Joy

Oh, to move the sky aside,
That I might kiss your
Eyes.

Current

Ah, Hugoesque.
Ballet point perfect, Sala Sadler, the stars peer knowingly, grey twinkle in shared glow, floating
In a balanced
Never, fossil remnants untouched.
Theirs is a shared conviction,
Gliding.

Meta Smeltics.

I used to wish myself wispy.

There were days - when I was very young and apologetic about feeling awkward with my womanly body - when substantial, or presence, or "robust" seemed words more appropriate to …..someone else, that didn't want to be Twiggy. I wanted to be Twiggy.

Twiggy has to be explained to some girls...mostly blue collar, strangely. The other collars have to be coached to eat: the oddest dichotomy in a world of plenty, in a veritable insanity of .
Reversed irony.

I grew into my breasts - the symbol and signatory mothering indicator, corporeally, of God;
bestowed upon woman with bodily inhibitor and functions tasked with
Continuance.

Eventually women learn that the size of them is irrelevant. Men learn this, too. This comes with a respect for the sacredness of the human body, as vessel, rather than an idea about its ideal.

Women spiritually and physically despise themselves when there is a meltdown in this area, as a result:
by default, programming - and an excruciating acknowledgement of a part of themselves dying, unknown, (though felt). For some, it is breast. For some, it is embryonic extension. For some, it is the loss of self within layers of soft and comforting flesh, in which self is lost, and there is safety from pain. 

The self loss is wordless, faceless, and leaves a chasm - in miniature.

Nothing fills it: food, drink, toning, pummeling (by yourself and others), proper diet, getting over it, under it, on top of it, beside it, around it....you have an area of space that inhabits you, inside, afterwards. Space: as in.....elsewhere. You connect to all the universe, through loss and the reopening of yourself to Nothingness. Even when the loss is automatic, instantaneous, triggered, accidental, occidental, or expected....Space and You are One.

This is how I know that there is much beyond this life, and that there is God.

Beyond this Strange Pain, there is inexplicable Comfort that is internal balm, realized. Even when it is not your fault, you can Forgive
Your own
Imperfection, and "Gestational Retardation" - (as in, "the ability to do so" -  a kinder accusation, recalled and uttered by what I now refer to as "The Deceased Causal Factor")
and Live.

There are those who love Space, too.. It is what is unseen that they love, and recognized, instinctively and inexplicably, when there is genuineness beyond the carbon-based urgings.

This, too, is from God: two splices of God, remelding. Many welders like this analogy.

I call it "Metallica Love"...without a hint of rancor or dyslexia.

Here endeth the Smelting Moment. Long live Metallurgy.

The Story of GOOD FRIDAY

New Testament:

1. PETER -  Chapter 2,  Verses 22 and 23  

2. MATTHEW   Chapter 26,  Verses 1 - 75       and
                           Chapter  27,  Verses 1 - 66

- These explain the events of Good Friday, and Christ's Passion. You may never have really read the story before, though you thought you knew it. It will shock you.

…..This Good Friday, reread "the story like no other", as we approach the Passover, and Easter, with new eyes made thoughtful,  by the acts of a Man - a Being -  like No Other.

 

flying thought for the day

"For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control." 2 Tim.1.7

Boo ya.