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4月4日 where...how...The room needed cleaning. And I should take a shower. I got my teeth cleaned. Isn't that enough of the real world for a time? I chase the encumbrances of some life I no longer care to understand, no longer feel aligned with. The if onlys have their sway yet I am left with this today. What can I bring from within that is unlike all that already is? Where can I go that someone else has not already left their foot prints? The idle chatter of well meaning acquaintances now ride in clouds above my head. My mind can work, can be strong; but that, I fear, is not for long. How much must we leave this life with? We should leave this life with nothing but what we came in with, and that madly battered by the impulse and decree of others who do not see as me. There is a time and a place wherein you were meant to find your grace. What if you are just a bit late? Will that end all my statue clad ways? Was there some type of schedule? Some information I missed too long ago? The winds are just rustles through dead leaves yet no one seems to see or even turn away; this is the life of their time. Not so mine. I came too late, too soon. Where was the moon when I popped out? And of the warm, where was the sun in the way? My work, my existence transformed into freely moving light, sometimes a sway, sometimes a fight with all that proclaimed to be right and me? I had nothing to say. Not even for my Self. I am my Self and if I don't pursue the scent that pulls me, nags me, reduces me to puddles of mud...then who will? I am still. Without and within, I've lost the road again. Now the time is sharp and demanding and any day can be the last. At least for this pearl choked and swirled in waters deep, I am not yet smooth nor do I expect to be. Only let me live and trace some victory. Something to leave the Spirits of my deepening Soul. For the Gold of life is in the living from our inner voice and direction. I cannot find clarity for the way. Emotions like ashes filter through my mind and I find I am lost to some other time; therefore, I cannot respond to the imminence of now. Too long and alone I played my hand for the pleasure of others. I didn't know what love was, nor do I now. But I am nearer the fount of this pure and cleansing abyss. I've yearned to be the fire that could produce the definition of a song. Music dives deeply into the waters unknown lifting me just enough to keep my breath. Why has it taken so long to find how lost I was? I must work until I drop if I am to enable the mantra that instills my name. I am too scattered and plain? Paint some, sculpt some, write some, look for a dulcimer to play, then draw away the day. How can I focus on one seed when so many plead for their need to burst through the soil and sprout green, soon to layer the ground with fresh harvests never so before seen. New lives storm different forms -- everyone as they plunge into the death of a life long ago spun done. The cries are old, their hunger striking the chords of wrong and doubt. How can this go on? How long will this so-called humanity take to assault the terms that new life takes? Motionless is the spell that must be broken. Deny, defy, the aching of some stolen genius. It is not yours. Nor is it the answer to the bliss you seek that being your Self can only complete. We are not children with rules and schools. Humanity is breaking with the cords of past good-byes. Breakage is where we begin again. We must tear down all that has been built -- throwing stones at ideas that keep us from one another known. Because the seas delineate our roaming, grow in your deepest need. Throw back the shrouds that keep the poor and unwilling crowds from their rightful place in the sun. Each and every one of us is responsible for the undeniable conditions of degradation and ugliness of greed. I wonder as I wander, now and some, about Rodin's KISS, Gibran's ennobling scriptured sense,Tchaikovsky's brilliance tearing into our ears with tears and the truth of our tender and often misunderstood...they left the world so much finer with their passion. Passion is the imperative! Without it, there is no love, no inner stretch to grasp some yearning higher than we may ever become. Without all the fields of wildflowers, the breathtaking Arizona sunsets, the excitement of youth leading us to pleasures we never want to escape from, the saintly devotions of Mother Teresa go unnoticed, unwilled, untiled, even the thunder and lightning reigning in the sky would die. Die to our knowing and recognition with all the world's priming for the next war. Where will it be? How will it go? Does History not answer you and ....so? Don't let the ways of History fall dead to your learning for it is only as we can see the futility of wronged ways and broken tries that we will ever have any hope to be better than we are. And surely you do see that we need, we must be better than we are. Inspiration is the sweetening muse that gathers every hope and wish, all that motivates and is used to wed the alone and unknown with strengths that would otherwise never be. Wake up! So long as there is breath, there is possibility for all your dreams...and even more, that when you and l make our transition we may leave some seed that will be gleaned by another kind-spirited passerby; and they will latch onto this key of direction to fulfill the fusion of confusion that distorts their way. Then one day will come when the world is what those of my tribe have always described as the plenty, a place filled with milk and honey, a range of devotion that delights in all such commotion. THAT is called living to those who know its ways; and do not drop the tools of their measure -- the very ones that leave us with such treasure. When to your heart's desire is manifest, then your Soul may find some little quest upon which to lift off a high mountain and ride the wind currents with swaying arms of faith content. Content to know that living now is how we spend this... wondering how. It is only when your life lies scattered about in pieces to small to put back together that you realize what it is that really matters, to you. IF you survive this crucible (that some call shame or some denounce as too tame -- not enough fire for this canvas!) Loosely claimed victories melt and we are turned back upon ourself. Such has always been. Take up your life, with a new found contentment. Partake of that which to you is a pleasure. Out of chaos and utter bleeding night is where you will find your sight. You do not need to explain yourself. All that is done and behind you. YOU have freed a segment of you, one that is vital all the while unreasonable to the crowds who leave you to rumors. ~rumorsofme~ |
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