But love is always new. 
Regardless of whether we love once, twice, 
or a dozen times in our life, we always face a brand-new situation. 
Love can consign us to hell or to paradise, but it always takes us somewhere. 
We simply have to accept it, because it is what nourishes our existence. 
If we reject it, we die of hunger, because we lack the courage 
to stretch out a hand and pluck the fruit from the branches of the tree of life. 
We have to take love where we find it, even if that means hours, 
days, weeks of disappointment and sadness. 
The moment we begin to seek love, 
love begins to seek us. And to save us.

  –  Paulo Coelho

I wish I could still feel the thump of your warm ribbons of blood against the bones of my breath, fumbling and tumbling through the sacred air that knows our names- and the name we are together that I cannot even speak. No language knows the word for this wordlessness. No dangling trick of fateless fortune has yet to wander upon this story of unrelenting resounding sounds of love echoing in the folds and tears of old pillows and ratted sheets of paper cloth. The way we held our love in our hands, the way our wings refused to flap, the way the twisting coughs of triumphant clouds want to run about and toss themselves around in their own bemused mystery. I wish I could remember the sound of your voice and hear it sliding across my bedframe to me. I wish that in some space within the within, all of our dreams and all of our wishes and all of our most elegant thoughts were carried out with beautiful fanfare, lace frills and delicate, memorable words of gratitude. I wish that someone was there to witness it…to steal the silences away, tuck them inside a paper bag, and give them to me so that I may hear the fullness of that silence once again.

After the unbelievable inconstancy of the dripping hands of the sky, I miss you incessantly.  


I can’t wait for the day when we all breathe each others words into our own bodies…feel them evaporate the swollen structures of our feeble frames and watch them trickle down our melting spines until they all collect in this primal pool of sacred me-water. Then we’ll rain ourselves back into ourselves and let ourselves drink from the infinite puddle of falling soul. 

And I’ll keep sitting here, watching the sky turn mesmorizeblue…and wait for you to come home. 

“Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.”

“My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble mind.

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.”

“The further the spiritual evolution of mankind advances, the more certain it seems to me that the path to genuine religiosity does not lie through the fear of life, and the fear of death, and blind faith, but through striving after rational knowledge.”

“Now he has departed from this strange world a little ahead of me. That means nothing. People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”

“A human being is a part of a whole, called by us _universe_, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest… a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”

“Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts.”

“A person starts to live when he can live outside himself.”

“Peace cannot be kept by force. It can only be achieved by understanding.”

“We can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.”

“Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything he learned in school.”

“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.”

 “As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain, as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality.”

– Albert Einstein


Every night, right at this time of day, faith comes to sit and prance along the edge of my shoulders…to peer into my swirling pits of eyes and lashes and to slither up my spine to rest right where my brain meets my body. I’m sure this world is made of creation hands and feet, but I think they may be dancing to a melody so sublimely high, none of us can make out the tune with these faulty ears. Tonight I’ll imagine myself some new ones, and maybe love will breathe them into existence. 

 “If a group of beings from another planet were to land on Earth — beings who considered themselves as superior to you as you feel yourself to be to other animals — would you concede them the rights over you that you assume over other animals?”
          George Bernard Shaw


“We live in illusion and the appearance of things. There is a reality. We are that reality. When you understand this, you see that you are nothing, and being nothing, you are everything. That is all.”


One of his students asked Buddha, “Are you the messiah?”
“No”, answered Buddha.
“Then are you a healer?”
“No”, Buddha replied.
“Then are you a teacher?” the student persisted.
“No, I am not a teacher.”
“Then what are you?” asked the student, exasperated.
“I am awake”, Buddha replied.

 I honestly try to wrap my head around sheer randomness as the force behind everything and I actively cannot concieve of the idea. It doesn’t make sense to me.


God is color.


All I am is my awareness of myself as myself.


If two unchanging objects stood in a vaccuum and that was all of the entirety of the universe…would any time ever pass? Perhaps one might be able to measure in seconds…but this only has any meaning to us who have contrived of the concept of time and measuring it. I get baffled when I try to think about events and where they are. This visceral experience of my family sitting around a table, laughing, talking…and then vanished into some vaccuum of space…the sudden nonexistence…where do moments in time go? Where do they all reside together under the silky sky of time?


And what is this idea of objective reality? Of the “actuality” of what’s “really happening”…what does that even mean? On what level? On a microscopic level this is happening, and on a chemical level something else is happening, and on the experiential level of me I am experiencing the blue of fading sky and on some universal level a thousand things are happening at the same time and on what level does time match up?


It’s this inevitable quest for the invisible.


And there’s seeing, this filter and this definition…but where is the isness? Where is the whole me? At what poimt in time am I the all of me?


Perhaps there are three parts to me. To all of us. The machine, the human and the divine. The genetic code of my assemblance of neurons and structures filling my brain…and then somehow miraculously, this active force which acts upon my brain to say yes or no or more….and then beyond any great words…some essence. Something which is all of me, all at once. Something which is my intuition…something beyond logic…the part of me that loves, that drives desire, and that unconditionally loves with something base and undefinable.


To me, randomness and chaos seem the surest sign of the divine. Our human desire for order, for logic and for sense…and then something within the universe which merely acts on whims? Or perhaps even, less than whims…something inconceivably free…that is mystical.


If intention exists…then we are living in a magical universe. If not, we are all robots acting on the programmed orders of our brains….and yet, where did the program come from? Randomness? What does that even mean? Randomness is still SOMETHING. It is still a force in itself. And it seems to me that there is an awful lot of seeming in this universe. The elegant illusion of space, time and the macro-levl unfolding of the things which appear before our eyes.


The fact that we DON’T know everything is the surest sign of the mystery. Is the creation of the mystery. Is the meaning of the mystery. Is this mystery itself. And as long as there is mystery in this universe, as long as there are holes to wonder through, letters to arrange, mathematics to uncode or invent….as long as there is the continual birth of


Otherwise we live in a deterministic universe that is acting on the puppet strings of banal cause and effect. It seems to me, in fact…that materialist, deterministic thinking would imply the greater design simply running its course…whereas the concept of randomness or chaos would be, in fact, the concept of miracle, divine intervention…that mutations would be magic…that flaws and deviations from the great programmed design would be wonderous. Everything and everything and everything. I believe in everything. And everything…in and of itself…is a miracle…because of the fact that something in the universe can CONCIEVE of the fact that it is miraculous.


Because I cannot disprove my faith.


On both sides of the spectrum, the universe is a blur…the quarks and the whole thing…the colors come in right at the middle…where the little breathers percieve the bright blue essence of a stream of light above their heads.


I believe in a myraid of forces.


Chaos is still a force. I believe in connected chaos. Maybe we see the connection…create the meaning…see the signs we want to see…but yet we still SEE them…and at what point are they not real? Because WHERE is the ultimate reality? The one that is more true than what I see?


But the truth of the matter…is it comes from what I feel. From what pounds inside of my flesh and tickles through my bloodstream and batters inside of the airy space of my chest. I feel it in everything…it is the everything we are. It is love. The existence of love is all I’ll ever need to live.


And tonight and today and every breath, my world is pasted passionate colors of the family of loves that have come to sit on my shoulder, rest on my breath, and believe me back into the world of others that look just like me, but can breathe from a beautiful other mouth. The infinite us we are. I love every sound of becoming a being.