In the place where all things grow and glow, at the time when all things race and relapse. At the end of the beginning. Of the time for restless tides to reel back, whisper forward and retain and restrain every last ounce of weightless time that has slithered through the skin of your days. Through the days lost embers glowing on the mountainsides, the riptides, the wheeling sighs of fortune, fate and fumbling chance. There is a great mother that speaks in my ear, that ticks through the timeless, that breathes me into the dreaming and says run. Run and play and race and when the world is brand new again, look freshly upon dawn with your fearless fingers, grab a fistful of dirt in your radiating hands and thrust your skin towards the next window in time and space. Through the jarring doors of the forest, back onto the journey wheel of what is leading you, feeding you, twisting your arm around your spine and transforming your youth into the ageless wind of the beyond.

I believe in the beyond and this great whistling force in the breeze. I believe in the trees and that whatever their roots are dug into, it is a deep and ancient story more complex than we can know, more divinely simple than we could wish to hold in our hands. I believe in the sound of everything, the creaking music that ties me to this world in every voice, ever whisper, every silent reverie. I believe in memory and all the mystical tricks it holds in its gently unfolding hills and chasms, how the rocky terrain of our mind folds and unfolds around the riddling twirls the wind breathes over our paths. I believe in love as the force beyond all other forces. As the great magnet holding the universe in silent, sentient nonsense. I believe in nonsense and what magical constellations of words may drum out of the deeply buried souls we have hidden from what we have deemed the king of humanity- that gummy, resilient sense maker named mind. I believe the mind is documenting the chaos and creation of my mystical, magical soul. 

Everything seems to be a symbol. Nothing truly exists in the hard and concrete way people seem to want to cling to. Everything moves, shatters, wings and transforms. When I begin to attune my ears to the 

I believe in the multiple dimensions of space and time…and though I cannot prove it…I can say with every puzzling fiber of my being that I have hacked, cracked and walked onto the fresh, fervent shores of these other dimensions. But even that is just a word, a way of describing what is absolutely unsayable. Even this body of mine is just a symbol- a form shaped to the whimsical wind of my soul- and it holds quite stiffly, I am amazed. Every time I go flying out of my body, high up or deep below or sliding through the sides I am always so amazingly surprised to find my body still intact, sitting in the same place I left it. I’m not afraid to say these things out loud anymore. In fact, it might be more insane to not say them at all. To pretend as if the plane I live on is even remotely close to the plane those around me seem to be so comfortable on. I cannot quite remember anymore what it was like before. 

I have no explanation. No words. No sounds. No visceral clapping shapes or an arrangement of colors to express the why. The how. The why I was chosen for this strange and miraculous journey through time, space, mind, matter and soul. No idea why I can feel these things and others cannot. I know I feel them. Regardless of any empirical, measure-able “fact”…what I can say is that I without a doubt experience these things. And if it is in the mind, what makes it any less real? What is NOT a projection of the mind? What is so solid that you can hold in your hand and say anything that is not a word that we ourselves have not crafted of our own meek minds? We are namers, labelers, foragers of the wind’s rhythm. We are not so precious and chaotic enough to be the creation path of the wind, we merely contort the wind in our mouths to our own secret shape of meaningful sounds we have endowed with artificial language. Nothing is true. Untrue. Everything is a rhythm of the ocean manipulated just finely enough that we can transmorph it into something else that we can make sense of. We are translators of the great chaos. The great beyond. The creation is creating us. And we get the wonderful pleasure of believing we can do or know anything at all. What a spectacular illusion. 

No. I have no idea why or how, I can only begin to feel the currents, the waves, the rhythm and how it taps at my skin like a pattering drum. How I sometimes misread, lose the sound, the rapture, and how it always find me. Always. I know that the minute I begin to let go of my own ego and give into the rhyme of the universe, I can hear my own footing again…but when I contort the sounds, attempt to control the forces, crush my mind into a fine powder, when I think I know where I’m going…I find myself running in place in the dark. I must let myself let go back into the “we.” Get to the beyond. And beyond that. And beyond that. The exhilerating infinity of this universe is all I’ll ever need. 

All I can say, all I can ever need to say…is trust. Trust deeply…more than you thought was possible. Trust yourself, trust the universe, trust the sweet music that sounds above your skin saying ‘more, more.’ Trust everything you have ever done, will ever do, every illusory path, every silent whisper…for they are ALL me, you, us. We are all the we and we are always singing in the place beyond right at wrong. We are the synchronous hum of the hymnals singing the universe into being. As long as there is love, there will be universe. As long as there is universe, there is breath. And this breath can sing the most musical fragments of our chaos into what we might believe, for a miraculous second is music.

 

Awaken your deep, radiating intuition. 

“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to a better understanding of ourselves.” -Carl Jung

 

Visualize the universe. Imagine your life. Hold on. Be patient. Find the love buried within the bones of all those around you. See in ten thousand directions all at the same time. Look into the hearts of those you love to find your true eyes. Look into the eyes of those looking at you to feel the soul you have given, lost and found. 

 

“The most important thing in this world is to learn to give out love, and let it come in.” -Morrie Schwartz

 

Give and give back and feel the tide turning, the moon yearning, the young learning. Feel the underside of hell scratching through your surface and know that its fire is light. Revolve in the newness you are at any given moment in the indefinite flux of life. Revel in the movement of momentous metamorphoses. 

 

“Love is saying, ‘I feel differently’ instead of ‘you’re wrong.'” -Unknown

 

Consult the deep knowing for all things on all steps on this path. Trust the deep, silent, violet intuition buried deep under your ribcage. 

 


Today I am rambling like pines and drifting like saturn aged moon blossoms. The sea is shaking this magichouse apart and family is rushing like wind to make, to mend, to remember. We’re all falling and we’re all flowing down these little memory tubes made out of curled, cocked childhood bends. Little roads and little alleys, huge monster sails and long gulleys of hair pulling and punching. We’re all stuffed up inside our old visions of frozen newness and little old tails to pin the donkey on and tales to tell the children to be born in the years that will surround us, abound us, create us and dissolve into another christmas tree, another shallow snow pile, another billowing season. to give love, to feel love coursing through the tips of your fingers, out through your hair, up through your nostrils and down around your crackling bold bones. little old housefeeling. 

today i held a little purple moon in my hand and gave it rest under the soft tissue of my sighs.
today i wandered far and wide under the slippery hide of all that’s whining, crying, creeping and stealing the hands of time.

she was littered and windy, little and swollen. toe touched and gravity pulled. moon dogged and slippery sided.
she was everything she was winter. she was wet with the colors of skin. she was holding the shiny hand of the future, tucking into the great sweet sweat of being alive.

her name was round and her eyes were sea. all things saw and all things breathed. today i was a winter trap of heat inside my bundle of coddled windows into soul. today i was barely clothed and dripping in snow. today i was a little farther off. tomorrow i’ll be a little closer to a home and a little farther from the great swell of my memory box. someday i’ll be somewhere sliding my cares into a leatherbox labeled “this is what i was.” someday all my words will hang themselves on the careless perch of presence and be seen and seeing for what they never were. for what the secret codes that hold and unfold mean. with mean, temptuous glares my sighing great hunk of matter will toss itself into the atomic sea of mind and will finally fold into the golden hunger of soul…reaching, reaching, always reaching out.

there’s this big magnetic pulse dragging me into the water and i don’t know if it’s me or the sea. something that sees or something that wants to be seen. the archetypal yes of everything we are.

someday i’ll send all my energy towards the great well of expression.

in the next great universe, we will all know our souls, and they will all be drenched in love.

if after time and before rhyme, the seas split and parted farewell, who held the great rolling rocks together? who danced the aching bones of the breaking waves into existence? who tied the branches of the trees together, linked like swollen shoelaces? who tracked the trails from here to there and back again to lead us through the endless music of the land? whose land are we borrowing and for what fee? for what freedom has set us ablaze? for what country’s name are we standing inside the muck of our own deluded deliverance? i’ve lost the time, the map, the place and the rhyme.

come here and sing it back together.

come back and watch the sky unfold.
come forward and reclaim the sacred.
come around and dissolve back into the tossing grateful rhythm you are.

what madness is this? what driveling, sweating mongrels have we become that we forget the tune of our own singing? that we beget what the moon remembered? that we lose the diamond-hearted trust of the swelling cosmic dance of the stars that carved our shapes out of slivers of silver asteroid breath? what cowering country of cowards have given rise to this slimy new decade of disease, disaster and discontentment? where has the wind blown from? from what enchanted portal have we closed our own doors and huddled our masses into our own great green grasses now drying to yellow, gold and grey. flecked with puny impudence, what ignorance has laid this great soul soldier to rest? who are we to neglect the thorny river of the moon?

bring the magic back, then we’ll renegotiate, renavigate, rebirth. 


“Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics. You are all stardust. You couldn’t be here if stars hadn’t exploded. Because the elements, the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution weren’t created at the beginning of time. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars. And the only way they could get into your body is if the stars were kind enough to explode. So forget Jesus. The stars died so you could be here today.”


Who in the rainbow can draw the line where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blendingly enter into the other? So with sanity and insanity.
—Herman Melville

i have to say. all i think about is the rain. the way the paint chips on the sidewalk. the way the sidewalks walk through my tilting little brainhead. the way my brain is centered straight ahead to see the future the past the present the gently unfolding curls of curling opalsence that meet me halfway down the road, on the street, at the corner of my feet where they meet the ground. where the ground grounds me to the sizeable chunk of earth i have laid my body on. i have chosen this life and the choice is to choose and the rip tide that may steal me away will keep me safely buried in the swing of the sea, in the ruble of the trees, in the timeless soul of certain cerebral swimmings.

so here’s the update. the honest truth is i see. i see what cannot be seen. i feel the form of the formless around my tightly knit skin and the burning bellows of my blissful belly. of my whistling sweet vinegar soul. i taste with my tongue, my mouth, my body, my soul, my endless rage of tortured divinities. all lost windows into the fullness of soul.

it’s in my taste, it’s in the devolution of soul, the revolution of mind, the catacylsmic seismic churning at the foot of my stairs leading up to the long and treachorus attic that sits on top of my skull. it’s wind wind cutting into your skin. it’s the salvageable sweet sensation of being alive. of being arriving. of a being arriving in its skin from the stars, from the mutating, rotating star spangled banner of our highwaving highway society. our culture of cracked skin and crinkling moral bones, fibrous mineral hearts dissolving at every repugnant new reality show. every whiff of whistling pollution that comes piling in from the onslaught of diluted, distorted air. it’s in the air, it’s in your hair, it’s in the bundled up bridges of broken connective tissues.

it’s fire and rain and the suburban terrain of torturous entrapments. its our own selfish breed of bubbling, bumbling, billowing newness. the ascent from newness of freshness to folding, molding collective collage of a dissolving culture.

and here i am. and there i am. i am words i am melodies i am soft shrill calls of morning birds. trills of thrilling halls of hills and the future gently careening towards me like a bright and blissful new light. like the likeness of my loveheart dragging me through the streets, up and down and up and down the melody of yes. of yes. of yes.

to tomorrow. the great Yes awakening in the night.  

and you are only after the ruble and inside the energy of the curling memories that wrangle and tangle and whistle out through the bottoms of your feet. through the hob nob center of your cerebrum that says i am one of myselves forever. i am part of the part of the parcel of mankind. 

she wrote, she ripped she tripped
she underlined the overscore and she stored the extra energy the sun gave her
inside her winter jacket
tucked inside the woolen pockets, tripled by the rainstorm curtains

ice cream and rice dreams and santa claus connections

 

And this world is made of hurricane and rain. Of matter and mind and connection and collections of dejections, rejections and creations. And creation is all we are, all we have, all we do. And at the end of the world, and the beginning of the world, the universe will be there with an umbrella and a bucket to mop up the mess and wait out the snow until the next rebirth. It’s just a season thing, this life we’ve got.

and after the before and above the around these is an answer pulsing in the dark, squealing in the mist, twisting in my musky residue of soul. there is soul and there is heart and beyond that everything seems to be illusion. the strange displays illuminating the back and forefront of my mind.

turns out we came with more than our parts. turns out our parts don’t click when they set in to our bones. turns out the turn out for those awake versus those still asleep in the midafternoon sun is shocking and splintering. turns out nothing quite turns out, just develops black and white and rainbow. 

within the wilting and outside the cracking crinkles of the motivated moon. 

and trust and trust and trust the seething, scarring universe as is casts you down and around through the murk and the mayhem of the slinking caverns of chaos and connection that it wants to dream you into. and believe and breathe into the mess of twisting tunnels of force that want to crack open your spleen and twist body around your brain. and soar through the floating heights of heroic dance and dream that your life will always be, for one infinite instant, a breath of absolute aliveness. and follow that aliveness all the way back through awareness, to awakeness…back to rebirth.
and sing and stream and steal away all the sunlight that has been gifted to you. speak and shriek and with the pummeling torso of your throat, cry out with all the irredescant, painful joy of being formed. be formed of the formlessness and curl back into your body as if it is all there is. as if this mound of flesh and fresh bones are the only things you will ever know. 
glow. the stars have been waiting to welcome you back. pulse. the heart of the earth beats brightly amongst the moonshine. freely, fearlessly, captivatingly immerse yourself in the hum of the strumming sounds that wisk you into reality. that wish you into being. be be be and at the end of your days and the top of your craze…dream.
dream that you might see. 
dance with blood, with the flood of the universe.