AWE/mirror of heart

The cosmos plays us with illusion: it mirrors and inverts perception to draw us towards light, truth, unity... We want it, but first we must survive. We get the metaphor, just an old upside down one, then we sit on the record scratch and bump bump into illusion like big sweet babies. Inversion is a somewhat kinder road for the real to be revealed. Can we cultivate love and trust for our beloved nemesis/selves over the lash. What is it in the eye that reverses all things so carefully? Where the eye sees out, it looks in. Only through our receptiveness to what is, does the "mystery " vaporize. There is a Mystic's Awe that Multiplies. We were made from stars, and our potential is to be a vehicle for the cosmos, but most of us are hallucinating a lot of the time... We often wear our tomb stone around our neck like an albatross: Here lies [IWM]. Die before you die. Die to broken thoughts. Imagination brings us closer to and further from the real. Is it creative or is it separating. If i was that blind, how blind am i Now? Enter into some kind of communication with a larger reality. Drop some veils-(not all, please)- of the imagination. We are naked, together, slave and free, yet were afraid of XTC. Love is the intention behind the intention. "Stay the same. Change." Who's voice is that? Loosen the tourniquet on your heart. Do a head stand to see something different, be a fool and let the blood of the heart fill your head. Just don't be stupid. Time IS love and love is what is passing. Also will the music of this breath and heart beat. Make your house your home before you fly away.
( first entries are at the bottom- with a different format bc im not that technical!)



Hail to the veil of
blindness and sight

 kind mind reveal the path in tangible bites
make the path of dissolution easy and fluid in its fullness

dreamer seer knower lover beloved starry nights
drape your blanket round this dome to admit a smudge of light
a subtle shift is a magnitude and a death in this little life

The evolution of the neocortex and sex are parallel processes
The drive of spirit towards spirit marches on.

moon becoming shadow
 = potentialities


Pikture book

opposing quotes and a few of my latest favorite images posted by David R and beyond

Robert Frost said poetry is lost in translation.  Another person ? said it is actually in the translation where the poetry of new forms are born and creation lives.  If we determine to define ourselves as fixed in identity, country, belief, inaction, we fall prey to rot. If we are too porous anything can come in and anything can fall out.  If rigid, very little penetrates- so sad! Integrate so no thing is stagnant. No thing is with out multiple intersections. Everything is fleeting unfolding potential.  The watcher is the constant axis within the whirling. The watcher is the friend.  Consult your own purpose. Trust yourself and become trustworthy.   Black is first light.  Consult the darkness and the light.  Light draws the darkness.  Be not afeared. The flowers are always unfolding. Far more liberating than the phantasmagoria of Black Friday and"choice" is the recognition of belonging to something VAST.
Photo National Geographic:  Orion Space Jewel
"I was a Hidden treasure who longed to be known" -Koran
our bodies are made of stars.
(manet) revealing the veil
AW - love this image.
Increase in bewilderment, wonder- S. Sovatsky says in an increasingly demystified world materialistic interpretation often prevails an anchor to the filament of the web of mortality holding us back from the deep space of whats unknown.  Mirroring our past moving infinitely back instead of forward as we age. Our minds are accumulative machines built for survival and vastly awe inspiring. Yet we, - i  and you regenerate hallucinations from the past more than being innocently open, even naked to the potential awakening of the moment and the face we gaze at.
Now, i will enrich my own weighty materialism and consider another thing of beauty to soften my surroundings.
A rug with lovely lines.


one year

A year ago aug 2 we said goodbye, July 11 she sailed on. January 10th, 1970 she was born, three days after me in the same hospital. We met again 6 years later on the schoolyard.  I've said she was my twin. A year flies by strange without her.  Yet, she is constantly referenced, among those who understand the depth of her impact.  We tasted life with the zesty one, Miss Meredith.  Without her, tears run sweet with the aches of knowing her. Sorrow in missing her constant crack-ups, freaky funny and rare heart. Joy and sorrow together tastes good.  I'm forever humbled and moved to hug the earth when reminded I am amidst this brief awesome treasure that is always moving, always changing always going always creating. Missing Meredith reminds me I am alive, I'm reminded of her fire and see how sweet and short it all is.  If I think of her fierceness and what she would say, maybe I'll get off my ass and be a little braver, and a little more adventurous. I know she would say and give "kisses" before she hung up the phone.  Luckily, I hold her image as a perfect point of light in my heart.  I carry my Meredith everywhere.  To know someone and be known is how we come to know ourselves. Alhamduillah.  We do nothing and are nothing alone.



The world is so empty if one thinks only of mountains, rivers and cities; but to know someone here and there who thinks and feels with us, and though distant, is close to us in spirit — this makes the earth for us an inhabited garden. 
- J.W. von Goethe
 the spotted dog i love so

A person begins to know he exists when he finds himself again in others.
- J.W. von Goethe


i would like to have a farm for my cattle dog to have a sheep dog friend and some sheep and or goats to herd. I'd love, then to make wool or cheese or both, then sweaters and blankets, and an expansive view and perhaps some private shady nooks and streams, certainly a barn to paint in, some fruit trees, a vegetable patch, cutting garden, and a wide veranda, and conservatory to view it all, to stretch, rest, reading, and drink iced hibiscus tea.


Within a dream.

Within a dream, he was real.
This old poem wont go away, so here it is in its entirety, though id like to edit it. 
(The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long - Horace)

THEY are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:

I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
Ernest Dowson
-with a heavy heart i say good bye to another friend.
I feel heavy with the weight of life's story,
who could predict this, but one who knows.
the prison of the body can not be underestimated especially with such a finely tuned instrument.
maybe now he is free
was this his last time round the track?
His spirit, memory, voice, laughter, face follows me all over my house these few days in dreams & consciousness.
Look how much it took to take him down!
a fortress
a handsome tank
he always reminded me of a boy of 4
with his backpack, freckles, soft strawberry mop, sincere thoughtful
old soul, formidable, real, with that deep laughter, humility, warmth, gave us the spot  we all knew in ourselves and made it human and lovable.
Can we love ourselves, our children, each other with the empathy and tenderness you gave your characters?  We could with them, wipe the mirror (a little bit), be brave and look like you did.
I remember your fairness when i was perturbed at my father, you said you are taking away his role to be a dad, let him give his advise.  You advised me to "marry" a normal guy- avoid all actors, rockstars and athletes! Mostly we talked about art, life and human nature.   His favorite painting, Quest Over is here, with new meaning.
Teacher, friend, artist, creator, father...
Your life was propelled by "the same engine", as you said, i could apply it where i chose, not in just one place. That same engine is what gave us YOU in life, and in death.
When people say,"what a waste of talent, i can not concur.  He wasted nothing, burned twice as bright, as he loved it all and gave it all.  My heart goes out to his family, wishing peace to their hearts.

RIP, Phil.  I love you and thank you for your friendship.
Fondly, forever.

"Quest Over"