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!)


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"