The Truth of the Aging Heart

Embracing the wink, his lesser self receives his smile of sane judgement. And the lady is now a suspect, although she shines in an area of cloud, in summertime nonetheless. And eyes twinkle within the entertainment, not expecting deliverance. And there is great distance, and it helps to create some kind of vagueness, obscurity even. And an empty heart is a vulnerable thing, it is hungry and can be easily gratified. And youth can very easily flatter age, it has a mighty power in its grasp, and sometimes it may know how to thrill, how to get what it wants, how to gain control. And the heart and its search can close its door to discernment. But the heart has a mind right beside its romance. The heart is not a fool when it has gained experience. It matures, as it has learned the lessons that life has put in its way. Crazy love has given way to a real love, and real love is the truth of the aging heart.

Love

Mediocrity hangs in the middle of the mountain, a misnomer, a peaceful word, when it is advertised as some kind of downfall. And in the middle, there is a reason and a solace. I wonder sometimes about definition. Words have their limits, and many misunderstandings, they will never replace feelings, sometimes they are very false in their interpretation, and they will deceive and they will attempt to fool. And then, all I have to give to you are words, when I can no longer hold you and give you the physical part of me. Our relationship is incomplete, it hungers for the reality that only truth can bring as I hunger for the part of you that only love can bring. And love is the feeling that supercedes touch and words, it stands by itself and has no master, it has no influence to adhere to, it is naked in its truth, and its truth is of beauty. And love stands still, and I so many times, look in its direction, and my look and its search seek to be in touch, to meet to become friends. And love is just itself, and is enticing, and is in a place of its own, and that particular place, is very suggestive, and it can magnetise, and when you decide to forever pursue it, you perhaps may even accidently stumble upon it.

A Candle meets the Sun

Candle flame blowing with the fan in a day of bright sun. Other seasons sleep, I wonder if they look on with a sense of intimidation? They have retired into a wilderness of their own, they are passed, but ultimately not of the past. Movement decreases and hearts are still and absorbing. A Chinese girl with a parasol, speaks to me pleasantly, yet not saying a word, nor even casting a look. I smile yet, to her fleeting presence, and when she is gone, she is not gone, she remains as a memory of the glory of the day. And the day, and its glory breathes love and it instills a beautiful spirit, there is thunder in the warmth, in the feeling projected. And the world of art is tantalised, it leans into the day, into its comfort, into its kindness and its love. And it seems the beauty of the day is an expression from love itself, and it seeks to touch the world of its subjects, it doesn't discriminate, it is free in its giving, and it dedicates itself to all and everyone.

You are what you eat

If we are what we eat, and a lot of the time we don't know what it is that goes into what we eat, does this mean that untimately, we don't know who we are?

Festival of Life

22 degrees celcius in balmy Dublin today and happy faces are ambling around, and the ladies are looking at ease, in humble attire, and the sun has infused its spirit in hearts, and the hearts have invaded the minds, and coloured thought. It is a festival of life, and for today, there is no tomorrow. Now can be all there is, that matters.

Spirit

Spirit can be a foreigner. I am thinking a series of thoughts this afternoon, purifying myself somehow, and then that thinking is over, and I makes tracks and go downtown return to my place, feeling so good. Thank you spirit. You brighten my day.

The Fool Man

The fool man submerged by his adoration of the female side of the species. And she has all the tricks of trade, and plays him. He is overwhelmed by a part of himself, he can't desist. And the lady is the artist and she is a painter and a walking deception. And he will speak of his love for her, when in reality the love that he believes that he has for her, is in his hunger. And love is the miracle, it evades, and it confuses, and it tacitly asks for understanding. It is not readily available, it desires explosion of the personal self, it isn't easy. And love is outside of physical touch, when it truly is love, and it is a unity of understanding and feeling. And when there is love, the expression of it in words, deviates from it. It is a pure thing in itself and doesn't seek accompaniment from any form or art, even though it may give itself to art also. Love I think in is silence and in the stillness and togetherness of two people. It is higher life, and it beams through the mundanity. It is alone. It is free and it is real.

Reaching Out to the Rebel

Searching into my feeling, for the place where you now are. And who will direct my direction, and who will guide me to this place? And I am open to anywhere, and I am in movement, and slowly and carefully heading myself to you. And you are next to me, and yet I must find you, and the place that this life has taken you to be in. And I have been considering different realities, and what really is the truth of a person, and in particular, what is the truth of you? And if life is an illusion, then life is a deception, and the truth of a person will not be found there. I think I am searching for the reality of you, away from the things that you did and said. I hold you inside of me, and I will hold you inside of me, until I find you, and when I find you, I will forever hold you inside of me until we are one, and then we will be together again.

The Quare Ones

Would you just listen to the quare one? And isn't she a thing to behold? And she acts as if she is the angel and the other quare one is beneath her. As far as I can see, the quare ones are both quare ones. And would you just look at the style of her condescension and wouldn't you know, that she is loftier in her whoredom. And would you just look at the style of her history, and would you just smile at its innocent stupidity. And don't you just love your own style of mockery, and don't you want it to increase, and don't you find yourself superior?

Master of the Moon

The moon is the god of love, it will tempt you and it wlll entice you and then it will embrace you, it will seek to become you, so you have to still it, to come to terms with it,to recognise it and control it in your own way, remember that you are the master of the moon.

Longing for the Moon

The sexual moon, full of the real thing. It is looked to for its endorsement, it turns away, it refuses, it will not comply to a comforting need. And its the King of Love and it seeps into the eyes and it expresses itself through its subjects. And then the day arises, when the moon has gone to sleep, and there is brightness in the day, and it shines in the spirit, and in this same spirit there is poetry and song, and wanting to invite the world to illumination. It is still here, life is quiet, and open to choice. And it tastes like freedom, and the freedom looks everywhere around and searches into the self, and the relationship is kindled. Tonight the world is on fire, and it is asking for understanding, it is asking for acceptance, and it is longing for the moon.