Today Becomes Yesterday

You dwell in a place albeit temporarily, but you are oblivious to any allotted time span befitting the present place. You project, and you seep yourself into this moment and place in time, there may be affection, and there may be longing. And in the night you may dream of the happenings of the day, and the days before, you may even bring this present situation that you stand in, into your dream. And you perhaps, may be unknowing, unaware of how this place receives you, in your drive to be right there, because you believe somehow, inside, that this is the only place for you to be right now, and then your comfortable feeling is shattered, signals inform you that this is not the place where you belong,that this is a temporary place, and a place that must be left behind in yesterday. And it may take a while to fully relieve yourself from the attachment that you had found there, And in time, it could be a day and it could be year, you understand that this place was not your home, and that you have some other place to go.

Success and Failure

Just one step away from failure, ah but you sidestep into the wonderland of success, with an eye on the temperature of the moment. Its odd how successfulness loves to question itself, like there is something lacking in its confidence. I guess when a thing isn't constant, it may create uncertainty. The wise tend to question themselves when the fools tend to forgive themselves in their unthinking, albeit tacitly, and without awareness. There is sensitivity and self consciousness within the wise and they don't seem to scream about their successes too much. In the melting pot though, everything has the same merit. You arrive at a point, and what does it matter how you happened to reach that point? So the wise and the foolish are closer to each other than one might think. We are all the same and none of us know, we just attempt, and some of us appear to win, certainly in the eyes of certain others, and some of us appear to lose, again in the eyes of others. And our own eyes, are suspicious to us, for they are selfish eyes, and they seek always for understanding from others. There is no contentment in isolation, there is always the quest for confirmation, acceptance. Perhaps then success and failure are more or less the same.

The New Order

They're throwing the lions to the Christians, the circus is on fire, and the government is all in jail. The world is having second thoughts, and science is questioning its sanity. Tomorrow is the prospect of unpredictability, some are frightened into the comfort of their easy answers, and some are on fire with their imaginations. And just around the corner from tomorrow are wild dreams of crazy truth. Freedom is in the air, and the air has the whiff of options and opportunities. Doors open wide to a new reality, what appeared to be lost, now appears to have been mislaid, uninformed, confused, overwhelmed. And the Christians sure are battling the lions, like the fight is from past lifetimes. Buddha sits still and smiles a fat smile, remembering how he left his loved ones and went on the road. I guess that at last his conscience is starting to bother him. The sun rains on a moonlit day, the earth escapes into the wilderness, all the comfort left, is in the fire of love, it is unchangable. It remains true, it dwells in hearts of love, and it explodes into beauty.

Silence and Sound

Interrupting me when I don't want to talk, there is more to peace than silence, when I have nothing to say. Some people seem to be afraid of the absence of sound. And then there is that screaming silence, a quiet aggression, A beautiful stillness, pervades sometimes, nonetheless, it reaches into the heart of you and it comforts and it shelters it walks you in its own direction and you have no choice but to follow.

Song

A meandering wind, takes me to places I never been. I wonder if poverty creates greed, and I have never been to poverty, but somehow, I am being shown the way to go there. The night is still, except for me, I am not still in the night. I am restless, and I wonder if my restlessness is noticed by the night. Dreams escape from the ether, they now gain life in a real place, they are mattering. And so far away from me, in a different place, glory exists, it does not take itself easily, it will not subside. Glory has its pride, and is attentive and stands lateral to my movement. The song appears to have died, there was disparity between the lyric and the air. And music is alive and it thrills.

Different Places

Similar games in different places, the eyes of minds and hearts, go searching through the barriers. I try to make some kind of sense out of my self, thoughts escape and flee sometimes within emotion. In this duality, there is some kind of oneness, although within it all, there is doubt. Truth stands behind its curtain, waiting for its cue. There is an area of mystery, and in this place, knowledge is lost somehow, for now, at least. The answers of decision are veiled, alive is a world between truth and corruption, and suspicion is always on hand, it would appear to be the only thing around that has any kind of understanding. Hearts fall and rise again, constancy is changing its course always, and elusive is its soul, it whirls in its own confusion, sometimes here and sometimes there, and sometimes it runs away to rest. And the focus is the future, undetermined although at times, imagined. Crazy is the heart when it doesn't know the way to travel, when it is unsure, when it is, ill at ease. And in different places, time suspects. The moon dances in the night, to the tune of romance. Otherwise, the sky is asleep and has nothing to declare. Even fortune tellers stand amazed and ask 'did this really happen to you?' to the reply of a semi-smile, of memories past. The world looks on, indifferent apparently, without opinion. Perhaps the world holds the answer, and its padlock just has to be unlocked.

Cormac

What I write is for you my darlng boy. Since you left, I have decided to dedicate my words to you. I have tried to be at one with you, and I will yet try. Where you are today, is the place, or is one of the places that i ponder upon. I try to exclude the darkness, and I dream that a life once lived, is its own expression. And you dwell within me and will continue to do so. You were of me, and you are of me, and you will always have been of me. There is no separation, death will not keep us apart. As long as I dwell in this land of life, you will dwell right here with me, and in this way I will keep you alive until my breath is no more. And I just had this sense that you were different from how you were, from how you lived. I can yet feel it. And perhaps where you are today will understand you, and will be close to you. When I lost you, I lost a part of myself, but my memory tells me that we are together, and neither of us can be alone.

French Cafe Evening

There you were, clinging to the remains of an French cafe evening. T-shirt and jeans, and eyes searching the distance. And outside the traffic is abuzz with its action. The clock, stops to dream, its hands empty now. We are in a museum of stillness, but still that sense of ages, persists. We are in the church of time, and time has become mislaid. I can only look at you again within all of the stillness, lest I may feel the fear of this moment, so you are exalted by me now, you have gained some greater position, as yet unbeknownst to you. We travel outside, the city streets are cold and hungry in the nighttime, they become lost within the darkness, and there is fear in the skies, and their only comfort is their stars. And shape shifting is happening, right before our eyes, that is, if only our eyes could look from outside of us. We can see only each other and this particular night, and perhaps our motion. The question to be asked is; 'Now where do we go?'

God

And in this particular ether, there are dreams of dreams, and places of sun that dwell in hearts of dream. Focus is confused and sometimes, just sometimes, things appear to become clear. And where is the place of this apparent clarity I sometimes wonder? Perhaps it is in the sky somewhere, in a place where angels reside, and perhaps it is on a cloudy day in a place where the lion tamer's breath seeks out the psychic mind of the fortuneteller. She knows things that are not common to know, and I am envious of her. I would like to touch the root of her smile, I would like to know where all of her insight emanates from. And I think of eyes, and I think of nature, and I think of the one who really holds the cards, and has loaned them to her, to discover what she may make of them. So truth is distant and people, or some people looking for it, seem to think that it should come easily to them, when they have the feeling of purity within themselves, and perhaps that feeling of purity within themselves is no more than a feeling of purity within themselves. The sky cracks thunder, and it rains on the other side of the world, and there are prayers to Gods, as yet undefined, perhaps God has looked at you and your prayers and has decided that your prayer and you belong among you and yours, and that you and yours, are the God that you seek so fervently.

Conformity

The idea of achieving the impossible is a thrilling thing. The barriers of imposed, so called 'reality' come crashing down, they are helpless and they really don't know which way to turn. And I am standing here, looking at this apparent impossibility, and I laugh into its face, yet my laugh is not one of mockery, but a laugh nonetheless. My laughter just wants to quietly explain to the impossible, that it isn't impossible, that it isn't out of reach, that it is attainable, a dream has explained this to me, and dreams are no fool. Objects of nature, like trees, teach the spirit well, and the spirit is imbued with a certain kind of love. That kind of love that is willing to give its spirit to the overwhelming of crazy so called, impossibility. And in the mirror of the memory of my mind, I saw a young man cry, in his constriction. His strength was taken from him, and he thought that the enemy was his judgement, when the enemy was his conformity.

The Journey of the Self

Journeying onward, stars descend to the eyes. and the moon shines in approval. What is known as 'sense' hides in its corner. Seeking for comfort from a completely different place. And this place today, in this moment, accepts itself in its unreality, in its gift of romance. The clock has lost its tick, and time has disappeared into its tediousness. A new day has begun and its rules have been mislaid. There is no black and white feeling within the changes of the heart. Life approves in its sense of justice, in its allowing you to be free. Memory has died, and the world seeks to become at one with itself. Thought has been betrayed, it lies in a lonely forsaken place, and it is lost in this place, it doesn't quite know where it should turn to. Now is the special time, and the feeling and ambition within this now. And this now is impregnated with desire, and this desire will search into the personal eyes for direction. This is the moment that has been dreamt of and it will live. On the street come the voices of the playing children and they seem to unite in unison to the tone of this time. Darkness has been overcome by light, and all that there is, is possibility, of the creation of wild imagining, manifested. Life is new. Life has suddenly changed, the self is in control. The self is suddenly in charge.