Moon

The stark moon in its fullness, firing its way into the nighttime, part of the clothing of the sky, and its a quiet fire, that he fires, and he fires in all of the world, calling on the tide, and calling on us to love, and driving us to our extremes and beyond. There is no escape, acceptance is vital, and then the day escapes, and it seems to believe that it has the power to be able to walk on its own, until darkness dims the day, and then the stark moon in all of its fullness, fires its way into the nighttime.

Beauty

Power of the beauty in the face of the lady, and another, with envy seeks competition, its a losing, winning battle, and valid, and somehow pleasing, And on Talbot Street, I saw her, and she gave me the quest for understanding, and outside of all of us, truth has to deal with beauty, and, you know, truth can be the greatest tyrant, and it lives on the side, and you could say that it is smug within itself, I'm sure that truth, really doesn't care. So one variety of plasticity confronts another, without looking to the eyes, without actually being alive, to the honesty of soul. And ultimately, I know that I am the one to blame, in my search for something, that in an off-moment I would care to call 'beauty.'

Christmas

There is good in the hearts of men, much of our goodness goes unpublicised. We so readily hear, about all the bad in the world, from tyrannical governments, to murderers and general evil doings. There is good in the hearts of men. We are not always comfortable with expressing our love for them, to others, but we show love, and even to perfect strangers, we can show love. He shows you an act of love, as you ask for simple directions to somewhere that you wish to find, and not being content with informing you about how to get there, he may even take you there. He has shown love to you, a simple and honest expression of human love, that has asked for nothing in return. And Christmas is the time of year, I believe, when people have become less inhibited with their expressions of love. Christmas is a thing of natural human beauty, and we rejoice in it.

The Science in the Mystique of Art

The Science in the Mystique of Art.

The Joyful Onion Peeler

The joyful onion peeler, and dark love of infinite gaze. Memories of tomorrow, history is conquered, lost in its hollowness, defenceless at the dawn. Joy and sorrow merge as peace, turning to the day, and the sky, and the past has returned, to find its story confronted by an elongated present time, life and death sing the one song, mind has given way to feeling, and truth, awaits its rightful time.

Stillness

The ragged moneylender, is changed to a different fit, and the evening appeals in relative nakedness, to a temporal pursuit, curtains drawn against the recent, closure against an attempted conqueror, in the time of a barren stillness, yet he is still to the moment, without trepidation or dread. And all over the air, the phantoms present, and often there is nothing said, when the words have been spoken, in the reliance on emptiness, in a twitchy time of fear of a moment, and then suggestion of diversion, that will take and steal from time, and the barren stillness, will become the peaceful stillness, and the moment will be absorbed into the living stream, and other eyes will settle upon the peace and will be drawn, be drawn to the same stillness.

Walking in Our Love

Excuse me my confusion, my moments of the doubt of my uncertainty. I walked out today, still carrying your words beside me, in my head, and when I walked from you, I knew that I couldn't really ever walk from you. And the day for me broke late, I came alive with it. And even if I wanted to escape from you, I couldn't escape from you, and now I discover that you can feel how I feel in a psychic moment, and we differ in a moment or two, and it is nothing more than adding breadth to our love, and when you go your way, I believe you take me along with you, and when I go mine, you are there with me too. It seems like love has cast its net over us, and there is no escape, no ultimate freedom, there is just the truth of our love, and it is in everything that there is of us, and about us.

Today

Today? I will just let it come at me, and gaze into its face, and have the usual argument with it, and then we'll see who wins.

Transition

Orchestral music soothing the day, and dreams of distance flicker on the equator of decision, when the smile of summer has lent itself to autumn, and within all of the midst, stands the real, defying definition and conclusion, and the distance casts shadows on the soul, and the heart is wild, as only the heart can be, and the separation of the warm air and the cool air, breathing within the same as one, and the present feeling of it being too soon for memory engages the spirit and the spirit urges present action, and action turns to ask itself if it is going in the right direction, and it seeks the earth and the sun and the moon for its answers, and there is slowness, and there is speed, not always a matter of choice, and then there is the quiet dictator, the mysterious quiet dictator, before thinking mind relays his thoughts to the self, and the question arises once again: 'am I really a person?' And how much am I the marionette, of a bigger player, so who is this marionettist, and what is his purpose and where does he come from, and why does he hide in the spiritual shadows of humanity, and then another day begins, just like the last one, only to be faced with another tomorrow, and faces change and voices change, but they look and feel the same and utter the same things in our narrowness, in our being captive dreamers unable to reach for the answers always, and knowing nothing.

Thunder from the Heart

Thunder from the heart, and it enters the mind, and it uneases, and takes you to a foreign place, and you become aware, determined to resist this potential slavery, and you look into the memory, the memory before the thunder, when there was oneness of self, at least to your own personal perception, and now, there is the task of bringing a part of tomorrow into today, but awareness, that today is today, and that the past is gone, it has left, it remains, just a part of memory, a part of the existence nonetheless, and you work to determine the realness of the self, the one, that only you, know who you are, in your aloneness, in your truth, in the privacy of personal honesty of spirit and soul, and always, there are disruptions, antagonisations, and they assault, and they would like to steal you from yourself, but then you understand just what they are, and then they sink into their own ignorance and unknowing, and you know, and you are the only one who does, and you don't seek vanity, and in fact, you fight against it, and in the end then, you are left with yourself, and how do deal with the self, outside of thunder, outside of self love, outside of condemnation, outside of the obvious reality, and you venture into a place where love may dwell, and imagining where you belong, and where you fit there, and into exactly the moment, now.

Life Explodes

So you are just trundling along from week to week, and each day, is difficult to differentiate from the last one, and then suddenly Life Explodes!