We Are One

Alive to this moment, and then nervously looking at the possibility of you, the darkness in our skies seems to subside into oblivion. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, but perhaps from the great God, I am confronted. You have sung the song that was in my heart, and I am helpless in compliance, and I gaze upon the pictures on your wall, that were written for me. And there is no point in trying to understand anymore, because there can be no understanding, what is, just is. Mind has given way to heart, and the heart is open searches into the open. And in the open, the whole world. And I refuse the past, in my consciousness of this moment. There is beauty in the air, and I am entranced. There is a kaleidescope forever changing, until it fixes itself on you and nowhere else. I am lost in you, and my own personal history, has become lost within itself. Your life lives within my life, and just like making love, we are one.

Now

Wild in a dream, the movement in the moment is given zest. I put my mind to sleep, for a rest that is overdue. Life is a aflame in its possibility, constriction is in bed with the mind, and the heart breaks through, its eyes are on fire with longing and creativity, and the day stands lateral to the present moment, it is somehow alien, to the present feeling. Time is a memory that will not be remembered, all there is, is now, and the feeling of this particular now. And the feeling is the sense, that grasp of sensuous now. There is no escape nor can there be, from the escape that the feeling explodes into the sleeping mind. Eyes, live to dwell in mystic life, eyes that have smiled and eyes that have cried. there is sun in the rain, and it attacks its shower its downness. And possibilities cling to the sun, and the sun inspires, it acts as a guardian, it radiates into some kind of magic. And there is magic in the stillness, and then the stillness is in motion and it succeeds. It lives.

Jennifer

I long for you jennifer, your serious look, the truth in your eyes, your long dark hair and your fullsome lips. I long to be with you on a warm day, walking with you in peace and in stillness. I long to make you smile and see your smile bewilder the day. And I long for your touch and feel your breath on my face. I long to help rid you of your darkness. And I long for you to touch me with your love, and I long for our love to manifest.

Life and Dream

Facets of person, like, do I believe you? when you are so interchangible? Our hearts drum, in a place that searches for music. You are new here, and in the reaches of your mind, is your sense of radio. Beauty stands aloof, there is an angry look, and then a sympathetic smile, it makes you wonder. Night comes down, and you gaze toward the glory of the day, which was of yesterday. Eyes crawl out of the darkness, your hands are tied enough to know that you can't be there with them. And suddenly, all there is, is now, and you care to think that this 'now' is the answer, is your guardian, is the one to give comfort. And this 'now' pretends to be forever present, to be some kind of permanent reality. So you, are standing on the sidelines, looking at the picture, until, the picture sinks into the life of your dream. And then you wonder about your life, and then you wonder about the dream....

Wondering

Some place in the past. A quiet moment remembers. Lost to the moment that this moment itself is in. And to delve into this place can summon the darkness, and the darkness is the enemy of the day. And the day gazes into the eyes and it wants to explode, it is uncontented with your reality, it wants a little bit more, something extra. And then it has suggested, that you look a little further into the day, and you are sitting there, just thinking, just being. Not exactly thinking of movement, and not exactly thinking of standing still. And the night can set fire to the placidity of all within its grasp. It can gain control over the day, and the life within the day. And so there is the confrontation with the day and the night, and you stand in the middle helplessly, you hardly can be aware of this confrontation, but at some point, you may enquire, when the mystery has confounded you, into a place where comfort no longer strays. And then music plays, and perhaps, the sun may shine. And inside, there is fire, and the fire looks for understanding, and it looks into your eyes for expression. And then you are in the corner, wondering, and your wondering may turn to wondering of where your next action lies.

The Diversions of Summer

That torrential rain was out of this world, wading home in six inches of it, really has made my day, not to mention the thunder and the the lightning, and then a complete change of clothing. Oh, the joys and the diversions of summer!

Adversity

Adversity is when life looks at you with a question mark

Where are You With Me?

Dancing my imagination within your mystery. My eyes turn inward and question my ambition and motive. There is a faulty connection, and it tries to imbue me with guilt. And I ask myself, 'am I doing right, or am I doing wrong?' And this love, that we speak so often of: Is it a righteous thing, or is it something that belongs in a back alley? And my thought takes me to you, yet again, despite physical reality. There is great vagueness in the picture of the story, and you declare your love for me, and I am in the corner, and I don't know which way to turn to get out of it. And you are in the heart of me, when the heart looks for real answers. So you, are not then a conclusion, you are dancing in mid air somehow, painting your dream on the outskirts of my thinking mind, and all I crave is feeling, that feeling of justice, of doing what it rightful.

The Artist

The song and the sound have gone to sleep, who knows, if it is to return? and the creation of the song dies in its creation, it cannot linger, it can only be memorised and repeated, so the song belongs to the particular moment, mood, feeling and soul of the song. And if you care to record the song, you lose its real truth, yet, you can still hear its sound. A particular moment of love is like this too, and love is its own kind of song and it lingers. and it also subsides. And artists can say the most vain of things, like 'I am the messenger' 'I am the intermediary' outside of the creation of their art. And I wonder if outside of the creation of the art, is the artist still an artist. I guess this is the point when perhaps the artist embraces his ego. A person is an artist, no less than a classical author or writer. Artist, you should moderate, you should be selfless you should lose your self in your art, or you are not an artist.

Taxi in Belfast

I'm in Belfast and there is a connection I have to make to get to the Ferryport, but I can't be bothered waiting for it, as I got an early bus, so I decide on a Taxi, so I approach the Taxi rank outside the Europa bus station, and then this guy says to me 'are you looking for a taxi, where are you coming from?' I tell him 'Dublin' and he directs me to a suitable taxi, and I get in, and it only then I realise, that if I had been a Protestant, I would have had to get into another taxi. How sad is this in the 21st Century?

Heart and Mind

And sometimes crazy is the right way to go, far from prudence and austerity. Perhaps, just a single time, when a particular situation has been created, has been a confrontation. And sometimes the heart demands to be heard, and to be in control. And romance invades reality, or stands lateral to it, and mind, is old and out of originality, and when it is total, it is boring. And love is little of mind anyway, and mind cannot know not even in its wildest most sustained study. Perhaps the heart is a student too, and perhaps it can sense more than mind can think, that it can know.