Christmas to me.

There are few things like this moment, or that moment that has created this one. The warmth of love felt in the gathering of those you share your life with, the connection that happiness creates, the beauty in the smiles and contentment of community for which makes all of us Beings despite our humanity. The removal of form is the essence that glows within us all that does not create, but rather is born of creation and proof of something so much greater than any of us can fathom.

Such is love, such is peace, such is the essence of all things in the condition of that which is its simplest, the simplest form of the formless, the condition of all things removed from their selves.

Such is the gift of Christmas to me, that which is born a Savior is not man at all, or god, or otherworldly, but simply of this world in which Heaven is in our midst and at moments like this we can catch a glimpse of it. The celebration not of the man born, but of the understanding of the birth of formless devotion to Being, a moment of time not of self, but of selflessness. Such is a birth, a melting of self and selflessness in utter perfection, of Divine Being merged with selfless acceptance of the moment. Such is the perfect notion of live lived in that one moment of such a marriage.

A birth, whether of a god or of a man, is such an example of perfect harmony. A mother gives her Self to acceptance of the moment. She does what Nature does prescribe, contracts as Nature does order, and is relieved as is ordained well beyond her authority. She puts her very safety in the hands of Being, and in such trust a Being is born to her, or not, a Being that in its very existence is given to acceptance. That babe will be hungry until fed, chilled until swaddled, cry until comforted and shall be at the disposal of such acceptance. The child is perfect in its need and disposition, and the mother is perfect in her selfless offering to that which has no choice be to be dependent on such selflessness.

And such is the example we celebrate this day. Birth is a gift to man to be better than he is at any given moment. Christmas to me is the celebration not of the birth of a god, but the birth of Being in all of us. When we look past form, the gifts, the man, the faith, the decorations, we can see the formless love that is part of us in the sharing of this moment. We can, once form is removed from the moment, experience that which we can see every moment, the connect in Being between our Selves and the Selves of others. It is the gift that keeps on giving if we just would see it even if for the first time.

So now, I look at the tree and the decorations not as they are, but now see the love that went into making them be. I feel the tie between those of us in this room, the connection of the giver to the receiver, and see that gift is not the wrapped offering we exchange, but of the love that made them be. I can see the joy in the faces of my children and see that the forms are not what has made that joy, but the love that went into such forms. They gifts will fade in time, but the love that made them this moment shall never fade. It is the true meaning of such a holiday, a special day that should be celebrated in such a gift of love daily.

So, share the Holiday, no matter what your reliance on form calls it. Should it be Christmas or any other name, share the truest gift of all with all Beings whether known to you or not, that gift of what your purest essence shall be called: Love. In such a simple state you shall see Heaven in your midst even if for the very first time. It is this simple state the man whose birth we celebrate this day, the message of what should be born in all of us, a message the implores us all to allow love to be born in us, to guide us, to be the gift of each moment that we take as well as give, and the removal of forms that may hinder our ability to see such a thing like Heaven around us.

So this day our family shall celebrate such a birth is such a way, and the peace such a celebration shall extend.

The blood begins to rush

Just an ordinary night, dinner done and the night beginning. The kids are being loud as always, the TV becoming the central part of their attention, yet in the kitchen something else draws my eye, something that has always drawn my attention quickly and absolutely. Such is an image that will stay with me until satisfaction is achieved, until my thoughts are offered a drink from the pool that has captured all of its attention.

Your shirt isn't skin tight, but just tight enough. I can see the outline of your nipples, hard against your bra, and the outline of your tits straining against your shirt. I want to touch them, but I more want you to want me to...to long for my to caress them. I just wish that you could take them out and force my mouth on them, that you would beg me to touch you. I want you to force yourself on me, to take me completely. The feel of your hands forcing me to you, demanding action, taking what you want without question. I can feel the blood begin to rush...

A message for you...

Vee, my love, my soul, the sweat of my brow is given to you and the love in my heart is born to give you all of me. Allow this blog, which is private, to be my written thoughts, the deepest truths, the essence of how I think and feel. They will be angry, loving, deep, shallow, perverted, extreme and conservative, they will be the paradox that is a mind and the truth that may contradict itself more often than a lie would allow. In this I hope to share with you my deepest secrets, my darkest thoughts, and my strongest desires in the hope that you will get to know me completely, whether you like what you learn or not. It is my hope that in knowing me you will become closer to me than you have any human being, and in giving you my entire being you will see my desires, fears, hopes and thoughts in a way that makes us dependent on one another.

I can't promise you that you will always like what you read or how I think, but I can promise you the truth as complete as it can be told. I leave your reaction up to you.

This blog is private, can only be read by you, and I have created it so that you can write in it as well. I want this day to be the beginning of the two of us becoming one, and in walking together in complete knowledge of the other even if that knowledge isn't what we want to see.

I will begin now...

Let go we must.

So, you want to push me over?
Knock the wind out of me?
Bring it on, work the bag,
And see that what you think you know and what is real are vastly different.

You think you own me?
That somehow I owe you the very air I breathe?
I owe you, that is certain,
But the price you request is certainly not the price I can pay.

So, you can take me or you can leave me,
but choose all the same,
And either accept or deny,
For the sun does not change colors at the whims of those who deem it must.

I am me, not you or your vision
You are you, not me or what I think should be,
So either we can let go of things
Things that aren't or or things that are, things that were or things that aren't.

Let go we must.

What is truth?

Perhaps the essence of health is in the foundation of truth.

This would be nothing special except that perhaps I have spent my life running from the truth in one of its many forms. It seems the more I discover the truth the more I realize how afraid of it I am, or was, or will be. The truth has never been my friend, whether from the parents who denied me of it, or the childhood spent finding ways to bend it, or adulthood lived ashamed of it. No, I have become so unfamiliar with truth that it seems almost foreign to me, and those things foreign to us seem to scare us the most.

Yet love, if not life, demands nothing but the truth from us all. Whether it be the reality of suffering, the loss of love, the bitter chill of hate and intolerance we are forced at some time in our existence to face truth head on. We may be ugly, we may be fat, we may be mean, we may be short, we may be...

We may be, period. Regardless of what follows that simple grouping of three words, we may be. Truth is those three words, and what follows those words are perception bound in a need to be something else. I may be ugly, depending on the one describing me. I may be fat in in a room of those thin. Yet I may be, or I am, regardless of what follows.

It is this simple truth that helps me cope with such a fear of that truth. If what I am is and what follows irrelevant, is the truth really to be feared? Is the judgment of others that which need concern me at all? Is it just that the I fear not the truth, but that judgment of others? I can see in my life that there were very few times I feared the truth, yet I can see clearly how I fear the consequence and the judgments of others. Perhaps the best way to find truth is to disregard the judgment of others and to just allow what is to be.

Simple enough, let the test begin.

The Day the Pony Died.

Flashback to an 8 year old boy, removed from all he had known and all he had loved. Gone were the friends he cherished, the play times he took for granted, the neighborhood that was his world. Entered by marriage into a new world: lonely, desolate, foreign. This new life, he was told, would be so much better than the life of poverty and single parent family he had endured for as long as he could remember.

The question quickly became in his mind, "better for who?". The answer was all too evident as time was to pass.

He withdrew to things. In a new home on a busy highway the boy now sat alone where they once were more friends to count. The kids - the only kids he could ever remember knowing - were gone, replaced by trees, his toys, and the many trucks and cars that went zooming by his new home. He learned to hate the people who brought him here. Not really a "hate", but a resentment caused by the fact that they simply would not understand what they had done to him. The fact that they did not care only compounded the issue, children could adapt and overcome anything it seemed. Well, at least those things their parents thought we necessary for them to overcome.

So he created a circle of attachments with his toys he had brought to this new world. He didn't have many at this point, so he struggled to keep them working and close by as to make sure they were not discarded like his life had been. The once busy youth found himself replacing his friends with toys, he loneliness placated only in the times he would share with the only remaining vestiges of a life he wished he could return to. As he saw it, he was not poor in his old life, but he certainly was in this one. Sure, the house was bigger, the food better, and the clothes nicer, but he could not help feeling as if his soul was starving and that he had instantly become poorer the last time he left his old yard. The last time he saw those friends he would never see again was the moment he became the poorest person in his world.

One day his new father explained to him that his old "junk" needed to be cleaned up and thrown away. The boy had been conditioned by his mother to love this man as a sinner loves his savior, that the world would begin and end with this simple man who, nice as he was, was not the savior this boy needed. Sure, he would learn a lot as from this man as time went by, but he never would enjoy a relationship that all boys need with their father. Later in life this boy would question whether or not it was he who kept the relationship from thriving, but such perfect hindsight only confirmed that the lies, the beatings, and the man who stood by and let them happen simply was not worthy of such trust. He was a good man, he was an kind man, but he was not his stepson and his stepson was not him. Such are the ties that bind us through the acts that create us.

The man wished to clean out his new son's "junk". The boy simply had no choice in the matter, even as he was employed to assist in the carnage. With all of the strength he could muster this young man took all those things that bound him to his wealthy existence and threw them into bags. Gone were the things that calmed him in his times of loneliness. Gone was the stuffed pony he had had since his life began. Gone was the wind up radio that played music to him in his infancy. With each toy he played one last time before sending them to their doom. With each toy he held back tears that were months in the making.

Off to the dump they went. Dumps were the benefits to the new farming life his mother had conscripted him to. There, all kinds of things were sent to their graves. Today, a vast chuck of his life was being laid to rest, and with these things the domination of desolation was sure to be complete. With each toss his heart shattered just a bit more. He needed to be brave, this test was one he must not fail, and the tears that were streaming down his face he reasoned were from the bitter cold winds ripping at his soul. Finally, the carnage was complete, although the end had not brought with it the peace he so desperately sought.

One final goodbye to his life was all it took. He saw it instantly under the other debris brought by his new father to this land from the house they have bought. Under the garbage his stuffed blue pony looked back at him as if to say "you betrayed me and are leaving me to die in this hell." Those eyes looked mysteriously sad and disappointed, and the guilt took over this young boy's heart as if fell into the pit alongside his friend. Still, he must remain strong and brave, lest his new father abandon him like all others had before him.

The ride home was a blur. The man was talking to his new son, but the boy simply was walking elsewhere. Somewhere between the dump and home, it became apparent to the boy that his strength was misguided, that it was not in acting complicit to the betrayal he had just committed that there was strength, but standing up to it. The tears from the months of change, the loneliness that change had spawned, and the emptiness that his new life had caused. No one had noticed, no one had cared, but now the boy was going to let it out. And let it out he did.

To the man's credit, he heard the boy and took him back to the dump. Nothing looked the same to the youth, and the pony he could not find. He looked for as long as the man would allow, but saw nothing of the friends he had betrayed without a peep. Perhaps had he just spoken sooner none of this would have happened. Perhaps if the man could feel any sorrow it would not have happened either.

In adulthood, the boy realized that the man took him to a different dump, as to let the boy continue to believe that it was he who had failed his friends. The boy who would become a man realized just how much of an impact that day would have on him, even decades later. This is but one story of a life lived from underneath the greatness that could have been the boy, if only he could have understood sooner the reason for it all.

Seek and you shall find.

It is not this night I fear, but the dawn that shall break it. From whence such fears arose I cannot be certain, but fears divine they are in such scope as to shake the very foundation of their end. I walk alone, I think alone, I am alone; such things may or may not be true, but such things are surely the tremors that break the stillness of this night.

One can be lost and yet be found, and truly I am such a man. I look around me and smile brightly at the sights of love’s existence in my own, knowing full well that this breath of emotion is born in the darkest recesses of my being. I can feel this joy born of sorrow, and take notice that they are becoming equals in this tired soul. Such a lofty accomplishment I can bear as not my own, but of that of those who would bother to offer me the precious love that finds me even when all seems lost. I fear my single accomplishment without them would be in being lost, in being left to darkness, in grasping at straw figures who seek to keep me lost. No, anything that I may appear to be or do is me at all, but of those who provide the foundation to this shaky ground we call life.

And to them, I meekly offer you my effort, my heart as it can be given, my soul as it can be shown, and my life as it can be lived.

Step One

These feet are heavy as I bear more than the weight of my flesh upon this Earth. I do struggle with the weight at times, full well realizing that I am the stronger for the struggle. A wise man once cracked “That which does not kill me shall only make me stronger” without realizing that it isn’t the death that makes us weak, but the refusal to live with that which could kill us. Perhaps he did realize such things, perhaps he did live with such a weight to bear.

Still, I am left to seek out a stronger version of my self, that which is strength in not being so “strong”, that which finds solace in more than me. It appears to be a big step, likening that to each step on an old, rickety rope bridge stretched across valley to which there is no end. The pulse quickens at the thought of it, and the weight I carry on my back seems to beckon me not to step upon that bridge. Step I will, either toward a new landscape or into the obscurity that comes with the fall.

Greater risks have lesser men taken, but one must surely recognize the challenge of the mind. Leaving such comfort as the Beast finds itself in is an abnormality unto itself. Beasts marks their territory in the attempt to never leave the familiar, and they will fight to the death to remain in such comfort. Yet man must learn to tame his Beast should he seek to reach for that which is beyond him, for as we lift our leg to mark the spot we call our own our eyes always seek that which is beyond it. It is the Beast, our minds, that either ensures our imprisonment to the boundaries we cause or allow us the fortitude to step on that bridge that takes us beyond it.

I choose to step onto the bridge. I would risk the fall in order to seek what I cannot see. My sight has failed me before, many more times than I dare count, so I have learned that I can only trust what I see when what I see feels right to that which the mind does not control. I simply cannot cling to that which I call “me” when in the eyes of those I love the tears form at the sight of me. Me is not all that great, it is what that me can become that may show the full potential of this life. So onward I step, outward I reach, all the while trust the inward part of me that remains when the voices are silent.

Acceptance

This endless frigid night surely does test the strength of nearly every being who shall pass underneath such a veil of darkness. To search but for the smallest spec of light seems to be my life's endeavor, so far all for naught save that moment in time that all seemed so bright. To lose such light is to stumble harder than before it shone, for the darkness never seems so dark than after such loss, after all is gone, after that slightest bit of warmth has touched your soul. Nothing seems as cold as the night after the warmth of day. One is left to wonder if the gift of sun is worth the pain of losing it, if such a taste of warmth is worth the bitterness of the cold to follow.

Yet it is quite obvious that it is the human endeavor to search for light in darkness, warmth in cold, love in the face of hate. All that does and all that is is contained in the essence of but the smallest sense of light barely visible to those who savor darkness or have more light than they need. Yet each feeds off the other, for we cannot have the joy of warmth without the dismay of coldness. We must suffer if we are to experience the bliss of enlightenment. We must cry to see a smile, we must hate to feel the love, we must die to seek out life.

The essence of life, its purpose, is to experience it. The purpose of life isn't just to love it is to hate. The purpose of life is not just to be happy, it is to experience unbridled despair. The absoluteness of life is not in just the good, it is found in the bad. If you are to take every ounce of the negative in life you surely will find the positive born, the joy created out of despair, the love found in the bounds of hate. Without one you do not have the other, and both must be lived if either is to be found and appreciated.

Embrace both as they are, appreciate them, and accept them. Only in the acceptance can you find the peace for which you search, that tiny spec of light that will help guide your way.

Aphrodite

Today I struggle more than most. It's an odd struggle for this day, for there is just something not right, although I will be damned if I know what it is. There is a lot on the proverbial plate, the job, the move, the lack of something, something so tough to pinpoint yet so easy to see.

Have I failed?

I am not sure, perhaps time will tell. The truth is that I am not sure I feel a failure here, but I know that what I what I feel is not success either. I know enough to see that I this is but one step in this journey. A small step indeed no matter how big it looks today, or a huge step indeed no matter how small it looks today. The truth is that I am not sure what to call this moment, or the moments that have got me here, or where I am heading. Have I failed? Have I done something so momentous that our lives will have found great significance because of this moment? All I know is that I do not know what to call what I have done or not done, and perhaps that lack of knowledge is what is creating the struggle itself. Perhaps it is not even really a struggle at all, but rather a lack of acceptance that things just are as they must be.

I walked outside tonight under the bright full moon and starlit sky. I am small, no doubt about it. Those stars above shone such light millions of years ago when greater men than me struggled greater struggles than I have seen. That moon has cast shadows on men with more to bear than my small fate. I feel alive in this presence, yet I feel lost in the weight of such small matters as those my mind must bear. I can see that perhaps what seems like failure today might mean the greatest events to those I love tomorrow. I stand in the glow of knowing that the greatest successes of today can mean the height of suffering tomorrow, and that life is like the changing phases of the moon I am standing under - one moment it is full, the other it is not, and there is nothing I can do to change it. I can see clearly that the weight I bear weighs little and that none of this matters, that time and space and love and lost mean little while meaning everything. Such matters of existence are like a waves on a beach, they only matter at the moment they break and are quickly replaced by yet another moment of undulation.

Who am I?

"Timeless question, ageless thought, all that's endless, all for naught." I guess the identity we have in ourselves is the temporary filler to our existence. I have never been able to answer such a question, nor have I been able to answer the sure follow up: "Does it matter?" I honestly don't know who I am or what I am good at. Perhaps I can answer my insecurities at what I do well by understanding all those many things that I don't do well. That list would be just too long to offer those who can barely muster up the will to read even the smallest thoughts I share. Yet I list them in my mind in such repetition as to believe that all those things I don't do well are who I am. In this, is it fair to say that I am all that I do poorly regardless of that which I do well? And if, in fact, this is true, is it the lack of acceptance of who I am that is the cause for my suffering?

Is part of love, life, being and truth the acceptance of who I am regardless of what the judge says is the best or worst of me? Is accepting that which I do that makes you cry as important to happiness as accepting that which puts such a lovely smile on your face? Is accepting those moments of imperfection as important to happiness as embracing those moments of shear and utter perfection? It would seem so, for without the bad there can be no good, and without the pain they can be no contentment. That is not to say that one should be so content in acceptance as to not strive for the best of oneself, it is to say that in dwelling on such matters of imperfection that one cannot see or attest to the perfection. It is in the focusing and dwelling on the armless sight of Aphrodite that one cannot see the perfect beauty that is the rest of her. Perhaps when we focus on such beauty the lack of arms bothers us not at all.

So I am left to wonder, does who I am matter at all to me or to those who wish to know me? Do I submit to the judgments of others whose whims would be so meaningless as to change with the seasons? Or do I just accept that which is and bask in the beauty that this moment provides regardless of the fact there are no arms to embrace me, no lips to caress my own, or no longing in others for that which they see as who I am? It could simply be the armless masterpiece to which I find solace, for the rest of it is shear beauty.

For my wife...

This hour of need my temptress indeed,
For such things that test my very best,
Are the very things that set me free.

She came to me in a dream, somehow real, somehow not. She touched me, raised me up, and gave me hope. She showed me all that I am, and all that I am not. She whispered softly in my ear as the breath that cleared my mind, she comforted me as the breeze on a hot summer day, and laid me softly down on a bed of hope as soft as the clouds that scampered by outside my window. I felt a burning love not felt before, a desire in my throat that stifled the cry my lips could not utter. She was me, she was someone else, and she just could not temper the reaction that my ego and mind simply could not stifle.

As this river of time flows by, I see how she cools me and quenches my thirst. I sense nothing but everything around me and I can feel my grip on me letting go, releasing that which is, and what is not. Such light of life cascades around me as the big bright sun burns at my soul, the pain of the heat intense as it scorches those outer layers that time and life has baked on me. She is relentless in her tests, refusing to compromise on what I can be, completely unable to relinquish the me that only she can see.

Such is love, the Lady that has grabbed me the first we met, the chisel which bears down on the me that I am not to uncover the me that I am. When we touch, I can sense the dawning of each new day, a bit different than the day previous, even if only slightly. It is such love the binds us, such love that holds us, and such love that tests us. It is the essence of the we bound not by rings, not by vows, but by something unseen and unknown that was created on the dawn of Creation.

Once I was violent, and you calmed me,
Once I was angry, and you soothed me,
Once I had no hope, and you gave me light,
Once I had no idea, and you showed me the way.

I do beg of you, than in our greatest time of need and in our greatest hour of triumph, you remember not that which I seem to be, but that which I am. Certainly such a muse cannot be left unchallenged, for we are the challenge in each other. In such thought do you bathe in the knowledge that it is me who could grace your old age? Do you bask in the knowledge, as I do, that such thoughts are ours to have beyond our youth? I give you all that I can at this moment, and although certainly not enough in most, can it be more than enough in others? When you see me, do you see only darkness or can you see even the smallest speck of light?

Such questions asked in small detail,
Are not so small indeed,
For in essence they ask all of you,
To love that which is all of me.

Me

She stares at me, this thing
that warrants no reply,
True warmth grasps and takes hold,
in a way I can't deny.

I hear her call, and beckon me,
beyond what I can endure,
In truth such warmth is in me,
It's the rest that stays impure.

A sultry pose, a warm embrace,
A tender kiss that leads to sin,
It's the lustful sounds of pending night
It's the me that cannot win.

She tests me, holds me, conquers me,
A test of wills indeed,
And as I fall to take a breath,
It's the me that won't succeed.

Love again.

To find this dream of mine,
Is to find the crystal clear waters of eternity
Wrapped in some forgotten tapestry
To which mine eyes can only see.

This is not but to the morrow that one can sense it
That one can feel the end of all things,
Lost in the desires that make poets weep,
Is the truth that can finally release these bounds of hell to heaven.

Take such a swim in this unrelenting memory
To beg of time to be in such replay
Do over those things that pain us so
I'd rather to be forgotten than to be remembered in such a way.

You cannot put your sweet head on my arm,
For to sting your mind so is to torture your soul
Such is relapse in some scene of swift tragedy,
Is such a delay of the sun from peeking beyond its horizon.

Formidable is the dew that settled on the hard ground this night,
Yet none compares to the light of Apollo's love
Hold such light until it burst forth from all of you,
And do not let the darkness find your heart.

Do take my arm in yours, do feel my form before it dies,
Do hold the clouds before your eyes the brief time they are there,
Find that which is the love that you yourself have asked for,
And find you may never need ask again.

The Beast Within

From the internal arises a heat, and from the throes of such heat comes the animal within. Such violent primitive emotions do come from the essence of man without spirit, the meaningless set of values without value, the loss of Being in humanity. Yet come they do, and in the absence of Spirit to subdue the animal within, man simply reverts to the lesser of his self.

In my experience it appears at times as if man can only act in the absence of spirit. Such violent sense of nothingness can be met with much of the same or act in a much different sense of self. Violence is the lesser form of man, a Beast, but it would seem a form sometimes that is unable to hide itself. Such form is the dichotomy of man, turning the industrious willer of good into a destructive force of nature.

In such a thing the Lone Wolf has indulged. In his life he has resolved to pacificism, then violence, and now to the mixture of the two that survives him today. The Beast has shown itself on more than one occasion, surely leaving its mark of lust and misery. Creation had given the Wolf the talents of the beast along with the talents of a peacemaker, and to such ends both had shared success and failure. At times the Wolf, feeling gray in his years, longed for the tinge of control the Beast allowed, but left such thirst to the gods of time passed and challenge wasted. The scars of the Beast remained on his body, while the glimmer of Spirit remained in his eyes. It was such spirit that seemed determined to keep the Beast in slumber, as to not to allow its return regardless of the heat of the day. Today's heat presents such a challenge.

It seemed to the Lone Wolf that all things must remain as they are despite the idiocy of the world around him. Others in their packs stayed true to the lies of the pack, and dismal paradox of behavior not understandable. They would invent such provocation in others to warrant the attack, while preaching preach and love. To the Lone Wolf is was quite apparent they had lost their way, that they were so blinded by the value they had in the pack that they could not see they were leading it to disaster. It seemed obvious that others were working in sincere diligence to destroy the thing they claimed to love the most, so much so that it also seemed obvious that they hated that which they said they loved. Why else would they be so determined to destroy it? Warfare had never "created" anything, and the endless attacks on the packs around them seemed to create the exact opposite of what they were intended to create. Pack leaders, often left remote by poor leadership and bad decisions, quickly undertook such attacks to keep unity in the ranks. When the lead dogs made the wrong turn and water become scarce, and attack on others materialized, and the attack and the "threat" it was designed to end became the focus, not the mistakes that led to the thirst.

Sad state, these affairs, and as the snow turned red with the blood of hatred and blindness. The Lone Wolf marveled at how much he could see without the blindness of the Beast, he could clearly see the anger others could muster in those who followed without question, he could clearly see the threat that such blind allegiance could create. Patriotism, once the foundation of the pack that ensured its survival, seemed to be the thing that ensured its demise. He with no allegiance could easily see such folly, with no leader to subscribe one could easily see the failures of such subscription. No, the independence of his individual self, the strength that all that is provided his Spirit was enough to get him through the toughest of days. He needed no pack, he needed no leader, he needed to die for no thing or no one save those the voice of his Spirit directed.

That was not to say the Lone Wolf did not love. He loved often and freely, without prejudice and without bias. Still, he knew when to keep his distance, although his love did not. He could love those he would fight, he could love those he did not agree with. Such was the freedom he could enjoy in the unattachment his life had provided. He need not hate any thing or any one, he need not care what they thought despite his pleadings that seemed to be saying the contrary. He could bare his teeth as if to hate but out of love, for the hoping the sight would end the foray before it began. When it did not, he did not hate his adversary, but rather felt sorry for their mistake, that if just to leave him alone would be quite enough.

It seemed amazing that there were others who just could not leave him alone. They needed him to think like them, to assimilate into the pack. He could only surmise that they feared his independence. It was true that the leadership did, for a pack without the need for leaders had no need for them. They, the leaders, were weak without they, the followers. They were nothings, the leaders, without those on whose fear they could prey. If the followers only saw the strength in such independence, the leaders would become nothings. For their part, the pack feared his independence, for there was some comfort in knowing that the sum of the whole was the whole of the some. If they all were alike, in thought, action, need and desire, there would be no need for fear, no need for greater security.

In this, the battles they waged were not about threat of others, but the threat of others to the selfs that the pack had created. Those others did not think like them, smell like them, or howl at the same moon so they had to be a threat. They needed to assimilate or risk the pack's security. After all, there is no greater loss of security to the pack then the loss of dependence, whether leader on the follower or the follower on the leader. Dependence is security, and the thought of independence raiding such security was insecurity into itself.

It was all so eerily apparent to the Lone Wolf the day he found his independence. He sought higher mountains, thicker forests, clearer streams and air so pure it cleared is mind of thought with each breath. He sought to roam where his Spirit took him, not where some drone deigned it proper for him to go. He raised his head to the Moon, and howled a yell that told the world around him, every creature that he was free, and that he was alive.

The Branch

I guess we all wake from our dreams sooner or later.

To some, the awakening results in the understanding that they just are not equipped to make others truly happy in life. They cannot forgo what drives their mind to work, to awaken, in the sake of some semblance of selflessness when that mind drives them to selfishness. To those imprisoned few, it seems obvious that others cannot see the branch they have whittled away for those others can only focus on the twig still being held onto. Forget the branch dropped in selflessness, it is unseen and unacknowledged, for that twig seems to hold much more weight in the eyes of those who need not carry it.

In that way, others cannot see the changes made within such a mind, where they want to be selfless but perhaps not in the way others need them to be. It is difficult for those who so desperately clung to the branch to let go of the twig, for that branch was everything to them - their survival, their selves, the only thing never allowed to see the light of day now awoken and as strong as ever. The others cannot see you chipping away at that branch, slowly ridding the mind of the weight of it all. They can only see the empty soul they wish you had, rather than the great reduction of weight you have worked so hard to offer. The Wolf but wags his tail at the sight of such masters, proud of the whittling away he has done. The Master removes such pride in the reminding that there is so much more wood to go.

But then you awake. You awake to the fact that perhaps the reason the others no longer see the effort is because they don't care to. There is no love, no understanding, just a cold hearted reality that says "you shall conform or be cast away". They don't see you as the laborer working to cast away the branch, they see you as the labor. They are tired, they are angry, and they could care less about what blisters your hands employ in such work, they only care about having it in the time and manner they see fit.

True enough, their vision is fair, the sweat the brow has spent yesterday does not mean it anything but dry today. They, the "loved" ones, are there with you, becoming wet with the perspiration you offer as your go about your work. They share the blisters, blisters not theirs to have, yet they share them nonetheless. They simply tire of the work, care little for the results of the labor, just as they begin to care little for the laborer.

Such is the effort, symbolic removal of rings,
The ties that hold us true, the ties that bind,
For out of such action the Beast proudly sings,
"It was all in the mind, all in the mind."

There comes a time when the laborer decides to bear the burden on his own. No, it is not fair for those loved ones to share in the passion of such work that the mind dare fight, and it is not fair for the laborer to bear the brunt of effort not just of the job at hand, but also of curing those who share in the work. At some point, the man must rise above himself, alone and of good will, to better himself through suffering and the anguish of effort. He must turn what he recognizes as in need of repair into repair, not just recognition. At some point he must simply walk away from the crew to aspire to such greatness.

He is therefore resigned, he feels, needing to lose that which he cherishes the most not to hurt them, but to save them. He is nothing in their eyes, part of the Creation of his mind, yet created nonetheless. He simply is not good enough to be in their employ in any aspect of work, for he has not succeeded even in the crafting of the twig he now holds. Perhaps he needs to walk and not return until the twig is left floating in some deep and angry river, gone forever. Perhaps, at this point, the removal of both the twig and the branch is pointless as it is in his world, for they have but left him in the Angry River a while ago. He is irrelevant to their cause, and as so is irrelevant in his own for his cause was so closely tied to theirs. He simply must not walk in a path made for 5, he must find the path made for none.

So there he sits, alone but holding his twig. The realization that the calls for him were not made in need for him at all sets in like a stone on the soul. He sees the world clearly as the Lone Wolf of yesterday stirs within, he is not needed, not wanted, not seen as a way to love but an impediment to it. They will not disagree, they will not argue such a point left true, and if they did he would hear none of it. No, those who demanded the work will just forget he existed, and as the cold wind sets in they will not dare think of his plight. They will bask in their warmth, in the glow of the fire, thankful that the chill will not dare touch them this night. They will smile, they will laugh, they will love without one careless thought of he who tried but failed. If they hear of his demise they will but believe it was his own fault, for he could not whittle fast enough to be one of them. He did not conform fast enough, he did not see his work as necessary enough, he did not but see the burden of life pulling the sled in the honor of those riding in it. It is true enough that the riders cannot fathom the mind of the Dog, cannot see that he just wants to arrive and considers each step as his destination. He cannot be here and there at the same time, he must be here first, either with those who care enough to go along for the ride or without them, but he will be here all the same.

The questions remains as such forks in the road, which direction should be taken. Either way he will walk, but the path either narrows for none or widens for all. Perhaps the choice should not be made by others, those who see the walk as way too strenuous for their own legs to bear. Perhaps it is time to say "I shall go on without you, just wait for soon there will be another sled for you to ride." Such a sled must surely be much more comfortable than the one he can provide, one that means you need not walk at all. Such happiness is what is deserved, what is desired by him of those who were so worth the effort in the first place.

Perhaps in the lonely walk he must endure such suffering so that he may find his self. Perhaps it is too late for the others he holds on to with so much love in his heart but so little understanding in his mind. Perhaps he will find such love in the self, such love that others can share but that he need not cling to. Perhaps such a treat will be found in the loss of the branch he once clung to so proudly and in its place lies the knowledge that it need not be there at all. Perhaps his riders will enjoy his company for his company, not the company they thought he should offer, company that he could not provide at that moment. Perhaps they will not require a ride at all, but just ask him to sit in his own way in front of the fire to share in its warmth not on their terms, but just in the way things are.

To such an end one can only dream...as the stirrings of slumber's end wreaks havoc on such memory.

The Apology of the Masses

I read recently where the Episcopal Church has issued an apology for its "involvement in the slave trade." This has caused a reaction of many types across our land, so much so that I gave some thought to the issue and how we handle it as a nation.

For more information, visit Episcopal Church to apologize for slavery - USATODAY.com.

One of the most defiant challenges to such an act has come from some on the "conservative" side, offering that we were not alive during slavery nor are any slaves alive and therefore do not owe anyone an apology. It is not difficult to see their point, there are no slaves currently alive in the literal sense of the word in the United States, nor are there any slave holders still living in the literal sense of the word. Therefore, who owes who what?

What isn't being seen is that such an apology is not personal, it does not come bleeding from your heart onto our collective Main Street. What it does is address a very dark time in our history, possibly one of our darkest periods in the human cause, in a way that should be constructive for all involved. Our collective bodies apologize to a collective group of people still haunted by the institution of slavery, and along with that sincere gesture of regret comes a promise that we will not stand by and allow it to happen again.

I also read discussions that mention that slavery is "in our past", and should be left there. True enough, slavery is in our past, but it is also true that the remnants of slavery still exist in the consciousness of some Americans - on both sides. In a society that often dwells on its past, whether it be honoring our war veterans on Memorial Day (a day named in the practice of remembering the past), or on honoring some of our best leaders with special days, Americans tend to dwell on history. American History is taught in our schools, and in those lessons we are taught such things as the the Declaration of Independence, where it clearly states that "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." So yes, we as a collective certainly identify with the glorious triumphs of World War II, the resiliency of Valley Forge, and the bravery of Normandy; so should identify with the darker sides of our history. Just as will memorialize our greatness, we should seek redemption in our failures. Just as we learn from our moments of glory, we should learn from our moments of inhumanity. And just as we offer thanks to those who made us great, we should offer condolences to those who suffered under our flawed character.

Similarly, just as we do not pay a stipend to those whose ancestors died and stood steadfast on Bunker Hill, we do not offer reparations to those whose ancestors died and stood helpless under the whip of American ignorance. Yet we do not hide our head in shame because of such actions, for both the payment and the shame attest to a complicity not ours to endure. Rather, we simply say we are sorry, and vow to all who grace our land with their existence, that we will live and die to ensure their security under such a premise:

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

It shall surely be in the present that we find such greatness, not in the past, nor in the future. It is how we hold to such ideal now that make us who and what we are. Those words should guide our collective actions, and hide our individual bias. Those words are the Testament to the American soul, the sentence that states clearly the cause of American greatness. It was not a single person who made us great, nor was it a single political party, or a single ideology, it was the equality we gave to all, the rights we saw as not ours to give or interfere with. It was not the description of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness that made us who we were, but the allowance of the individual to create and explore his own definition.

We were great because we just allowed greatness to happen. To lose such a thing is to lose who we are, and to lose who we are is simply to no longer be great.

Truth - One

It does seem that in the current of human events that one often loses sight of the truth for need of correctness. Do we entangle our selves so strongly to the subject of thought that we cannot reach for the ideals of truth?

It would seem as if we have lost our way in the myriad of conquests offered to be right, not honest. To such endeavors we persecute the greatest aspect of our Being, the way to Truth, the part of us that seeks not praise or profit for just Being "true". To share such a breeze of honesty onto the fires of our lives may see the embers burning brighter, blazing a scene of righteousness into the tapestry of our souls. Be such honesty, hold that which is true close to your heart, and offer that which is found there to all who surround you.

Study the things you now value, seek in them that which shall cause suffering and weed them out like ivy in a pumpkin patch. Learn about your self, in that there can be no greater truth, and in the study do not leave a single page unturned. Strive in isolation to know that same self, to seek in it the sturdiness of the individual, the calmness of Being, the wisdom of the ages. Be strong, be brave and be wise my friend, and in this you shall find the end of suffering, the extinction of need, and the foundation for which life itself was created on.

As the end comes.

Today we learned of the death of a loved one who lived far away but was not far from out hearts. True, she had lived a relatively long life, and left as as another example to what ends habits like smoking will cause, but still the faint tinge of pain reaps at my soul at the thought of her passing. One must reach out to her husband, a decades-old meeting of two minds and spirits, for no deeper pain can be felt at the knowledge that you shall never again touch the hand of the one you love (in this existence anyway). One must seek out those who pain greatly at such loss, for death does not effect the dead as much as it effects the living.

But such lessons can be learned by the living, those of us who can take such moments for granted and waste them with the pitiful arguments spawned not of love but of the folly of fools. What moments did those two waste with irrelevant spawnings of the temporary suffering self-inflicted by anger, jealousy, or other emotions known to ego? What would they give to have those moments back to share in the love they felt at their final moments of passing?

I am sure the price would be high, just as I am sure they would pay it.

So do us living fools dare take this lesson to heart that shed our selves prone to such waste? Most likely not, as we feel the need to live in such disharmony from time to time. Storms, it can be said, are necessary to clear the air, to wet ground left fertile but dry, to unseal such a surface hardened with time. After such storms, life can spring anew, time can be restarted with the crisp and tortured sound of Thor's hammer as it springs to life even the most deaf of souls. Nothing, it is said, can dare sleep during such storms.

It would seem to be in our best interest to seek the limit to these storms, for as some things may benefit from their birth, they surely can leave destruction in their wake. The floods of pain and agony can leave many a soul buried under mud so deep that only darkness can survive. The winds of suffering can howl greatly in the ears of the passionate, causing the heartiest among us to snap and splinter in the midst of it all. Yes, some may see life anew once the storm clouds clear, but others may see destruction so great as to never recover.

As the end comes, and we are drawing our last breaths, it seems implausible to believe we will see value in the storms. Nay, we will cling ever so desperately to the last vestiges of sunshine and wish the storm clouds away. We will bargain for the time wasted seeking shelter in the storm, and we will beg for the second chance to live in such harmony as to never need those clouds. We will grasp for the ones we love, pray for those we cannot reach, hope that they remember not the storm but the blue skies. We will wish the storms away, and we will have wasted time better spent in love than in anger.

Remember then dear souls, that when you wish away your love in favor of the darkening clouds above, that this may be your most brutal mistake. It shall not be your last wish, but it will be the wish you cannot change at any price, yet the one you will most desperately seek to change. Touch the one you love this moment, and never let go of the sunshine. Speak but true words of love to those you cherish, never let them forgo the chance to hear such promises. Allow your heart to open, and reach out to those who share so much with you in the time you have this moment.

This moment - it is all you are sure to have, it is all you will ever know. Be true to it in love with those who seek it in return and share it with those who do not know they seek such truth. You shall never regret that moment when the chance of rain is replaced by the surety of the sun.

I have all I need now...

Such a gorgeous day, and to share it with family on a lovely beach is simply precious. Such a collection of moments shall not be forgotten, and may truly serve as a standard of all such days to come (assuming, of course, that they shall).

To lay on such sand, one can be transported into oneself quite easily. Soft, supple earth pads the body along and allows such root to Creation as to not find evidence to deny it. The mind becomes still, tempered only by the soft ocean breeze, the warm sun, and the sounds of waves crashing innocently into Earth. One can feel such beauty as to not have a need to feel any other, as each moment becomes frozen into the other, still as all activity blurs into the calmness of this moment.

The sounds of the children laughing does not distract from this beauty, but only adds to it. To hear such delight in the voices of those you love can well emotion in even the sturdiest of men. The joy of others can only delight the still soul, as joy radiates around and adds warmth to the already heated air. To feel them experiencing such joy, to notice them seeing things they have never seen before, and to understand them as they feel the utter perfection of this moment is to see the crisp reality of what love can do. Love supplies such joy; the love of Creation offered to each of us, the love we have for such Creation, and the love we can share with each other is what living is all about. This moment assures me of the correctness of this path.

To seek any other would ruin this what I have already been given.

I open my eyes to be elated at the sight I see. Perhaps our loves are like water to us all. We can certainly go thirsty for a few moments, but ultimately shall suffer and perish if not satisfied. It may be true that we need not be attached to others, but it may also be true that in Being we are tied to another as surely as life is to water. The sight I see is my Water, laying motionless in the sun she loves so much, basking in the warmth as surely as in my mind. God, what gift of beauty thou hath given me! My wife, my partner, my teacher and my love completes the scene of perfection in a moment so real it can never be replaced. Like a movie stuck on a scene, this picture of beauty is burned into my Being as surely as my breath supplies It with life.

In essence, if I were to leave this existence at this moment, I would leave it in paradise. I worry not about what this journey may bring me tomorrow, for I have all I need now.

Walking I will be...

If I beat a dog that bit me 5 years ago each day because of the scar, who is to blame if he bites me again?

I wonder in such matters what is worse, the crime or the punishment? Does the present effect do anything to end the cause? To say that one acts in a way to suffer another from a past error, does the suffering of the present then cause an allowable mistake in the future?

See, one cannot claim that insanity of today caused by insanity of yesterday cannot have any effect on the psyche of tomorrow. To do so would be a high form of hypocrisy, in which the tormented turned tormentor can only expect to become the tormented again. If such a vicious cycle is not interrupted by some understanding of the present, the past has no choice but to become the future, the present has no choice put to live in the past, and the future has no hope of defining itself. We are stuck then in such a cycle, one of misunderstanding completed by misunderstanding, until all semblance of understanding is loss in the abyss. As deep as that pit shall go one will never touch bottom and will cease to find forgiveness in the darkness that has been created by one's self.

It is nothing but truth that we are only in control of ourselves for this moment. Those who seek to rely on the past for today are destined to have that past repeated over and over again until the present ceases to exist unto itself. Today we have no present it seems, for we relive nothing but the past and identify so clearly with its pain that we choose to not let go lest we lose our identity. I choose to not blame others anymore for my actions, for I cannot be resolved in my complicity and cannot lean on the rock of blame anymore. Regardless of the pain instilled in my heart only I can choose to let that pain rule me instead of me it. I can no longer say "I am this way", or "I am that way" because of another, I can only live in my present as one in complete control of it.

Take it or leave it, but I choose not to live in the past anymore. You can choose to live in this present with me as you are, or you can remain as you were, but I will not dive into that pit again. I am beginning to love the growth I feel each day, and do hereby choose to not be dragged down by the love you have of the past. If you expect perfection, be prepared by such disappointment. Imagine if the same expectation had been placed on your back to carry unfairly in the heat of the day.

Yes - love is what you have of it. One does not taste the bitter and be repulsed by it only to taste it over and over again. Such blame you may place on my head as a crown of thorns, but please note that I choose not to wear it. I will shrug off such suggestions as clearly as I shrug off a drop of rain that by some chance has found its way on my back; it will be forgotten almost as quickly as it was felt.

I just do not wish to live in that day anymore or at anytime. It is beyond me and me it, never to be relived again except by those who choose to hold on. Blame me if you like, but the fault of such a grip now lies solely on your hand. I can be walking with you or without you, that is your choice, but walking I will be.

What is better than the dawn?

I awoke after a restless night, my head pounding as if there were a million feet dancing from within. The sun was aglow having already risen to the brand new day and I had but no chance to welcome it. It was rare that I had not at least seen the break of dawn, either through a window or in person, and had not the opportunity to relish in the crisp silence of a morning pause. Today was different, it had beaten me to the wake, and crisply reminded me that in being human I am so much the lesser to the perfection of nature.

Yet through this morning's silent scourge I had but to turn my head to see its cure. There she lie, silently in her morning frown, yet the more beautiful then when my eyes shut last. She is admittedly not a "morning person", yet to me she is the very sight of beauty as she sleeps each morn. Such peace of the natural beauty that emanates from her can only be seen in the innocence of sleep. No worries to pinch her eyebrows, no children to harry her, no husband to aggravate her, she is the essence of beauty, the calmness of peace, the hope I feel each morning as I give thanks to see this dawn once again.

Parting from her is difficult although the bed is not my friend in the morning. Today is different, as the pain in my head beckons me back to the sheets. Yet I still rise, for the day's pressing adventures must unfold as they are intended. I cannot help but to look once more at the woman who so much gives of herself. I pause to guess at what her day will be like, probably somewhat typical in the challenges of raise children, keeping house, and dealing with the day's adventures and misadventures. Typical I say, knowing quite well that there is nothing typical about them except in the challenges themselves. I tend to play them off in her presence, yet I admire her honestly and truthfully for how she handles them with such grace that makes me question my own strength. I certainly do not have her fortitude.

I fight the urge to caress her; I dare not disturb this placid pond. Somehow it is moments like this that one can forget his own sufferings. Often when welcoming the morning in its stillness I ask myself "What is better than the dawn." Well, today I have my answer, for the dawn but promises a day anew, the beauty that lies in bed next to me promises that day has hope, love, and purpose. Those gifts are few, but they are offered each day we awake and take the time to feel the love in the peaceful stillness of the morning, to see that which the light of the dawn does show, and wait to feel a loving hand grace our own with the tenderness such love can provide.

Surely without her the dawn would come each day. Surely without her the birds would sing aloud, the bunnies would bask in the warmth of the sun, and the mountain streams would sparkle such light in return. Yet to me it is clear that without her the light would not have the same purpose that it does this morning. Today, the sun but warms my skin, while she warms my Being, my soul, and my heart completely. Today, the sun but promises a new day, she fills that day with promise. To this end she is my answer to "What is better than the dawn?"

This day will surely end, and that light will fade away,
And while it's days that fills our lives, it's love that fills our day.

Simple It Is

Just another day in the paradox of life, left swirling around in dismay between night and day, and the time spent wondering if any second away from living was worth it at all. Sometimes one can feel as if life has him on a treadmill, just running in place and the harder he pushes the more he realizes that he just will go nowhere until he stops running. Hell, even if in the stopping he gets thrown back a few feet, at least it is movement in some direction.

To serve so many masters in one day...absurd in the undertaking and fruitless in the effort. One cannot fathom the solitude of a day like this, the absolute insanity of it all. Striving to succeed where there appears to be no success in the offing, working to seek balance on a poorly balanced fulcrum, realizing that there are not enough hours in this day and not enough sympathetic ears to hear your plight. In such solitude one finds himself, either in joyful adoration of the moments he spends following his passion, or in quiet desperation of realizing that he simply is not.

To have the vision of passion stolen from you in a moment's serene passing, barely noticeable to the thief yet oddly painful to the victim, one can forget to scream so silently as to not let the thief steal even that moment of emotion. To be so true to oneself as to let the thief feel the brunt of the loss, to steal back just one iota of respect from those so quick to take it from you is but a second pleasure to the realization that what was taken from you was never yours to begin with. In the lesson you hope to reduce the strain, and somehow the effort is but strain itself.

To those who would attest some ownership over me, take heed you own nothing, as I am all of nothing. To those who would insanely lay claim to a soul completely lost yet searching for a way to be found, be still in the moment you realize you have but grasped at air. To those who would shun me as a bastard stepchild, be cautioned that I may be shunned but I will not shun, for love is not given to be received, but given to be given. Take time, understand your complexities, and be so simple as to reach out with an outstretched hand. You will not be empty, you will not be forlorn, your will be loved in the simplicity for which love is.

And simple it is.

All things allowed in their simplicity are the best of things. All efforts made in their most simple form are worthwhile. All times drawn down to their most simple of moments are beautiful in themselves. It is not about solving the complexities of life, it is about transforming such complexities to their simplest forms. In those moments of simplicity, one can find purpose, light, and love. Love is simple, love never is complex, it is the basics of life and the mystery of all that is. To be in love is to find the purity of simplicity. To feel such tinge of hatred burn at one's heart is to cloud life with complexity; such difficulties can be remedied with the slightest touch of a lover's hand, the soft kiss of your other, the sweet embrace of your child. It is simple, it is beautiful and it is glorious.

Sunday, 3 August - A tale of folly

The night last was filled with venom, frustration at those little minds which tend to impact with their smallness. Struggle as I might to reduce their effect, there it was, the replay of the mind's noise stuck on a constant loop of ignorance. It makes you question the veracity of your purpose in such employ, when you can readily see the effects of their stupidity and ignorance in such light as to be blinded by their simplicity.

It is so true that even reasonable men can be filled with such ego as to not put their best foot forward if it should enhance others whose feet may seem better suited for the task. The realities are much more difficult than their fantasies would entail, a meanness of no purpose stuck in the afterthought of idiocy. You can see the glow of the discovery of failure in their eyes long before they can, you implore their discretion as a better part of valor, but to no avail as the monster of greed and ego surrounds their thoughts in supreme imperfection.

One would easily dispel such idiocy if only it didn't impact and cause the imminent suffering of many at the whims of the few. So today I resolve to stand idly by and watch the imminent destruction of a valid cause, of one that I felt such passion and desire. As if the inexperienced were to be a Roman Minerva and I her owl, the simple minded fool would believe it so, yet again I stand to watch the flood of failure rush and await the sounds to see who the fool can assign blame. The owl shall truly find a home, but not in the empty statues of her court, whose absence of experience can only be surmounted by the overabundance of wasted thought, such shallow statues are sure to be as hollow as the dust that made them.

So, peace begone, I shall walk this path in the intensity for which it deserves. No forward watching angel shall there be, no wistful lines of scouts to portray a dismal end. I shall succeed despite the failings of others, and in that shall my purpose be. Such a raging flood of failure shall not impede me in my quest, such sadness in the lies told by foolish lips shall not purge me from my course. You, kind sir, may see a fool across the way, but be comforted in the fact that I shall not call you on your foolishness, shall not rail against you in your misconceptions, but shall wait patiently for the end to fall where it may. You may think yourself Goliath to my David; patience shall be my stone and persistence my sling. You shall not hear the thud or taste the dirt, you shall only know it is I who stung you.

kundalini

i do feel that which i should not
such a time cannot be left unnoticed
for it owns us all, treats us to such ecstasy,
and then shows us such things are but nothing.

to feel such fluttering on my crown
to feel such spring from within my root,
is to feel nothing but what is intended
and to see intent in all that i feel.

from this heat to cold
from this life to the next
to seek beyond such an invisible wall
is to peek around into the end of infinity.

alive! this is alive!
for the gaps between the stars above
create the space to serve their existence
the pain shall be endured by each of them.

In the cause of suffering

It is late this night, a long day has passed, each moment different than the next, each leaving a little less in the tank. It seems as if my mind is on empty, the thoughts of the day wearing it paper thin, and I am left to sit in a chair staring at the lightning as it reigns havoc over the evening sky.

My youngest daughter has left me to get her bath, her mom carrying out what should be the day's final debate with my ever knowing child. The lightning grows worse, closer, the sound of the thunder draws near. It does not appear long before we are in the midst of the storm, which most likely will end my nights excursion into the free flow of words from heart to keyboard.

Yet this storm reminds me of something, as often nature does, of what causes action and purpose may be. I think of suffering, that ever present Teacher, and how nature can teach us all things. In man's decision to be separate of nature, he can't help but to forget that which nature will teach. We attempt with all of our might to end suffering, treating it as some parasite on our Being, and look for ways outside ourselves to end it. We buy things, stuff ourselves full of food, become glued to the television, seek for removal of reality by means of drugs, all the while never postponing suffering. In fact, most of the time our escapes magnify the effects of the lesson.

Suffering has become my friend. I learn from it, never trying to hide it, embrace it when it visits, and treat it with the respect it deserves. I never try to dampen its arrival, but rather I open my arms to it. I simply just wait to see what the lesson will be.

It is in the cause of suffering that we will learn, and in that learning we become closer to that which ceases all suffering. In the face of physical pain, there are times when we simply have no choice but to dampen its effects, but we should certainly make every effort to embrace the pain and to allow it to lengthen our thresholds. Make all efforts to not complain about this pain, not to embrace it as part of you, but rather observe it as a dispassionate bystander who is watching someone else having this experience.

In the cause of mental or emotional pain, understand what it is that is causing this pain. In a relationship breakup, is it the other person who is making you feel this pain, or is it the identification with the relationship that you have lost that is bringing on the anguish? In the case where your partner has inflicted some pain on you, do you identify so much with the loss that you must relive it over and over again? Is that loss really the cause of the pain or is the pain the cause of the loss? Find the source of such pain, the real source, and find a key to happiness. Do not identify with the pain, do not relish in it, do not look for it, and do not let it own you. Simply understand its source and let it be, and like a snake ready to strike shy away from it less it become a part of you in the most uncomfortable way possible. Remember, if you do not own the object, you cannot own its loss, and therefore you cannot experience any pain at the loss of it.

Another bolt cascades from the darkened sky. Nature is ridding itself of something, embracing the destructive force of lightening in order to do so. Suffering is like these bolts, the clap of thunder, the thrash of heavy winds, the beating of such a torrential downpour. Yet at the end of this moment of suffering in nature the air is cleaned, the ground thirst quenched, the weakest branches purged. Suffering off all beings results in such a cleaning and nourishing, one must embrace it as such to benefit from it. The tree does not hide from the wind, the ground from the rain, the air from the lightning, it embraces it as part of the moment, as the cleansing it is.

There are times when I seek the end of suffering or look to diminish its effects, but those times are lessening, becoming less frequent. I look forward to the moment when I can embrace those times with the same joy that I embrace the sunrise. One must realize that for every downhill race there is an uphill climb, that there is a base for every summit reached. One we can accept the suffering and learn from it, we will truly achieve the happiness that such suffering was meant to foster.

Peace.

One of the many Iguanas to live with us humans on St. John. They are very cool to hang out with.

St. John Palms 1

Got to love those island trees...palms in St. John, USVI

The Philly skyline as seen from inside the old Tweeter Center during a Pearl Jam concert - June 2008.

Fourth of July Fireworks

Absolutely awesome display - Freedom Park in Medford.

Such Eternity

Dream to dare this instance,
When she touches me
She caresses my skin
Whispers softly in my ear
Allowing me but to live this moment.

Find for me a second
As she holds me in her hands
Stroking the essence of her man
Teasing me with the anticipation of what is to come
Yet allowing me to find no greater pleasure than what is.

Share with me no other
As she guides me to her essence
We connect as Beings made as one
Rhythmic movement spawned as time stands still
For all things disappear in what we are.

We collapse into each other
This is no end but the continuation of the beginning
For as she whispers softly the promise "I love you"
I can feel such eternity in her soul.

To what does this journey begin?

This morning before I left for a meeting in upstate New York, I had some time to enjoy nature and seek its wisdom. One can always find solace and wisdom among the things of God, and as you become centered in this place you find God within you. Times like this help bring clarity, peace and perception back to Being, and help shed light on the insanity of unconsciousness that claims the soul regularly.

As the bright red sun peeked through clouds slightly above the distant horizon, I had the opportunity to feel the presence of God in the stillness. I just sat there, enjoying the very slight breeze in my face, the warmth on my skin, and the feeling of connectivity that this stillness offers. It is in moments like this that Being is confirmed, life's promise renewed, and focus brought back on to purpose rather than pursuit.

I love the sunrise, it is hard to find a more still and quite time on Earth. It is so still, so quiet, that yes, the break of dawn is a sound deafening to the soul.

I watched the birds fly and listened intently not only to the songs they offered but the silence that allowed them to be. I wondered what those birds thought of us as they circled high above in all areas of our home. I wondered if they could even relate to our insanity, to our reluctance of purpose in pursuit of things, and I realized at that point that the bird is surely smarter in most moments than we are.

I felt the asphalt turn to grass (I walk barefoot regularly), and wondered if grass could think how it would judge those of us who walked upon it. I wondered if the soles of our shoes protected the grass more than we believe they protect us. I came to realize that in its not being able to judge us as anything, the grass was truly more aware of its purpose than we are of ours.

I came to rest upon a large tree, one of several that I saw as I made my way through the mountains of upstate New York. I noticed how the leaves pointed toward the sun, partially curled by the dryness of the ground where it was destined to set its roots. I realized that the tree never asks for more than it needs, nor uses more than God gives it, and yet this tree will most likely outlive me and possibly my children. It bears no signs of stress in its thirst, no signs of frustration at not having a more beautiful place on which to rest, and yet there it is as strong as intended serving a purpose not beyond itself.

It was quite evident at that moment that we are all connected to these Beings, to the birds, to the grass, to the trees, to all life enjoying its unique existence on this home. I was reminded of an old native American saying, "there is no tree so foolish as to have its branches fighting among themselves." A tree is so aware of its purpose that it serves that intelligence without the struggle of things that don't run in line with that purpose. It has a time to sprout, a time to grow, and a time to die. In the short time between its birth and death, it [I]serves[/I] a purpose, perhaps invisible to most things of thought, but there nonetheless.

All beings in this universe serve the same purpose. And what separates humans on this planet from all other beings is the diversion from purpose to pursuit, from intelligence to stupidity, from awareness to unconsciousness. And while you may be judging me and this prose, a vast world of possibilities escapes your grasp in the moment you waste not seeking purpose inside your soul.

To find your purpose, just stop thinking about it. What inspires you? What does your Being do [I]when you do not think[/I] about being? When you are no longer seeking you can only hope but to find. When you are no longer thinking you can only be in stillness. When you are in stillness you can feel the presence of God.

In the very near future, a great change will take place on this earth. Out of the fire will rise a new Earth and a new Spirituality. The meek shall inherit the Earth, and war and violence will cease to exist. We will endure great suffering, and some will see the end to their existence while others will see a change in theirs. People will no longer seek a collective identity, or any identity, nor will they judge others. They will be as the grass, the tree, and the bird, serving an intelligence far greater than their own, in a way that offers light to all. The journey begins the day you become aware of that which makes you blind.

"Ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find..."

Peace.

My Jihad

To stand on the sidelines
Not to fight for something unAmerican
Is truly the most patriotic of duties.

To stand idly by
And to not kill someone not your enemy
Is truly the most honorable action.

To take that 20 footer and still find love in your heart
That is the most human of actions.
Even if it seems more and more unlike the humans you know.

To be but a glimmer of peace
In a nation striving for anything but
Is God's clear commandment for us all.

To love thy neighbor
Although thy neighbor is an ass
Is what all that of God has taught.

To seek for love as your neighbors lob bombs
Does not make one less honorable than those who lob them
It is the most honorable of work.

So, while you master war
I will master peace, in the essence of that which made me
In that I will fight until I die.

War

Far away
A bomb drops
Silence begets misery.

9/11

One day
Buildings fall
The world suffers.

Change 1

Bygone eras remain as thus
The truth we think is part of us
Yet truth can change in but a tick
Yet the self remains as sick.

The Essence of Privacy

It has been asked where my priorities are, so maybe it is only fair to answer.

I believe more in the individual than in the collective. The individual can surmount more adversity, solve more problems, address more issues than can any collective mind ever created. Our nation was not made great by its collective, but by extraordinary individuals who worked on behalf of the collective. Whether it was the handful of individuals who founded this nation, or each individual at Valley Forge who endured great hardship on behalf of a collective, or the individuals who rose above the collective to repel tyranny during World War II, it has always been the individual who has made this nation great...not the other way around.

We ceased to think as individuals in the early part of the 20th century. Many writers reflecting the times wrote about this loss of the individual, and they predicted a troubling time in America as a result. They were, unfortunately, correct.

The counter-culture of the 1960's sought to bring back the individual, but it too was ruined by a sense of the collective. Today, we can't think for ourselves without first running our thoughts through the collective mindset in ourselves, Republicans must think like Republicans, Democrats like Democrats, union rank and file must think alike, police officers who see wrongdoing in their collective cannot speak out against it, and as a nation you either agree with the collective or you are not part of the collective. You can no longer be American while disagreeing with it.

In other words, you cannot be an individual anymore. You cannot think thoughts based on something beyond collective thought. You cannot act in opposition with the collective. You must live like a drone on an island of drones if you want to survive.

Or else the ATF will burn your building down and kill you all. Maybe the FBI is listening in to your phone calls. Maybe Google and even this forum report your every move to some super-secret agency posing as an internet service provider.

The issue of privacy is an individual one. Privacy is simply the act of one acting as in individual away from the collective. It is one of the last bastions of individuality left in our nation, and it is under attack. It is under attack by big business interested in tracking your every move. It is under attack by a government using fear to make you feel as if this attack somehow serves you well. Collectives like religions have a long history of attacking the individual, at some points killing a person rather than let them not be like the collective. It is even under attack within yourself as some struggle with how they feel versus how they are supposed to feel.

It is simply up to you as individuals to determine how much of yourself you are willing to give away. Either you can stay tied to the binds of materialism which is the essence of such loss, or you can reject it all and move forward as yourself. You can either identify with a collective or you can choose not to. Ultimately in that decision comes an air of responsibility, one that you cannot pass off.

Now

Light and dismal, this thread that binds
Us all to all things that matter so much,
That the endless noise of those insane minds
Have taken the place of the simple touch.

It is now odd to love as it is the norm,
To seek out more the more we seek,
For the form of love is now the love of form,
and the less we know the more we speak.

We look to tomorrow in the hope we find,
That which is touching us so presently,
For in this conversation of the mind,
It is the ego that speaks so obnoxiously.

Do not rush to feel the hope that's passed,
Nor seek to see that which may never come,
Just love the love in the Now so vast,
And worry not about what shall Now become.

A New Earth...One

The change is happening, the news brings alive the reaper.
To whom shall taste his scythe; the unconscious shall fall,
To take with them all that shall slowly seep into the abyss,
The darkness to which only the Dead shall call.

Need not that to which escapes your grasp,
Seek not that which you are not to find,
yet allow in each of us the cause of suffering,
To escape such insanity and pleadings of the mind.

Fear not, for you suffer this day,
Not for eternity, but so that you suffer no more,
the Horsemen come, the drum bangs slowly,
Keeping time in this crime of time's detour.

See that! new life is arisen,
Be part of it, it is part of you.

Daily Prayer

I will not be a terrorist in this world.

I will not be a murderer in this world.

I will not suffer the indignity of not accepting the awareness so easily given to me by my Creator.

I will not treat the definition of honor as if it were my socks, to be changed when I don't like how it smells anymore.

I will honor the teachings of Jesus, Buddha, and Lao-tzu not just when it suits me, but more so when it doesn't.

I will accept suffering into my world as a means to the end of it.

I will search for the unity in all things, for that is where truth resides.

I will give up what I AM in order to find out what I AM.

I will end the insanity of the mind simply by not identifying with it.

I will be love in whatever form the present allows it to take.

I will serve man in whatever capacity the present allows.

I need not search for the Source (God) for I am part of it and it is part of me.

Daily mantra...

I will not be a terrorist in this world.

I will not be a murderer in this world.

I will not suffer the indignity of not accepting the awareness so easily given to me by my Creator.

I will not treat the definition of honor as if it were my socks, to be changed when I don't like how it smells anymore.

I will honor the teachings of Jesus, Buddha, and Lao-tzu not just when it suits me, but more so when it doesn't.

I will accept suffering into my world as a means to the end of it.

I will search for the unity in all things, for that is where truth resides.

I will give up what I AM in order to find out what I AM.

I will end the insanity of the mind simply by not identifying with it.

I will be love in whatever form the present allows it to take.

I will serve man in whatever capacity the present allows.

I need not search for the Source (God) for I am part of it and it is part of me.

Untitled IV

I do not stive to be unlike,
Any other that God has made,
Yet to be untrue to the least of you,
Will surely see me fade.

Presence in nature - One

To be within nature, that which spawned us all into this existence we know as "human", that which gave life to this world, that IS life in this world, now that is to find Heaven on Earth as surely as it is to find stars in the universe. To see the nature man has since forgotten, that vestige of life he once called his "Mother", to feel the offering of such on my skin, the coolness of it all on my being, to be present in nature is to be in the midst of God itself.

To walk among these things is to realize that nature honors us much more than we honor it. It provides for us, sees to our sanity, provides us entertainment, and gives us that unique understanding of the I before the things of form cloud the self. We attempt to harness its power, to control its might, and pretend so arrogantly that we are in some kind of control, yet more often than not nature can end our arrogance with but a shrug of itself. We are truly but a flea on nature, an obscure parasite that is here at its behest, and can leave much the same. We cannot and are not in control of our destiny, and the sooner we end our arrogance that somehow we are the dominant in this relationship the sooner we will be at peace with all that is.

We would end the life of a natural thing without pause, as if somehow it is less than us. This is because we fail to see that what makes that living being what it is is the same that makes us what we are. It is not in the intellect of the being that offers its superiority, nor is it in strength of form, nor can it be found in cause or purpose; for nothing in nature is superior to another, all things serve a purpose united in the moment it exists that cannot be altered except by unconsciousness. It can even be said that things altered in unconsciousness serve a purpose, either to awake that which is unconscious or to offer a step toward that purpose. Still, man seems to be the only being in nature who is not aware of its purpose.

In proof of purpose, I offer you a bird I observed this afternoon. Some might say a bird's purpose is to have offspring, to continue its species. Others might say that the bird's purpose is to live and die. I, however, observed this golden finch's purpose as it was singing. It was quite obvious that that bird's purpose was to sing. It gave no thought to nest building at that moment. It gave no thought to laying an egg, or hatching a chick; no - its only thought was of singing. It seemed to give all of its energy and commitment to the song. What a beautiful song it was, for the finch gave itself completely to the song without a moment's concern of what was to happen or what was to be, all things at that moment was as it must be..

I heard a story once about a dog understanding purpose and presence better than any man. If you walk into a room, a dog reacts with love and affection galore. Leave and walk back in five minutes later, the dog reacts the same. Why? Because it cares little for the past and nothing of the future, it just knows what is at the present moment. The second part of the dog metaphor has to do with reaction and the past. If you beat a dog, really abuse it, and 10 years later walk into a room with the dog, it very likely will bite you. The difference between man in his unawareness (lack of presence) and the dog is that the dog didn't spend those 10 years thinking about biting you. He went about his life being a dog, until that very moment when he saw you again. That dog also probably didn't react afterward either.

Yet as humans we carry around a bunch of excess baggage. We hold grudges, struggle with the insanity of our lives, and often suffer mightily because of it. We listen repetitively to the noise of thought in our head, choosing the insanity of thought over the sanity of presence. We fear that which we cannot understand, even personifying our Creator as if it were a man so that we could understand it better. We look outwardly for a savior, a man who will give us salvation because we cannot understand that in our making we have salvation inwardly - inside us all.

We have lost our individuality, our ability to work things out ourselves. We strive to interfere. We must save each of us from ourselves, passing laws that serve a purpose of futility. Seat belt laws are a great example. We have to interfere so much that we make it unlawful NOT to wear a seat belt while driving! This lack of awareness does not take into consideration that all things will be as they must be, whether or not the seat belt is worn! Nothing that is to happen can be stopped, no matter what law we pass in another arrogant attempt to enforce our will over that which will be.

"I do not stive to be unlike,
Any other that God has made,
Yet to be untrue to the least of you,
Will surely see me fade."

When we are no longer in tune with nature, or understand that all things happen as they must, then we are doomed to fail as a human experiment. Since in can be readily assured that we are not human beings seeking a spiritual existence but rather are spiritual beings enjoying a human experience, we must surely find ourselves in tune with that which binds us to our Source. Otherwise, we cease to be relevant in that existence, and when we come to be so out of tune with our purpose as to no longer matter, we will cease to exist on this plane. To use a modern NFL metaphor, it would be like seeing 150-pound offensive lineman and 350-pound wide receivers on the field, all wearing ballet slippers. It just doesn't fit. Since we are spiritual beings enjoying a uniquely human experience, once we cease to behave in line with spiritual beings we cease to exist in the manner we no longer have a relevancy necessary to exist. We cease to be who we are, so we cease to be.

Presence acts like a capacitor on a circuit board (assuming I remember electronics at all). It (presence) gates down the ego so that we perform in purpose. Once that capacitor blows, and the current (ego) flows unchecked, the power is too great and the board destroys itself. We are in the midst of a capacitor who is about to fail, so either we can fix it and move peacefully in purpose or it will fail at the result will be catastrophic.

This does not serve as a threat, or even a warning, as I am ready for whatever each moment has in store for me. As indicated in the Book of Revelations, a "new earth" will arise along with a "new heaven", showing that after the failure of the capacitor the new board will be created. In this new "board", the new Earth will share with a new heaven a state of peace; the new "heaven being spirituality and awareness, with the "new" earth being the purpose of all who are alive to share in the awareness.