Every Day

As you were soldier. Strange turns and crossings that do occur....until we find ourselves questioning the very box we decided to place ourselves in. What was it that I said I would be...and when I wasn't that anymore...what was I? What am I? Who am I? What a silly questions to ask at this stage in the game, I mean really. Shouldn't it all be so clear, as glass they say...making it through another day, until we find the way...we should as if you could understand when we can't even understand ourselves. They say, we should have hope, it's a new era, they say. Eras only come if we continue to remember all that has been forgotten.

Thoughtless

There was a time when we thought all we could think until there was no new thought to be had, every angle explored until no more questions needed to be uttered. Or was it endless? Ideas presented, beliefs engrained. Thinking, a process in the brain by which we explore ideas, concepts, beings, memory, sensory, life; justifying our actions and calling our actions, our thoughts correct. What then, would be the opposite of a thinking being, a non-thinking being. One that does not think. A thinkless. Thoughtless. Or maybe a partial thinker, one who thinks sometimes. Or a part-time thinker. Working on thinking. What would make a full-time thinker, one who thinks all the time. One would just have to call those that meditate to clear, slow, stop the thoughts, think stoppers. Thought stop. Those who try to think, about thinking, think obsessive...or thought obsessive. The bee said, "I will eat this nectar and in return you will bear a great and powerful fruit. You could feed nations as long as you help me." Then it went to build honey comb much to it's dismay for that very day the honey comb could not stand on it's own. "What sort of nectar is this? Pesticide flavored. No more fruits for you." said the bee as it fell to the ground. Let's not think about it. No te importa un pito.

Fires and Smoke

A character in T.S Eliot's The Cocktail Party is named Celia, "who has been not just disappointed but disillusioned in love, goes to a psychiatrist for help and begins her first session with this unusual statement." She says, "I must tell you that I should really like to think there's something wrong with me because, if there isn't, then there's something wrong with the world itself--and that's much more frightening! That would be terrible. So I'd rather believe there is something wrong with me, that could be put right."
This photograph was taken moments before sunset a slight distance from "the canyon" in Butte County during the time of all the fire and brimstone. Hundreds of fires blazed portions of the Sierra, and actaully all over California, humans unable to contain them for quite some time. Lightening. Trees bursting with intense blue pitch blaze looking more like angered spirits than flames. The smoke did linger for some time, not a drop of rain to be seen for, literally, months. That air was so hard to breathe...bringing a person to their knees to put face to the ground and maybe use it as filter...a dirt filter, an earth mask. California was so flamed up that one couldn't help but ask, "Is the earth punishing us?!" Or, "Damn, is the apocalyspe here?!" Or to simply state, "That's global warming for you!" It has been said this has happened before and will likely happen again. It would seem that there was no one left, except valleys and a sprinkle of friends. All busy being entertained, or staying indoors. Trying to out wit the smoke, to live outside in moments of grandeur, heading for old places where friends relatives are. Airways react under pressure, breathing becomes much more difficult in this new world. That, or something, something from another world...took the breath away. Leaving one lying on their back in the dirt, completely relaxed, tears streaming down the face, the last breath came and went...gone. A few moments, choked out, then nothingness. Nothing. Until, what seems to be song touches the ears which ultimately hears a calming, "welcome back." Breathe. "I'd rather believe there is something wrong with me, that could be put right."

Between Your Eye And This Page

Between

Your eye and this page

I am standing.

Between your ear and sound

The Friend has pitched a golden tent

Your spirit walks through a thousand times

A day.

Each time you pass the Kaaba

The Sun unwinds a silk thread from your body.

Each time you pass any object

From within it

I bow.

If you are still having doubts about His nearness

Once in a while debate with God.

Between

Your eye and this page Hafiz

Is standing.

Bump

Into Me

More.

By Hafiz, A Great Persian Poet

Plantalk

It was a lovely warm evening walking through Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. Just prior to the sunset when the light changes to an orange hue, this leaf said, "look at me!" It explained how it could capture light and magnify it's veins. It said, "I can remind us of life itself in relation to the whole, and tell you we are connected. I am love." "May I take your photo?" I asked ignorantly. "Yes, but I will not look real to you anymore, I will become a digital image because the love we speak of can not be captured." What a nice leaf, and so beautiful with the light streaming through. Click.