it is weird to be a grandfather but no-longer a grandson and probably weirder still to be a great grandfather but no-longer son and maybe no-longer brother and maybe no-longer husband to have a son that is a grandfather as the cycle trundles
our identities both fade into inconsequential history and simultaneously thin into time and future until we are light as feather and can go where we please with neither baggage nor fixed destination and the wind that sung in our no-longer childhood sings to us again songs of carriage and passage and we must relearn the old language we spoke before speech
listen to what living space tries to tell you the field intelligence of our homes are usually out for our best interests if we honor our residence it has things to tell that only places we inhabit can say when we stop to listen a larger script with space between the letters for a companion signal it is good to have a home as an ally to extend our senses deeper into worlds
I can walk a well lit hall as if bathed in shadow I can cross a pedestrian street while caverns of purgatory yawn on each side down the depths of hell I can carry a conversation while an ice serpent writhes across my tongue and imps of nearby tombs tug loose sheets of fabric from my hearing so yeah I can hear you, I can see you just not like you think ok?
sometimes I’m gobstruck by infinity radiating from this moment threads and arcs of possibilities sneaking up on it we might observe as a child down darkened hall, peeking from a bedroom door the selections made for us constantly by our relentless thoughts and judgments and feelings with our adulting minds …yet a few children stand in the midst of this bazaar absorbed with arrays and paths of their own elective in a smorgasbord of choice one of the few might be you, sometimes
a mind ~my mind stutters in broken accord skips a track loses a beat and is slow to pick back up not knowing where it left off I wait for it to regain its bearing so we can continue our journey two old fools sharing a room with a view at the far end of the hall and it’s probably better that we never got that monkey
Of course there were rifts from the beginning in the fabric of things that never mended the way culture intended and there were tides and whirlpools both figurative and literal
one tide brought my brothers and I out into the sacred under a moonlit sea off Myrtle Beach on Styrofoam “surfboards” waves and stars and warm water moonlight rivers on the ocean
a lazy whirlpool once trapped me for several minutes in my huge inner tube early in the leg of a 4 hour run on the Tama river in Japan through rapids and beckoning beach parties a paddle would have probably helped expedite an escape
almost lost a friend on the same trip he disappeared in front of me like a magic act like some leviathan of the deep snatched him I waited, paddling by hand in circles debating diving in to try and find him in that sinkhole or to wait a tad longer meanwhile his hat whooshed up without him a few seconds after and he sputtered to the surface
I have been washed to sea through ayahuasca, san pedro, peyote, mushrooms, float tanks, trance states, out of body, lucid dreams I’ve seen sirens I have addictive tendencies that runs in my family, lineage and race if you believe the stuff about natives and liquor but I’m pulled to altered states more or less daily… through meditation,vivid or lucid dreams, path working during the day, edibles, ale or wine in the evening feeble attempts to keep the riffs from closing before I decide to enter
It’s past witching hour by far In vino veritas (y tambien, la vida no es tan seria como la mente hace que parezca)
enjoy life -but live it(!) don’t settle which means ~obtain your magic claim your mojo you die alone make some choices that only you are accountable for
escape a few beliefs and a little indoctrination free the mind a bit and spirit more you know those feelings …your memory can reach that far back to what you’ve lost touch with-in
in all the scurry come back to the body it’s not just a temple it’s a playground of sensation, energies pathways and forces a nexus of power
ride these sensations into presence only the body is always here and now while the mind can spin endlessly in neither anchor self in the earth and reach the stars or not a thousand games a thousand gems
Protect yourself and grow upright to the sky; that is all.
— Shunryu Suzuki
outside, gray skies gray streets gray gradient dopplers of swooshing cars inside same gray excesses the night before leaving ashes where motivation should lie hate to leave on a gray wave or gray way how does one melt these pewter talismans down their leaden enchantments using a glowing splinter taken from the paw of a creature made of fire which owes me a debt as best I can remember
… a gray wave and gray day probably spawned from a haunting poem I learned in elementary school, though I don’t know from where. It went like this:
A green little chemist On a green little day Mixed some green little chemicals In a green little way. The green little grasses Now tenderly wave O’er the green little chemist’s Green little grave.
let go limiting thoughts gaslight thoughts thoughts with measurements thoughts of righteousness thoughts of judgment thoughts too small and too petty Who. Cares? Really. Others give us about as much thought as we give them Not collectively, individually How much have you thought about person x? even if person x is family or close friend daily? how many minutes? a few seconds? weekly? rarely? add it up for those you love dearly, maybe hours No matter for many of us perhaps all of us we mostly think about us to such relief! usually nobody thinks that much about us in particular yet: we think everyone’s attention is obsessed with our every move, facial tic, expression, behavior, reaction well… Dream on …but make better dreams …if you’re in the dreaming business otherwise, let go of this self-importance feel free to jump into the stream of us taking nothing personally the royal us