Words are impossible for some time… not that they are not there or that they are not spoken… they are simply impossible to express what is within the folds of one’s mind… things fall like rain… good times and bad times… there are strings of moments one better than the next… and others where I sit wondering when the next brick will fall… I sense I am walking a very thin line… weary from the recent journey… the mind thick with both worry and memories… confused about the past and the steps I failed to take… I wonder now how much I could have changed if I had been more proactive in my choices… words are impossible… time is slipping away from me and I feel that I have done an injustice… or a series of them… beginnings and endings do that to me… my sentimental nature coming into play… as the year turns over for me I get this way and couple that with the events of this last week and I am without words… and yet her I am writing… for it is the art of my expression… the means I use to clear my mind… my heart and my soul…

Believing is seeing… everything flows from there… we are all familiar with the saying that seeing is believing… that once we see some thing we believe it to be true… yet so much in life that is truly wonderful we can not see… we can sense it in other ways of course… butt we cannot see it… air for example… yet we know it to exist… it is what we breathe after all… so over time it became some what apparent to me that we are able to “see” or sense what we believe in… our belief allows us a perspective… or a window onto the world… believing is seeing… if we believe some thing we can see it unfolding in the world… how powerful that belief is will determine how much of the world we sense using it… for example if you believe all politicians are criminals… you will “see” that in every single one you come in contact with… that belief will paint them all the same hue… if you believe all children are angels this will color your experiences with them… beliefs are very powerful lenses we place over our eyes… they add and remove from our experiences as we apply them… so if we are going to have beliefs that effect our experiences of the world perhaps it is best we have ones that are truly unique… and wonderful… so much unfolds from a belief that perhaps we should learn to generate positive ones that enrich the moments we are having… that we are moving towards… not everything we do is perfect of course… mistakes are the portals of discovery as James Joyce has said… and as such they are not always easy discoveries… sometimes our best laid plans go awry… and some times the simplest journey becomes the most difficult… yet if we believe we can leap and land successfully we should do just that… a good belief allows you to see the world as it should be seen… full of questions… answers and endless possibilities…

Hello is by its very nature an invitation… a query… a question begging for an answer… it is some times the most difficult word to say… all collisions begin with a greeting… where they go from there is up to those who have collided… great sparks some times are made with simple words… the greeting does paint a wonderful picture in my mind… a stream of thoughts or perhaps a river of dreams… a sea of possibilities… an ocean of opportunities… by its nature one opens the door and invites another in and from there… well all kinds of magic happens…

A word sits on a page… it is by definition a symbol of something else… the word is not the object or the emotion or thought it is the expression in print of that witch we are attempting to convey… crude words are at times… clumsy certainly they can be… as well as eloquent and perfect… the beauty of language as an art form is that every word is a world unto itself… how we choose to write it… the style we wrap ourselves around… our way or skill at using the words all come into play… it can be a science as well as an art… there are many avenues in witch words are the pathways to heal as well as to harm… what ever is written has the meaning the reader takes with them… the meaning is the response… w write these symbols down in a line and we place them on a page and we the author have a vision within our minds of what we are attempting to say to the other and yet that expression is never completely transferred to the other… the reader takes what is there and in their mind creates the image of what they read… know two images are exactly the same… like no two snowflakes are exactly the same… from different minds come different thoughts… views of the world that we live in… so any word sitting here can easily become an entire forest of thoughts… full of seasonal differences… depending on when we bring our mind and our emotions to the word we could notice some thing unique and different… some change in our sense of the word… or use of it… slight nuances of interpretation…

We all seem to think of masks as a means to hide… a means to shield ourselves from the world… there is another side to masks… the one that allows us to step outside of our selves so we are more than perhaps we would normally be… a mask that opens doors and creates possibilities that would otherwise not be there for us… a mask that unfolds choices we would normally not see or risks we would normally not take… there id sp- for me the mask of the artist… this is how I communicate to others… without it what am I… just another shy individual… so some masks are powerful for the things they allow us to do…

Balance in life is very difficult to achieve… so many balls in the air at any one time… so many choices or opportunities to consider… in all of this we are alone in amongst the crowd… we still are a singular identity even when we are part of some thing more… we are part of a family say and still a single individual… we are alone and yet part of the puzzle… we are ourselves a puzzle or a paradox of ideas… and yet we are alone seeking balance… time for ourselves as well as time for others… we are a single tree and a complete forest of trees all different and unique… when we find the chords that vibrate the notes just so they may appear as a singular peace of music… but in fact they are a series of many smaller peaces… there is in my thoughts many ways to divide a thought to its threads and within that find the steps that bring balance not only to mind… butt also to the heart and soul…

There are places where equations no longer have meaning or a finite answer is not possible any longer in the terms we are comfortable with using… at those moments we have to step away from our model of the universe and adapt a more appropriate model… one that allows us to use different terms to describe in a finite way what is occurring around us… molecules have always existed… though to the ancient man they were not visible… so when they did become visible we have to recreate a model of the world that allowed for our awareness of the molecule… and so on though the ages have we adapted to the ever expanding knowledge…

As for gravity it is a multidimensional idea… on one side it is the force that attacks elements one to another and holds them to a place in space and time… it can also be the element of this space and time that limits us… or sets us apart from one another by the weight of it… we feel the pull of one to another along an existing axis… yet we wish to leap and be set free… it would not world if we floated off so we require a bit of foundation that gravity gives us… yet we fight it as well to be set free to fly or leap when we need to… another area where we require a balance…

I agree we are worlds unto ourselves and entire systems revolve around and through us… we change with the tides… the temperature… the seasons and the emotional waves… any or all of these factors influence who we are… and how the universe of us spins… there are many collisions happening as we speak… sparks flying in all directions and yet our suns are shining… our moons reflecting light… the planets in day are moving toward the night and the ones in day are moving at the same rate towards the light… we have our internal suns as well as external… our internal mind sets as well an external… and we have the emotional space and time as well as the physical… we are all elements… and all kinds of space…

My life is unconscious poetry… so little is expressed that it is a wonder that an imprint is made… I am poetry in motion… fingers touching keys… labels flying hither and yon… a desire to find one that when placed below my picture says… this is… defined… trapped in the silence of the moment… a series of evolving doors… revolving ideas and concepts… I am a dream and a mystery… a closed carpet of threads… sealed with a key… or series of keys… for one is never enough to unlock another completely… just when you think you have it the door swings open to reveal another door…

At the end I feel qualified to begin… when I have reached the threshold of one place and cross over into another I get the sense that I am now ready to begin what I just completed… it is a strange paradox for me… perhaps that is true of all of us… that once we have completed a task we learned what the task was truly about… often it is not about the surface structure at all… it is more about the frame work or the ideal behind the tasks… we learn in time to separate out the steps so we can over stand them… when in truth we should move through them quickly and repeat the steps as often as we can inside our minds until we feel a sense of comfort… ends happen… they are part and parcel of life… of being part of life… I now feel qualified to begin…

All things find their way… it is my hope that they found their way easily and with the least amount of effort… I hope the left that is the opposition realized what was right and step back and up… some times it is too much to hope for things… some times we have to consider our options and get on with it… life is easy or easier then we let it be at times… and at others there are hills to climb and steps to take… I hope this step was small and this hill a lot smaller than anticipated… some times others get a bug up and fail to see the proper perspective… even when shown the light they believe other wise… that lack of insight can be some what disturbing… butt in the end justice does win out…

Time allows… when there is time take a deep breath and let go what needs to be said… conversations at times are like sensual dances… there are steps we take to move one another around the dance floor… and some times we are tired and wish to take a seat to refresh the mind… at other times we are aware and ready to lead… at others following is the route we wish to take… time allows us to take on the roll we desire at the moment… the scent lingers… all scents linger really if we desire them to… the scent of a dance… the breath of the fresh air that lifts one and takes them floating across the floor… time escapes me as well… never seems to be enough lately to get all the square pegs into those round holes…

The lesser of is the greater spark… the less we add to the creative process the more we allow another’s imagination to wonder about… simply put a hint of some thing is a greater spark than a full disclosure… left to our own imagination we will fill in the blanks as is best suited to our desires… or our mood… our state of mind… the hint is the allure… or the hint is more alluring in my mind than the full exposure… while it is some what frustrating to seek and not find as many as one would like… the one we do find does bring a certain wonder… good things do manage themselves more easily in the smallest of packages… we should be satisfied with the one and happy to add whom ever comes along… the criteria for me is much different… it is not about the look or the frame or the location… it is about the moments… the invitation is open… open to the minds willing to be the same… and even that is some what deliberate… fractions are the natural course of time… fear limits the excursions that are possible… out of so many a few… it does seem probable that it is possible to find the few in the multitudes… each has their requirements… their criteria for extending a hand… such is the way of the world… compromise… compromise… compromise… not every hand is capable of allowing the same… some must exists within a frame that they themselves control… no borders seems to me to be the perfect place… exchange without borders… a freedom to go anywhere at any time… and yet that same freedom is what is perplexing and feared… if there are no walls to hold one in… know barriers to hold onto… where exactly does one find the path they require… by allowing themselves the open range… at some point we all know the near and the far of our own abilities… a single spark… perhaps nothing more than the spider and the fly… I am not that alluring to consider… figments or cartoons are rarely seen as anything more than cute… if one does judge and one does they are wrong until they are right… there is at least a percentage that will grasp the concept of allowing the tide to come in… of being the source of the spark… butt then so many just wish to pass the tide back and forth… to find the rhythm of the water that is and never set to stirring the vortex… the edges cut and we bleed and we find it difficult to manage the islands in the water at the very center… we are called to explore… and some times we leap… and at others we ignore the call to find our way… we want what we want and nothing outside the walls helps us… such is life… all the same cookies into dish… never mix…

We are what we are… until we change who we are into some thing other than what we were at one time in two the person we are now… we evolve or we unfold like flowers blooming… at times we are very much like a flower… growing under the ground biding our time until we are ready to push forth above the ground… we take our time holding inside the full bloom until the factors or life all come together and we blossom… until that time we hide behind our facades and we use our masks… to give ourselves the time we need to bridge the gaps we have in our lives or between the times of our lives… does it matter what mask we wear that allows us to get up and dance or witch one we hide behind so we can sing our loud… or the one we put on that allows us to stand in front of a crowd of total strangers and read what we have composed or play what we have created in our minds… masks and facades can be useful tools when employed in the right manner…

The five sense… seeing… hearing… touch… smell and taste… and perhaps the sixth sense of perception or of the use of the unconscious mind… are used to “see” the world around us… we do see first… butt it is not the most profound or direct sense we have… smell is… and while we do see what is around us the sixth sense is the one that speaks to us if we listen closely as to what is truly around us is a situation we should embrace or step back away from… seeing is the sense we all rely on to take in what is there first and foremost butt over time we have learned to employ the other senses more effectively to truly see… in fact in the absence of sight some of us see better than we do in the bright of day…

The sands of time drop slowly for me… perhaps that is my perception in fact it is my perception of time for time trickles by at the same rate of speed regardless of how I perceive time… though one can sit in a moment and employ all the wonders of perception to slow it down or speed it up and nothing will truly matter… time will move as time moves… though for me being wrapped in some moments are so deep and wonderful I can revisit them over and over and still get the same deep reflection… so one can squeeze the wonder out of a grain of the sands of time… one can step to either side of the sands of time and dodge them as they fall… one can find ways to count in the millionth of a grain… there is wonder in slowing time down so we can experience all we need… butt since we are talking about senses… in regards to time… touch is the most precious sense… one should be in touch with time… moments should be touched… held… grasped… and then let go…

If there another way to read or write or create other than to get lost in the moment… to let go of your reality and fly into the creative process or relaxing process and just slip away… to close your eyes and let the music fill you with the mood that spins the muse to your liking… is there another way to be motivated… another way to put springs on your feet or sparks into your finger tips… or a seed into your mind that find fertile soil to cultivate… one ahs to get lost in the moment and in getting lost we find we can manage to navigate the walls and bridges and forge the rivers regardless of the obstacles that life places before us… another use for masks and facades… be the crusader… the adventurer… the finder of lost sheep in the land of creativity…

Stone… the rock of life… the earth encrusted heated and pressed together… some times porous… sometimes hardened to a toughness that is beyond measure… is there folly in stone… only in its use… stone belongs to the earth and we only get to borrow the stone… we only get to shape it and take a piece of it and utilize its qualities for a time… stone reflects the cold nature of the earth… the stark nature of time… stone is endless and fathomless… in stone is the history of man and of the earth… the only folly in the stone is our need to create history with it… permanence… to place a mark on the earth that defines us… stone has no such need or quandary… we are the paradox… the quandary is within us to use what we have to leave that indent in the stone so that generations to come will be granted an insight in the world in witch we live… paper can hold our words… picture can capture our scenes… butt they are fleeting and can be erased from the face of the earth… stone is not a folly at all it is the permanent record of us…

At any moment in time we can be at once comfortable in our own skin and then later want to crawl out of our mind and into another moment entirely… at least that is true of me… if I am capable of getting to the solid walls of my state of mind I am at peace with myself… never truly comfortable being me… there is an element of me that I am uncomfortable with being… it is okay to be shy and introverted as I am and yet I wish I was different… that I took more risks and adventures… I do so here… this is my high dive… my virgin canvas… this is where the instrument is handed to me and I am asked to play and I can begin to ponder with notes and ideas and never look back… I wish I had that fearlessness in other places… in other moments of time as I do here… I am that enigma that stirs the magic in the drink and never drinks it… perhaps that is why the connections work so well… I am not competing for the light… so it is easy to lead others to the opening that they are blind to… it is nice some times to be a paradox… to be everything some one expects and then nothing at all of what they expect or to pretend to be what I am not in the course of time… forget the phrase for it is hopeless butt for the spark of light that ignites the rapid response… everyone has a place where they are safe within themselves… and I imagine that everyone wishes to at times bring that place forward into the world they reside in and use it more effectively…

There is that moment of being comfortably numb… it is a play on words… Pink Floyd used it in the Wall… and from that I speak that one can get so into the moment… so into the creative process that we become comfortably numb with our surroundings… we do distance ourselves from the reality so we can get lost in our creations… so the words come to life as we read them… so the words we compose find life in the air around us… so we feel each note as it is strung across the breeze… it takes patience to reach the comfort of being numbed and aware… of being subtle with change and the process of letting go of a seed so it finds good soil to cultivate within… we do sow many seeds… we do scatter our comfort to the four winds and invite others within the folds of our reflection… imagine the seams that hold together the jagged edges and tattered pages and find common touch along the fibers as they give way to time… in the end I want to be known so well by those who know me that they will each have touch the pages until the fibers fade… only to realize that was only a very small peace…

Our life never casts a shadow… our life is transparent… luminous… a wisp of vapor perhaps… life is not a solid form of reality it is a fleeting one… in life many erect monuments to times that have occurred and to people who lived in those times… they are cast in stone so that time will only slowly decay them… we wonder some times who these images portrait… their lives are casting shadows because they are built of stone and the stone looks down upon those who look up to the shadow… nothing of substance came from the shadow of course… the substance came from the life that was lived fully… people are of their time and place… only after our time has passed can we be measured and only then do we cast a shadow… while living we are our own shadows and darkness… our own bright lights and big moments…

The universal notes still sound… with each dawn.. with each passing moment… the notes are played and if we are aware of them we can add our sound to the many sounds that exist in the world… at any given moment there is a symphony of sounds exploding across our minds… we need only open our sense to them to hear them… to feel them… to explore the possibility of adding ours to this one or that one… what music exists in the nature of things exists because of the nature of us…

So very often I run away with a thought and find myself wandering the here and there seeking out more and more to add… and then there are times when the words slow and novels are written in sequences of single words… in the sum of times perhaps the art is the writing and the truth is not what comes out that others read and are taken by… butt the sheer weight of the words themselves that allow me to be me… it is very much like fishing in a stream… to cast your line in and let out the bait and see what finds it and then the wonder of bringing it to you begins… words have that solid sense of purpose… they fight some times to remain singular and free of other words… you have to want to contain them… corral them in a fenced area… align them on a page and make some sense with them… though I will say the nonsensical words are truly the best tasting ones… they have the knack of sparking such luxury as the illicit ideas that run with one’s imagination… so where does a thought go when the need to run arrives… to the far and near… to stretch the fabric of one’s imagination… the fire lights the way… look away and sense the purpose of the time… there is a sense of need… of deep reflection… of prayer… and the words play out their destiny being said as they are and used as a key to unlock the sense that resides inside me… perhaps a set of words will never be found that expresses what I feel or how I feel about a person or a moment in time or an experience and I will spend my life trying desperately to peace together some semblance of words or expressions that in some way grant me a small degree of what those meant… it is life the word love… or friend… or divinity… or bliss… or enchanted… or any word really for any word has by its nature a degree of being interpreted… so interpret me and find the keys that allow one to take the words I express and find meaning that like an impressionists painting allows the art to permeate the mind of the one looking in from the outside… what I do is done for me butt it has another purpose… it allows another to read it and go on a similar journey… and the question is not what am I trying to say here… the critical question is what do the words do for you…

In life rarely do we find an all or nothing moment… in fact in relationships and in love we often are faced with imperfects… I can love deeply butt it is never enough for some… it can also be too much for another… or out of sequence to another… in life it is all about timing and opportunities… that all or nothing need to leap… on the rare instance we have to be ready to do just that… butt in my life I have found that my regrets are more in the realm of having taken the leap more than in not having taken them… the imperfects that I am and that I bring have mot failed me… though by the looks of the surroundings it would appear that they have… people come into my life and they leave… it is that simple… as much as they promise the truth is that I am not the intimate dancer they require… their need is greater than the emotions I can stir… am I hurt by this… at times… at times it does disturb me… butt then we need to be who we are… we need to find our place in the fabric and settle in to do the tasks we are capable of… each has their way… each has their trials and their steps to take hold of… we rarely find the entire nut… so when you do… leap…

We make the imperfections work for us… we make the threads that are frayed and torn and tattered and are falling away be the most enticing aspects of any moment we find ourselves in… we can make the thin veil be the hint that opens the door to our imagination… we can use what is present to begin or we can use it to end… each has a choice to make in the process… so when one gets to the edge and wants to slip away perhaps it is time to slip away… perhaps that is the moment when one has to do what is best for them… of course there is never an easy answer… ultimately it is what it is and answers to such thoughts are for the individual for only they can make the choices that will bring them a sense of peace…

Madness it is said is hereditary… you get it from your children… to be truly insane one must experience the thrill and joy of bringing another into the world and raising them… otherwise the madness is self imposed and that is not the same sort of madness one can share as easily as one that is imparted… the madness of time fleeting across the horizon drives us particularly crazy… at some moments we do wish to get off the rotating wheel to have a bit of time to just relax and heal thyself… in truth we would take any moment that we could breathe deeply the gathering wonder… butt we are mad and therefore we plunge where we should wade and dive where we should enter with caution… throwing such steps to the wind we dance along the edge inviting the hand of fate to slap us hither and yon… so we go with the madness over the edge and listen for the sigh… and some times we find it and some times we miss it for we are as blind as the mice in the fairy tail at times… the curl of the tale gets to the moment more perfectly then the4 straight and narrow pen… take a moment to elude the tapestry and rustle with the leaves… an earth shaking liberty tumbles us over and over… a tumbling tumbleweed… connect the fabric to the horizon and color the world a bright shade of pale… slowly when the darkness ebbs whisper…

We have butt mere moments… this is both the wonder and the exercise in futility… if we had more time perhaps we would make better use of the moments that we have… butt opportunities knock in inopportune times… or we are so busy with other things we fail to hear the slight knock upon our door… in mere moments our lives twist and turn over… we meet in the splitting of a second… we collide suddenly without warning… we are tossed off course by the thrill of it… the pursuit of it… the desire for it… and then we awakened from the dream of it all in wonder of the time that escaped us… all we have is the time granted to us… what we do with it is the true measure of who we are…

The series of masks we employ both hide and reveal… each choice we make reveals a bit about who we are… the more we try to hide the more we reveal… in selecting our masks and walls we speak of our fears… our desire to move away from certain outcomes… the masks we employ to hide or shadow ourselves speak of the illusions we wish to portrait… in truth our life is an open book to those willing to read it… what mask do we shield our true self from our self… what do we employ to hide away the inner wonder… how deep do we spiral down to hide away the protective me… the spirit is a very willing participant… the physical hue cries out… the emotional hue is awash in the river of our dreams… who are we exactly is in all ways in flux… we are evolving…

The path is open… the door swings both in and out and side to side… it is as if water falls up and down… a splintering of the fire… sparks igniting ideas one after another… seduced we are by the prospects of finding the answers… questions we wonder about… of course the fire is symbolic… a phoenix… a bird of both prey and healing… as fire is both a means to destroy and to rebuild healing the heart… sealing the skin… does it matter what sparks the art… does it truly matter what courses the pathway takes to reach the solution desired… the fountains that ring ones heart over flow as they should… in time we learn to use what is available to us in ways perhaps we never intended to… for there are ways to organize the mind to take heart in the simple… as complex as the dawn is… it is simply light in the darkness after all… and shall we dance is still a requests one can refuse… all fantasies have room for a bit of reality… as long as we are aware of the bite that is hidden there…

Over time one learns to swirl though the conversations to the core of what needs to be spoken… with some as with others it takes a long veil of thoughts to revel what is within the folds… it is the sum of words that adds up to some thing magical… we talk to talk some times and at others we talk to reveal the essence of who we are… and that moment is when we seek the shelter of another… at that instant we are within the ravages of the storm of the moment and we have a mere second or two to choose a safe harbor… the fear rises and the fear distorts and we reach a cascading edge… and we plunge forward or down… leap up or over… and suddenly we come to the door… a threshold or invitation… we have walked this way before and found ourselves thrust upon the same path and walked away locked in the mind… a spiraling desire mixes well with heat and hot water… a spring of flowers… a summer of humidity… stirs a fall of ripe rewards…

The time is what it is or in this case the time was what it was and now it is a memory of a time before now… we learn and we move on… the pile gets larger and wider… the lines are simple to write and the thoughts are complex… a long letter on a short piece of paper as opposed to a short letter written in novel form… what we say has the meaning the receiver places upon the page… so in the silence of the graduated moments lingers the after effects… the price is for me the tags I have to pay as I move from one spot to another… so we stir the soup a bit more and let it simmer… summer soups are difficult arrangements… some thing to indulge the sense of taste either cold to the touch or warm or even hot… a complex alternative to winter soups witch are in all ways served hot to warm the insides after being in the cold… the time is what it is… the sooner we learn to in joy embrace the moments the faster we collect wonder filled reminders of the places we have been to…

A picture can capture the essence of a moment… a bird on a wire… a stretch of the mind to the bath… a scene in the sand… all perfectly timed… what does the eye grasp from each… a seed is sown in the colors of the frame and pedaled into the mind… take a stroll down the avenue and over stand the farthest toss is but the beginning step in reaching where we are going… lately my mind is not focused to the core of what eludes me… it just eludes me… is that complicated… or a source of instant sparks that fly in all directions… a site to see… an eye sore with concentration seizes the moment… a gentle reminder that perspective speaks louder than simple sight… the picture does capture the moment…

We are moving forward be it singularly or in a group… each day we pass another day behind us and take on another canvas before us… the long and the short of it is that it is never ending until it does… the fate worse is to be placed in limbo… a distance between what we truly wish and desire to do and what we can do… physical restraints haunt the thoughts of what can be if we are not careful of the places we move… such limitations we never considered when we were twenty some thing… even then life was immortally believed… a little too much imagination…

It is true that eventually we all find our way… if the road does not kill us it does make us stronger… if our choices don’t put us in a position of compromise that will render our journey along a more difficult path… one never knows what a choice entails until we are on it… if not for getting over the fence perhaps we would be in the stable being asked question after question… young people do stupid things… perhaps that mystical age that we crossed over was not such a good thing…

Hazy and lazy is the perfect definition of a summer… and this year the weather is cooperating with that definition… the summer daze seems to be just that… moving by in the blink of an eye… summer’s have that tendency… to fly by and bring us once more to the beginning of a school year… and still even after all this time we are still seeing the summer’s as in between school years… all the years we went… then the children… and now even as they are older… the school year still looms large at the end of a horizon… all in all this summer is moving along… a slower pace of course due to the wilting weather… butt still meandering… July is that middle of the road month where I feel I can take that deep breath and be away from the old… graduations weddings engagements… new births and of course the passing from one stage of life into another… July is that month for me when it all comes full circle…

In a sense I have fallen off the wagon in regards to the proper diet and exercise for myself… with all the crazy changes going on around here it has been difficult to stick to the schedule that is required… and I am a solitary person in my choices… I like the peace and quiet of the moment to get myself into the routine… easily distracted… easily pulled off the right path to a more lazy one… butt there comes a time when I know it is time to get back on the horse and get moving… knowing when is always a difficult moment… and even more so is accepting it…

The nonsense is the best sense… when we consider the sensible solutions to any particular moment we can walk away with a number of ways to accomplish what we have before us… what we truly love though are those few side trails that pull us toward the nonsensical alternatives… the ones that we can truly enjoy and feel really guilty about… such delicacies of pleasure that we long to dive headlong into them… the truth though is that at times we will find ourselves holding back from the nonsensical to dance with the sensible alternatives because we perhaps believe that they are more mature… more appropriate… that by choosing one that makes sense we will seem to others more adult… of course in truth we want to throw caution to the four winds and go skinny dipping…

Music is a structured art… very mathematical… we play in time to the number of beats per minute or touches per note… or holds between one stroke and the next… when in truth… while it is very precise how it is written it is played with ones heart… music is truly for me where the worlds of science and art of mathematics and heart come together… a truly gifted artist plays by the feel of the music they create… while another can take up the notes they will not imbue it with the same heart as another will and the difference is what makes one a musician and another an artist… one can play the notes and the music will have a certain amount of feeling… the other lives the music and each note has the depth of soul that the musician lacks… it is the same with all aspects of our lives… we can reduce the structures down to the science or we can live the moments with our hearts and soul…

Bird song… is it truly a song for our enjoyment or as you witness a correspond dance of sounds that filter across the garden… a warning perhaps… a message that it is time to fly… to enjoy the early morning air… to dip into the water to take a bath… to fly high above before the heat of the day deadens the air… I can imagine the conversations… the singing of the adventures… a slow swelling of the facts until over time they become tales of the daring… majestic some are… shy others… timid… and the bold and boisterous… traits we place on them from our experiences… do birds take on the persona we give them or did they have them all along and we used them to define ourselves…

The creatures of our imagination do exist and whether we see them in the true light of just in the light of our imagination does not lessen the wonder they bring… such forces are not limited by the fabric of reality… ideas swim in the mystical mist we wrap around ourselves… a dance in the midsummer’s night can take us on a holiday we never imagined… such is the beauty of Alice in the looking glass or a dream we lull ourselves in on a warm summer’s day… the water calls the world of Nemo and the wild adventures along the Mississippi river… imagine an adventure with Lucy… on a summer’s night with diamonds glowing so brightly… a strange sort of Karma exists in the imagination that allows doors to be thrown open and the energy to be used to thread peaces of this with that… and suddenly we can take a walk and seize upon the fabric of one tapestry and thread of another and walk away with a surreal reality that is so pleasantly wonderful that it stays with us for time upon time… not all adventures begin with once upon a time… some begin with the first notes of a song…

Colors attract the attention of the eye… place dyed sand in a jar with a bit of dirt and a flower and you have a nice way of remembering the journey… a gift… through most will be pulled to the vibrant colors others like the subtle nature of the change from one range to another… it is thought that sand is sand and that is rather short sighted… for each place has it unique glow or pigment to go along with the holiday… I am told some places have pink sand… some pure white… fine… most of my experiences have been with a coarse some what off white colored variety… then there are rocks… smoothed to a polished wonder… or again coarse from being broken and turned over and over… are we not a little bit like the sands of time… changing colors as we grow… as we mature finding our place… our variety that challenges us and then moving from one place to another as we gain our confidence… eventually the colors in our jar and the ones of the rainbow of our lifetime…

The sands of time stir strange thoughts in my mind… the slipping of the sands through the glass counting the time until… perhaps all life is measured by the pouring of sands through the hours of time… a slow trickle of grains one followed by another… a slip and then a slide… we make choices of course that speed up the movement and others that slow it up… when our last grain falls we never know… it is chilling to think about and yet it is part of the entire fabric of life… the measure of a life is never told until the end arrives… in fact we are usually very unaware of many aspects of a person’s life until they do past this threshold…

The unfolding of an flower to reveal the inner wonder… is the single tree revealing itself as the entire forest before your eyes by changing perspective… suddenly we are aware of the entire view when for so long we have focused on the single entity that captured our initial view… one can get so close to a situation that they fail to see anything other then the molecule of perspective… if we never move or give ourselves room we will never know beyond that… the view never changes unless you are the lead dog… other wise it is one butt after another… so perhaps we should take time to step back and let the flowers unfold before us and sense what is within the petals…

Images distort a person’s ideal or perspective… until they are safely within the moment of time when they can relax and find the edges… images are filled with prejudices… we are taught by sight first and foremost… look and seek out what is not the same… be wary of what is different… seek out that witch that does not blend in as well as the others… judge a book by its cover… judge me by my size do you… that witch a person shields within is more powerful than the witch of their appearance…

Boys as a rule are in the moment… they do think of how will this feel and them plunge into the pool… deep or not it is full throttle and full bore one after another be it sport or just climbing a tree or riding a bike… we are impulsive and intense… and highly charged… we like the wilds of the edges and yet even shy ones like myself get to the edge and plunge in and wonder…

We become who we are… or should I say we become comfortable with whom we are… I am comfortable being shy and introverted… of being one who wanders the edges of the light… that prefers to be in the shadows to the ones in the light of day… there was times when I wondered what was wrong… why I tended to read… to think… rather than to leap as readily… while I was charged up I was not in all ways leaping at the first sign of wonder… I can not imagine me being any other way… butt I am comfortable being me finally… numb at times… relaxing a bit more than I should at others… the times are the ones when we put aside the barriers and let down ones guard… and just sigh deeply and get to the core of what rushes forward to be said…

In many ways the art of cooking is a man’s world and the art of baking a woman’s… cooking to me is the need being taken care of… breakfast… lunch… dinner… while baking is the time to take ones time in preparation… in running ones fingers into the delicacies of life… the basics taken care of one can turn their attention to the subtle differences… there are subtle differences that make all the more wonder… side by side things just work better with a little bit of one and a bit of another… different choices alter the taste… some sweet and some sour and some with a bit of salt mixes slightly and then the tune changes suddenly and we find that all can dance a step or two and we wonder just how does it all come together… and we wonder all this for cooking…

The tide rushes in… a river flows up hill…the ride moves out… the water moves out to sea… fresh swims with the salty sea and comes away encrusted with a taste… I separate out the confluence of one with another for to me they are separate and equal streams until they give up their individual identity to be the new… the same is true of each one of us that walks the earth… we remain separate butt equal until we give up that identify to be some thing more… and we do that time and time again… we are the cook and the cleaner… the art and the artist… in fact the more we become the art… the more the artists melds into their art… until one becomes equal to the other… the musician that is indentified with their craft… perhaps the best we can say about anyone is that they the best of people…

The most difficult time is the one between the thresholds… when one walks out of the first door and has not yet walked into another… fragile we are in the between stages of our lives… easily led astray by the allure of doing what we please… the structure of following a path is seen as not being as much fun as letting go and floating across the water… of course life is easiest when we have no responsibilities… for we have not faced the reality that with freedom comes great responsibility… one is simply not free without taking on the responsibility of being free…

The time comes… turn over from one to another… the forest is a single tree or a series of trees perhaps all the same singular tree lined up in ones sight so that nothing else can be seen nor heard… the days roll… they simmer in the sizzling summer sun… the air thick… the journey be it long or short comes in the opening of the moment… the refuge comes with the storm… shelter is there in the mist… a wet drop of rain slips down the hand to the feathered glove… a tired wing stays in rhythm with the single beat of the rhyme… the music is what trips the delights of the spirited high… the foundation is built one step at a time… one single block at a time… what secrets they hold they hold for time upon time… take the time to let go and step away… take time to be confused and find out… take the time to ask and when the sand is gone and the time arrives… be willing to stand naked in the dawn and begin anew… after the music dances the spirits higher still… under the eaves keeping dry… as the rain of time washes over me… where does the time go… it sweeps me under the waves and takes me out to sea in ships…

The art is in how it trips the imagination… does it matter what begins the trip or sparks the imagination to create… my sparks were not of the classical variety as I grew… in fact my mind found very little to spark its creative engine while growing up… a very close to the vest person I was for so very long along the roads I choose… I some times wonder what if about my awakening… what if it had occurred when it should have in my young teens instead of in my thirty some things… what would have been different… a number of things I am sure for being the way I am now I am not sure I could have stayed the rigid course of my education… all science and numbers and very little wide eyed wondering about the clouds… I some times wonder if the world of teaching was my calling… not earlier in my life for I was way too serious about myself… one has to have a sense of the ridiculous about themselves if they are ready to teach… for teaching to me requires one hand on the pulse of today with a sturdy grip on the subject at hand… one too many believes that literature is about the times they are written… the beauty of good scripts is that they are timeless stories… and what does it matter where the spark comes from… the art is in how one trips the imagination… and then how one uses it from that moment on… so once the door is open the question is… do we step inside… do we accept the invitation… do we say yes to the dance… in mind or body or spirit or all three… do we put aside the need to know completely how things work and just enjoy the pleasure of the moment unfolding… a tapestry of choices gathers at the dawn and we scattered them slowly as the time filters out of the day… and when the day comes to the end we turn to the open page and see the lines and the casual tracers we have made representing the story of a life…

The world of dragons… some how they run the gauntlet of the imagination from the temperate mystical to the roaring devouring variety… my personal delights come from the ones who appear to be butt are so much different then what we perceive them to be… that is the seam of myself in that… judge me by what you first sea and then perhaps you miss so very much in the passing over the fragile mind… what questions are there in the dragon… the feared or knot… the size or is it the terror of what is the over standing of the tendency… we do so fear the unknown historically do we knot… we like to believe it is some thing mystical when we find the truth difficult to swallow… a volcano is a dragon sleeping breathing fire as it snores… the raging storm is the anger of the Goddes… weather patterns that bring favor and take it away all puzzled as being of the hand of Godde… easy to define when one takes a broader view… is there… yes… there is… some thing more than us… what that is precisely well… what ever… does it truly matter… to some it does so much they need to force their model on everyone else… we know the truth therefore you are lost and need be found… one can find their own way in time… all stories of dragons remind me of the foolishness of fear of the unknown… for time upon time those who fear the dragons learn eventually that one can exist in the realm of dragons… just takes time to figure out what they require…

Languages are the perfume of the person who uses them… languages scent the landscape we enjoy… in a land like mine there are different nuances for each area of the country and some times different twists in the same city… I am sure that is a familiar theme all over the world… though the ones that spit and cough to me is Hebrew… the screams of the Chinese dialects as they are performed… the guttural sounds of German… the lyrical wonder of Irish and Scottish English… perhaps it is the love of speaking that sparks my curiosity… I wonder at times how it sounds and I listen closely to the window to hear the wind… knowing that perhaps one day the winds will blow a sound my way…

The single most interesting mythical creature… the one that got away so to speak… the ideal perfection the unicorn… if one ahs to create a wonder in their mind is a unicorn far behind… does fairy exist without the unicorn… without elves and dwarfs… goblins and dragons… perhaps we could do without all the crazy differences of the others… butt the purity of the unicorn… probably not… the image reminds me of my father… strange as that sounds… I do remember this song playing a lot…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_EPsuOEH1fY

It is wonderful to dream… and in truth I do like the scared look on some faces when they deal with me… they get that tough look and I just smile and wonder… hummm… ever met your match… does one find the look that clips their wings in the closet or in the wood shed… is the day longer or shorter from the tide rushes in… do we dream in stereo or mono… is the color real or is it a tape of the reality we are creating as we dream… just I noticed that when we do things we love to do they some times become work and that ruins it for me… not that I could not write for work say… butt in so doing I then need to cultivate the words so they appeal to others… or are in line with what others feel they need to read or are willing to purchase… therefore in doing so have I compromised me… in a sense the joy I get is in being stripped and running naked in the garden… like a toddler… know one cares what a toddler does… now if that is an adult… some one really needs to call the police… if some one is paying me my sense of responsibility is to do the job they require of me… and that might mean doing what I dislike… because they do like it… and to me that compromises the art… that would not relax my mind… it would wind up the engine in the wrong direction… I would love to be casual with others in that way… butt I am not… perhaps I could change… but that particular change is one that scares me a bit…

Worlds collide… usually I get along with the edgy ones a bit more than the straight up shall we say normal ones that float in and out of our home… I have this presence… fierce some what… butt the tide is only so deep… my angle is that my children take care of themselves… in reality what am I going to do… though I did once have fun with the boys by putting their names on shotgun shells… or my favorite was to say… when you do some thing with my daughter it is like doing that to me… that sort of makes them feel really strange… butt my kids with an exception or two… are pretty good with the friends… perhaps one day they will even get married… who knows… as far as I am concerned the best day will be when they move out… I will be dancing in the streets…

I am totally random… the structure is what you bring to the forest… you are getting trees and leaves and branches and dirt being tossed all over the place and it is you who is putting the peaces in some order… that is what makes it so interesting… because you like me require very little structure you get the open door with allows for the water to run upstream and over the banks… not everyone gets the ocean to play in… some only get a puddle… you get the entire forest… Godde help you at times… butt you seem to be able to weather the storms of my wandering eye and remain on this side of sanity… witch as you are well aware is the best place to dance across… just this side of insanity…

I wonder a bit… for so long I did stick to the center and just fly below the radar… in fact I still do that… just not in the center… the edges are where I am most at home… the edge of sanity… the edge of an argument or idea… the edge of a circle… or other geometric shape… I like the tattered and well worn edges that are dissolving… butt myself… I would not wish the intrusion into my life that being in the open would require… it is not in my character to be the center of the stage… I am more or a compliment to than the main attraction… though I know people who wish to be the center of the stage and long for the light to stop upon them so they can have their fifteen minutes…

Quarters… past and before… halves… sixteenths… not very easy to spice or splice up are eights… the more the merrier in music sense that is… take a note to four counts… another to two… another to a single beat… still others to two to one and then four to one… a wild and innocent shuffle to begin becomes a focused canon of echoes ranging across one’s mind… where am I going to… the other side of madness of course… and when the crown huddles in it is time to open the carriage door and let some one out… the forest… the sea… the gate swings open to the cliffs… time to leap… time to stumble across the far side gallery and notice… I make impressions… expressions… selected observations of the moment… there is not a lot of interest in that … a quarter past the hour… then fully half… to three quarters… then the moon has come full circle round… a delicious puzzle to sleep upon sweetly…