The dawn lights lure the day to opening… the night lights are reflections of the sun in its far off range pushed back from distant stars themselves fading lights… and so we are lured to the lights of the darkness or the lights of the filtering dawn… we came at the light from two different angles… the play being one side is the beginning the other the ending which begins the day… all sides of the equation are balanced… all variables are equal in size merit and how they are used to equate the true desire one has… grasp the ice and the fire or your hand melts it away… allow it to sit in the sun and it will melt… the only place it remains is in your heart… in your desire for the images it portraits in your mind… the memories it stirs… so far away the lights is yet it warms and satisfies the critical elements for life… so far away and yet we think of it as being the center to our universe and the core of all that is useful… to close and you are burned to ashes… too far away and we freeze to a solid… butt be in just the right place and all things find balance… the ice and the fire exist in equal measure…

All day long this notion of perplexing anxiety pervades in my mind… I am aware of the forces at play here and they are numerous if not singularly employed… the knot is tied neatly and without much fanfare for those of us tied together are of the same like minds so it is somewhat easy to entwine in the mesh for we do follow the same routes from time to time… where have all the flowers gone off to… the local store to buy a vase I am told… or yes I am told many things and most of them have no rhyme or reason to presume anything of what my mind is made up toward or against in the light of the setting sun goes the darkness on an angle from the north to the south and then back once more around the circumference of this elliptical circular rotation… the instructor instructed us to keep the instructions instructive and so we paired up and dictated the necessary limits listening for the fallout from instructing to sternly the instructions that captured the gathering stretch of the imagination… what is the word today… is it a fraction of the tidal waves or a listing to the side brought on by taking on that one straw too much so the listing starts and we are powerless to stop it from taking us over… the crazy illogical frame of my references speaks to me… the spark is not of light butt of void… a deep one that keeps the light unto itself for the night is its comfort…

I am somewhat misguided by the captured angles of the fairly world that dance in and out of the frames… I am partially off my sliding frame and when the course is captured in an elusive heart the soul sighs deeply… so tomorrow will dawn and I will have a feature to remember… so perhaps the tide will paddle me home… or I will row the boat all the way to the edge and fall off… and if the moon be blue then the dawn will sing slowly in my heart… so my love will grow in ways I never imagined… and the forest will grow as if on fire… the gentle rain will seep into the trees and the care will fall away to the other side and neatly folded the leaves will be arranged to cover the ground just so… I miss you butt I will never admit to that for to admit it is to show weakness where strength is required… so I will show the other side of the cheek and be wondered about and forgotten as a bad joke or a story for the old memories of times long since forgotten… and when the tide finally overcomes my memory I will fall into sleep of the endless kind and be reborn as a fly upon some wall… a spider to the fly will chase me down and when the final sigh escapes me the ash will be the phoenix’s final say on the entire story…

The tunnel is there where it has in all ways been… a slight darkness connecting two lights… things change… and with change we change as people… we are not the souls we were some years ago… we have learned by our choices and the reactions and the experiences of life… so we changed… if we met today we would be casual and nothing more than that… I am aware of the pitfalls of being me and the easy way in which I am bound to things… events… and how people think of me… I have not returned to that place since… somewhere deep inside me that thought hurt me to the core of my soul… what did I expect though… how many people truly know me for who I am… how many know the soul beyond the heart… the heart behind the façade… what would I expect of them… they would see the exterior loner or crusty old sod… the heart of the artist would never come to light in their eyes… the mystery remains as to why… the cold dreary rain on the outside does not nor will it reflect the inner soul… time will adjust to the patterns now forming inside my mind… the light will fade at times and be reborn in a different place… and so they can see the fragments of my mind playfully wondering the landscape and then it is apparent that I am lost in the episodes of my timing… I am capable of miss steps of falling off the edge into the great abyss… I suspect with some I am that vulnerable… I suspect that perhaps I have placed myself in situations that are not in my best interest and having done so I feel the earth move differently… the canyon of my echoing conscious never allows me to forget nor to forgive myself my indiscretions… I hold myself accountable for my own steps and reactions… I hold myself to a higher standard than I hold another… sweet dreams I say every night to those who can dream… to those that have touched my soul with their hearts and walked away… sweet dreams… each has heard the bells tolling for them and moved when the time was right to move… they went to follow the road that is theirs and to be alive in a world of their own… I once fancied myself the woods… a shadow in the less light moving flawlessly from tree to tree… hidden deep in the cover of the absence of light… looking out into the open spaces and wondering what it would be like to wander there… knowing all the time that my place is within the folds of the deeper forest… under the canopy in the shadows… there is for me a much loved sequence where by the path is illuminated to the lost traveler by helpful steps appearing just when they need them the most… an opening in the trees that reveals a game trail… the slight sound of running water when thirst begins to fatigue the mind… the rising sun peering through the canopy to grant direction… a perfect stretch of pine trees to provide cover in a storm… all these seem weary to the casual mind but they are necessary steps in the creation of the entire whole… the peace left me some time ago… I have felt lost and angry by the emptiness… there is no avenue of retrieval for me to regain such a gift as I have lost… there is no path that will cross the others in some future realm and even if such is in my destiny… there is not a means by which I would approach them again… I will not adventure out from the security of the veils I surround myself with… this is my façade and people will think of me what they will… there is nothing I care to do about that anymore… they will make their own judgments and their own choices about me and I will rise or fall according to their sense of themselves in comparison to me… I may appear as a weak link in the chain of events in time… but I am far from weak… nor am I in any chain of events what so ever… the peace is eased by the slices of pie we take hold of… we examine the counter splices for each spice or added flavor that might entice our sense of self… who am I in the delight of this moment… a shadow perhaps hiding in the shallows of my mind aware only of the fabric being pulled in many directions at once… I am the slice or shard of indifference… and perhaps that has been my downfall… I have little imagination when it comes to the counter of intelligence… I have this knowledge that does not pass easily from one side of the equation to this other side… I am away without a paddle in the stream without end unable to move from the deep center of the perfect ride until I will be tossed or thrown out of my saddle and pitched into the seas to drift to somewhere and then I will be able to climb back up onto land and wander into the shadows once more… when is the question… never why… when and with whom will I succeed… the cast is set into motion and I will dance the steps that are measured and focused… I am a relaxed casual observer of the forest travelers… the leaves call to be to hide me in a reflective pool a single strand of hair marks me as a lost cause in a much furrier world… or so the sayings of life sometimes go… the trees call to me for a time and then the water will filter my mind clean of the tangles and the bramble and I will long for the waves and the sandy shores that heat my exterior being to a boil and wet the fabric of my soul… time to go… time to leap off the ramparts and slide into the pool… another day in the paradise of my wandering mind…

There are moments in my day when I sense there is very little margin for error… the weekends have become somewhat boring… this is a usual phenomenon as the winter comes to an end… still not nice enough to be outside yet the inside has become claustrophobic… the desire to be out of the cage is getting to me and nothing I do releases me from the sense that I am a caged beast… the very nature of the slings and the arrows that I fling are embedded in me… and so it goes that I sit sometimes to just press the foundation of my soul into a reasonable sigh… I feel out of perspective and out of bounds… out of energy and out of logic… I feel left out of the rings…

The direction we take at times is dictated by the circumstances that unfold beneath our feet… we may start out fearless and after a few steps be running for our lives as the ice breaks away under our feet… knowing what I know about ice and water is that a river never freezes solid… running water is always running to some degree and the deeper the water the less likely it is that it all has frozen… so while we may adventure out onto the ice at places it will thin enough to feel the movement of the running water beneath the structure… they say that still waters run deep but river waters are in my mind much more fragile… much more dangerous as we step out onto the surface and skate or wander… the lure of making it is somewhat interesting… to say we have the courage to venture out and then to make the other side is at times a rite of passage… fear did not paralyze me I was fearless in the face of danger and I survived the moment of courage or was it stupidity to prove that I am not always safe… risk is part of life… calculated risk is part of the deal… reckless risk well that is something else… butt it is also what dreams are made of and certainly what good stories are made of… so when we adventure out onto the thin ice of the new day we are actually daring the world to cash us in… here I am world… dunk me in… take me for a frozen ride under the flows… for most of us the risk will never be taken nor would we consider that a possibility… we would take the safe road and wait for the calculated risk… and still I wonder more often about the reckless trials and leaps that I can make more often then I consider the calculated ones… somehow the reckless dangling of life holds a larger interest in my mind… what if we do leap off the edge and find the thin slice of ice and manage to reach the other side what then… well we get to come back again… and that is what stories are made from… not that we set out to do this reckless adventure… but that we did and managed to come back again…

The hole seemed deeper somehow this morning… the peace and quiet deafening to my very soul… the wind still raging rustled and rattled all around and yet the silence was palpable… I told myself long ago that this road was a lonely one… that this race I was on was not a sprint but a marathon that ends when life ends and I am thrust across the threshold of one vortex into another… I am rapidly stepping toward the best places in my life… all the responsibilities are dwindling down day after day as the time passes I can see the end of this stage of my life just there on the horizon a few years hence… there are still hurdles to overcome and mountains to climb… there will always be obstacles in life be they real imagined physical or mental… the only true wall or barrier are those not made of our own flesh and blood or of our own imagination… true walls are slights to our abilities and can be overcome with time so time is truly the only barrier we have… can we achieve this goal in our life time… can we manage it before the fall of Eden upon our heads… the rest are just temporary setbacks that we deal with on a day to day basis… the corner store holds a myriad of choices for me to make if I want to purchase a candy bar… this is also true in my desire to read… walking along the aisles of the local library I can become lost in the fabric of time over and over… the illusion is that my days are lost when they are truly being won… I think I may have found something worthy of my time… and now perhaps I should find something else… a tool for the trade of my time… she whispers of the coming dawn and wraps herself in the comforter… mornings are my time… my time to stir and look at the day before me and arrange my thoughts in their proper perspectives… I am quick to rise and move forth… this is from many years of rising early to greet the dawn… of being first in a long line of casual acquaintances of the first streak of light coming from the eastern sky… I have taken to the early dawn as a child to his mother’s breast… eager hungry for the glimmer of light that reminds me that all days are new awakenings for the soul to consider… all light an illumination of the path we are on… a small sliver of light like a small grain of love is an endless energy source that we can draw upon over and over… in the course of a single day when the time is bending to our will and we find the single ray of light we are on moving effortlessly from one moment to the next perhaps we should slow down and be a witness to the wonder of time… the light and the energy of the world we live in…

The dog disturbed my quiet morning ritual this morning… at times she can be a bit of a pest in her constant need to be with us and wanting to play all the time… puppies are not for folks like myself… I have not the patience or the time to deal with such nonsense… my wife however is much more loving and patient with her than I am… when she chewed up some of her clothes it was oh well I needed new things anyway… she knows not to take anything of mine as she got a stern scolding for even sticking her nose into my things… in my eyes she is a wonderful pet… to my wife she is another member of the family… me she sits at my feet… with her she sits next to her… it is a study in contrasts… not that I am cruel to her in any means at all… for the most part I take care of her… feeding… watering… cleaning… grooming… playing outside… with me she is usually well behaved and attentive… and occasionally high strung… just like any child she tests her boundaries…

We have taken in a number of movies as we get free movies once a week… some deal with the cable company that we are taking advantage of as many times as we can… when I look at the cost of cable and subtract this night out for free from it… it is well worth the money we are paying or shall I say we are getting our monies worth… the good part is we do get to enjoy movies as they should be seen as they are meant to be seen on the large screen… week after week we pick one out and we go… it is nice to be able to just do that… no worries about who has the kids or what time we have to be home… though Bailey does require that we come home at some point to feed her and let her out… so we have seen some good ones and some poor ones… some funny… some sad… some that lived up to the hype and some that well faded very quickly under the heat of the reality that they were far less than the hype associated with them… and even with all that movies madness we do spend a great deal of time at home watching movies being that normal television sucks basically… all these channels and nothing on but reality shows… to be honest I have enough reality in my reality I can use some fantasy when I come home… I tend to want to watch what is not real… what is less like real life and more either true fantasy or at least idyllic in its nature… besides all that drama is not real it is staged and forced… created for the eyes of the camera to soak up… I can imagine some producers sitting in a room going… this is too boring let’s add some spice to this… can we get a couple of them to fight… or better yet have sex… sex always sells… after a while I begin to wonder what is real at all… can these people who lets us wander after them be real… is this the Ed show… all life and no fantasy… all hard core reality… pardon me I have to use the facilities… ah peace… only when I am bathing or taking a shit… can I get a moments peace… no this is what you signed up for… get used to it… do I feel sorry for the buggers no but I still would like something intelligent on the tube from time to time… but that is why they call it the boob tube isn’t it… because it makes our minds mush…so for us it has been come home… do what we have to do and when we unwind we put in a movie and sit there blissfully watching something anything entertaining…

When I sit back and read what I have here this month has been a strange dialogue between me and myself over a variety of topics… I have gotten lost in my words… I have embraced the thousand over the single and used it to my advantage over these past few weeks… the thousand clears my head so I can find the one word that is aching to be spoken or written… if one were to comb this month’s words they could harvest a few pearls in the midst of this pile… but only a few would be worthy I fear… that is the way or writing and how it comes to bear in my mind that a thousand words must be shed to find the one or two that will fill in the puzzle of the thought I am desperate to express… what is it that so defines me that I struggle day upon day to find the words… the keys to unlock the chest of over standing and plunge my hand into it and come away with the ability to articulate what is in my mind with eloquence… when one has put in the ten thousand hours they are a novice… at hundred thousand they are expert… at a million they are an author… of what standing depends on the reader does it not… there are many artists authors in the world who struggle to be noticed and compared to the ones who are they are superior in all things except celebrity… they are unknown… being unknown is the plague to all artists and is both a blessing and a curse… the same is true of celebrity associated with ones art… it is a blessing to be recognized for the gifts we have and a curse because with this recognition comes the critical eye with each piece we produce… how each person stands up to that sort of pressure is the measure of the stature of their art and their abilities to weld it under the pressure of the world watching… some are claimed as victims of this eye and others rise up to embrace it day upon day… we never know until the golden eye rests upon us if we are prepared for the light or not… all of us may at one time or another wish to be known for the art we weld… but most will never see that in their lifetimes… and of those that do few will survive it intact… somehow that sort of popularity tends to distort the mind into believing what others say even in the face of an opposite reality…

I suspect we all have cracks here and there or we are all cracked in some way or another… the idea is that the perfect shell or protective coating that we begin life with somehow opens and the light of dawn enters or the light of knowledge or the light of imagination… at some juncture along the way our egg cracks a bit and we are exposed to the reality that for every risk there is a reward… the larger the reward the larger the risk… most of us will never take the gigantic leap of faith that it required to reach for the golden ring… that type of risk is too great but we will take risks… we take them as small cracks… slight deviations from our routines… turning right instead of left today coming out of the driveway… who knows what that means… once we are sequestered into a routine we may find it hard or difficult to alter it but when we do when we take a small hammer to the walls of our egg and crack a bit of that protective shell we are usually rewarded with a richer experience… I know I have many cracks… many crevices… many holes in the façade that is me where the rain falls in… there are many buckets spread around where the water collects and I take my time from time to time emptying them out… there are many times when the words I need are nestled in one of those many buckets that have collected the words like rain… a silent wind blowing… a stiff breeze edging the lamppost and tucking in the bushes along the edge of the lawn… we are all cracked in some ways… like the ice in a pond or lake come summer we fight to escape the frosty coverings of the protective web… I wonder sometimes how often the cracks show me wandering behind the walls and barriers of my own design… even when I seclude myself the sun will shine at dawn and begin to melt the cracking ice and the freshly falling snow… my cracks are deeper with each day and my shell less flexible… that is the nature of time… we learn what works for us and what does not we put aside for others to take up… we know about ourselves and that knowledge permeates our being… we are the experts of us… or so we believe from time to time… the true us is the one hacking away at the shell screaming to get out and to explore… wanting the adventure and wishing that we could just launch ourselves into the open… I suspect we could do just that… if we dare… if we have the courage… I am cracked… my shell is filled with holes and missing pieces… such is the way of things today… and I wonder… how cracked I would have to be to leap without thought…

Asleep at the wheel I sense the rolling of the waves and the sudden shift in the climate… I took to the high seas many long years ago and I know the wide berths I grant myself and others… at present I have not taken aim at the long pile of things to care for… I have put aside the obvious for the elusive at the moment… the sudden impact of reality taking over my dream time has that effect on me… the time donated to the self slims with other tasks that must be done on a routine and this interrupts the flow of my emotions… some will think I have stepped away on purpose and in a way when I sit down to collect my thoughts the need to communicate has dimmed a bit… butt that is the ebb in the flow of my stream of consciousness… what is the best way to reach the goal… to get back in the saddle and to whittle down the barriers I now feel rising in the distance moving closer in day after day and I have the time and the words refuse to flow… or the words that flow fail to please my sense of justice or of my sense of artistic prose… does it matter what another says when the internal judgment factor registers a low score… does it truly matter what another asks for… it does to a degree… butt I still hold myself to a higher form of expression and I will not execute the exchange if I don’t feel comfortable with the letters as they flow off of my fingertips… the ridiculousness of it is that filtering actually stems the flow of the tide… editing makes the exchange almost impossible for me to achieve at the same level as when the filters are put aside for the unfiltered water coming from the source… some like one and some like the other and some I choose for and others choose for themselves… does it matter… well even the slightest tampering with the process can yield a fragment into the gears of the flowing spring… one never knows what will make the flow over or make it stop or trickle… if I knew the striking chords I would manage them better… butt as it is I manage them when they come around… it is a culmination of factors… fatigue… a slow ebbing tide of words from external sources and finally my own frustration with me… witch is usually the biggest barrier to the dawn… am I anger… fearful… aggressive toward others… no… or at least I am unaware of such emotions in me… the current state of my affairs is good in that regard… so why the silence I ask… well I am not silent… the question is why the restriction on sending the words out as before… well I got the sensation of late that the amount was a bit overwhelming… that drowning the reader was not a worthy cause to take on… there is a point where quantity befuddles quality… while I do love the thousand words in contrast to the picture painted as it is… I may be perhaps alone in that desire… my sense is that a few less words and a few more pictures is perhaps best… not that people dislike the words… they just enjoy pictures from time to time… the dream turned over and I found myself right side down in a tossed convertible looking up at the road and down at the sky… a complete reversal of the previous alternative just a few seconds ago… such is the signal that was blinking coming on to the side and I sit spinning around and wishing the world would stop rolling as wild as it is… the stop was coming and I could sense it… the immovable object stuck by the sliding one… it does not take a genius to figure out who wins that collision of wills… so when the ties came out and the straps reapplied to the limbs scattered in pieces across my vision… I settled in to sleep for a rest worthy of the scars ripped into my side and head and limbs… ah to sleep perchance to dream and I close my eyes… the horizon combed the closed circuits of my mind and I winked at the solid movements under my skin… the bright light blinked and I saw the future jack of all hearts slipping into the abyss… the screen changed with a click of the deck and the wall played the anthem as the crowd stepped to their feet and sang along… all hail to the priest whispering something in my ear and I open my eyes and smile no knot just yet please… as the curtain closes the marching feet list to the side of the river… she holds my hand and dreams with me of times yet to be… I open my eyes after a time and move slowly to regain the parachute of my dream canopy and smile as the dawn shakes me awake to dance once more… I am encumbered by the extra weight of the fairly dust so I shake the covers and attempt to move my muscles and though strapped to the bulkhead I am hand on the tiller I rise to sitting and managed to avoid the rocks coming toward me… in time I sit on the sands of time and wonder what would have been if I remain asleep much longer… splintered wood I am sure… now the particles of dust wiggle out from between my fingers grasped tightly around the imagined present… I smile at the art and sink low into the snow… cold clasps my side and she loves the turbulent tossing stream… a splash of cold water and I am once more awake and roaming the farthest reaches of my mind searching for the doorway to know where in particular…

The total slips below the average… the quarter to is seconds away and the filtering of the data slows to a calculated risk taken just before one leaps to the defense of the other… he misses the point entirely and the cusp washes over the nuances of the furthest point in time… I slip the disk into the slotted entry way and wait for the clicking tumblers to find their places in the sequence of events… the whispered silence creeps up on me and I explore the necessary cracks in the foundation for over time there are stresses applied to the walls and floors that while notable still leave a mark… so we pitch the tar and patch the seams here and there until all that the eyes can seize upon are sealed places where the rain can no longer fade in… the water drips from the canopy of dreams and we dash into the cover leaving the pages blank to the eye butt filled with ideas anyway… what is white to one is black to another… or so the saying of black and white would indicate… I watched the wind trip the wires and set off the alarms as I sat with another beer listening to the hard luck stories… so we make plans and the river steals the land just before we land on the carpet… an exploration is doomed in such trials are for nothing… he was at once pierced with the idea of moving along when the target landed next to him in the silence of the moon… so we married anyway and danced anyway and sang anyway and when the tide came we parted anyway and sailed the ships of our states until we crash anyway and now our boats are sort of lashed to one another for the survival of time and what was once a mystery is less so… what does it all mean… well nothing to worry about I am sure enough to be unsure… can I help fill the bucket with ideas on how to scale this mountain… I am pretty sure the answer lies… they usually do and when they are uprooted and shown for what they are… they sort of disappear…

As soon as the fire blew out the monster came to the clearing… fire bellowing from every pore… not much is left exposed to the sky… charred and vacant the land stares back and I nestled into the heated flames… sometimes it pays to be kindred to the phoenix… all fire and no sight to the delicacy associated with the movement of destruction… if you take out everything what is left… nothing… and nothing is not as good a result as if we leave something of value to deal with afterwards… silly ideas…

Having the length taken in some and the breath pushed out some I sit finally for a moment in the solitude… interesting how time escapes… one moment we are pleasantly on a long holiday and then the next it is the following Friday coming around the bend… where did this week go… lost in the clouds some where I can sense the setting sun… the rising molecules of watered vapor… and so we find a place to start… when the mind is crowded it takes a bit of time to unclog the drains so to speak… and so it goes…

At times I step back… I hit this wall of sorts…imagined and it startles me every time I do manage to find it just where it always is or was and the silence echoes across the fabric of time… a loud sort of thud when I hit it… a vibration or reverberating sound in the silence that echoes back and forth across my mind reminding me that some places are off limits even to me… even to my imagination or to my stretching of the limits… a large reminder that just because you can does not mean you have access to… that there are differences between the memories of one… and the memories of two… for each has separate memories as well as combined memories… the combined ones are for each to use it is the separate memories we take away from moments that differ… and here is where the wall comes into play… solid… hard… unyielding to the pressure… this is not something that we can navigate around or climb over… it is a limit imposed by another around themselves and even if we manage to get close we can never bridge it completely… it is a boundary of self that while transparent is clearly there… solid and formidable… whenever I strike one I liken it to the final strike or toll of the evenings call to silence… you have reached as far and as wide as you can here and there is no further resonance you can bring to this situation… so know the limits engage them from time to time to test the shifting sands butt learn how not to smack them so hard and so recklessly… for the journey is not just mine butt it is also yours as well as ours and that threading of entwined strings makes the steps at times more complicated but entirely more enlightening… the avenue of change is before us and when the time comes to add dusk to the previous dawn embrace the fire of the sun setting and anticipate the glow of the moon rising…

The previous day was one torn from the pages of previous first days… the long and the short of it is when one returns from even an extra day away the tumbling dials play havoc on the mind… not Monday… Tuesday… and so Tuesday is in mind like Monday but it is still Tuesday after all and the slight variation on beginning and ending does sprinkle the day with that dust of the first day and of two days’ worth of tasks gets plunged like a dagger into one and we sit back and design the folly as a dance of sweating hogs playing at being people sitting for tea on the patio in the hot summer sun… crazy it is…

I am somewhat crazy after all this time I learn the truth of it… a slightly off the beaten track sort of temporal intellect that wanders off on frequent walkabouts to find oneself in the dense foliage of time climbing trees at my advanced ages slipping over the brush with the wild beasts and running down the dragons like so many pennies in a fountain tossed after good fortune and good luck… none of this makes sense by the way… for it is not supposed to make sense for sense requires the proper mixture of rhyme and reason and a bit of spice to liven up the taste… what this is… is a bit of this and some of that not measured or calculated butt sampled often until the taste delights the imagination and we can settle in to taste the artists desire served for our senses all… so being a bit off the beaten track allows me to tread the waters and find the unique aspects of self floating about in the wilds… and to sample what that does to my sense of me… and what it brings to the table when dealing with others… imagine a smile curled over ones lips butt under those the teeth sharp and penetrating ready to strike when the situation dictates… be ever wary of the teeth behind the smiles… the power of the cat is in the lulling you to believe that it is only a cat when it is truly a lioness on the prowl… so be prepared for the teeth for they will show themselves at some eventuality…

I stood on the steps of the church of the beaten soul… I stood there watching them wander about in helpless abandonment… I know that look of being betrayed… of being lost without a hand to guide or a shepherd to lead… the wild dogs of war and wolves will come to prey upon the carcasses and the carnage will be complete… the building will fall into disarray… some of the magic has gone for men possess none of the magic required to ply the trade… man is flawed and since we required the flawed to lead it is a devious chapter in our verses when of course they fail and we are hurt by their failures… we trust so easily those of religious piety… when we should not trust them any more than we trust any salesman of anything… in matters of religion a certain amount of distrust is required to make the engine run smooth… a certain amount of questions are required and a certain amount of answers are demanded… if we do such things then we learn that religion is an institution of men… by men for men and has little to do with the spiritual… so little to do with it in fact that most religious ones talk of secular subjects… they are not interested in the spirit at all… butt in the sound of the coin… the sound of finances passing from your hand to theirs… while a certain amount of that is necessary most of it is used improperly… the world of the spirit requires human interaction and toil… the spirit is not tended by the finances or the coin at all… it is tended to by the toil and sweat of one’s brow… I have fallen from the steps and rolled into the streets chased from the safe haven of my teachings as a child… I have managed to find the last of the water in the glass half empty and I swallowed in in one gulp so thirsty for something other than what I was getting I would have consumed sand to quench my thirst… and I sit watching the tide of salted water run over me listing to the roar of the waves and the splitting of the tide… so show me… show me the way… and then I think no… I know the way and I can manage this journey for the last thing I need is some ideologist telling me what I should think… because as far as that is concerned there is a simple adage that works well for me… with that in hand I know the steps I must take to reach into the world and find the toil and sweat for my brow… we are human… we will make missteps and mistakes and we will misunderstand the intentions of others and we will feel the effects of jealousy rage and we will be inconsiderate and we will fail time and time again and we will know that even with all of that spiritually we will be forgiven for all we have to do is accept the fact that we are human and that we will make this steps so we know at times we will need to have compassion for others as well as for ourselves… the need to pick ourselves up and go at it again is an important attitude to possess… yes we are imperfect vessels of spirituality… butt we do have within us the single grain of sand filled with love that powers our life and will for all eternity… all we need do is put that to good use… I stand here on these steps and I wonder how many have lost their way because they believed another possessed the road map for them… when in fact we all have the road map in our souls… and all we ever had to do was open our hearts to the simplest lesson… love one another… we do that and magic happens… we do that and we move mountains… we do that and the world changes…

I sit down next to the corner… a simple expletive on my lips echoes out… a silence follows… such language it is said provokes both anger and interest… the dialogue ceases when we hurl words of a certain sort back and forth across the table… excuse me words are words and while they are ideas being expressed some are meant as insults and others are used to throw the train off the tracks even for a moment… I have hurled my quantity of flammable words over the hedge from time to time to stir the pot to boiling fragments of intestinal fire… once ignited this crisp tinder will burn face and furious for a time before extinguishing itself in the absence of anger and fear witch has been consumed in the inferno… there are times when controlled burns serve a very useful purpose… to take the edge off the situation it is perhaps advantageous to give a little to gain a lot… and when it comes to those thin lines of impasse perhaps one should take the initiative and hold out their hand and say meet me half way… for half way is better than no way at all… now there will be times when compromise is not productive… in those moments the power of persuasion is what must play out… for a single choice must be made… to get the boat moving we make the choices we have to make to get all the oars in the proper cadence and motion… what happens in reality is that it becomes about the look and not the outcome… it is a sport of people wanting to be seen as the one who turned the tide or who led the charge that was successful… when it should be about the outcome… the challenge is to balance these two elements of the equation… sometimes the equation is multilevel and multifaceted which makes for some very interesting twists around the central core… getting one the applause and the other the outcome…

I have come to the end… I have arrived at the very farthest limit of my emotional wave and I am out of reserves to bring to bear on this side of the equation… we turn our backs on the cross roads once we decide what we will do and we are off and somewhere along the way the road bends or twists so we can no longer look back on the choices we have made and the ones we have left behind… all we have from that moment on are two possibilities… one is our ability to remember… the other is that perhaps the road we are on will cross one another somewhere down the line… in my case there is little chance of that happening… butt it is a possibility… I never imagined that the slices would unfold in this manner… what we learn is that we have to expand our imagination to find the unimagined so we plan for the possibility… for as we have been witness to the impossible surely does become possible with the right mix of emotions and choices… most are a long time coming butt they do come around the bend sharply and they take a toll when they do… I am here at the end of the tethered cord holding on for dear life and not feeling anyone at the other end at all… must still be tied to the old tree in the garden by the stream… perhaps that is another one of those wishful thoughts that I should let fade away… when you’re going down the proverbial tube are you aware of the swirling waters all around you or just the general sucking sensation that is pulling on every aspect of you… my mind is distorted into the flashes of delight that come and they go… soon the reflections will not matter much for what is old becomes new and what is new becomes old and withered in the land of the reality… while in the land of the never ending dreams all things are as they were and will always be as they are for time does not interfere in this place to any degree at all… we are never older than we dream and never more alive than our very best… the most culpable wishes fall silent in the draft of the opening door whisked away on the flames of the shimmering fires… the dark settles in around the frames and I imagine the fire light winking back up at me… and the book closes and I wander across the open field to a particle of space just reserved for me… and while I ride on this space toward the light that encases my soul I watch from side to side and wonder about the speed at witch I move in the realm of dreams… a whispered hope settles in my heart nothing more than the deepest desire I have… such is the way of missteps some times they define us… some times they are the final straw that breaks the camel’s back… and in my life they are all these and more… the more is wondrous… the all is what stops them from time to time and adds the human element that ends and closes doors and desires closure and fixed lines in the sand… and so we do those things to aid the restoration of the mind to be on with it and move on forward to the future… one can’t live in the past any more than one can live in the future… one has to live now the rest sort of takes care of itself… it is what it is and nothing more can be done about what it is… if we do our best then in time the changes we desire will come to pass… I have come to the end of the passage I am on and the words will begin to fade for a time… at least in this vein they will for time does not allow me such journeys very often on Tuesdays…

The episode begins with a passage read from these very pages as if historical and worthy of value… such a turn of events would be rare in this case the ocean is but a drop of water in comparison to the ice that melts the soul of the recluse shuttered in their domain far from the eclipse… the monitors buzz into life and we sit on the polar opposites balancing the weights of each choice and each decision yet to come to bear… we know and over stand the need for balance… some will disagree with the idea of measures balance with some for all… some will say that the needs of the few are far more important than the needs of the many… success and failure come from improper implementation of these guides… while in the rule of law… the rights of the one far exceed the rights of the many… that is not also true in say education… or healthcare… where we do look at the one and then have to find ways to satisfy their needs in among the many… sometimes the best answer is you have to fend for this yourself… in fact often fending for things yourself is the better of the deals… free does not correlate to successful… free often leads to misguided use of dollars to fix problems that dollars can’t… free is not free at all… the cost is just spread out over multitudes instead of spread out over those who are using the service… pay as you go would be a worthy step here…

Every so often I sit in awe of the sculptor… I love paintings and the work of such artists amaze me as they create on canvas and paper the thoughts inside their mind or the scene before them… butt I am kindred with the sculptor and I think we all are… for we have become similar to them in a way… those of us who are parents will over stand the analogy of seeing the potential inside the stone and carefully chipping away at the edges until the wondrous imagine locked inside comes forth into this world… is that not what we do as parents… chisel away at the rough edges and help create something more that the stone… as a sculptor sees within the marble… as a parent I see within the human form… potential… there are professions that must have this sight also… coaches… teachers… and the list goes on… anyone who is anyone knows that the power rests in the potential energy that one holds inside… the sculptor to me over stands that better than the artist with paint and canvas… who sees the potential in the vision… and translate it… pictures move me to a place and far down the scale… butt it is the sculpted piece that pushes me over the edge… the details pulled from the solid stone awe me to silence… and that is not often the case as anyone knows… a picture will generate in me a thousand words or more… but a single piece of sculpture will awe me to silence… for even in its imperfections there is perfect symmetry and beauty… as in our lives we know the wonder of genetics… the elements of father and mother combining to form a child that is imperfect but perfect… and that is all we care about and hold in our hearts that what we create from the stone of time is caring and compassionate enough to know the wonder of the world imperfect as it is to find the perfect match for their imperfections so they become perfect for one another… that takes time… patience and a bit of chipping away at the rough edges… much like a sculptor…

The farther I go the easier the steps become… each day the steps are less like moving in quick sand and more like normal steps… perhaps the journey is making progress and the ties that once bound me so tightly are easing… or perhaps I am just getting used to using these muscles once more and I have gained strength in my steps… there are many possibilities for the ease of my steps of late… my heart is heavy still with choices I have made… I feel the loss and will every time I stop to think… one does not turn a decade plus into nothing… well some can dismiss things like that but I choose not to do so… I choose to learn from the time I spend assembling change and then I choose to move forward in a way that is both productive and helpful… the knowledge that some are not capable of such things is counter to my beliefs… though my experiences have proven that this is true… still I believe that it is possible to do and to remain a peace that is what drives me… the mistakes are often ones of information… in this world less is more… the less that is known about the choices we have the better… people respond more with less angst when the choices are made simple and to the point… the deeper the debates become the more emotional they are the less likely one will make a choice until it is a fracture of the relationship… best to operate in the shadows to remain in the dark recesses of the mind as a figment then to become an active figure in any dream and especially any fantasy… the funny thing is that is not under the control of the writer of the words… for fantasy is strictly the realm of the reader… where does the mind go when one speaks of shadows and recesses… and where does the dreamer seek to dream when one whispers of peace and solitude of self… one cannot control where your peaceful place is… or how you would describe a perfect moment in time with time… the illusion is that anyone can create anything for anyone… when in truth what they do is prime the motor and add fuel to the fires of your imagination and just let you sit back and go… my steps pick up pace and they dance across the pavement this winter morning… I glance over my shoulder and spy the eyes of awakening day and slip into something more casual… a day off to wander the recesses of my own making… a darker shade of pale… a richer drink… a solid breaking of the fast from the overnight to the breaking of dawn… come draw in the silent screams of passion for the shades are drawn over and the light does not permeate the desire… strip me to the core of my being and write a thousand words about the passion that has eluded me so far and so deeply inside the fabric of my soul that I love endlessly the curve of you… such is the love of my life to me… and I whisper her name to the four winds of time and she stands in the threshold of my dreams and carries me to her breast and holds me in the stillness of my desire… she is for me… and so we find souls of like passion scattered in the wilds of the human experiment and we chip away at their solid forms and release a bit of the passion shared… we collide and be embrace the passions we share and some of us get lost in the debris of poetic language or solid forms of art… painted and arranged in shadows over long nights and even longer days where the fountain of our youth dripped weakly from us to the lake of our passion filled with each and every tear we ever shed for the life we wished for and never reached until now we sit on its edge ready to plunge in… we have made it to the opposite side of our time…

I like to put the warning signs out front long before someone takes the turn off on this side road… I am what I described a unique cup of tea… or as my friends are fond of saying… Bill well he is out there somewhere… just where depends on the day and who he is talking to… as you can tell I have my own way of writing… I like to leave out the punctuation just so your mind can go where it likes and who knows our subconscious minds might collide on the other side… I like to leave my options open as wide as possible you never know who may just step over your threshold…

I am all ways up for the challenge of meeting new people… you will find that I tend to just ramble on about things that come to my mind… just pick something out of the tangle of threads and go with it… my idea is more like a tapestry… each brings a thread and we sow our lines into it and then suddenly we have something intangible worth knowing about…

I have been asked about pictures and I prefer the thousand words… in fact pictures often trip a thousand of my words… the old rain falling softly into a paper cup till it overflows and drips down the steps forming a small waterfall of ideas that puddle in a small depression and saddening there is an overflow that is unstoppable… so pictures can generate not less words but more…

I am told I am easy… I take that as a compliment… some are hard to get to know… all you have to do is read… and you will get a sense of the atmosphere… I am about possibilities and opportunities and laughing at myself… life is too short not to smile everyday and enjoy the warmth of others…

Measure a person by the time they take… by what they share not just in the words… but between the words and the lines… many times I will sit back and read again the letters sent to me and I know I have missed threads of ideas and slivers of possibilities that suddenly spark the fires of my imagination and suddenly there is another letter or paragraph of thoughts that finds its way… be fearless… dance… sing… use the art of conversation to fill the canvas of your day… for this is all an art form… at least for me it is… it is a painting coming to life… one stroke of genius at a time… and each day we get a new canvas or a new thread to sew our tapestry a bit more… or so the lesson is for me… leap into the pool and no worries… the water is only as deep as you can imagine…

The pace is the same… the direction is similar… the starting point however has a different trajectory… or initial launching point… after all… all the words come from the same exact local… what stirs them to life is the response… the give and the take… the return volley over the net that sparks a response… this is not a game of trying to put the ball past the other rather it is a game of putting the ball squarely into the others wheelhouse so they can hit it easily and effortlessly… after a time we begin to know the strengths and the weaknesses of the other and we tend to play to the others stronger points more than to the weaker ones… though we do hit them from time to time just to test how truly weak they are… so we take the pace with some rhyme and some rhythm… and we sing the songs mixing in our heads… toss back a sip of the wine and dance to the tune swinging inside the light dims to the perfect metaphor of the mind setting the mood to eclipse the thought that simmers… the heat is that of passion setting fires in the mind to turn the next phase over and around… what happens next is as unknown as what is happing now… we trust that the tapestry will find the threads their proper place and we will engage in the coloring of the day with the purposeful delight of the artists we are…

Funny how often we think the unavoidable is actually unavoidable… when in fact it is avoidable… we just didn’t make the steps that would make it so… we believed then as we do now that we have control over our actions and reactions and that we can step back from the edge any time we wish to… which as we know is partially true we can step back away from the edge on the other side… we can arrange our days in perfect harmony of self and others… and we can manage to do all that is required of us… it is when we step back into the reality that we have a bit of difficulty turning off the flux capacitors and letting the stored up energy calm down a bit so we stop sweating… we are who we are and sometimes who we are does step across the line and bounce right into reality… yes it was avoidable… butt we managed to find a way to make it otherwise… and we smile about it…

I did say we smile about it meaning that it was something we did for the joy of doing it… once again I find myself tacked up against a wall I did not sense before… so interesting how the road twists and turns on me… it would seem that my sense of fun is not of the same degree and that my passion for the testing of the limits of one’s imagination are not the same… so I will ask you to pardon me once more and make a note of the degree and leave it there… as you know it is not my intention to… I just have the knack of doing without intending… it is the quirk in my personality that all except you have used to their advantage… I should know better perhaps because of that… I simply forget the road I am on and the ripples I cause… I will do my best to be more careful… it does appear shameless at times… with that I bid you a good night…

I do wonder sometimes where my head is… it does seem that from time to time I forget where the hell I am and to whom I am speaking… I lose myself in the conversation and take wrong turns time and time again… and so it goes that I fumble the ball once more… even I am getting tired of me making mistakes and missteps… perhaps I should allow myself a bit of time for editing and stop just letting things fly off the hip as I do… it would seem that a proper editing of my thoughts would remove a good amount of these offensive slips of the fingers so to speak… perhaps all this stream of consciousness that I do has run its useful course and I should rein myself in some… the road is getting pretty thin around the edges… can I change what I am and who I am… certainly… the question is do I wish to adjust my creative process to accommodate potential responses…

Age is truly just a numerical representation of the miles we have traveled and they are no indication of how old a person is… there was a time in my life when I was older… sort of like the Bob Dylan song “My Back Pages” that has a line in it… I was older than I am younger than that now… and that is certainly true of me… I seem to be aging physically while growing yo0unger in mind and spirit… I believe that perhaps youth in my case was wasted on me and now that I am more aware of that I will take the bull by the horns and do some of the things I should have done then… now… though I will say I do have days when the physical me creaks a bit too much… and I have to be aware that physically I am not as flexible as I once was and that it takes a bit more time to rest up for another go round when dealing with the physical chores I have to do… spring cleaning coming to mind… I still think it is a day’s worth of work… witch it is… if I do it in a day… I will need a few days to rest to get over the sore muscles and aching limbs… that is where the mileage of time comes into play more often than not for me… some days I do just feel the age the biological clock says I am… while at others I defy time…

Do lost words go where the left socks go when they disappear in the washer or is it the dryer that eats them… they must go somewhere because matter cannot simply evaporate… so if we are searching for a lost word or two will we find the land of the lost socks or the land of misfit toys or will we just find the land of lost words… phrases and thoughts that came to our minds and then suddenly disappeared into this void of time like a black hole… and when we come upon it are we suddenly aware of all the words we left and ideas that we put aside and now we can begin to use them as never before… I wonder what my land of lost words looks like… perhaps it is like the public library… stacks and stacks of words piled one on top of another shelved and stored by topic and idea for as far as the eye can see… that would be something to wander about inside of…

Lately I feel I am a misfit… that I don’t have a place that is comfortable… it would seem that every slice of where I am seems tight and confining to my senses… I want to breathe the air a bit more and yet with outstretched hands I find few takers who can waltz to the same music as I or should I say are willing to waltz at all to any music… I am trapped in a world that wants what I am incapable of granting… the immediate gratification complex comes to my door and haunts me… I have fallen prey to this evil myself from time to time… we all want to be appreciat4d for who we are… sometimes who we are is lost… misplaced… misfit pieces to puzzles that we no longer over see… time changes us and we chip and scar and lose ourselves in the moments of our passing… only to wake up in another time and place wondering just where the time escaped off to… we lived the time… or shall I say we survived the time and now we have forgotten how to live the time granted to us…

Life is too short to feel put out… so I will put out the feeling and settle in for the night… early day tomorrow… and on the heels of the extra day this weekend makes for a startling sort of treat… or knot… early to bed… early to rise… makes man tired…

Depth is measured by degrees… it is a way of saying that one’s thoughts are well thoughtful… thinking in a deep sort of way tends to give one perspective or so it is thought… depth to me has a different degree or direction… the measure I will bring to depth is one of purity of intent… if one lets go of their desire and truly holds the other in mind and allows the thread to lead them then the depth to witch they wander is directed by the degrees of the other… so how deep we plunge or how deep we go is in direct proportion to the purity of the thoughts we associate with the other side of the conversation… to achieve the same level of thought one has to be in sync with the other to such a degree that each steps are in harmony with the other… there is a sense of helplessly hoping that the intent is over stood… the trials and errors being what they are… one… two… three… four steps to this side or the other leaves a trail of confusion with all its costs… and so we learn as the sparks of curiosity make their way over the side of the counted frames of reference…

The essence of the situation changed with each tonal vibration shift… he was after all a musician of exceedingly high skill and was at this moment awing his detractors… yet there are in every assembly of fanatics those who have their favorites and their desires for what should unfold at a happening or gathering of this type… their expressions are somewhat unique in that they come to be at the vent not so much to listen as to be at the event… it is after all a happening moment in musical history of that they are sure… or perhaps it is just one of many such opening nights that fill the voids in people’s lives… this is the show of shows… having seen my share of happenings and events and being at some that were truly magical I can assure myself that this is as any capable of being more or less it all depends on factors that are not controllable… the weather… the atmosphere… the energy… the list of music sorted out as the artists move from one to the next… for I know nothing is planned in a strict sense other than to say your choice my choice one to three and so on down the line… magic happens when the process is not laid out in a stone tablet and carved deep into its grooves… allow for the spontaneous reaction and the flexibility to move with the flow of the moment… such makes for a more alive sort of experience… the vibe moves… we move with the vibe… and we settle in for the night nestled in our seat far enough away to watch the music dance across the shoulders of those close enough to touch the instruments… we are farther away listening to the rhythm of the saintly chords and singing along to the ones we know… a mix of old and new and long since regarded as classics play out over the time… minutes turn to hours and songs blend one in two each other… a never ending rhyme whispers more and we ply the currents and stretch the moments with dance and electricity that alarms even the sense of the old storied travelers of such journeys… having made one or two quests in our days we are held captive by the songs that trip our imagination and remind us of the past dearly departed butt still around in banks of memory ready to be recalled to voice the wonder of times long since gone butt not forgotten… we slip into the echoing silence and wait as the final notes fade… sitting back I enjoy the lights… the echoing footsteps as they pass along the aisles and I wonder … and I sit among the cathedral ramparts listening to the shuffle of feet and the slight ringing of notes as the roadies take to the stage to clean and clear… there was a day and there have been nights I think when this was the epic stage… the final destination… the climax to the journey…

The list grows longer and wider as the days progress… the winter has kept me in doors even though the weather has not been especially cold… in fact this winter has been mild in comparison to some others… lately the flow of the words into this paper cup has been more a torrent then the usual steady flow… I sit and I have this need to write… as one who watches over me may debate most of what I dictate is useless wanderings of my less than fertile mind… butt some every so often some words come together to form a unique puzzle of clarity… a puzzle I have not been able to work out… for I do the same things each time I ponder a particular set of ideas… that is the way of things I guess… I never intended to make a mark with this so I am free and easy with the time and the frame of my experiences… the slow and futile ideology comes from the after effects of being wrong more than right and having to right the ship once it has been wronged butt then the pleasure in most cases has been all mine to do and some will say to be or not to be that is the guest… and I will journey somewhat further on and say I think therefore I have vision or I am alive in contrast to the dead who thin k on another plane entirely void of the restrictions of this tangible world in which we reside… so I come to the roads that crisscross the tapestry that is the highway of my choices and I hold onto this seam as a last resort… a means to remember the last decade of words shared back and forth across the continental plains and I find that the results are far less than I wished for in the beginning butt I also see that they are as they should be… the old and the wise move out of the way for the younger and more youthful… everyone deserves the same opportunity to risk everything for a something they imagine is perfect for them… what we know and have found out by making those same illogical leaps is that they are not the exclusive property of the young and the restless or reckless I should say… they are at times the bastion of hope for the old and weary travelers that have come to the end of their lines and require a something to add some words to the pictures that rest in their minds… how will I let go… slowly and with extreme prejudice… it is not what I do say that makes people turn their heads it is what I leave unsaid between the lines… the quick pace of words slow when the fatigue of the day takes its toll upon my shadowy figure… an extra day this weekend allows for some exploration of the later hours of the evenings… the curve of the linear extrapolation has features I have not seen before or since discovering the void in the particles that escort me form one dimension to this other side where my madness runs in deep furrows on my brow and colors my moods with sprinkles of the rainbow colored in my fantasy as on any ice cream cone of my childhood… the excuse is that the fire is still alive in me somewhere and the mind seeks the water supply to put it out before I do something irrational with such ideas as these one could get themselves into real difficulty… as most men are prone to discover these ideas are not what we wish… it is however where we find ourselves lost and unaware of the wandering cycles… we fall prey to the lioness more often than the reverse is true… and while it is important at times to listen to the introductions as they happen there are moments when words should be avoided and the time should be spent just listening to the notes as they are played… each side of the tangential equation will find a variable unfavorable to the logical conclusions of their findings and have to back step into the void once more to find the illogical conclusions that work with the string of proper equations that we believed would lead us here butt actually led us to somewhere other than here and are after all illogical butt yield a very logical result that we can actually use… and so the thinnest thread supports the heaviest weight and the largest breaks at the touch of a hair… what logic is this that we expound upon… the logic of illogical consequences… look for what seems to be the most impossible of possible conclusions and take one steps further along that line of thought be it indecent to think so or not… for in the reality of consequences one never knows where the baton will fall…

The debates are less hostile… the stories longer and have no direct point to view… the indifference is palatable… the covers are pulled right to left and back and forth across the giggling madness of being in love somewhere with someone that is not oneself… love of self while a requirement for self esteem is not the only love one should have… the darkest of hours our love of another is what pulls us from the gates of madness… we must of course feel worthy of this emotion so a sense of love of self is in the love we have for another butt one is an element of the other as well as being a position one can stand alone with… so perhaps we need to love ourselves before we can love another… to this would agree that it does take a mixture of emotions for love is complicated and easy all at the same time in varying degrees… there is no sacrifice greater than the sacrifice of self for the love we have… and no greater one than to do so in quiet solitude without them having knowledge of or degrees of that love… we do it because it is within us to grant them the foundation from which to lift their wings and fly… so while my debates are less and my rambling dialogues are more there is a semblance of calm in my life that has not been in my life for some time… the party does more on once the possibility is removed… that is what defines the closure that another needs… it is not nor was it ever my particular need to wipe away the time spent… in fact my memories will always be positive of all exchanges… the need rested fully in the wings that needed to fly… not the wings that had flown… such is the way of wings…

The theory is visual… a central theme is explained in pictures… thus the need for words is not necessary… the pictures do all the talking so to speak… or so that is the theory and the saying behind it being a picture is worth a thousand words… yet when sitting face to face with a work of art one cannot help but be struck either dumb with awe or as in my case it loosens the tongue… some can sit in awe of the artist’s genius and never say a word… me I seem to prattle on about the art… the sense of what rests inside that trips my imagination… the shadows of light… the different angles… the casual use of a single stroke to represent an illusion of something undefined yet present… all this and more in a single frame of a much larger scale… what would we be without such passion that pulls from the solid stone the wonder for our eyes to see… our hearts to feel… our souls to remember… yet they are fleeting… artist by definition never seem to find their stride of fame or of fortune until they have in a sense departed the world… most of the classical artists of the past lived rather normal lives… struggling with life as you or I… a select few managed to rise above the norm… as it was then it is now… a sea of many that only a select few can crawl out of and be counted… though some will find their fame afterwards… it is we who are late to discover the exceptionally talented… they live on the edge of normal and we the bastions of normal require even our artists to live within the threads of this… we may celebrate the wild and exceptional gifts butt we still demand of them normal… and they are not normal for normal cannot produce such gifted sight… such steady hands and eyes that pull from the clean slate… music… pictures… sculpted forms that bring tears to our eyes… and so we can sit here and enjoy the bit of something as we sit in witness to the galleries of treasures of times past… and even in our time more is being added day after day to the inventory of what is art… so in time we could spend months walking among the artist’s hand and never experiencing the same wonder twice… if we did… would we be numbed by the talent and become jaded toward the source of excellence… or would we still see the wonder in a stick figure drawing that is the beginning for all budding artist…

At some point in time the bar that measures how we are doing changes… if we are successful by some degree the bar moves higher and we are expected to step up and produce more success… it is expected that if we are at a 90% success rate that we can get half again as much with a bit more effort… so obtaining 95% should not be that difficult… the funny thing is that with a person who success is not as good the expectation falls butt does not fall as far nor do we settle or give them much focus… in other words an average of 75% is encouraged to reach 80% and obtaining that level is not seen as being magical or even beyond one’s ability… this is rationalize because there is a lot more room for improvement… when in truth any movement up the scale requires an effort… the true question is one of reading the message and putting the talents we have to bear on the situation… most times to gain a level a person has to simply find the one thing that will produce the highest level of change… it is an analysis of self that is somewhat disturbing… how do we achieve such a level what else can we do… what percentage of improvement will each of these bring… how do we get the most for the least… how can we manage to do what we are doing in half the time… for time is the critical component of any equation when it comes to success… timing it is said is everything… when it comes to successful strategies they all are limited in one way or another and none of them are exactly the same… what they all utilize is a process that the user feels good about and comfortable with… the magic of achievement is not magic at all… all it requires is a routine of doing that is flexible and a mind open to curiosity and wonder… when the stakes are raised when the bar is taken and moved higher up the scale and we are forced to adjust… the questions become more about our abilities to adjust to the changes that are before us then they are about our abilities to reach… a reach or stretch is metaphorical in nature… do we dig down inside and come up with a way to win… when faced with adversity are we capable of finding a way to succeed in spite of the barriers to that success… it is okay to keep moving towards perfection… there will be times when we achieve that… when we grasp hold of the golden key and ring the bell… we learn more from the adversity of not always getting the success in the degrees we are used to… some of life’s biggest success stories occur or begin with a failure of some kind… success is not measured in the small steps it is measure by the larger view… so a single misstep or a few missteps along the way does not mean we have failed… true failure only occurs in my mind when a person puts aside their dream or goal and gives up…

We begin where we are and we set a goal for where we wish to be in some measure of time… then we produce a plan that will help us reach the level we desire in that frame of time… so for example if you wish to be able to produce an narrative essay on a day in your life… or a day in the life of history… there is a goal… what is missing is the process and the timing to achieve that… what is necessary is an analysis of where you are and then setting up the process to succeed… success more often than not is about the measures we take to succeed… more work is done behind the scenes that make the exterior look easy… it is like mathematics… the simple formulas are actually the final step of a long theory proven out over time… what we get then is this simplification of the larger process or procedure… we have after all the work the cheat sheet or simple equation that will yield us the results required when used properly… that is another key… applying the correct formula to the correct situation… often we attempt to apply a useful formula to a problem that requires a different method for solution… a simple addition equation will not work to find the forces involved in a moving object… conversely complicated equations for energy will not work when looking for averages… the proper tool engaged at the proper time… what tools do we have in our arsenal that we can apply… what tools do we need… and then the process for choosing which one is the best for this opportunity…

Any struggle in life is about belief… if we believe that we are incapable then we are incapable until we overcome that belief and I will tell you that a belief is much more difficult to overcome then say a need to learn a new skill… beliefs rule how we see the world… how we respond to it and how we feel about ourselves… if for example we believe we are failures then our actions and attitude will show that… if on the other hand we believe learning is easy and fun then we will learn easily and have fun doing it… what we struggle more with is not the information before us but the beliefs we have about ourselves and our capacity to over stand… more situations are about over views and over standing than anything else… getting the larger picture… stepping back and getting the best perspective can at times aid us in our choices… it is difficult to know what to do when our noses are pressed up against the glass… if we take a few steps back we can get the bigger picture… see the larger frame and from there get some ideas about how to proceed…

Another element is practice… it is said that practice makes perfect… well I agree to a point that practice is essential to the process… whether it creates perfection depends on how you practice… when we speak of the written word I would measure success by the fearlessness in which we write… by our dedication to write… to doing so each and every day that we can… be it a journal of our day or a series of memos that we write for work or an essay for school… day upon day upon day we are faced with the joy of words… they roll off of our tongues and we are surrounded by them all the time… humorous stories… jokes… tales of success and failure are being told as we speak and all we have to do is put them down on paper… this is where being fearless comes in… where practice is essential… where a process of gathering information… dumping out what we know… then arranging it… followed by putting it in proper form… an edit… a review… and then a decision to perhaps gather more information or improve the choice of language or other edits… or to submit this as being complete… writing like anything else we do begins with the courage to put on paper what we are thinking… the easiest form is the narrative… the I or the we or the us stories about life and what is happening in our day… if we begin there we can reach out into the world of the formal essays where we need to follow protocol and arrange things in statement and support paragraph after paragraph… this is life we say something and we support what we are saying… it is not a difficult arrangement… it is after all a process that is learned… as a scientist I was never really deeply involved in the written word other than in a scientific sort of way which is much more factually based… scientists are by nature not linguists or great story tellers… we are after all more comforted by the numerical symbols of our profession… what I learned over many years is that intelligence is not only about what you know… it is also about what you are capable of sharing with others and your ability to reach them… how many great minds are incapable of sharing their knowledge… how many struggle with making what they know useful to the average person… yet we are surrounded by the gifts of their genius… for every Steve Jobs who has intellect and people skills or at least a set of people skills there are probably a thousand or ten thousand others who are incapable of writing a word the average person can over stand… the goal is to raise the bar so that a man of such intelligence can communicate with the average person easily and eloquently… this is accomplished through the art of practice… the love of the words we share in our language and the desire to share with another what is inside your head… your heart and your soul… that becomes a very useful passion… one that can be used to create a bases from which the words will flow like rain into a paper cup…

The road ahead was blocked… the rain was falling and the river was rising but the water was not flowing… such things happen in life… the mental block is there… I have things to say or a page to write and I am lost as to where to begin… we begin by opening the door to the reservoir of information we already have… we dump the files on the table and see what is there… writing what is in my mind I call my stream of consciousness… what does this subject spark in my mind… so this is what we know or believe about this particular subject or how we interrelate this idea with others things inside our minds… we should let it all come out… in doing so we free the mind to find other sources of information and we also find the areas where we require more information… we will be missing pieces of the puzzle and we will need to gather more information to fill those in but before we do that it is important to know what pieces we are missing what ones we need to repair and what ones we need not worry about… if we just gather before the analysis we tend to gather information we already know… or are already somewhat aware of… if we give ourselves time to arrange our information we will seize upon the missing information and then gather useful additional data that is more to the point of what we require… gather filter sort and arrange… repeat… until we feel strongly about the information and how we have arranged the words to express our ideas…

Some roads do lead to know where in particular… we can sit by the plaza with coffee and tea and sip in the surroundings while listening to the sounds of serenity beating on the wings of the air… the slight chit and chat of voices fills the air around and we are engaged in a delightful series of words and smiles that light up the morning… witch way… to the left this morning for no other reason then there is a wall to the right that while paper thin is still a wall… so we go left today and walk toward the museums to wander in the world of the artists that we are part and parcel of butt in awe of all the same… the great artists of before times works are scattered about as we stroll the galleries and stop form time to time to admire the sense of this frame of time and to make notes… to watch the tears… to hear the gasps for air to feel the depth of beauty as it fills one’s chest… this road is nowhere in particular butt somewhere deep in my mind I find the stones so familiar and the art so breathtaking… I am lost in my somewhere in time and gathering my tools I sit upon a bench to just look and see and feel the gathering storm inside me… a pitched battle develops for such is the tendency of the art to draw me in and pitch the sea that I ride upon… so crazy the desire the passionate responses become the dialogue that has transformed me… perhaps more tea at that nice café and a bit of lunch…

The thought occurs to me that from time to time and step to step we get lost in our journeys… and then suddenly we awaken and it is weeks or months later and we have no recollection of where the time has gone off to… I used to have a lot of time and no particular idea how to put it to good and proper use,,, then I had no time at all to do anything and seemed to accomplish a great deal… now I am having time and I am having strange déjà vu moments… haven’t I been here before in another time… well there it was all over again… time the precious jewel of life… it is after all the one element that we all share equally… what makes a life so much more interesting is the time we manage to spend in perfect moments… I am sure you are aware of these already… family tends to ground us securely to the foundation and we become part of the rock that others stand upon… part of being the older generation… getting lost in the middle of the reversed pyramid of life… as we move toward the lower half our ideas change about time… about how we spend it… those special singular moments when time stood still… oh how they wrap our hearts and souls in soft satin and cuddle us close… bring tears to our eyes and sighs to our lips… such is the theory of my own making… that a single such moment can define a connection for a lifetime… while worlds collide all the time and we dance in steps and out once connected forever do we remember the moment when time stood and we saw across continents… across a universe of time and shared a moment…

The time was spent arranging the dust in just the right way so it appears that some semblance or attempt was made to attack the clutter in some meaningful way… the idea is that every so often or once in a while we need to find the correct process to arrange the dust just so we can say that we made the valiant but fruitless attempt to provide a clean environment… I mean it will only just get dusty again within a few days again… it is one of life’s perpetual cycles… dirt clean dirt clean dirt clean on and on it goes over and over such that we build routines around when we will clean this or that… I will admit that being in a clean environment is preferable to the clutter or dirty side of things… what each defines as clean however varies by age I believe… clean enough is an expression I have heard a lot more often… meaning the dust is okay and I can live with this amount of clutter… imagine a world where the dust got arrange by someone other than me… I can do that… will I ever approach that level of wealth… perhaps… knot…

The dark side filters off the light toward morning the listless attitude contributes to the falling down… the tumbling around… the tumbleweed effect… the wandering walk about desire to just stop and leave the driving of my own bus to someone other than myself for a time… just pull over and rest assured someone will… there is that tendency in people to leap into another’s world and drive them hard and straight into the endless ramp… in the end is one of those expressions that make me smile… they will get theirs in the end… or in the end things will work out… butt then is the end the justified means… the end of a good meal is dispensed somewhat in the same way… or perhaps that is called digestion… a byproduct of the intestinal desire for taking what is right and leaving what is left… interesting that the liberal idea is considered what is left after the conservative idea is isolated… what is left is the debris the leftovers to pick through and while that is not really the truth it seems to be more and more that the idea of left or liberal is so far out of the margin of ideal that I am at odds with it more and more… what happened to moderate idealism… what happened to conservative liberalism… so much of the landscape is divided into separate but equal establishments or camps and one does not compromise with the other or share a common thread with the other for the fear of being seen as a weak link in a ideological chain… over time we get paralysis by analysis or in other words nothing can be done without looking like the savor or white knight… mistakes our out of the question be they honest or otherwise… learning is expected to produce perfect results every time which statistically is an impossibility with all the variables in the air at any one time… so we ask the impossible and refuse to allow for deviations from that format… even though we would never hold our own feet to such a fire as we hold another’s… the scales and rewards for each are varied depending on what our expectations are… so we treat the scale as our own private barometer of the world around us… we sit and we watch and we judge by our experiences and how e feel what is critical and what is nonessential to the moment we are in… the light and the dark… the ying and the yang… the cosmic theory of karma comes into play from time to time and we unfold the fabric of our bed and we drowned in our own sadness or happiness or any other emotion we can find in the spectrum of indifference we share with the world… does any of this make sense to the casual or does it have to be more formally asked of the passing day to take time out from the rising sun and leave a nickel in the jar for that cup of tea and a dime for the coffee and let’s get the show moving down the road so we can create another one of those memories the kind that defines a moment or a turn of events from one side to the darker other side or back from the brink of the abyss to the here and now in just a slow joist or joust or jib… the carrot or the stick… the smack on the flanks at times whistles of penance… the carrot whispers of the prize that we race after and never obtain… a desire never reached… a dream never realized… or a wish that never comes into the reality of this side of the equation… so we are held in the mind captive for a time sequence that is forever butt a split second in real time… that is true magic in action… the ability to expand a lifetime into a single second of real time… to live a eternity in a second and then know that we can live another eternity in the next second… all good things come to ends after beginning and having had middles… when the end comes around we are usually prepared for the eventuality of it passing over the threshold into a new beginning… it is what happens when one walks through one door and into another room… we begin anew or again the same sequence of events… if we do the best we can we have success… even if the final results are less than we wish them to be we have success in we did what we once believed difficult or out of reach… success should be measured in the light we bring to a subject… it should be measured in the joy and the smiles that learning brings… the cold turn of events is just winter writing a new passage from the old to the new… it is the bridge that springs forth in time to define the passing of one year into this… a spring coiled through eternity… all that knowledge is potential energy and expands the foundation on which we all stand firm… what we learn is butt a small fraction of what we have the potential to feel… of what we can manage spiritually… this is what comes to my mind in afternoons in the cold of winter looking out over the bare trees and the swaying limbs… even though today the temperatures are spring like the calendar says winter is still nestled in my bones and will be here for a few more weeks… so where are we in this long and winding road… off to the way side waiting for a passing soul to collide with…

I have come to believe that most avoid the slightly off kilter or the acquired taste… most prefer what they know and can feel comforted with… the idea that in time the unusual will be intriguing is getting a bit old… or odd I should say… the weary traveler does not like the picture idea… I like the thousand word idea… why use one word when you have a thousand perfectly good ones at your beckon call… skip the camera… write something… it is more ambiguous and therefore more interesting…