The walk


I could peel the world away. Every step is not mine, every breath is borrowed time. Every blink – a shift. The wind howling behind my eyes, as the trees stand still in front; watching me pass by: branches twisted with tension resolved yet contained, dressed in new leaves and smells. The Oleander is staring: reaching down: it caresses my cheeks and walks away with my face. Everything is as still as the emptiness of a drum, echoing my breath, my blinking eyes, my tingling mind. My feet carry me onward, the trees come and go, thick and thin, fragrant, rooted in the Earth and the Sky. Not me. I glide through. Soon to be blown into pieces, scattered forever in the mosaic of this imagined fluke.
To my right is the neighborhood I live in, but a new street, a new feel, a place that is no longer. To my left is my mind, the landscape of my galloping thoughts, basking in the forbidden as wild horses ravage a virgin plane. I watch them flash by and away, the saddle by my feet, and my feet tripping. I look up into the smell of the clouds and wonder when I will awake, only to feel the stubborn reality of wakefulness. I look on and then down. The houses are passing me by as my soul roams in them. Families come and gone, fights started and won, love sparkling and long. I walk on and my soul roams around me, outside me: uncatchable, untamable, unimaginably strong, unquestionably real. Bigger then my body, bigger then my mind, bigger then I can contain. So I let her go and wonder what will become of me now, and when will she come back.

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what is fire?


“Fire is the rapid oxidation of a material in the exothermic chemical process of combustion, releasing heatlight, and various reaction products.”

Here I was. Beside it. Taking pictures of it. A forever moment…as forever as the medium would have it…

The moon as stable as I will know it. Glowing, hide and seek with me and the clouds. Sitting, steady, the fire running. Through the wood pores, exhaling, inhaling, the fire is alive beside me, as alive as I. Dependent on the wood I throw in, or don’t . Breathing, warming, not intentionally. Playing, dancing, jumping, skipping wood rope… glamorous, immortal and finite. The branches above me as permanent in this moment as the soul in my body. The gypsy clouds singing above. 

Suspended in this realm, I am….

Here we have counted 2013 of these, and before Jesus how many? .. Here we are. Spinning on this playground wheel of life. Just here. now. My breath dancing with the fire, singing to the moon, lulling the clouds to a halt..only to spin again. 

health, love, joy, peace!

2013