Visible, visceral changes in the flow of living
Arrive in seasons,
Cyclic in the round...
Sun and moon spinning on the novelty wall clock, outsider art,
Hand-painted in the style of Van Gogh...
Starry, starry night...
Waiting patiently, sometimes...
Waiting for the right moment to spin the prayer wheel,
Or the roulette wheel...
Wheels within wheels constantly spinning...
The fire on the fuse traveling by viper hissing sparks...
This is how time appears to flow...
Even your own senses are accomplished liars...
Balancing what you need with what you want...
Random portions of each in no particular order, but odds are 50/50 at any given marker point on the graph that 50/50 will be the final tally of plus and minus...
Thanksgiving has just past...
Fractal visualizations to meditation music playing...
Incense burning...
Bright lights low...
Ceiling fan on high,
Moving air helps with sleep...
It has to be felt somewhere on the skin...
A foot out of the blankets...
Arms or legs...
The torso usually wants to stay warm...
Or, at least, wants something with some weight draped across it...
Knees to sternum, more precisely...
Gambling on another chance to travel out of the physical shell...
Dreaming inwardly to project outwardly...
Everything is inside...
Everything you will ever need to build a personal universe is inside...
Pyramids built of massive blocks of perception measured precisely,
And placed with intelligent care...
It seems impossible,
But here it is...
The sun will rise too early tomorrow,
And the alarm clock will be unwelcome, but heeded...
Some plans are coalescing into physicality...
No longer just a thought or an intangible goal...
A done deal...
A springboard...
Setbacks always threatening to cast shadows by standing between you and the light source...
You are the light source,
You are the obstacle obstructing it's light,
And you are the shadows that obscure you from yourself...
Burn it all down,
And keep shining until all that's left of you
Is light...
No comments:
Post a Comment