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Old Debts
Unlocking the secrets of the Universe. -
The Return of the Sun
As we stand here feeling the warmth of our star and celestial companion, we can witness the miraculous of our earth, our true mother. She is our ground, our water, our fire, our air. We are but another species who reside on this beautiful sphere. The most beautiful circumference of elements that binds us together. It has been longed believe that we ( Read more... ) -
Return from the slumber
I awoke from an ancient dream. The dream of the wolf. The wolf protects me from harm. He is my guardian, he is by my side. Self-delusion is one of the most powerful magic one uses against oneself. The opiate of delusion is strong and seductive. Does the mirror lie? Do we feed it what we want to see, not what's really there? Or is it the ( Read more... ) -
Now is the Time
In these pensive times, we are a way point of self-determination and self-actualization to an affirmation to all what has transpired the last eight years. Is anyone actually happy at the lack of progress our nation has made? The USA used to be the coolest nation and now we have shot ourselves in the foot with conspiratorial greed and ( Read more... ) -
Summer is here
The sun finds us in the cosmic dance of heat and fury. The month of July- praise Caesar's name, is the grandest month of the year. We celebrate Independence Day- a non-secular festivity that all can enjoy, be in the beach, or farm, suburbia or the desert. We celebrate with fire- note with fireworks, barbecue at night, lounging and drinking ( Read more... ) -
The Beauty of Meds
There is the blind dependence on feeling well. It is a part of who we are, our humanity, rolled into one conspiracy. What some consider pain, others call pleasure. Most run from pain, as it is the ultimate truth- one cannot escape pain. It reminds us of being a biological creature. Pleasure is more elusive. There are degrees of pleasure and ( Read more... ) -
Tears of a fallen angel
Music of the poet is music of sadness and regret. A melancholy stance with pictures that run away. It is the attempt to capture the essence that is always fleeting, always running away. A poet is the great illusionist, weaving a moment of pain and splendor that all can capture. The reader captures the spirit, the poet only reports it. It is if ( Read more... )