Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.”

29 March 2010

"So here we have indigo Ajna .. the sixth chakra, a wise white haired owl-riding woman holding a crystal ball of magic mushrooms. This point on the body is the third eye, and it symbolizes far-seeing, intuition, psychic perception, imagination, dream interpretation, luminescence." 
-quote from The Hermitage

there are angels everywhere.  angels and aliens, traveling souls, ourselves reflected into the face of ourselves everyday to remind us of the one thing so many of us seem to have forgotten.  we are each other.  we are cells bound by a greater organism, toward the goal of unity consciousness.  liberation from the illusion of separation.  stop sleepwalking.  breathe and be present.  welcome all the Love and Beauty the world waits to afford you.  
thats the message on the madwomans lawn.  that, and Laugh.  
take action toward your hearts truth, and the world will roll toward you like a tide, wash over you with exactly what you need to be happy, contented and whole.  we all struggle.  we are all at times gravely afraid.  but it should be a great comfort that nothing in the Universe is static.  nothing doesnt vibrate, move, dance in a cycle, a circle, a spiral.  everything changes, grows into itself, slow or fast but does indeed.  look at a seed.  where is the flower?

sexyfunky pagan Latvian dude plays the bagpipes for you!  big fires!  flower crowns!  stars!

todays random word ticket poem:


endlessly restless
spinning chrysalises

 heres a site for  Guerilla Artists everywhere.  love the rhumba pants.

the song that saved my life today:

ten for today:

1.    flowers
2.    not getting aggravated because my enter key doesnt chaperone the blinkythingy to the next line
3.    quiet monday getting things done
4.    T.
5.    Jerry
6.    clean water
7.    Kevin Spacey
8.    still here
9.    veggie tacos and masala tea
10.  making time to be with me

this stretch of road has been blind.  but i believe.  and even if the whole narrative trajectory of my life has been a hoax, a farce, a waste of time and resources, i still think i learned a lot.  i think i left behind some light, just a little love.  at this point in my life i just want to keep the aperture wide open, just let the light through and not count the cost.  i want to laugh and dance and dream and grow a little garden i can sit in of an afternoon and breathe.  i want to do some good.  i want to untether my heart, watch it like a chinese skylantern on a clear night.  just let it go.  i just want to let it all go.

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Blessed Be.

"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.

For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.

"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well."

"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.

"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.

"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)