Day Twelve: Flow.
"People get the mistaken notion that spirituality is a separate department of life, the penthouse of existence. But rightly understood, it is a vital awareness that pervades all realms of our being." Up early only long enough to make coffee and taste the air. back to bed dreams of my grandfather and a tom petty concert up in earnest for the morning constitutional already hot at eight spent the day burning tibetan incense and moving the piles around. late afternoon above our station at the waterfront the wedding party walked in while lennon sang about love and everyone was wealthy and white and i felt better if i hung out with the ducks we flew across the lake and i felt like margaret mead in borneo, agog among the expensive shoes and entitlement. at dinner they talked about pamela anderson and had never heard of howard zinn. the stars were dimmed by strip mall light (a lightning bug and a neon sign) and nothing smelled right and there was nothing. just wanted to get back to the pack and the open fields and the dark sweet beast scented night of a billion stars .

Day Eleven: Abide.
Last nights fun with baked goods, jean genet and emma goldman. she called to say she loved me, champagne and strawberries, after this mad season she surely deserves to get back to herself and let the rest of us in a little too. misty and warm i stayed up late just feeling alright in the night ours the only light on i fed the dogs vinegar and ate a tomato. day opens wet but the rain lets up and west we go to see what the night washed up on the shores of this road that is my river of heraclitus. duntons herd got out and lady longshadow presaged my hounds demise were i to journey further. the rain burns off into afternoon stretched out with the pack and good coffee evening comes with the smell of fruit wood burning. tired and looking forward to quiet rest in a fresh bed.

Day Ten: Structure.
"The sentence wanted someone to read it, the sentence thought it was a fine sentence, a noble, thorough sentence, perhaps a sentence of some importance, made of chalk dust, yes, but a sentence that contained within itself a certain swirl not unlike the nebulous heart of the unknown universe, but if no one read it, how could it be sure?" black morning bleeds grey when #4 came upstairs at two a.m. with a maglight i thought for a cold moment all my mothers gestapo visions were coming true. up and out with B2 and Z. she gets a little farther today and only almost home do i swing her over my shoulders and stand in the witch-grass breathing in her beautiful warmth and the rising light. my body begins to contract, the sap drawing back into the core to keep me warm through the dark seasons ill bake bread move the room so we can pull the rug out from under the dead past and make space for who we are now. theres me in my pink oxford and free hugs t-shirt you geronimo in leathers. washed the kitchen floor (is it a holiday?) and by this time next week school will have begun september equinox build the hearth bring the echivaria in where do all the geraniums go? the season of prime windowspace and i think about the cold starlit mornings to come when Z. is a fierce beauty and i rove a sleeping earth with a cold nose and a warm beating open heart.

Day Nine: Let It Be.
"...covet nothing that is your neighbor's except his kindness of heart and gentleness of manners." Flame sky last night and maxfield parrish this morning with B2 and new Z. over my shoulders into the cool morning. woke from dreamless sleep and the low tide reveals what deep waters been hiding. bones bearing a sleek new skin that summer slumbers offered up from the shipwreck of my last thirty-two years. but its not too late i tell myself. she changes everything she touches. clean towels and pumpkin cake its late september cold today, edinburgh drizzle manchester sky. Z. falls asleep in my arms but not for long her heart-shaped cloud and faerie colors the two coats i read about a magick cape for flying. #4 into portuguese death metal #3 would like his ashes incorporated into his art. ive abandoned the illusion of control and lead by example. my good deed resulted in a million invisible prickers in my thumb and fingers i wrapped the tips in duct tape for a day and lo, it did the trick. blessed be. i did nothing but rub my hands on rough surfaces, my hands were the antlers of a buck in rut, i was blindfolded from the wrists, a bag on the head of my tactile perception. in the rain #3, Z. and i go out hunting grape tomatoes and green beans, remark on the heads of nodding sunflowers, dance enormous purple carrots from the deep rich of this garden im gifted with, this space to grow.

Day Nine: Free Your Mind (Open to Yes).
"Imagine the people you fear and dislike as pivotal characters
in a fascinating and ultimately redemptive plot that will take years or even lifetimes for the Divine Wow to elaborate." Early up in darkness where it all begins coffee dog pink sky and maretails presaging rain. deer out along the treeline up ahead on the road waiting to wave the beautiful white flag of instinct longshadow herefords and dunton belteds up near the fence gorgeous glossy creatures the angus bull cooling his magick sack of golden fishes from a nights work the red cow her egyptian horns on the way back the sun shows over the eastern rim of this bowl of my beginning. my nose is cold which indicates that i am in good spirits and my mind wanders happily in the quiet before traffic and trying to be useful. first thing this morning i absolved myself from loneliness. liberated myself from the commitment of expectation (again). realizing what this pack means to me, for me, seeing myself at the center of a circle of souls that are immune to makeup, marketing, false feelings of unworthiness and lack. simple straightforward spirits who dig long walks and afternoon naps. czy. arrived last night with bavarian hardneck and honey but no go on the paddock. stopped over at her house on the way home and felt that fierce familiar feeling like theres a puddle growing under me as i stand there on the threshold figuring out how to flee but today is the day i reconcile with all that wages war against this precious peace inside me like the last ember in the world. out on a blanket in the sun with the pack drawing circles on the paper, a list of names, walking deeper into the wilderness of consciousness farther down through the field of awareness. what do you do with the despair? i am by nature a hopeful person and this despair is dead wood kindled to cook and warm and light my way.

Day Eight: Dig Yourself.
"The dream of my life/Is to lie down by a slow river/And stare at the light in the trees--/To learn something by being nothing/A little while but the rich/Lens of attention." Getting all righteous and clever cleaning up litter going west with dog this morning. rings of hell and all that. grateful someone had the consideration to leave an empty twelve pack along the way so i would have someplace to squirrel away my findings, the damp detritus of fat, sugar, nicotine and alcohol. and by the time i turned around at the chestnut tree, my heart had rearranged itself and i said thank you to those unknowingly offering me an opportunity to help the Earth i love and to improve the experience of the growing numbers of sunday drivers down this little backroad admiring the turning of the wheel who drive by the scudding twisting rising tide of trash and say what a shame, what shall we have for dinner? i thought about how everything the earth makes goes back to the earth. i wear my biodegradability on my sleeve with pride. us hairless monkeys make a billion tonnes of plastic crap a day and call it progress. im ranting again, arent i? i look up through the trees into the magnificent blue morning and pray for illumination. pray for my brothers and sisters leading unhealthy lives, making unhealthy choices, thinking they dont matter so what they do doesnt matter. ive always tried to teach my boys that we belong to the earth like our hand belongs to us. the power to hurt and heal, create and destroy. honor your self as a part of the earth part of the infinite whole love your brothers and sisters two and four and six and eight footed all weaving this phenomenal matrix of being beating ocean waves from the heart of Love.

painted, restrung two fall necklaces, turquoise and glass, amber and jet. blessed be.



Day Eight: Make Space.
"Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person." After night of electric tympani sky thunderbolt sketching the old maples tween us and lady neighbor day came bright and early went back to dream of smart car ex-husband and this bag i was carrying full of beautiful things so many things i couldnt get them all back in after they had spilled over. a chinese restaurant where i gave my name as brigit and forgot to come back for the scallion pancakes because there was a test i had to take and i walked through the snow to the smart car with an old dog named lucky. took dog for morning walk before the rain came like a wool blanket over the blue sky. walked to town (post office/general store at a blinking light between larger towns...did i mention how lovely it is to realize one lives in a hamlet?)with #4 and other dog he explained why i am a hippie and why princess leia is too. got tomato viscosity on my deepak book and will now make the 15 list, paint a base coat on the canvas and restring the turquoise necklace to include the tempest tossed blown glass bead in honor of fall. discovered glorious corn smut enormous tumorous thing in the cornrow and the first thing i thought was 'salem.'

Day Seven: A Deep Breath.
"...there are no secrets. Life is and will always be a mystery." Charlotte gifts us with the return of objects lost and i move closer to realizing dream horse paddock, goddess willing. hot bright day. make nice with dubious neighbors over dogs, entertain headache for third day. shes still away and will be for awhile i have to reconfigure my boundaries and intentions. to stand under the window like an elvis fan and wait for a sign is not what i came for. she calls and its more like watching from shore now, the little boat appearing disappearing the rowing and the wondering and what good does it do to stand and watch? hot hot day quick walk with the dog that brought the dream closer, inside with cold water and the book i surrendered to a day ago merciless crescendo of a book evening comes cool with thunder i look forward to a night of rain and deep dreams good to have both boys here #3 now taller than i, both funny and sweet tomorrow therell be the neighbors eggs to bake a sweet with and maybe ill paint something on the canvas you brought home. still riding the wave of fridays liberation from fruitless briarpatch of a headspace, the whole shining religion of him and music and wine. depleted by the heat i untie in the water closet and call it a day.

Day Five/Six: Closer.
"Go to the edge of the cliff and jump off. Build your wings on the way down." Very little derek trucks and a bottle of escudo rojo dont fix.

Day Four: Away.
"...discordant concord is the path life needs." just hollow, a jelly jar waiting for water flowers milk whiskey something to give it use and fill the empty that defines it. the trough, the space between ex and inhale. subsisting on dairy and good coffee torturing myself with peta videos and democracy now. happy to put one foot in front of the other even if i end up where i started. these beasties make sense of me, make use of me, make meaning of me my milk and whiskey. sad songs and long naps killing time until i can drown in the river of school and subbing sublimate my sorry state with busy work and someone elses priorities. let haunting fiddle airs tell the tale told forever the fingertip grip lone wolf scarecrow empty full turning wheel wheel on fire he sang wheel on fire were all on fire this world on fire energy burning friction and gravity on the way down. away.

Day Three: Make a Bet.
"There will be something, anguish or elation, that is peculiar to this day alone. I rise from sleep and say: Hail to the morning! Come down to me, my beautiful unknown."
The hills are still green but the light has changed, did a few weeks ago. there isnt the high brightness of june, the animal heat implacable glare. negotiations like a raft on the everglades at dusk. a call from #4 he wants a mohawk. #3 coming home. i have animal fantasies involving a frisbee and some ancient symbiotic communication that helped us both evolve into our better selves. i bet one day i see my better self rise from the fog of this ragged ghost. i bet i hear the voice of my heart, the hymn of my spirit, the story of my body as it was revealed to me by teller time. the sky was flame and that secret pink the conch hides inside. wrung out by hiding; the toll has been taken a thousand times over and again today i will reach into my pocket and pay. in my dream i deconstructed sentences and decided the fate of semicolons using the isadora duncan rule. the only thing that helps today go down is the magical translation of ovids metamorphoses. of change and becoming, of fulfillment, either way.

Day Two: Accept Forgiveness.
"There is a milk fountain inside you./Don't walk around with an empty bucket." Awake in the dark cool breeze and the song of rain wind in the trees awake and saying thank you to the world that went on without me while i dreamed restless dreams of bus stops and reunions. Reunion. i am tempted to walk out in the dark with the dog so i can return home in the daylight. wide awake, ready. the rain lets up dog and i westward into cloud valley deer with faun cattle with calves a mist like beside the great falls your skin drinking it in the negative ions the clean smell of morning peaceful meadow of browse white noise of crickets lights come on in houses five pheasant hens lift their petticoats to get out of the way. accept forgiveness for who ive been whats been said and done or not. what i go to guru for. what i live for. forgiveness. and always thought it had to come from other. but others forgiveness is nothing if its not accepted. by me. so i accept forgiveness. shame is a habit and habits are meant to be broken. i break the vow of shame and self-loathing. i break the vow of self-deprecation self-depredation. i accept forgiveness as the rain is my baptism as this morning is my new world as these words offer testament to my liberation thea-logy my emergence philosophy my forgiveness. because nothing comes from out there. its in here. everything.

Day One: "Break a Vow."
"Let them call me rebel and welcome, I feel no concern from it; but I should suffer the misery of devils, were I to make a whore of my soul." A vow i made more than thirty years ago. to deny my self. to relinquish control. to surrender not to a greater guiding hand but to the screaming void. a vow that has ruled me since, brittle bone of my lifetime, unable to support any sort of growth. break the vow. look around you see what is waiting in the rubble and overgrowth. look around you see what is worth setting aside and what should be buried, hot compost of regret denial shame fear wash the artifacts of your soul with sunlight and running water. pull weeds. let the good grow. give yourself time but do the work. break the vow. whatever ruled you then does not rule you now. now is the new breath, never taken. now is the deeper stretch. now is the liberation of energy from some dim arid prison. now is the activation of a beautiful thought into the million gestures that make a lifetime. this is the horizon mind. this is the blue sky mind. this is the mind that honors the infinite now. this is what has been coming. now. small renovations, new blue walls and pine floors resuscitated from under eighties shag, building a life. brother sister dogs gambol in the yard happy to be dogs alive. people i love learning to let go. ive turned my face to the wind and what will be, a different surrender this time, laying down the struggle for nothing and the neglect of everything else. today i take one step, knowing not to run too far too fast. it all has to be taken in, savored, appreciated. shout out to Artemis, Changing Woman, and Saul Alinsky.

Bright Idea #78: "Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant."
"Lovers think they're looking for each other, but there's only one search: wandering this world is wandering that, both inside one transparent sky. In here there is no dogma and no heresy." Up early into the bright breezy peace of rural sunday dog and i westward hes learning life on a shorter leash and it seems better for both of us when hes home theres a great acre all his own no tether no chain just his one eye and good smells to guide him. we take the canoe out with the smaller water dogs smaller one jumps ship midway through we wrap her in a blue oxford and feed her cheese to ground the adrenaline and feed the beating heart. where the river road turns to the lake we drift into cattails i split a small bright yellow tomato the yellow of these lily flowers i salt it eat it eat the sun the lily the leaves on these little trees already turning russet and gold and the hypnotic black and blue of a thousand little waves from the wake of the river itself the launch water is quiet and clear i step into it as a matter of course, pulling us ashore. back home for magazine lunch and a pile of books beside the chair a beautiful dreamless nap #3 calls dreadful death metal mayhem looking forward something to buoy him into another school year the raw release the rage only the thirteen can feel. the extended pack stays with me up and down out and back a quiet night in bed with books and an early morning rumi says forty early mornings. mary says dont go back to sleep.

Bright Idea #77: Enjoy the Process.
"Seeking perfect total enlightenment is like looking for a flashlight when all you need the flashlight for is to find your flashlight." Full Moon. tomato sandwiches and Avalon, sister dogs and druids. long walks and sunshine. a field of chicory and queen anne whose perfect peace a camera could never capture. enormous black butterfly in the bush. painted lady in the path tucked into camera case, the curled tongue. pumpkin cake and quinoa, cold water and coffee. theyve gone camping in homer and im trying to cultivate a sense of self sovereignty. a sense of quiet anticipation. all these days leading to some arrival at clarity. a clearing. but now its pine needle floors and dappled canopies and trusting in the path, now and again looking up to see some blue between the black and green. the next full moon will call in autumn, low looming wine red equinox moon of socks and sweaters clear nights and the smell of woodsmoke, turning labyrinthine spiral toward the center and out again.

Bright Idea #76: You Are Loved.
"It is a central stillness of spirit that is so vital that it can tame the wildness out of almost any tempest, however raging it may be." Nadir. flaccid psychological wormhole. the familiar falling flaming railroad nails and when i double up on doctors orders i feel it flowing top down, maras arrows into flowers. i used to live there all the time, and its been an unwilling visitation of broken bottle streets and the smell of a resigned humanity. i realize how hard i actually work to keep off the streets, to keep to the cool shady trails through high scented wilderness smiling into the center of the system, just breathing. i realize how tired i get from the effort. turn around and its behind you, just at the edge of the golden wood, waiting. that poem i wrote in elementary school about the silent darkness that waits for weakness and weariness and wanting. i realize how good im getting at better i can stand there and take it, it sticks its fist into the back of my head demented marionette i did my best to mop up the mess retreat manic babble and a bowl of ice cream double meds bed and you so infinitely perfect and sweet and when i woke the darkness had receeded low tide darkness on the other side sunlight and the smell of trees i keep my eyes on the dog as were walking this weekend ill read valkyries and do a lot of walking put this nadir behind me like a one rough wave in all the ocean.

Bright Idea #75: Try
"There can be no compassion without celebration and there will be no authentic celebration that does not result in increased compassionate energies." We all need a challenge. Something to understand, learn, grow into. Every day needs to be a river to cross a hill to climb a row to hoe. putting our selves to a purpose, physical, spiritual, intellectual, social, somewhere for our energy to go. this is why dogs eat furniture. why people atrophy into madness. why gardens are overcome by weeds. put purpose to the dog, the man, the garden and they will grow in peace and beauty to benefit all others. sometimes i feel my solitary path denies me full purpose, denies the world my Light and even then i cant see it fully for myself. my current inner tumult comes from feeling unable to stretch out and live authentically. how shall i begin? its nothing short of revolution, this authenticity.
"If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet deprecate agitation are people who want crops without plowing up the ground. They want rain without thunder and lightning. That struggle might be a moral one; it might be a physical one; it might be both moral and physical, but it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and never will. People might not get all that they work for in this world, but they certainly work for all they get." -Frederick Douglass.
My Latest Thing. I can hear you now, "what next, turtle racing? ice dancing?"

Bright Idea #74: Fear is Egos Riot Gear.
"We are led to believe a lie/When we see not thro' the eye,/Which was born in a night to perish in a night,/When the soul slept in beams of light./God appears, and God is light,/To those poor souls who dwell in night;/But does a human form display/To those who dwell in realms of day." Up after stargazing even out here the light pollution is a bad taste in my throat like aspirated chlorine. But these beautiful moments there! and there! and the bigger the fire the longer the tail. for how long has this burning been going on? weve synchronized the celestial with man-times clotted culvert trickling toxic into ocean universe we have nothing to show for our brains but straight lines and graveyards. bought blue paint for the boys rooms washed morning seaside firmament blue ocean froth and faerie fingertips laughing in the big box isnt he grand? no motivation. drape myself over the chair shoveling popcorn reading marquez. eating august tomato sandwich the sin of salt, love apples and white bread. golden evening the children discuss plans for their first tattoos and she says ive been confrontational lately and lo, i have been. unspoken unsung frustrated pent up sick of tharn resignation my skin is itching splitting im fighting the light through the cracks make me lonesome for me. i devise ways to hide my anxiety but never ways to set me free. set me free. i dont need one set of footprints that arent my own. i dont need a saviour because theres nothing lost. its all here underground. something hastily buried now rising to the surface, light erosion wellspring. wellspring. autumns wellspring. clear the ground a circle of stones a shaft of light milk bowl full moon soon im keeping so much underground theres no room for anything to grow root space taken up by storm cellar built years ago the light through the cracks in the boards of the door at the top of earthen stairs i watch the light paint lines on my feet and hands when it rains sweet communion the implacable truth of light but that door needs to open regardless the weather or who exactly ive become in my time underground pale spectre ravenous distended papery husk hoarding a hundred seeds of Light.

Bright Idea #73: This Is It.
"He who mocks the infant's faith/Shall be mock'd in age and death./He who shall teach the child to doubt/The rotting grave shall ne'er get out./He who respects the infant's faith/Triumphs over hell and death./The child's toys and the old man's reasons/Are the fruits of the two seasons." Up again at five to braid hair and kiss goodbye #4 between us in the deep blue morning downstairs for coffee upstairs for pulling cards marquez morning nap fierce dianic an old man shooting lions. lost morning up the hill down into the valley west to avalon we play cards and eat wildflower cheese blueberries the peaceful drone the smell of sunlight on tall grass stretched out on the navajo blanket playing hypnotic card games wondering at monarchs and dragonflies how could i want for anything more? beautiful sweet carrot cake pineapple coconut cream cheese frosting good coffee savory buns for the boys im up the hill to zillah cloud marked heart to heart and down again into evening the miracle of life infinite variety a chapter in the cozy chair for me and #4 then early bed so if the atmosphere allows its up at two to catch a glimpse of flaming space rubble, both omen and hindsight.

Bright Idea #72: "enroll in [the] sublime, ball-busting course of Spirit Love."
"The babe is more than swaddling bands;/Every farmer understands./Every tear from every eye/Becomes a babe in eternity;/This is caught by females bright,/And return'd to its own delight./The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,/Are waves that beat on heaven's shore." Changing Woman, Mary, Artemis, Hecate. The connections. wholeness, transformation, grain. the corn grows tall and tells me secrets as i pass at ease and peaceful breathing deep and saying prayers. #4 went out on his skateboard holding my hand pushing off balancing reaching back for my hand holding on it was wonderful. a surge of industry, shifting moving doing something always the reward of running water and the white bed. blessed be i go out to the garden and pick dinner. i see the bombardment of ego and artifice and am horrified. i look back as bravely as i can and say my how youve evolved, dearie. good for you. good for everyone around you. tentative connections tenuous strands that collect rain add-a-bead upsidedown world we walked home and i tried to explain how we see everything upside down and then our brain translates it into something we can understand and i had one of those sucking psychedelic moments where i understand what guru said about everything being an illusion. how we could very well be existing in some elaborate hologram but its good enough for me. make art. drink wine. tomorrows the meteor shower. share the sky. breathe.

The Beijing Olympics: Are They A Trap?

walked up underwood and down naming clouds. kuan yin, pleasure woman, the camel, bear changing stations. a hawk cried over my home the dog and i drank cool water from the same palm.

Bright Idea #71: "All good things are wild, and free."
"It is right it should be so;/Man was made for joy and woe;/And when this we rightly know,/Thro' the world we safely go./Joy and woe are woven fine,/A clothing for the soul divine./Under every grief and pine/Runs a joy with silken twine." Yesterday at the Faire letting the energy flow free silent between smelling of resinous oils and horses the sound of bells and laughter in the throng i look up into the trees my spirit dancing over the heads of people firmly attached to their surfaces my very sweat a purification from humdrum. the dragon dancer the mute swan the anonymous throng that met my eye with nothing but a linen shift and a beautiful vibe. i just wanted to float free of the obligations of flesh and desire. i just wanted to steep in the energy of the glorious afternoon and we learned more about each other and ourselves and even though it worked like an anchor my coracle desperate to cut away from the rope i gained wisdom for the next time. someone ran through the rain last night setting off small explosions and the morning was beautiful bright lovely shade dappled like a good grey pony. the boys went off with J. to be fishers and im here in the rabble and ramble of Grey Haven listing off the duties and chores all the while knowing Take A Walk will win. the life and death struggle of attendance to obligation vs. surrender to evanescence. give me the moment and everything will see to itself. in my dream i was sick to death and among the treacherous everything corrupted cast away but ego sickness and waves of craving and shame. i all wanted was love and honesty and wondered why i was so hard to find.

Bright Idea #70: "I can never be what i ought to be until you are what you ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality." -MLK
"The gnat that sings his summer's song/Poison gets from slander's tongue./The poison of the snake and newt/Is the sweat of envy's foot./The poison of the honey bee/Is the artist's jealousy./The prince's robes and beggar's rags/Are toadstools on the miser's bags./A truth that's told with bad intent/Beats all the lies you can invent." Cool grey morning presaging rain. if it keeps on raining the levees gonna break. puttered, picked up BFF and daughter for pilgrimage to port town where the goods are varied from afar an indian blanket a little bell #4 rhythm sticks and a glass green turtle. absolutely lovely lunch in a dark chinese dive she was choking and i didnt blink just waited for her to breathe trusting she would breathe. she breathed. homeward. its the same static charge the room fills #4 playing pollock the illusion of separation Love Love Love thats my song the hymn of my heart his hands flutter in the glare of artificial light in the cool beautiful night i go out anticipating the meteors and say look there, another planet in space.

Bright Idea #69: "You want to scare away the vampires, guide them into the light."
"The caterpillar on the leaf/Repeats to thee thy mother's grief./Kill not the moth nor butterfly,/For the last judgement draweth nigh./He who shall train the horse to war /Shall never pass the polar bar./The beggar's dog and widow's cat,/Feed them and thou wilt grow fat." Yesterday reached my SoulBrother after a decade in the absence of his Light. drove into the city to pick through the remains and see what the world does in my absence. gorgeous golden gossamer wrap from the silk alleys of spain two swords and a mosaic bull from the niece dark and specific pre-med on a diving scholarship at seventeen my life was already chaos and darkness while hers is an open road of morning light. but ive learned my lessons and for it my soul is lighter. we reach a mesa of peace driving home singing along just quiet and being together like it should be. guru helped, told me to really want for others what i want for myself. tenderness acceptance amity concord. grey pre-storm morning a dream of being in hiding being pursued i hide under my golden wrap from the searching visage of emptiness. not beautiful munificent emptiness of buddha but ravenous howling emptiness of some malignant sheol you work lifetimes at escaping. domestic duties a backlog of laundry and dishes sitting and stretching this is my august and it wont be long before were pulled onto the track of september. my heart is open to all and every one but the world of man offers no enticement. id happily spend my days with the earth and the sky free from skyline or macadam, free from air choked with technological waves polluting gaia vibe like invasive sea plants. give me the cry of a hawk the song of a coyote the weather and the wind. give me light on the water and stars in the sky. give me space and time to grow out of my skin into the infinite being of Light i am after all.

Bright Idea #68: Listen to your Body.
"He who shall hurt the little wren/Shall never be belov'd by men./He who the ox to wrath has mov'd/Shall never be by woman lov'd./The wanton boy that kills the fly/Shall feel the spider's enmity./He who torments the chafer's sprite/Weaves a bower in endless night." The smell of dew and sunlight on wayside flowers is the breath of Paradise. Cool morning inspired a walk to the chestnut tree and delight was in the sweet shade walking back. lately theres been a peace about me, something nested and at home, contented and wonderful. i think maybe people get the same feeling from me they might from a wilderness, or an animal encountered there. something about me that isnt wholly domesticated, something unprogrammed, untethered, unwashed. my siding with the wild, with Nature, inspires the same wariness and space. give it a wide berth and dont provoke it. thats how id like to go on seeing it, that its not a matter of my deficiency or dereliction, but of my unwillingness to be anything but what i am, to pretend to believe other than i believe, to participate in a life i dont believe in or altogether disagree with and be honest about it. all the while i work within the confines of where i am and who ive become. i dont shake off all tenacious obligation and live in a lonesome valley learning the song of my blood. maybe one day. but where i am i fill fully with my self. i cry into the compassion and sing into the emptiness. i weave myself as closely as i can to the flora and fauna around me pledging allegiance to the Earth and her creatures, head heart and hand to the Great Spirit that moves through me and shows me in a million ways that i am worthy of sunlight and wayflowers, moonlight and woodlands, sweet earth and bright water, all gifts given freely to those willing to put forward an open head, heart, hand.

Bright Idea #67: Share.
"The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,/Keeps the human soul from care./The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,/And yet forgives the butcher's knife./The bat that flits at close of eve/Has left the brain that won't believe./The owl that calls upon the night/Speaks the unbeliever's fright." Slept late with a bad dream. for each kernel there is a silk umbilical thread drinking sunlight rain it doesnt question it grows from the seed is what it is glorious and phenomenal utterly unique displaying a thousand years of living with these clever tool wielding naked apes. here one comes barefoot through yet cool shady sward rich smelling turmeric shift breathing to see how the garden grows. we reach above her shes safe here in the silence shes weeded our rows let the gourdvines trail about us in the name of freedom and interbeing. the brown earth beneath her the blue sky above and all this growing green the leaves that feed the hard fruit that will soften and blush this month into deep experience of her standing over there dripping seeds smiling. children in the bush beans sharing delight in such extraordinary acquaintance with their world. the squashes hiding in broad leaved bowers gestating toward the cold birth of their warm colors and one small secret one called moon and stars that hold deep sweetness summers last offering. this is where she is can smile and breathe dirt under her nails reassuring that shes real here alright just grow into your soul roots down face up toward the changing sky spiral of seasons friends lovers i called late at night just to remember what it felt like to hear you from somewhere far away.

Bright Idea #66: “It's a fool who looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart.”
"A horse misused upon the road/Calls to heaven for human blood./Each outcry of the hunted hare/A fibre from the brain does tear./A skylark wounded in the wing,/A cherubim does cease to sing./The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight/Does the rising sun affright./Every wolf's and lion's howl/Raises from hell a human soul." Rose from dreamless sleep into sunday grey morning washed the floor before coffee J. came for the dog we talked playwrights and ley lines the awareness that everything is within us the world is a reflection. cashed a cheque at the drive-up open now like the liquor stores bought flour sugar milk cheese made broonie and cinnamon scones. the house smells like sunday should the air out there smells like concords. time passes. coffee and incense laundry and a song about the james boys that gave me gooseflesh and i caterwauled into the valley past the baptists thinking this is the time of the meteors, isnt it? the nights have been cloudy the days threaten rain thick air but it lifts the smells of august that deepen the colors and theres almost a feeling of geese calling october in the giddy sensation of the earth turning toward winter toward rest all this living everything miraculous and nothing short of its self. uncle walt had it right all the Light pioneers its all miraculous every breath every face every single second thank you. nothing gets done but its beautiful as it is. maybe it would be easier with someone i could tandem or dance with but easy has never been for me. blessed be.

Bright Idea #65: "Erotica is using a feather, pornography is using the whole chicken."
"A robin redbreast in a cage/Puts all heaven in a rage./A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons/Shudders hell thro' all its regions./A dog starv'd at his master's gate/ Predicts the ruin of the state." Early love coffee Changing Woman Oz and Quadrophenia for later. night rain on my journal theres a new one with a frog on it rebirth transformation the butterflies of the water water and last nights offering let it be. were pioneering our souls hilltop together perspective the lay of the land doesnt seem as strange. but its too easy for him to slide into valleys gloom where i see the frogs and the fireflies. toadie toadie send my regards to your mistress mistress of us all the three roads leading everywhere her at the center knowing through across it all Changing Woman Estsanatlehi the cycle the circle of abalone turquoise white shell jet seasons beauty road rising in a spiral like the beauty and balance of the very universe one word Love. BFF and the black knight story line cool night Dont Settle. walk the dog through dim mist dark moon i can so clearly recall the streets there, voices under the awning love at the end of the hall. we agreed that the only thing wed do differently was not use our common sense.

Bright Idea #64: Dont pack the emptiness.
"When Inanna enters the holy shrine give her butter cake to eat. Pour cold water to refresh her heart. Offer her beer before the statue of a lion. Treat her like an equal." She Changes Everything She Touches. Millstone, Stirring Stick, Whisking Broom, Pot. Children of the Seasons. She Changes Everything She Touches. Paint Fire Dogs Bread Stars. She Changes. Everything She Touches. Top of the World.