All Pursuits Worthwhile: Letting in the Breeze on a Chilly Evening

Some words, thoughts. 

What extent of silliness has removed us from ourselves, distorted our notions of standards, removed the hands from the clock and shattered our perception of time? Has this generation evolved so quickly it forgot to enjoy breakfast? Did it forget to wake with the birdsongs?

Yes. We possess a large toolbox. Congratulations. It's kind of heavy though. Why uncomfortably lug around what you aren't using effectively for good or growth? Why be weighed down with distractions and notions of culture that seesaw like the weights of the wallet and  our stress levels.    Ever try measuring knowledge and laughter, unburdening ourselves from desires.

When did this become mine and that yours?   How did the development of faceless control emerge into our 'nine to five?'  Force fed with synthetics, medicating with the same, nurturing conditions for for discomfort without a cure.  I think. I don't know. 

I'm on a rock that's working on feeding the future because these effects have rippled past a strong current.  A current previously unpassable to those with opposable thumbs.  All but the ones in sync with night sky lost their way.

Honestly, I am sharing this because of time, and the biophysical limits of resources on this earth (with potential for abundance if we nurture its natural growth), and the way our reality shifts when we engage the world with our senses, our hearts. Actions ripples, minds perceive. Our senses bridge this barrier of idea and creation. Art, a secret smile, an uphill ride. I see more when I close my eyes . 

I smell the puakenikeni flower, taste a daikon radish, associate the past as a timelapse blooming fire. There are limits to what this life offers on an individual level. On the collective though, the connections and degrees of separation from a camping trip in Western Australia to eating pomegranate jalapeno jelly in the Mojave desert are a blink away, a foot on the map.. We always have the ability to bend time into the scales and proportions of our choosing. 

When the nostalgia clicks in, like a germinated bean seed shedding its shell, the natural progression of skipping through the past occurs. The older I get the more grateful I am for the diversity of experience, the relationships and connections of people and places that have formed, and the reminders of mycorrhizae that connect us. As far as linear time goes, we are growing apart, yet I feel closer to past and future friends when I fall asleep at night.  I try to smile, remember the image of the torquoise mountain in the lakes' snowy reflection, or the time we teared up from laughter as strangers became friends and night followed into day.

Look. There are so many places to look. We aren't changing. We aren't ending, we aren't beginning. We are here, becoming, cycling through as nature intends.  Life will happen, and presumably it feels unexplainable, and we will react and respond as we will.   Patience reveals it was meant to happen.  If there is a goal you have, a yearning to be, what's preventing you? Your mind will play its tricks. Just breathe and enjoy and PURSUE cause on an individual level it doesn't last forever, but as a collective footprint, well, I'd like to think so. Just look, up, at all the stars. They all happened once.

Yes, the world is
real. And yes, there is ripe fruit
splattering

Thankfully, there is an ocean whose current
checks on the elders, like
the sky
for the children, and the wind for the
in-betweeners.

Yes, time isimaginary, and the spinning
is bringing us back
to the middle,
Has Spring crept up on us already?

I jump and I stretch and I reach
and try

to grip a cloud. I pull down
with the loadmy heavy heart
against the weightless cloud and
the scale reads:
empty and true.

Each cloud that passes across
the sky, uneven on the rocky terrain
that I lay on, floats by
beyond reach.

In this everpresent
everchanging landscape
life clings, like
feint songbirds on morning branches,
to a rock.

There is little I know,
and nothing I can confirm,
Yet I retain the belief:There's a bridge beyond the horizon.

Sending aloha vibes to the folk whose seasons are distinguished differently from the volume level of morning birds and the blooming of the jacaranda. Working hard here, living light, loving trips to Hana, remembering the good times, continuing to have them, Haleakala quarterly, Lanai biannual. Spain, Nepal, Alaska, Cambodia, Morroco, Redwoods, Iceland, Friends from the past, Friends of the future, I will see you all soon, one day at a time.
Enjoy Spring, or Autumn for those in the South!
　


maybe to you it sounds kinda funny
but i'm really not too attached to money
maybe cause i can take care of my self
in the wilderness, the country, where fruit values wealth

maybe i'm happy to let the silliness slip
into the comericals, the cities, where idol worships shifts
so what, he can hit a ball or act like a king
i can top that with funny faces, smiling at the laughter it brings

sometimes i'm able to rhyme but that doesn't matter
in the hiearchy of hte universe i'm just a rung on the ladder
wait and be patient when trouble surruonds you
the river will make its pass and the flood will unbound you

with hands that do magic when going deep in the earth
I found what I value, I care about its worth
Lets help those in need with what we are given
Lets engage and be grateful for this life that we're living

you may believe me now, when I say I don't care about the money
waste not, want not, breathe deep, taste the sweet honey

All Pursuits Wortwhile: Self Made Puzzles

After Saturday night, or more precisely, a few hours before the sun rose above Hana's coastline on Sunday morning, I was awake and began to rearrange words and letters. I tried the combination from Paula's series and took the theme into account:

"Words Left Unsaid."

Language and sentence structure take on many forms. I like to think of language as a riddle with infinite combinations and no truly right or wrong ways of doing so. Maybe it has something to do with reading Dr. Seuss, books of Palindromes, and playing mouse trap as a child.


I Draw Sound lifts,

And I Dust Flowers!

Flutes or Sad Wind?

Frost Law: Sun died.

Lost War Side Fund

Run Self, Wait... Odd.

Wait Self, Odd.... Run!

Infused last word:

Louder Swift Sand


What I'm getting at here is everything and nothing. 
Feeling great and rejuvenated from Hana,
Going to Haleakala this next weekend
And I'll be flying on a new breeze of inspiration still

All Pursuits Worthwhile: Telescopes are Everywhere

 
At an unknown time in the navy blue night, only known with exactness to the navigators of stars, I walked outside to relieve my bladder and climbed back into the warm comfort of my upcontry cabin. I lay down to rest with a headache that verged on hurricane. I remained awake for an unknown time, wishing i wasn't myself and I fell into a dream.

I awoke hoping friends discover Al Green's "Love and Happiness." I dreamed of purpose which I will not detail here.

A few nights later, in a similar pattern, I awoke after 3 hours from a very spacial dream.

Altered shades of new green leaf emerge from heliconia stalks
As I push through thick tropical foliage
Gray smooth river rocks brushing the soles of gliding feet 
At close inspection the sheen on the rocks glows a path and a puzzle  
Felt a whir and in a blink, taken to similar looking landscapes,
Rearranged only by the formation and pressure of time and climate 
Zoomed out to an aerial view of my surroundings,
seen as the blueprints of a home, a map of the mind's landscape
Transported into each section first person, then back to the omniscient narrator
As I was playing the part of narrator, not the engaged character,
I started to affect the plants

Unconsciously working my way through the veinations on the leafs
into the stems and the plants' roots to cure illness through its depths 
A paradoxical feeling of viscerality while healing plants from afar
And then there was my life which needed attention, after the plants 
And its intentions of purpose to be manifested in different forms
The recogintion came of the thorough busyness and the clutter
And the only way to approach it would be
to enter with a clear empty meditative mindset
to distinguish and be present in each effortless moment

I have felt many parallels of the past lately. The lessons of learning and working with what has been learned. It would appear to me in this age of growing, of becoming, it gets harder, it gets easier. It gets harder, and so on.

With recent rides to the airport of seeing off and welcoming back new and old friends, I reflect on the state of transience attracted to this island. How it contains a special space in one's heart is akin to a locked mystery treasure box, an unsolvable riddle. A game not meant to be questioned, only to be respected and loved and positively played. This presence in my life of coming and going and returning is echoing my yearning to stay and to leave. Project upon project in towns all over the island, the blueprints of my past, the map of my future. Such, I believe, is the process of developing roots.

Reminders of the preciousness of time shared in a place with the 'aina, with the dwellers. Dealing with the pain in my foot. The curvature of the horizon, blurred and unknown in the hours before moonrise.

friends, friends, friends
what are we but droplets of water skating down a windshield
dodging, joining, breaking apart, existing for the thrill of the fall
dancing onto destinations and grasping onto moments
where connections grow so strong they extend beyond dimensional time
it is what we now view as exceptions when nature thrives as it intends
20 foot tall sunflowers and 6 pound tomatoes
this is how i thirst when i think of what can grow
foes, foes, foes
who are we to argue with each other when we share so much
we differ in what our parents taught us and what they were taught
whose brilliant idea was it to change nature's curriculum
to mess with the soil and our food and our minds
why can't children live without words, with feeling
what is so dangerous about freedom if your intention is happiness
this is what i dream in this lustless century
freeman, freeman, freeman
where are the bells and why is the ringing so feint?


Advice to you, advice to self:

Yes. Life contains peace, balance, conflict, pattern. There is light, darkness, duality and illusion. Picture life as a tree or as a circle. Recognize where you are, which part of the tree you are presently feeling like and what curve you are turning, chasing, bending in this never ending circle.

What we are is small. What we can affect is large. What we can dream is limitless.



It began at midnight, at yawning yellow dusk

since unfurled onto a messy bed

Lingering under my toes

like millions of microrganisms gasping below the grass

chaos, disillusionment, doubt

Shuddering at the thought of the godless spray, while

Embracing, trying, the notion of helplessness

To disappear, to erase, to change the present path

shedding one self into an unknown destiny

where the languages of the trees blend

with the toads and the ripples and the lunar desires

Is it escape or destination I seek

Somewhere between the overlap in time where legacy begins and ends

But wait

in a fresh green meadow where opposites attract

There are footprints everywhere, cold visible breaths, and still

no intimation of presence

There is a face with eyes that stare and a mouth with a jaw

that extends below rational boundaries

At its peak, the string section chimes in

beckoning the passing of a storm

gray cloud becoming orange becoming night

A beginning that reminds so much of the end that the heart sinks into its shell

undulates down onto the ocean floor

next to histories forgotten treasures

After, We are all limitless fallers - dreamers - walkers

I've done this before

I don't wish to go through it again

not with a senseless horizon

There must be colors to touch, songs to smell,

wet grass to shine and cacti to thrive

I have no request out of what is not natural, and I wish only myself

to be able to embrace what I have so closely rejeced

Aware of my sensibilities, my flaws, knowing if this pattern persists,

(which it will in indeterminable fractal lengths,

immeasurable laughters and whispering winds)

I will be

And in the words of the famed praying mantis

I will be and I will wish

knowing This:

If your wish is sent high,

there is no boundary below the stars,

only the magic of time

And

If your wish is true,

well... I cannot say more.



To be continued...