dining in the house of the lord at the table of proverbs might get you in the door or… ? a read of your inner tome, your heart speaks of deeds but intent is internal only you to know and that one other.
but pretend, in the end- a table of luminaries all of your choosing eye to eye chair to chair all there in the same hall as you the same room for afterall in a dream as in death all is possible as is none
notes… sometimes I am being cheeky and making you think… and mixing endeavors and themes… call me loki, or lucky or just Dave… yeah, that works.
blue disposition- after many greyer days thanks, my friend ophelia parting ways I say adieu and merci for your water’s fall for my soil now come to brew a leafy stew in brisk whisk folds as the sun sets sooner now and tapped with cold (on my shoulder, so I turn around).
I wonder, is this me, well, yes, of course it is inner voice, but more speaking outward, why can I just not forget (shake?) the past, like filing a book in a library, filed by some number, in a drawer, on some shelf, in some shadow, certainly still in my house but somewhere in a corner, instead of what feels like shackles, self imposed or otherwise, I know the logic, I know the KNOW.. you know? I know I am supposed to forget, time heals all wounds? no, time just is a measure of inches from the time, feet, miles, but does it matter if the coordinates are still there? and the feeling, so many times as I have felt before, like a pilot, in a form, all these years, I’m older now, so many years, have I really changed? what is 10 years anymore… or 20? this used car, an efficient model to be sure, but mileage is mileage regardless of care, and accidents unforeseen, or your fault, well, that is part of being on this road, isn’t it? you can buff out the dents but the memory still lies underneath in the metal, can’t get a trade in, at least not yet, even a focus on glorious drives along the coast, on a perfect day, sky – an absolute blue, sun warming but not burning, feeling the temperature gradient rising in your forearm skin, and hands, and your smile, who knows if this was even real or imagined at times, but waves, and tides, maybe the moon is my master, even though my science mind knows it is gravity, or something more, celestial, sinister, banal, scintillating, neither… or none, just me in my little ark sailing into my own unknown, but never able to truly escape the land that bore me, seeds planted, foundations raised, all a part of who I am today… I wish there might be targeted repentant fire I could engage.
I tend to vacation in the same places, although I should breakout, sometimes this is all my soul needs, I am humming internally here… scientist cliffs, maryland
Scientist Cliffs, Maryland… total geek retreat, a 100 year old hand built log cabin (no shit), views to kill for, but also this place has sling TV and Roku… and Cable WiFi… and since I am in the boondocks there is no bandwidth back log… damn, I ma here less than 12 hours and do not want to leave…
we walk around in our space, that seems to encompass so much… space, but yet, even these continents, pale in comparison to the lands, that are under the oceans, beneath our radar, truths, stories, societies, all buried or hidden there, a not so subtle graveyard, a flowing cemetery of the document of life for the history of this world, I wonder how many, how many shipwrecks there are, how many lives, how many souls, some wonder about the riches, but gold glitters in any form, gold does not have a tale to tell except the hands that from which it fell, how many of these untold fireside chat charcoals lie buried beneath, or just undiscovered, sitting alone in the current or among piles of others on top of others in layers of layers, sparks that ended with no fire but had heat, bells no longer rung, voices leapt into the mist that laps the shore with the forgotten tongues, voices buried deep from which nothing comes, the (bio) luminescence of the human form, etched on a plank with a stone, or a blade, a bauble, a vase, an urn once filled with oil or wine, or barrels of molasses, or whiskey, or just a simple metal worked totem of luck tucked in a pocket forgotten, waiting to be found again, to sing, to write a book, or a verse, to fill in a blank, to answer a question, to pose new ones, to set the record straight, or just place a piece of a puzzle that much closer… all in the sands, silts, and shifting tides, the whole of outer space lies in the matter of the ocean waters, a land, we can not see immediately, a land, much vaster than the horizon we look out upon to reach, the deep, and shallows even, have swallowed so many people, so many seasons, a vast library lies there, waiting for us to discover, all we need to do, is put our toe in the water…
the house lights brighten the curtain parts- here, in the fifth opera house, of pleasure and play of all the land of all the provinces, gathered this, the palace of laughter the full heart of performance as the celestial procession orbits around this heavenly sun projecting with Such radiation until all is burned and the fuels of fame- are gone
a servant of my own inner evictions the tenant of the superintendent of my soul; I say a prayer for the least not believing that I might be just this-
notes… sometimes I neglect this and let you think for yourself… and you should… but the second line is something I do on purpose (or my mind does) that takes an “expected” and makes it something else, so to me it calls two things at once, usually the phrase would be “inner convictions” so I wanted to turn that over internally… because we are all the wardens of our own prisons, truly, but where does the freedom come in… there is always boundaries… but where and when… I don’t have it all figured out, but that is what I want you to think about (and other things, but that was just the first two lines)…
I suppose I never thought about certain things certain ways, of course we are like a bank, a vault, a collection of our own experiences, constant deposits, some large, some small, we withdraw on them to paint a picture for some other, so they might notice our branch, or just to show off, or help someone, all these can be true without over drafting the other, I am starting to notice the value of my currency, but more so when I put the effort in to earn it, forcing myself to take advantage of the day light hours, to seek out all the little parks, brooks, creeks, lakes and beaches that are all around me, can I claim obliviousness? perhaps… but in the day and age of this day and age with all information really just a click away? (eh, probably not) so what if I am no lewis and clark-esque explorer, or columbus, we are to ourselves our own country seeking land to plant our flag, even if for a moment, so that is what my quest has been of late, to not ignore the wonders all around here in my little state (larger than some, population certainly), and I have been surprised how much was in plain sight, or just around the next bend, right in front of me all this time, all I had to do was take a sliver of time, step outside, make a plan, and go! not every adventure has been great or even an adventure at all, some took great pains to find the damn place with not much payoff, but the experience does pay off, my inner crypto on the uptake, my stock rising, from the experience of trying, one day, I hope, I can travel further, all over the world even, but even right here in my little corner of the earth there is so much dirt I have not tread, so many trails not traveled, so, in the meantime before I go on a global tour, I should learn to love the local land that much more, and the value in that, is my currency.
Shades of My Garden 