Conditions Were Right

Why am I obsessing over this thought?

Well, they were good last night. But it was a surreal experience.
Looking up, there was the fingernail moon…all smilely-like.
It’s grin shone through the naked tree limbs overhead.
I called “Hey!” and made a photograph. A happy photograph.

Turning toward the dark waters, my mind looked for something compelling. There in the deep murk, was the moon again. In that context, he seemed a little sad …so I made photo of sad moon.
Couldn’t make up my mind. Sometimes it just goes like that…even when conditions are right.

Moon told me, “it’s all good, and moment-to-moment. Just live it.” Peering again through naked limbs I could make out a silent voice. She told me to “settle down. Listen to wind, you can learn much from silence.”

Still learning.

Thank you

Recurring Dream

It appears calm
The surface nearly flat
Yet those small ripples…waves
Belie a boiling unseen

In my dreams of unrest
Waves crash overhead
Control completely lost

No longer a man
In this dream
I am a boy
Thrown about

Reduced to flotsam
Bound to continuous churning
Without escape
Save the awakening

It has been some time since I’ve experienced this dream. It started as a recurring lucid dream in my childhood soon after my parents divorced and split the family. It is interesting that the affects one event will manifest itself in our subconscious looking for resolution.

(Photo – Coronado, CA – Full Edit Manipulation in TOPAZ)

The Big Stew

Mud on my shoes
In my blood
Smell the dirt
Forgotten memories
The warmth
Of my mother’s placenta

Rivers surge
Make smooth the hardest of rock
Constant rhythmic pounding
Pushed by a forceful heart
Driven to the sea
The big stew

How foolish
To wake up
For one nano-second
This is a place to visit

I am the mud
I am the river, the rock
A speck
In the big stew

“Hiking Notes”

To Stand In History

The sounds of clamoring birds and coyote.
Trees struggle against the wind.
What little heat that has been absorbed
Flies away, creating an uneasy updraft.

I love this little spot of water.
It used to be a seasonal river.
Utilized by natives and nature’s children.

Progress found it a good site.
For money making.
Sand pits. Dredged by machines.
Concrete mix, trucks and bulldozers.

And when it was time to leave it.
Someone said, “we’ll leave the lake intact”.
Dress it up with liquid amber and oak.

Eventually, it became a reserve.
Where humans are considered the intruder.
Stay on the trails.
Leave the coyote and cougar alone.

I hear those machines.
Like songs from above.
The silent sound of warriors hunting game.
Girls crushing seeds in rock depressions

They speak to me
These spirits of former days
I try my best
To listen