November 8 2020


God is love. Now as i lay in bed, the sun is rising yellow-white. I’ve stories of my dreams i listen shuffle back to between memory and experience. I imagine feeling the wind through my bare skin as I am outside.


I can hear the birds singing my dream – the greatest living artist in love. The grand Creator instills a sense of calm assuredness in me. I slept long and well, first full nights sleep in at least a week. Hallucinations had been a bit beyond my hand.


Beyond myself I aspire for Good, truth, beauty, love, God. I situate my compass with direction to noticing and adoring God’s moment to moment miracle all the more. I want to be counted among saints like st. John of the cross, brother Lawrence, Paul, and St. Teresa of Avila and St. Teresa. To be among Van Gogh, Picasso. I see the whole of the world in an instant, with instancy i breathe a nearer future, instantly in breathing prayer.


Light of the sun rests on my eyelids and for a long moment into my eyes i feel transformed by the light. There are physical, material happenings magical enough.


Yesterday I saw a single pink oleander flower petal dance the winds. I wanted to run after the flower, as though the moment is beautiful enough to happen again and again with the same blooming quality.



Wonders of mine i accept. I take the world as presented perfectly obscure before me. My mind is not as fit as i try and think it is all quite alright. I write lines between time. Here and now is all present, God lives in the moment. 


Air is winded and cold. I wish i were free flowing and easy as the breezes I feel wash in and through me another new autumn day. Art is for the soul. Sing on slow. Shape thoughts as they form with word, ink and pen are my handle on the world.


I’ve not body made for anywhere but interstellar regions. So it seems a paragraph break is more cordial to me than the people i walk by and by and see see me and loop paranoid thoughts about keeping my life and whether or not i’ve the endless to give for free today. Do be strong for love. I write to myself for this is something i’ll enjoy up in bed when i’ve not the desire to sleep, see i’ve many a lives lived in one person. My friends see me as they please. Put their boundless kindness in frame and see all peoples perfect capacity to be and to love.


No question on newness. No more of a weakness to haste, love is strong, fastening us forward with easy eyes, soft lips, words that heal. To hear and say – I love you.”


So some thirty tracks later and the railroad train keeps a-going, getting gone in a language of angels, divinity in a swaying leaf, the color blue-green. The earth is our house we visit while away from home. We are spiritual people at home, just passing through. Breaking on again to the other side. My mind nearly snaps at notice to the people here;


The man in a white burlap hat politely consults his fears of a nation at global pandemic. I write a prayer for health. I have to wear my mask as i sit in the coffee shop, pull it down to take a sip, coffeeshops lost their local, fear drives his conversation, i smile, i feel the fear and still i smile behind a mask and pray in my eyes he, one in the reflection, will see, all is well.