October 26 2020
How God of love. This creative incantation elucidates as rising only as the peach fuzz white of as icarus had. Plush and pink of a secret horizon. My words are play, just pray. God i love you. Sit back and read me live it:
I thank you God for Pinyon Pine, Saint Rose the mountainside of my heart; hold true this devotee of spiritually sought and found in me, truth resounds, love is nice, that’s right; God you make me still water moving, i am peaceful for filling to the banks of my being, moving kind and quiescent into time from an endless well of abundance – your love.
I’ve experienced mystery, i’ve seen life flash before my own life, i’ve calmy contemplated the color green, watched sunrise, and sunset, listened to wind, bird songs, saw mountains move, found peace in my heart of hearts i opened in room that you indwell. Thank you God – for life is sweet, perfect, harmonious, colorfulC musically alive, fearful, new, old, Malibu, Pinyon Pine, Topanga, Phoenix, Mesa. My destination is you God. Love is the life, life the love, you, I am –
I pray i thank for the opportunity to be here experiencing life, writing, being with you my Beloved. Oh and the coffee, the magic of this place, the good people, community, new color relations, new colors, new patterns, a play, all play, a movie, my life, mandala, frequencial vibrations in love energy, formulas birthed by change/
Sunbeams through Heaven’s gates. I’m awaited by sunrise with words of eternality. A touch of divine to meet a mad mind or everyday city dweller to see what i see. Divinity is as clear as morning light. Alight, with smiles, a rightful timing, i attune my heart to art and trust in the sovereign good. Hand me doves of Heaven, harbingers of the faith, nature dwellers. Is all we are an ephemeral breath passed with wind?
I write these words in bed, cuddled up in an electric body blanket, a purple tan heat. I seep deep my gaze in my cup of morning coffee hilted with hazelnut. Condensation forms on the bridge and brink of my nose, mustache hairs wet, im meditating drinking my coffee, i can see mine own eye in the coffee water surface. I breathe deep, passing ripples over my left eye, open wider and make out galaxies therein.
I’m in the Art Hut, in Pinyon Pines, in Saint Rose mountain crawl; and i’m not. I’m so fully present i’ve forgotten location altogether, monetarily i’m rich as tesla, momentarily i’m rich as time, i need no new invention to success, i’m rich in sunrise, light is golden ardor, adorned my every part, i glisten through the window, listen the wind, kissed on my lips by the wind, in love with God.
All this experience is created, i’ve felt it and i’m elated, flabbergasted at the possibility to see another day light pass. Nature is my home, my body is natural, voice supernatural, the deep spirit of flowering.
I care not for the American flag i see waving way away on that farm where elephants and donkeys roam and i wish more Ginsburgs howled. Through the beautiful pines and juniper i am. I care for people, love, life. Howsoever you call yourself, you are cared for, life is the party, you are loved, words are written on your lips already, your throat is a garden, books line your lungs, the day awaits your divinity, open petal child, bloom forth the voice of one nation, one elation of love.
Mountains o mystery. Saint rose sweet thorn, red, yellow, white, blue, orange, green, purple – your sky of every color, your eye on every lover. One love. God breathes you, becomes in us by you, birds sing in you, harmony, moon and sun rise and set in you, on my tip toes i touch clouds you curl, on my knees i pray, i am all play, devotee, saint, colorist, writer, listener of truth.
I become mountain as mountain became me goodbye. My love our love eternity.
I leave the mountains writing ‘flowers are forever’.
Thats a good line Dan says, he’s a windwatcher, the father of Kosh, the author of my mountain departure.
This is a special moment. The way you are timing this here. The trees, the wind, this desert. Ive lived here long. Has glorious moments. Endure your perceptions of joy in hardship and find through gates of mercy the beautiful scenery.
I’ll Psalm. 111 palm trees fly on by and by, i drive passenger with dan, flinching at the passing guard rails. Still i’m singing saint rose, hearing “the higher you go the higher it gets.” Were in a mountain base oasis, aqueducts underground, magical trees in and along la quinta, date orchards in indio, economy’s picking up in this strange, this memory, gotta be the atmosphere you create in my own thinking.
My transmission is love, my receiver is love. The wind is a wind of change. I hope people love.
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Wind in trees is my meditation. What compels these winds? The wind is most natural, nearest the first hour of creation, pure energy of life in movement. God is in instant creation when the wind turns leaves their colors upsided, sends Dan’s blue felt hat flying off his mind, spins up an oasis in this desert, gets me going. I’m a wind watcher.
Dan saw me off at the greyhound station, remember he’d said – be still water moving.
The winds, through outside the walls of the stations remained close in my mind. I saw shadows of people pass, ghostly. Figures stream into an indiscernible flow, yet there surely is flow.
Wind rushes breaths of God, upturns even the leaves, suddenly i’m a sojourner who’s always been, wanderer of interior scapes.
My shadow falls smooth on white tile cracks blocked by a “please stand here” “thank you for practicing social distancing”. We’re all in this together, together we ride, vagabond and beauty reminder. Remember, be still water moving. A buddha i am that I Am, benched at s bus station, the sun in the window on the back blonde hairs of my head. Thoughts rise like blonde rose suns, so it seems i’m pretty alright, pretty.
Perfectly where God would have me be, God lives in your picket fence, your pew, my pen, your heart, this bus bench, that bus bench, that bus bench beside mine where latino chatter plays, i play “trees etc.” In my headphones. Figures pass and i’m feeling loosening on this mind, this nation is water, aren’t we all people? All of us young and beautifully old as our ideas.
I think i’d like to take a walk outside and in honest i’m carrying my physical life on me, i care only for the blue hour manuscript, the songs in my head, book becoming in my hands, colors in my eyes, Divine. I leave my bags, there’s a bus outside, a boy man in greyhound blue walks in, i’m feeling free, what’s up travis! He talks to human behind counter, says he’s the last one bumpin, man behind counter’s got a call, it’s Haley girl what’s good, you still at the house. He goes back, talking bout love and mouthing his experience. I remember i’ve not told my family i’m on the bus soon to be back to phoenix, nathan my brother’ll pick me uo round 8:05 tonight in central phoenix. Ima phoenix. Thanks brother, you’ve got the light of love in your eyes. We’re alive, remember Malibu, 20-something, i reeber the beach, throwing leaves into the deep ocean from pocket, praying they’d reach you as a symbol of love.
Dull roars a car stereo vibrate and later i learn it’s a train incarnate these loose walls my mind periodically is not here and in tangents interstellar i am apt to recount my birth of the world, my beauty in light of God’s renewal, i watch a tree grow, i do it naturally, I sway in the shadow shade of lights heaven gated open for all who believe in some love magic. I’m the wind chime, ring and bell into the age. I write alone and everyone’s in my head, i wash feet for the future. Love paint red balance. On God i pray love me us, as a people, as a nation, in elation we sing because life is tuned into us and life is good no matter circumstantial door’s or songs – i break on to otherside, listen then with shigeo sekito, imagine myself in spirited away, boarding the spiritual train, seconds and years, i’m past the present onward, future forward, presently adept to winds of change. I laugh into the wind, hear it echo carry round the world. Put on a new track, smooth and buttery, its called coconut mango, give a listen to love and you’ll find love, be found by love, love is always looking out for hearts to fill.
I remember china town, smoking a stoge beside a culture or two, by the flower house; today, i saw a green robed palm sway in forgiving wind. Musics gone instrumental, lyrically i’m all for the inner song.
Outside the bus station robert does his drugs and i do my writing ( art is free drugs ), he’s in the same boat; my age, coloring, crashed his whip, stranded, on his way back to mesa arizona. He’s out for that white. A yellow train slowly rolling on by, american flag waving and painted to the side, a canvas with the flower mandala sticks out my bag, ants crawl along, sun is hot and bright, i soak in what i can while i can, roberts not too keen on drawing, i told him i left because of drugs around and now he’s probably not feeling too cool hitting his pipe beside me, i wanna be free is all, can’t have that hold, doesn’t mean i’m not cool breathing through his smoke. He stands in the shade of a palm, he’s contemplating, on God, i pray peace for Robert’s soul and mine own, our soul on God.
A car pulls up beside us woman’s in a facemask plaided, checkered black and white, all is alright here in indo.
Prior our leaving, a frisbee flew in from no apparent direction. Much like the winds of our time, i had no rhyme or reason when it came to direction while for beauty, love, peace, perfection of our desireless attainment to everlasting i am i am certain; somebody must have thrown that white frisbee i thought – turned the corner of right then kevin, on the startled, father of two, recently threw a frisbee and streets positive paranoia for the whole of mine and Robert’s experience. We talked. I made sure Kevinwas fed, being 62 in these new winds and youthful still as he is he’d need the brussel sprouts surely i said they’re good for they are green, make our body feel good and because we too come from earth i said, he ate it up, felt good, i gave him some nut trail mix protein bars fjr him and woman he said was hurting real bad at these winds. He pulled down his sunglasses, looked into me with a black eye bright tearing beautifully smiled me on with glisten to God.
I came back to at beside a gas station, sun was setting, surely this is still California, i see another greyhound beside ours, a man wakes up beside me, he’s got cornrows, gets walking off the greyhound, pulls up a saint remy blue facemask, man there says be back by 5:30 on the dot else they will leave your ass. I laugh a little, a little fear, a little hope he’s gonna be back in time and he will. I turn to the seat just right of me, a finished painting i’d madd on the ride so far, finished some touches on my album Free, to be released this week. October 26 is the day, i’ve got two bags, an art bag, a clothes, food, toiletries bag. I’m a sojourner with soul, i watch sunset from my window, white trash bags stuck in thistle bushes, glisten in Gold leaf wheat fields in grass. I decide to go on a walk.
Deep breaths, big steps, stretching, trying to stare into sunrise, smiling into sunset. I’m pissing on concrete behind a blue gas station in blythe, across sunset creamery, enough away from the security cameras, its pooling at my feet, i step to the side, sigh, laugh a little about how back on the bus sirens started sounding and a guy about my age came thug running down the bus aisle, saying something about how these californians got him feeling fucked up when the girl in the row ahead of me’s speaking really, all because he stole a thing of gum; driver says why she’s not having it today, how she’s all about being the one driving this thing and the cowboy gamer in an artificial voice a row and to the right ahead of me speaks in a gruff voice that he’s a bus driver and she’s all these damn passengers, kid comes back, he only had to apologize and pay was all, i ask and they say we’re two or so hours out from Phoenix, girl in front of me pulls down her facemask with lips on it and smiles assuredly to me, that guy’s already fallen asleep again, some persisan siren goddess smelling like heroine walks the aisle and i’m a bit overwhelmed at her presence, an artist with a story i am, riding a greyhound.
Colors abound at last lights of sunset. Music is good, i’m comfortable, i know God is love; the world falls into place.
Dan had texted me may i be not only a windwatcher and more a windrider, easily adrift the greens of sunset in favorable winds.
I wonder if i’ll be welcome home. My mother told me a few months back she’d not like to see me, says she loves me. Thanks mom. I tried the pills too, not for me, maybe baby belly me had no choice: (essay; i have a psychological theory:
People seek to attain and maintain (at times, not all the time) the state their mothers were in when physically bearing them in the womb.
Its the first moments of life, so abundantly beautiful no matter the situation, whether the mother was on drugs, in physical health, however; the baby’s gotta be loving the first moments of life and thats gotta stick deep in subconscious longing and acting
Thats why people struggle with drugs at times, a mother on drugs of any kind physically conditions the first moments of life. Imagine how pure Mary had been kept, her internal world of gold fecund. Still we must be strong as people and know we are free, we are not bound by natural proclivities. We, with God-with can be anything, we are free. This theory only helps me understand and better love me and other people, thus love all the more God
I feel this theory is truth and can help people not to shift blame for who they are, and to better love themselves and others through understanding; climaxing at the birth of a new world, one in which we are free to be what we desire to be in God)
And reason why i’m high on a greyhound, but thats cheap, we’ve all got a choice to be free, to love and i’m a vagabond yes, high on heavens gates of God-with least of these, pouring heart to page, writing in time for the reader to take a breather, watch the colors pass.
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You are free, i am free. Its right about blue hour, best seller in eyes unveiled in times of COVID-19, Pandemic, corrupt politic, love run rampart and lives mattering in the streets. Who could have made me more than worship to God for featuring, myself, the foremost of readers to believe God is present in all places beautiful; all around is always beauty.
Greyhound pulls smooth in on Phoenix burning cold. I’m feeling deep love in my veins, God is alive and love in my each breath, beat to beat i’m kept alive, spinning smooth interstellar as we pull up, ghostly figures remain on the bus, everybody is off.
Nathan is outside when i’ve done making portraits of all the lives i’ve lived in an eternity of a week, i’m feeling a skip to my step as i have to wave back and back and forth with my shadow in lamplight, the weight if this old duffel paint bag.
On way in i decided i’d like to unveil more secrets of the universe so i’ll take up to backpacking with the new blue bag i’ve put in an order for; imagining myself to the present in which Trent Alber’s put up a los flying elegaic trip beat in his apartment studio n. 50. I’m on the hardwood floor writing, swaying.
Angels swoop and fly in the room while piano keys pieve together parts of me i’ve felt out of key, reminding me Nathan and i had played the Beatles, i get by with a little help from my friends, i get high with a little help from my friends.
I get a ride with a little help from my heaven’s angel, brother’s good swift pull up into home, family is off, heard st. Louis cousins beating his daughter at our house, i cant have that baby o, im a lover not a fighter but ill fight for love you hear, you better watch yourself.
I’m a fly free futurio for today. I get by and by with a little love from my friend, the moon, my forever friend in heaven’s wheat fields, sweet Gabriella-Elise. I get by and by in theorizing with Ariana, contemlating cosmos in our own minds, and our mind. I get by and by with a little rhyme, reason is beset my new world.
Each time I smile I see my new world reflect and all the while weights of all worlds i’ve played, play at my heart stringing key to key universally. Art is a community. I get by and by with a business, lots of David and i designing a user experience making all of life an experience for better. I get by and God is why.
All love for spiritual truth, truly i’m at my least i’ve felt never this golden, playing keys unlocking heaven’s gates for i’m never fearful, simply love of God is all i am, God of I Am, i am not God and i feel all God pulsing beauty, love, peace, truth to my tipping ink, spilling secrets of universes plural, nights like these are anything in Heavenly accord. The business of poetic living markets me brand by brand to person to star pointing feeling spaces between being. All in one-we are all one new face, sound, lyric, love, piece of art of the one.
I pull back in a low guitar whip, trents saying something about being lost in a time warp, yeah i keep nodding to the beat, now i’m writing books more than i can type.
I’ve a dutch bros coffee labeling we’ll get through this together. I tell trent my story, he plays the keys and i conclude saying on saint rose i’d seen every color of the wheel in those skies. I rhymed time with wind.
Winding handless clocks of joy gesticulating inner intuition to perfect literature i bespoke my ears to believe i’d hear poems in any and every instance of life.
We play on through night. I map a language lexicon of music in my mind. There’s consistency and there is variance, songs with 7; deep 4, high 3 beat/consistency in melody, variance in voice, medly of voice of God and we : a song.
My days have turned to seconds, seconds significant as days away.