Presents in the summer

How do you tend the wild garden?

This same question revisiting on cue every year
like the wildflowers that grow wherever I've left them to stretch towards the sun
untouched from the blades of machinery and violence...

How do you cultivate the wildness?
The backtracking towards that happiness you've held while you were five...
maybe at seven, at three...at a time when you were life in it's fullest...
How do you reclaim your throne in joy?

Like a garden we pull out the weeds...
(and no, not the dandelions they've tricked you into culling... those beautiful drops of sunshine)
we uproot that which suffocates our soul's light.
We loosen the stranglehold of the soil and let air in.
We remove the boulders, the rocks, the harsh grit that quells our thriving.
We take out what we do not want to harvest.
Like items that cause frustration. Jobs that leave us bared raw with anguish.
People that lie, cheat, steal, or claim rights to your heart, mind...
We leave those behind, take them out.
    Often needing to weed more than once, friends... more than once...
  
We cultivate that which we aim to harvest.
The good pieces of something.
The friends we love, but never call or meet up with because we are too busy...
    we get with them, we make the time...it is the only time.
We add in the things we love that uphold us...
   the music, the movement, the rhythm, the paint, the books, the exploring, the tiny boxes...
We make room for better, for the joy to take root.
We tend to these things like we tend to our children.
Be present. Weed out your garden, help your crops flourish.
Be present.
Be present.

We water...we tend...
And for those wildflowers...the piece of life that give us surprises and beauty..
we don't mow the tall grasses...we allow them to grow in their area all by their selves.
Because life gives, without your control and perfectionism...
Let the grass grow, let the wildflowers grow...
Yeah, it will look chaotic and four feet tall for awhile...
but then the colors...the blooms....the petals...the wildlife...the truth and the meanings...
reveal all that they always are... present...

Cultivate happiness.
And allow room for the surprises.

And be brave about it...
the neighbors won't like that you aren't going to mow the yard until June...
but if their buzz cut grass is what they want to cultivate, let them..
We grow wild here...
and we are unafraid...
because we grow happiness and life and chaos and beauty...
and we can back it up with proof...
We have patience to let the wildflowers grow.
We have discipline to weed and water.
We have presence to help our harvests fruit...

Children of the sun

 156 posts in 2018
156 posts in 2019
17 in 2023
this will be 2 in 2024... perhaps making it a 10 by the end of another cycle
...
writing out nothings that make all the sense
nonsensical needlings
these famous words created for such comedry

Can't speak a word of life in the mortal realm
it has fallen by the wayside as mere entertainment
a tv show that plays in the background
and lo, if shot dead, maybe it would be nothing more than a rerun

There's melancholy brewing in the sumpters
there's angst building towers in the lower realms
there's a hope for a savior in the corners of luxury
and then there's the truth, which stands above the pillars...
    waiting for someone to let it all go
       with courage

where have we gone, you and I?
talk talk talk, but we only want touch
walk walk walk, but we want to run recklessly, through thorns and all
because blood paints the walls with passion

in a world full of yellow people...
let us be courageous glorious reds, like royalty
Blues like kings
Greens like freedom
Violet like fire
Savage like wisdom

rage with me
   lest I rage alone
     and we are one in the midst of the probable, the mundane
         and we destroy them

_______________________________________


My inner child is distraught
   scolded and shamed....for believing...for feeling...for seeing...for knowing...
      and she knows its not them...it's her who shuffles the deck and builds what she tries to understand...
         but who understands her
I've reminded her of truth, of love, of forgiveness, of being held...
    yet she still wants her father to comfort her...
       his whole army marching along with him, although always present...matters not...
          she wants him... and it doesn't matter if he's in uniform or casual wear...or flip flops.
She can't break away from this need...and maybe she never will...
    I walk with her, bringing her along to be with him... as she doesn't need me...
       she wants to be loved, held, and she doesn't need me. I am not her father.
          
(the rest of this will be in the book... stardate (31224) ) I can't write it here.

somber nights in middle earth

IT was dusk in the city
The clouds dark, like a gloomy sunday.
The evening falling with hints of a summer rain
oh, the burden that this day has been

oft to see it falling away from my eyes, chippery
let it be gone and thus forgotten
let me wring out its pains and desires and wipe the sweat from my eyes
I don't want to see you anymore
not this day, and certainly not of tomorrow

let it ring true that we are lost
that we are forgotten like the days gone past
like the winter's edge of frost
cutting like ice and speaking like a sliver
harsh has this been
these long remorseful wokenings

be not frail and timber
be not savage and good
be not nothing to set upon thy feet or lift from thy heavens
we will sink
lowest of lows until there is no more sun
until there is no more rememberings
let me forget myself
all these things we speaketh

fall from me this world
let me fingers bleed at which I've wrought
my tongue pierce the skies and shower down the rains
wash it, shake it, bake it, make it, destroy
tame it, claim it, sing it, wring it, savor
what is this
not calling it a name
what name
what words
what world
be gone

________________________________

There is nothing to say to you

I'm dead, let me rest