Off to the lands beyond suburbia until late July.
Peace. Blessings. Love. Bliss.
Monthly Archives: June 2012
This Is Temporary
In all the silent sitting there is still and present peace. Yet soon the June bug pops against glass, until, upon release, it exerts a fleeting thrust, like a clumsy and foolish Icarus, flying towards the setting sun. Grass grows and speaks its grassness. Strands of bubbles blown from the bows of skeleton keys fatten, float, and burst like swollen exploding eyes. Swirls of wisteria and bindweed hint at beauty, encircling sunflower and honeysuckle in a tangle of summer. The flickering code of fireflies climbs the sky through branches above the backyard. The nights are cha-cha, rumba, bossa nova, and samba on the patio record player, and like the bright bricks of the back wall, colored only in chalk, fade in three quick months.
Breathe. Dance. Smile. Love.
I’m loving these last sweet days of spring, but also truly looking forward to lingering through long summer days in the backyard gardens and patios of suburbia…contemplating the everyday wonder of thisness…and dancing like crazy every chance I get. Best Coast provides a perfectly sun filled summer soundtrack.
Breathe. Dance. Smile. Love.
Gallery
This Is Outside
This gallery contains 9 photos.
Lock, lock, and unlock. Every door a danger. But beyond, a multitude of voices, an exactitude of each. I listen as they’re calling. Each voice in my own throat. Subtle clear collages blessed with ambiguity. The written note. The campfire. The seed planted. The curled chameleon tale. The dragon. The glistening turquoise egg of it all. […]
Distilling Thisness
Since you know a soul cannot be extracted or even quantified by anything like reason, or in these easy hours of starlight clothed with the hum of toads, you discard the charts and sentence stems and bask in the blooming sensuality of elemental radiance. You said, each thing is a thing that is never another thing, but always connected to every and all things. You are your own apparatus of embodied knowing and unknowing. This one and exact specificity. From the corner of your eye, or in what you tell yourself are dreams, the tiniest drops begin to fall. You decide to remember, or maybe imagine, it could be something like what you call real. More than an optical interference of liquid immiscibility. The astonishing essence. The everyday dispersion of color, light, ether, vapor, and heat.
Dear Suburbia 