The Path of No Path

Flowering Now; silent, stillness. Riding the Wind-Horse of change, wisdom's beauty blooms. - Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Keep Hold Stand In the heart of the Keep Hold close those that you love Stand firm with those Unable to stand alone. Keep Hold Stand Keep the connection from the past Holding hands we bring Each other into this moment; As you stand with us We stand with you. Keep Hold Stand Keep the fire bright Hold the bell sound in your heart Stand tall for all is within you. Keep Hold Stand Keep to the calm Be the center of the henge Hold fast to the wisdom of the stones Stand. For you are sacred Keep Hold Stand Keep to the journey You hold the infinite in you hand. Stand fast, behold the coming change. Keep Hold Stand

The myst.   Perhaps the myst that surrounds us is our friend.   A brilliant creation of our own making. Traveling with us, in each and every moment.   Stalwart yet tender. Sensitive and tenacious.   Brightly colored. Chosen with love and care. Wrapping paper. Not obscuring, nor obfuscating.   Heightening each moment of discovery.   Accentuating this joyful precipice.   As we unravel the mystery.   The love, that we already are.

Leaves guided to earth Fall breeze brings colorful paint Who will count them all

Each day I get closer to knowing nothing at all. There is wonder there. Beautiful. Gentle. Like really good home made meat loaf and macaroni and cheese. No knowledge required. Just eat. Enjoy. Go back for seconds.

Boxcars bang louder Cold air making metal sing Bells of industry The rabbits ignore it all Smart rabbits

Starlight crisscrossing Delicate paths guide my mind Slugs march joyfully

To every thing there is a season, to every thing there is a purpose, … Just in the last minute at least an acre of rainforest has been destroyed. Are we certain, so damn cock sure of ourselves that in that acre of intense diverse life lived not the cure for AIDS, or Diabetes or Breast Cancer? Perhaps it matters not; it is forever lost to us. Just in the last minute at least one young person’s life has been destroyed. Are we certain so damn cock sure of ourselves that in this youth, of intense diverse life lived not the cure for AIDS, or Diabetes or Breast Cancer? Perhaps it matters not; that child is forever lost to us. How many deaths will it take till we know, That too many people have died. It matters to me.

Ideas evolve. Life evolves. No ideas are sacred, however, all life is sacred.

Soft Moonlight Silver Curves Touching you Caressing Lips Exploring Sweet Textures Our Fullness Waves Crashing Silence Breathing Again?

Raven's Highway Slender raven walks Bright ebony wings gleaming Fall feels more like spring - Posted from Bilbo the iPhone

Pausing, the rain waits Movements from a symphony New opus each night - Posted from Bilbo the iPhone

To every thing there is a season, to every thing there is a purpose, … Just in the last minute at least an acre of rainforest has been  destroyed. Are we certain, so damn cock sure of ourselves that in that acre of intense diverse life lived not the cure for AIDS, or Diabetes or Breast Cancer? Perhaps it matters not; it is forever lost to us. Just in the last minute at least one young person’s life has been  destroyed. Are we certain so damn cock sure of ourselves that in this youth, of intense diverse life lived not the cure for AIDS, or Diabetes or Breast Cancer? Perhaps it matters not; that child is forever lost to us. How many deaths will it take till we know, That too many people have died. It matters to me.

The myst. Perhaps the myst that surrounds us is our friend. A brilliant creation of our own making. Traveling with us, in each and every moment. Stalwart yet tender. Sensitive and tenacious. Brightly colored. Chosen with love and care. Wrapping paper. Not obscuring, nor obfuscating. Heightening each moment of discovery. Accentuating this joyful precipice. As we unravel the mystery. The love, that we already are. ~ An iPad message: be | a curmudgeon Location: NE 152nd Ave,Portland,United States

Perfect Storm Wet From your soft whispers My ears drink in the delicious nectar of your words Sweet lips   stir deep passions Scirocco winds envelope us the storm grows hot Following the perfume I seek the source of your wet Velvet folds swell and open my tongue translating   Sensuous runes on your outer gates My lips utter silent words the ocean rises and swells Plundering deeply into your Storm Temple Scorching waves crash Thunder and lightening erupt Joining, we are the perfect storm

Fall Approaches Geese soaring Northward Reflections on the river Sights from bus window

Naked             I like rain. There is sublime joy from walking in it. Unique is the passion play between warm, fragrant earth as it opens to receive the powerful spring rainstorm. To me it sounds like homemade Fajitas with peppers, onions and fresh spices sizzling in a cast iron frying pan. There is however, a particular kind rain at the Oregon coast, specifically in Newport Oregon, when wind and rain combine, such that, within a half a mile of the coast that it will rain in a curious sideways fashion. As if the world had been tilted ninety degrees. This horizontal rain has its own beauty, but after three straight days of it, I too was ready for some change. It was, after all, the second week of June. Nearly summer. I was jittery. Jumpy. Though not a coffee drinker, which I know in Oregon, is just plain wrong, but nevertheless, it was like I was on my fifth double mochaccino. Whatever that is. I needed to get out of the hous...

The song of your voice echos in my heart, each time I say your name. I see two elder tress. Over time we have grown close together, each in our own different part of the Great forest. The leaves and the tiniest of our branches have discovered each other. It will take time for our branches to fully intertwine. I want to savor and enjoy each moment of that with, YOU!

When I first saw it, I knew what it was, but my mind had already suspended my belief that it was possible. So it is, I believe, with many things in our lives. We see something, but we do not see it. We see the object, but we fail to, or choose to, not comprehend all of what is presented to us. When I was ten, for example, if you had asked me what an elephant was I could have told you. I loved elephants when I was younger, and to this day I feel they are amazing creatures. Back then I would have even shown you pictures I had drawn of elephants. But nothing prepares one for the first experience of seeing an elephant. The grace combined with immense size. Subtle, delicate seeming footfalls, and a massive trunk that can, with great skill and tenderness snatch a peanut from a child's hand. So it was to be on this day. I would see it, know what it is, but it would take hours, for the meaning of it, to sink into my soul.             It ...

Out of Munchies I crept back into the apartment and pretended to fall asleep. My mind was made up. I was leaving. No one knew.  I had come home from the Navy, only to discover that I was homeless. My father, who  had remarried while I was in boot camp, had sold the home I grew up in, and moved his new wife and her four kids into a new and much larger home. This new place did not include me. My involuntary, non-participation, in this new "family" unit, was made all the more clear when I discovered two important details left out of the wedding announcement. 1) All my stuff had been disposed of. All items from my childhood, from school projects to class photos, from stuffed animals to GI-Joes, and all my non military clothing had been thrown out. It was all gone. 2) My one remaining possession, my motorcycle, I was told, by the step-bitch, was still here. Just before she wailed, "get that piece of shit outta' MY garage!"  Walking out to the garage, I quickly f...

Cut, deep. I do not want to write. Pulling on words. Dental floss with that scraping sound as you pull it out of it's container. I never seem to get the right amount. To little and and i end up throwing it out and starting over. Too much and I feel guilty for wasting such a precious commodity. My words feel that way this morning. They smell, stink actually. Rhyme of reason is abandoned as meter and measure fly out the window and into the trash heap. What is one to do with such obvious crap? Again I am sliced open. Cut. Harsh is the shining blade of a trusted one that cuts you deep. Bone deep. Deftly with an oft practiced stroke my heart is neatly, cleanly sliced in two. So perfect, and ever so swift, such that my attacker is long gone before I realize that I am nearly bled out. I am an easy mark. Accepting of others, open and welcoming. It is my nature to be this way. I will not change. Those who keep their skinning knives sharp, their vorpal, killing words honed and ever ready....

Softness The wind does not speak Rain floating gently to earth Soft heart welcomes spring - From the mobile Curmudgeon via his trusty iPhone be | amazing

The weaving of Life's Tapestry is not so much about the finished product, but rather, the careful selection of the threads of each moment woven together with skill and compassion. A beautiful weave consists of only a few simple, but no less essential elements. Warp and weft, bound together and combined, with yarn of just the right quality and color wound around the shuttle. Passion is born on such a loom, . . . So here I am. This odd bit of well seasoned, colorful, kind and compassionate bit of warp. Are you that gentle and caring bit of weft? Would we find beauty in the yarns that wind around the shuttle that we pass back an forth? Working together perhaps we can find threads that are humorous, witty even, and threads that shine brightly in the sun, but can also withstand the inevitable rainy seasons. Will you help me construct a loom that is large enough, robust enough, to weave all of our biggest dreams together? Treadles made of strong oak and pristine ash. Strong enough to w...

It is the right, and I believe the duty, of all who would call themselves good citizens, and most especially those of us who are curmudgeon-ly inclined to ask questions that are of a pesky nature. It is these heart of the matter, cut to the chase kind of questions that are often left unasked and or answered. Some of these you will have seen before. So, I am ... I am curious. Which countries would Jesus invade? Who would Jesus bomb? Which of your children would Jesus not educate? Whose civil rights would Jesus take away? How many forced labor camps would Jesus own? Who would Jesus torture? For what kind of information would Jesus decide that torture is appropriate? What would cause Jesus to invent water-boarding? Which Alter boys would Jesus fondle? For what reason would Jesus change the name of illegal kidnapping to Extraordinary Rendition? How many LBGT persons would Jesus beat to death? Whose insurance claim for injuries sustained from being raped would Jesus deny? Whose health care ...

The 3:14 to now(here) Words to the left, words to the right. Stand up, sit down; write, write, write! Pesky term papers turning my brain to soup. Grammar and vocabulary do loop-de-loop. Term paper complete. All the info she asked for. In one neat haiku. Would that it were that simple. (the above waku brought to you by Curmudgeon insomniacs Inc.) - From the mobile Curmudgeon via his trusty iPhone be | amazing

Rain Percussive rain. Loud! Stirs me from my nap. Gently. Soaring mind. No limits! - From the mobile Curmudgeon via his trusty iPhone be | amazing

A haiku. Melody The stream sings to me Joyful eddys spin with life Seated on the bank - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

A close friend asked me to write something for them. This is the result. I rather like it. High Tide My feet see the line that separates the water from the soft sand  as I walk down the beach. Lingering yellow sunlight insists that I notice the horizon, but my thoughts are  elsewhere. Years ago walking this same beach we talked and laughed jumping over mounds of kelp. Cool water and sticky sand keep my feet directed helping me in my meandering. Water rises around my knees lunar cycles telling me high tide approaches shifting the sands beneath me.  Harvest Moon blending with 40 watt bug bulb and stars on the hotel balcony illuminate. Memories of times I cannot remember surface for but a moment only hinting at their mystery. Musky salt heavy breezes carry the laughter and footsteps of lovers walking beneath my room oblivious. Nearby a radio plays an  old Curtis Mayfield tune leaning back in my chair I prop my feet up on the rail. Does the Moon feel the pas...

Rainstorm on Meditation Hill Don’t get me wrong, I like rain. I like walking in it. To me it sounds like homemade Fajitas with peppers, onions and fresh spices sizzling in a cast iron frying pan. There is however, a particular kind rain at the Oregon coast, specifically in Newport Oregon, when wind and rain combine, such that, within a half a mile of the coast that it will rain in a curious sideways fashion. As if the world had been tilted ninety degrees. This horizontal rain has its own beauty, but after three straight days of it, I too was ready for some change. It was, after all, the second week of June. Nearly summer. I was jittery and jumpy. Though not a coffee drinker, which I know in Oregon, is just plain wrong, but nevertheless, it was like I was on my fifth double mochaccino. Whatever that is. I needed to get out of the house and fast! Backing out of the driveway I notice that the sun is just starting to break through the clouds and in the distance I see a double rainbow. Co...

Heart of the forest Surrounded by mist and Fae Wonder of the small - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Stars light the quiet Silence colored by strong breeze Whirling joyful Spring - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Grain and lumber pass. Engines whine and boxcars bang! Rain. Spring's companion. - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Paying attention. Eyes, mind, heart open. Seeing. Water looks at moon. - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Geese fly overhead Soaring. Squaking, they race home First geese of spring. Smiles - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Cherry blossoms fall The river is filled with them Swirling, spinning. Joy - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Winter's wind cuts me Spring is here, yet still I bleed Silence binds my wounds - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Obscurity. When you are alone. Truly alone. It is so very quiet. But the quiet is so deafeningly loud that it makes my ears ring. Solitude had its downside. This is it. To find that one kindred spirit is perhaps a mountain too steep, a river too wide, and a path too long for me to walk . This deep longing I must learn to let go of, for it no longer serves me. Pain is perhaps an ally but it is not my friend. Tonight I am changed. Steeled against the cold, I wrap my cloak tighter, lest what little warmth I have left escapes me.

All Snakes Day The victors get to write the history and so the murderer, becomes the saint. The slaughtered become the villains that "had" to be eliminated. Yet the truth remains, that the Snakes, my Sisters and Brethren, my beloved Wise Ones, the ones who suckled at our mother's breast, have not been forgotten. On this day, All Snakes Day, I light a candle for those who have fallen, who were taken from us. On this day, I celebrate the wisdom of my Ancestors, those, Gelits, Kenning Merlins, Druids, Wise Women, and Witches alike, the keepers of ancient wisdom.  To all my good and wise kin of the forest let not anger fill your heart, lest we become like the so called saint whose drunken followers celebrate his ancient blood lust in new found gross frenzy.  The flame burns bright inside me in honor of Snakes of this Holy Day.

Sing Listening To My own humaness The stories of humanity Reverberate in my ears The singular song Of my own soul Resounds in my heart Sing to me the Song of your soul For the harmony to be found In the delicate intertwining of our Combined melody sings of Passion and beauty so powerful It transforms all it touches It is this love song That allows hatred To be forgotten and Compassion to flourish