LOVE AND STONES

Summer's here. Plenty of blue sky and heat, and today, a perfect breeze, as I cross the Steel and ride south along the west bank of the Willamette. Lots of smiles. Everyone seems happy--no matter the degree of their troubles. And we all got troubles. But Im looking at these homeless folk. Cultural vagabonds, gathered under warm blue in a perfect breeze, sharing conversation.

Or what not.

So it's summer in this springtime of my life and I am with myself never to be alone. Still, to have a lover--A friend as such. And when life is as full of beauty and heat as it is today it seems a good time to be in love. Of course, to have one as such during the long gray of winter... Sweet!

Well, such is the desire of many.

I recently had a sweet tease of such a relationship. But it was lopsided and too much like a dream. Well, I do love to dream. Those dreams that are sweeter than life - such as it was. But it was still a dream.

Im awake now.

For a while recently, I was feeling like Huckleberry - or as I imagined he would feel - when I sat at this particular spot along the river. But I know it was the river and her trees - the simple continuum we complicate with our selfishness - that I was being one with.

She sets me straight.

I often go to that spot along her banks to sit--to be. Ive found many heartrocks there. It's particularly odd 'cause it's such a small spot covered with rocks of similar character. You know. River rocks. All tan and gray with too small a variation in color to be perceptible.

Unless one is seeing.

Light gray, dark gray, beige. Smooth, pocked, veined. Heartrocks. One rather perfect one I found there I later tied with red string and attached to thoughts that fell from my eyes the first time I woke up. I bundled them with stars and tied them to a tree along the shore. Then there's the red one. The deep red one. The color of mystery--of life.

Well, that makes sense.

Yeah, it's summertime. Huckleberry lives and he has this beautiful red stone he found along the river one day while he was being.

KINDRED SPIRIT

Where were we...

I don't know but we were sitting together,

you and me,

up high on some jagged outcropping of rock with the sky surrounding us.

You were being so incredibly warm and affectionate and of course,

typically talkatively articulate.

I was wearing my 'SEX NOT WAR' tee and you asked me how I cut it.

My mind fumbled for an answer.

Were those blue converses you were wearing?

You said we should get matching.

Then we were kissing.

It was a bit awkward at first so we shifted.

Perfect.

My face above yours and our mouths together.

Soft and warm.

Deep and passionate.

(James didn't kiss like that)

Anyway.

You liked it.

I liked it.

We were a warm bundle of sweet passion

-just getting started -

when I woke up.

Wow! with wood and still sensing the warmth of your presence.

But...

I didn't even think of it.

I mean--

How could I not know I was dreaming?

And...

I lay still in the dim of reality as the awareness of what occurred walked up, ever so slowly,

like a never-known familiar friend approaching from the fog.

Its warmth filled me--enveloped my being in a profound and mellow sadness that mingled with the joy of all the possibility.

But, it was just a dream and...

Ayen

you have already passed through the veil.

YOSIHNO

Joy is fleeting

Like the blossoms of those cherry trees we walked under.

I'd walked under them tens of times but...

Anyway.

We were both so in love--

with them.

Funny that you didn't even remember.

Yeah, joy is fleeting.

Like the light shinning crisp and clear on this tree that I watch from my window.

Its massive trunk rises,

from an uncertain earth,

tortured and gnarled.

Silent.

Strong.

Then the limbs--

spreading.

The branches--

rising.

And all those fingers--

reaching.

The light strikes it hard, revealing its shadows and illuminating the life within.

Then it's gone.

THINKING?

I often wonder at the idea of wisdom--How is one aware of its presence?

How is it defined?

It's not the same as knowledge--as knowing something.

I suppose it's like love and god--all around and undefinable.

Very available if only...

Don't dare box it or it will die.

GOOSE NOISE

Ah... the sun feels so good on my being. And the wind is at my back. Im at the place between with a bunch of geese, and though spring's full glory is still a couple months away, there are already signs of it everywhere, to include this sun. I've noticed while out and about that hellebores and witch hazel are blooming, and some trees and shrubs are showing signs of life in their wood. I even spotted a couple cherry trees the other day while on a walk with my friend Patrick that were blooming. In February?

That noise! It sounds like there is some chastising going on amongst the geese behind me. Nothing violent, just a lot of squawking. The geese in front of me are quite content walking about with their heads down munching on a green carpet of fresh new growth--grass and various herbs. There are three right near me which are not the least bit bothered by my presence. They are quite used to people. Some even think them a nuisance.

Perhaps that's why the bozo with the little dog made a deliberate detour from the paved path to this trail where I sit so his dog could get a thrill chasing big birds. Of course the geese were riled and flew off with a lot of commotion.

Nothing serious, though the incident makes me think that there will always be callous and ignorant people, just as there will always be vile and violent men who are quick to murder masses for material gain and power to control--presidents and puppets. But, will there? Always? Not if we can make a leap in consciousness--wake up. Is the 'leap' as simple as that--to wake up--to become conscious? The thought of it builds but the resistance is immense. There is too much noise and the dominant culture seems contrary to real consciousness. It itself has been built with distraction and deceit on a foundation of blood and bones. Still, I add my intent to the awakening.

How is it that in this age of information there is still so much ignorance? That there are too many too easily misled? The bonds of faulty traditions come to mind. We've let our personal sovereignty and responsibility slip. We've become to dependent in to many ways - mind, body, and soul - while maintaining an illusion of freedom.

Oh, for now I'll just contemplate spring--its signs of being are everywhere.

As it is on this earthly plane so it is on others. The seen and the unseen.