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Echoes of other nows.

Etheric dreams of wonder.

Sentimental pleasantries.

Angular and fuzzy traumas.

Memories as being whispering on your shoulders.

Experience, wisdom and jadedness.

Can you remember a time when you didn’t have memories?

Learning, evolving, growing.

What did I do yesterday?

How a memory is actually a memory of a memory.

Stuck in the past for some

unable to let go to live now.

A thought can have more importance than reality.

Memories don’t exist. Or do they?

Memories of the future,

Premonitions and intuition.

Fears, wonders and yearning.

Memories of your first love.

The smell of fall.

Of teachers and friends of a different era.

Of different lands.

Of music and food and dance.

Of co-creation.

Adventures.

Feeling

Beauty.

Sensuality.

Our Nature.

Spirals outward. They say the universe is exponentually expanding to the point of reverse.

Spirals inward. Supernovas and black holes. The edge of matter, time, logic, shape, form. Precipice of pure tone, static, buzzing,

Like the stem cell of undifferentiated existence.

Like how a just born witnesses the world for the first time without walls, words or gestalts.

The in breath is as important as out breath. Feminine as masculine. Night as day. Death as birth. There is no right of wrong way. There is only the way chosen in relationship with circumstance and all the little things which led us here now.

The here and now is what I know to be the only truth. Presence is the way.

The future is as ancient as the past. Grandfather future is as cast as grandmother past.

The spirit of future gently pulls everyone and everything ever forward as its companion pushes from the back. We can resist this magnetic, gravitational movement through time as light and matter cannot resist a blackhole. And while the mystery of blackholes and uncertain future can be scary, I am curious and hopeful of all that is before me. What does the next corner reveal?

In my excitement for the experience I want to run, but must remind that it’s easier to trip in haste than it is when we saunter and dance through infinite present.

The space between past and future which is the onlny thing to actually exist yet as soon as you try to hold it or contain it or record it or measure it, it vanishes from what it was like trying to capture a snowflake with warm hands.

I think I’ll sit on this log while listening to red wing black birds and be.

I don’t know

so I flip a coin

heads or tails.

The beginning of new stories,

paths and tales.

The tale we were told.

What we tell ourselves.

What we weave together.

The primordial tale of our deep and ancient history.

Tales of how we once had tails or what if had them.

I would think mind would be bushy and curly. Perhaps with bit of colorful paint, leaves and pine needles.

In my excitement I would invariably knock things over with my exuberant tail especially when I meet the people I love or sit down for a fine meal.

Dancing would be a whole other tale.

The tails of horses, dogs, cats, lizards, cows, lemurs, rabbits, birds, beaver.

All relaying their individual personality.

But with heads or tails perhaps we should look at the edge which is neither one or the other.

Gold luminescent as the sun.

The egyptian god “Ra”.

Silver luminescent as the moon.

Gold of fire, of lions, of greed, of allure. What can compel people in ways beyond nature.

The first money. Limited in supply creating differentials of power. Yet we cannot eat not use as medicine.

And yet there is magical allure about gold even one who knows not the mythology can understand.

Hammered into foil and adorned on walls, pots, and sacred books.

Of frankinscence, myrr and spices. Of jewels and mystery.

Born in space we ponder the journey it’s been on.

And my body is golden. My mind spirit of intention as gold. You have the same value as me and the trees.

A bee buzzes to pollinate fragrant flowers.

The raven, crows and magic play and tease in their shadowy ways.

The sheep dog of black and white focuses attentively on flocks.

The geese eat their final nibbles of grass before their long migration.

The cougar slinks quietly with poise and confidence.

The skunk is bold but easily offended.

The bumbling beetle keeps going about it’s diligence.

The ants toil selflessly to create a super organism of the intelligent colony.

The emergence of birds creating clouds of one.

I stand on the rock cliff listening to redwing blackbirds among the cattails and the setting sun.

The difference between the domestic and wild.

I choose the wild.

The animals know what we have forgotten.

I look into the wolfs eyes to see the womb of center Earth and expansive space to the edge of all things and no things where it becomes the other realm.

Buffalo and ox and yak with strength and resolve.

The snake slithers in flow like the river

grounded constantly as it sheds former skins.

The beaver of industry and family. The otter and muskrat who splish and splash for fun.

I’ve seen a crow watch sunsets in reverence.

Mirror of the calm lake.

How us as above ground beings fear death.

And how underground beings fear birth.

Until you know they are one in the same.

A child grows. And the old growth goes back.

What goes up must come down and what goes down must come up.

There is no such thing as lightness without darkness.

A sine wave of positive and negative. Oscillation of polarities and where they join in ecstatic hoizon of now union to conceive a new.

A sine wave of vibration. Everything is vibration. Vibration is life. Vibration is oscillation.

In breath and out breath.

The heart beats in three beats … boom boom boom.

I often don’t know which path to choose in the mysterious beautiful rich forest of life.

What is the answer to my questions of which I so much want resolution.

The only thing I know is time reveals all just like the wise wind reveals ancient fossils and treasures. Contentment in knowing as my future self looks back at my present self over the bridge of time across a chasm of uncertainty with compassion.

Between mystery and knowing of oscillation between the two. Let us not forget we were born for the journey and not the end. Find contentment in unknowing like the pure child self.

Every breath, every step, every Earth and moon rotation is a bridge between past ephemerality and future knowing.

Ebb and flow.

Osmosis.

Pendulum swinging.

Butterflies migrating over multiple generations where they set out to begin a trip they will never finish. Yet they do.

Bird flying thousands of miles every year.

Forest mites crawling inches over their entire lifetime.

To go or to stay.

The grass is always greener on the other side.

And sometimes it’s true.

Some migrate because they must and other just because.

Never linear, always cyclical.

To remember the nomadic roots of picking berries and digging roots.

But the grandest migration and most treacherous and more beautiful and most mysterious is the migration towards remembering your authentic self.

The clock struck midnight under the full moon lunar eclipse when I tripped over a mushroom upon my path and tumbled down a hole, a tunnel, a vortex. A weird feeling as my senses change. Am I dying as my thoughts echo outside myself. Darkness then gray then white then rainbows. Cold then hot then just right. Silent then explosion then birds singing and a creek of sparkles trickling. The wind caresses me and blows my hair and clothing off till ker thunk crash and splash I tumble through the glass ceiling of mirrored silver breaking the reflection of what I knew to be myself. Suddenly I stand upright yet upside down such that my feet are on the bottom side of aboveground. Myth and story and meaning and nothing and chaos ebbing and flowing.

I follow the snail leaving a path of slime as the werewolves follow behind lapping it up. The trees reach out to me with their branches leaving me smelling as the forest. Then I pause at a mountain stream waterfall to encounter a catfish old with wisdom who told me … you already know the answer, you must trust yourself.