Each letter and word try and try. Each sentence left not to disgrace my demeanor. Neat and tidy and learned and not tom and RISK NOTHING, not even playing music under the fallacy of Sobriety when I’m not sober and drink less when I’m with Stan, but it opens that Freedom I won’t afford myself. No more letting go and being tom, but layers and layers of crust and fabric – layers and layers to view the once fertile loam, the exquisite loss of control and weeks unsound just playing out life in the rich soil soul. But now we’re all very strict and growing heavier every day without any sense or logic behind it. Hard breath and cough. Stone and afraid to crack. Bury it all and put another coat of glaze on the pottery. I see a crack there and we won’t let the blood and loam spill out. Watching the funny is a waste, as it’s buried so deep in the mess that who can bring it up without cracking the temple. It’s a social temple, and some day I’ll go the opposite and be insane all the time, and be to
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There is only now. Just sit for a moment and experience all that is now - your heartbeat and the blood pouring through you - a road race inside, your palm touching the wood table, the slurry of busy noise in the room, the air making your nostrils cold, your belly rising, the colors on the book shelf. All in This moment. The way your hand crumples the paper, the quiet behind all the noise, deep within. This algorithm. ALL is only NOW.
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Gone Fishin' If humans are the only intelligent beings why are we (Stan and I) standing in 6 inches of streaming Farm River to catch a fish big enough to feed us? Ain't gonna happen! Don't even really know if there's any sign of worm left on my hook, and I think Stan's snagged on another rock (not the hook - Stan's snagged!). I traipse through the rapids in my rubber feet and help him up. Our resolve to catch a fish is long gone. Somehow we've trekked too far up river - Deliverance territory - and for some reason the water is creeping into my shorts. I scurry over the billions of treacherous stones at the river bed to grab Stan, who's becoming too entranced by the current, and pull us both to shore. There was no worm on his pole either. But we're lovin' it! Seems like all the insects have disappeared - Disney-style - which is REALLY ODD, as we're knee deep in river and forest. I remark to Stan th
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You look back and you're astounded at how little you think you've accomplished, and how very much you did. Fortunately I've saved all my journals - almost 40 years, and it allows me to see the creative stages of life with some distance. For a while I was a published writer who did many other things to put the kids through school. Had my own business for 15 years, been in some phase of management throughout. And since I was a child I needed to know about what we call spirit, or God. You see, as a five year old kneeling before a statue of the Virgin Mary you don't doubt that any of That is real. Well in 60 years I never doubted, but the icons of childhood soon shifted and my yearning to find the Spirit led me through Philosophy and various Theologies, Religions, and particularly Eastern avenues which combine a deep psychology with That which exists outside us. So you retort, Nothing exists outside of us. I experience the world, my mind funnels through ideas, and maybe it