(Dis)connected

The river flows, and the cork bobs in the current.
Perhaps an eddy, from time to time, provides temporary respite.
Reflection, for a moment.
And then we flow onward.

Perhaps the long rest that comes later,
is the time to analyze.
The time to consider.
The time to appreciate,
in a way that is more than skin deep.

Bobbing and weaving,
this tapestry of life.

A simple prayer,
that I knot come unraveled.

Winter

Gray and grainy, not smooth, not bright, nor right!

Hearty and cool, for my soul a school,
lessons best learned on the run.
A dazzling sheen, jagged ice that is mean,
and distrustful of all that is right.

A thin sheen of fog dangles over the plane,
tiny world of mystical mist,
blue and gray and cool and epic,
this world of oncoming night.

A blade that is hard,
and cutting,
ruthless and mirthless and might,
grinds as it cuts and in building up ruts
makes the journey, the journey to right.

Building speed,
riding steed,
breath so cold that the billowing need
is fullfilled by an air
that is barely just there,
headlong rush refrescante'indeed,
and a stop so abrupt,
some warmth in a cup,
and nod off to dream like a seed.

A field to tend,
a world without end,
rest now, linger, so as always to mend . . .

Eliminate the conscious mind

Do that, and everything should be alright.

When we over think, over analyze, especially as we are in the midst of an activity (like life, for example) then we gum up the works. We pull ourselves rudely out of the flow.

When we disengage the conscious mind, we begin to feel the right, natural progression of events that is there, available for all of us, if only we'll simply "be", taking the ride as it was intended.

My hands shake at times. Not really advancing age, I don't think, because they've done so for years, even when I was a young boy. But now, when I focus on breathing, deep into the lungs, into the belly, breath all the way down into my toes as I was once instructed in Tae Kwon Do, then my body calms, the shakes dissipate and disappear. As I enter the flow, the battle between my conscious mind and the inevitability of life as it really is ceases, and that battle is, I believe, the source of the tension that runs riot in my nervous system, shaking my hands.

The universe is infused with energy . . . check that . . . the universe IS energy. Breath that in all the way down to your toes and I think you will like the result, brothers and sisters!

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yeah, right! Happy? Well, I guess things could be tremendously worse (no, I don't guess, I know) but what is there to celebrate about hitting 45? Nothing in my book. The celebration shouldn't be about any one particular day, it should be about every day. Another day above ground as they say. A day to try and do a little good in the world, have a little fun, and do the best job you can (piss-poor though it may be) showing those that you love just how much you really do love them

I've been reading a little Dalai Llama of late, and he talks alot about achieving peace and harmony within oneself, hopefully to project that outward onto the world.

I'll set that aside as my birthday gift to me on this, the 45th anniversary of my birth.

Colds, and other Evil in this World

I have a cold.

Head filled. Sinuses pulsing. Eyes watering.

Down in my chest now. The wracking cough. Torso so tight it feels like it may split open at the next sneeze.

Lethargy. A generally dismal outlook.

If I could, I would wage all out war against the virus. Damnable thing, wreaking such repetitive havoc in the lives of most every creature to ever grace the face of the earth. Vile bloodsucker. Find your own way in the world, damnable (brainfart here - - insert the word for someone who lives off of, and at the expense of another).

But things could be worse. At lease I get to take Nyquil and sleep for 12 hours!

Where we're headed (maybe?)

I'm writing this for the express purpose of reading it in one year.

I went to college back in the day, and based on little more than a funny professor or two, I chose Economics for my degree. So I suppose I'm an amateur economist, whatever in the hell that is. Oh, and I like Walter E. Williams too!

So anyway, the US Government has announced something in excess of $7 trillion in "bailout" spending in recent weeks and months. Money to bail out greedy, arrogant, and apparently pretty dense people in the financial world who've made a gigantic mess, mostly with an overdose of debt and a miasma (sp? meaning?) of uber-complex investment securities supported by (yah . . . right!) layer upon layer of that same debt. So if Joe Lunchbox misses a payment, a whole lineup of people get screwed. It's like one of those department store mirror doohickeys, where you see yourself over and over and over again out seemingly to infinity. Every last one of those folks in the mirror is screwed by this shell game ponzi scheme cooked up by "elite" members of our society.

I remember being in High School, listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd, thinking I should get my kicks in life from nature, being outdoors, good friends and a frosty ale or two every once and again. How friggin' right I was.

So anyway, my goal here today is to prognosticate a massive bout of inflation and rising interest rates. I think our dollar is likely to be worth next to nothing one year from today. Massive disruption in our lives. Quite literally, a collapse of everything we've relied upon throughout my post-war baby boom life.

I hope to hell I'm wrong.

My kids don't deserve it. Hell, I don't deserve it . . . maybe I live a tiny bit beyond my means, but my balance sheet is still in the positive. I socked away for the future, man, and now this crap is chiseling away at that ol' nestegg. Really quite depressing!

I hope to hell I'm wrong.

But I'm afraid that I'm right. I learned in school that you can't just print money and not drum up inflation. It's simple supply and demand. Too many dollars chasing a fixed pot of goods and services means it will take more and more of those dollars to buy any particular good or service. Pretty simple really. With a little effort, a child could understand it.

But apparently, the "adults", they don't.

See ya in a year . . . if I can still afford to power up the PC, that is . . .

The 10 millionth rain poem ... (you win a prize!)

There's a rolling quality to it,
fluidity really (duh!?!)
rolling from the sky, filling a million little voids.

Eventful, this drizzle, filling the day with purpose,
not vapid like that "pretty" sunny day.

The sound of it confusing, soothing if you let it be, but . . .
Calling out to you to move, be fluid too . . .
There is a flow in life, a ride you'd best take,
if you want it all that is.

Murky, daybreak never comes,
a Welsh countryside inside my mind
deep and distant drums.

Alas, with the flow I'll go now,
with every pelting drop,
with every trickle passing,
it's life that rolls like thunder,
life that never stops.