I wonder if this unfettered rambling will give you a clue to who I am, or would you rather know something of my physical form? I happen to think that just confuses the world, and gets in the way of discovering who we really are… and yet, I love being confused, it is such a wonderful pastime.

I wear a fleece when it’s warm, but only if I’m chilled, usually blue, but other colors seem fitting on occasion. A shower curtain works under the right circumstances, but remember to bring enough safety pins. Wondrous pants are those that don’t really appear to be pants at all, but more a floating extension of the body, a lingering cloud enveloping one’s legs. However, plastic is useful for making shields, lighter, stronger, more flexible than tradition iron or copper. Honestly a small shield works just fine these days, and can easily be turned upside down as a plate, a frisbee, snowshovel, paddle, rain hat, speaker cover, sled, and many other uses my single mindedness has been too obstinate to explore.

Sixty six percent of my cells believe they are the happiest being in my body, and yet still I am unable to fly! The ludacracy of the idea turns my eyes back to my unfinished book in an attempt to bring peace to these inner lands. But of course, the ski mountains don’t provide much beside mud in the late spring, oh an some startling displays of natural color exploding forth on a per-chance basis.

The sunsets are beautiful and yet, I can’t help but think of the factory belching smoke at the other end of the city, who’s biproduct kills worlds at the same time making them startlingly colorful.

When reading the word “symbology” in a book I wonder who gave her the license to publish, and then I think, who gave me the ability to read? Or maybe she has some obsession with Boondock Saints? That must be it, short and sweet, the answer to all.

All in all a mind’s wonder does not readily affect the bodies hope, and yet we still try for such a caress as the world is eager to give. Why shouldn’t we? It’s all that is there on a dreary day covered in sunlight and birdsong. One might as well submit to a life of eternal joy and meaningful happiness.

What is the passage of time but a sequence of thoughts coming and going, and again, when the thought doesn’t complete, well then time stops, and if the next thought never comes, well then time never starts! a moment lasts forever, and yet nothing happens in that moment, and if something happens to happen then the moment is over and the next one begun before the last can say goodbye.

One emotion, one sensation, one thought embraced and explored thoroughly until it become the world inner and outer is Tantra. While the world stopped by the eradication of emotions, sensations, thoughts is vipassa meditation. How could two such opposite ideas in essence accomplish the same thing, the process of moving towards awareness.

My friend, such futility seems in a way lazyminded in the presence of such wonder and imagination as a world full of dreamers such as this can produce. So why we linger here rather than there, or there, or even there, is quite a mystery to me.

In the essence of love one finds infatuating conversation, persistent minds, wandering hands, hills and valleys more beautiful than imaginations writings have ever had the fanaticism to produce, and yet…

…empires fall, sane are tried for lunacy, trees uproot themselves and march forth in surrender, horses speak of buried treasure, fish fly to their deaths among the clouds, pens blot out carefully constructed stanzas, and singers choke in sadness at the story unfolding before them, page by page, note by note, a color here, a texture there, feelings jump ship with the rats at the first sight of land, and what must become has always been.

The person inside, cleverly disguised, hidden away among folds of cloth, crouched behind mindful branches, nimbly darting from falling leaf to falling leaf, tiptoeing up one shadow and down the other, whispering passionate messages to kindred hearts.