Between it all

There's a whole lot of country out there.

The space in my mind stretches out like the endless desert. For about a second. Then I get all crazied up on plans, ideas, wishes and more plans in the space of one inhale.

Then quotes I've read and re-read hundreds of times flutter through my mind like, "There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so." And back again to a flash of desert and darkness, a letting go.

Homo sapien, homo faber, homo luminous... maybe we're everything we've named and much much more. The waltz beat of the heart dancing us around everywhichway. The dream life as real as the blinding sun and the soup on the stove.

I've tried to keep my legs regularly shaven this fall and winter--avoiding the bear rug effect (and the consequent two-hour long shaving event that clogs the drain). But when it's this cold out, I want to become a bear and hibernate like bears do, all wrapped in fur. Sink into slow time - real time. Strange that a hibernating bear is just as alive as one shaking berries from a tree.

Oh web of dreams. Oh life with head above the water. Doggy paddling, splashing around for a moment. Then dunk... swim. Up for breath, down again, the sun from the other world lighting up the transitional space, the glimmering surface.

We're always between... between the fill 'er up inhale and the emptying out exhale; between the clench of trying so damn hard and the sweet release of finally letting go; between stark naked winter and luscious ripened summer; between damp earth and brightening sky; between the fire of love and the water of loss; always always between crazy birth and wild death. Between nothing mattering and everything - every little thing - mattering.

So really, there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. Thank you, sweet Señor Shakespeare!

NOMOFOMO

Just like the title says, this is the year - the brink of the year - of NOMOFOMO.

FOMO is fear of missing out.

NOMO is no mo!

Case closed. Case burned in the fire.

I have twiddled & spun away far too many hours, nights and emotional calories on wanting to be "over there!" instead of right here where my feet, hands and heart are. And all the rest of me.

Time to play Marco Polo with myself. Where are you? Here I am!

Where are you?

Flint and steel

Somehow, in the search to find my "right" path in life, the path to my creativity has become overgrown and choked with weeds over the past year or so...very little sunlight and oxygen coming through. I occasionally sit on the couch and lazily strum a few bars on my guitar, but find myself uncaptivated and hovering in some kind of existential angst asking self-defeating questions like "what's the point?" and "who needs another song anyway?"

Impatient, I set my guitar down and scurry away to some distraction (Netflix, dishes, masterbation, what have you) rather than sit with the gentle bellows of breathing and curiosity to get the fiery sparks going again. So, this blog is meant as the flint and my musings and ramblings the steel. For my own health and happiness, I must get the creative fire going again. And into this creative fire I will gladly toss my angst, artistic jealousy, doldrum seriousness, annoying self righteousness, insecurity, petty thievery, white liery, over thinkery, etc. It will be a mighty fire indeed - 'cause I gots lots of stuff to burn!

The rising smoke of these posts will memorialize the inner battle between the unceasing soul urge to create and the lazy ego doubter that hates to budge without some kind of carrot of acclaim or success dangling as reward. Burn the carrots! Watch the dancing flames tell their story on the wall of the cave. Sit in this circle with me.

Let's warm our hands over this necessary-for-life fire and recall the fleeting moments of delight and strange encounters from the day of days and from the dreams that are floating everywhere and everywhen.

I feel my pulse--two fingers pressed into my neck. Ahhh. Rhythm, a quick tide. Full moon last night. Snow today in the northeast. Snowflakes bigger than quarters. The refrigerator hums me to the end of this post.