ST64 ... six paragraphs floating around in a clump of splintered time
as phantom mules continue to carry the burden of worlds across the borderline
i just woke up and there you are, your hair hanging down over the slopes of your earth and your words like soft rain panting across the terrain of my face. Oh i love you so much I'm thinking, then i wonder what love is and then i'm wondering if the rooster will give another cawkoodoodle… and then i'm feeling especially joyful for no apparent reason…. just to be alive, to be thinking, free, to not have anything to live up to.
I know there are a few terrible w ars going on, there are always wars, what else is new, blue. There are people suffering beyond comprehension, and yet the masters of conflict continue their money, power agendas, land grabbing ventures while so many just stand by, support, some write sympathetic notes like these to themselves and medias cover it all between commercials for things not needed. People keep suffering deep and god seems to have left for the long coast, leaving a few whispers echoing down narrow corridors in winds of words entangling deep into scripture.
The clouds are low today, lying across the fields, the big cities, the seas, the whole world is herding themselves in rain like sheep. The news is so important you can't sleep. The music is so repetitious it drives bones into your soul. Food and air, poisoned, authority all on the take, both, confused and clear. You wonder if you can escape for a few afternoons alone like you used to. Short paragraphs find their way into your heart and the walls collapse into fantasies for awhile.
I write to no one, for there are but a few whom hear my call and i have nothing much worth saying, anyways, anyhow. My thoughts weave around form and disintegrate into nothingness where all goes. Most hate this concept that destroys itself before it can blossom into a perfect illusion of immortality. It is being half full and half empty thru time memorable fading and finding comfort only in the silence of things. What is worth this peace that few desire, the known has illuminated most into believing they have something to protect, a future created by data, banks of senseless power; sensitive eternal sacredness. I would have nothing at all to do with any of this, if only i could, be without.
The night folded over the landscape like a blessing. My freedom felt the winds slow thru the trees and the long valley against the mountain swayed in my mind as a breeze. I was gone, the mystery drenched me in awe. I stood still, walked slow, felt the breath of love tender around everything.
The streets were well swept, brooms baked in the sun while phantom mules carried the burden of worlds hanging heavy over shoulders into the day. Low lying dreams curled over cobble stone streets with tortilla violins caressing the air and centuries of romance wove into this very mexican moment. I sat perplexed and still, watching; with dark coffee from a silent cafe.
A simple coffee
WeyWord Times / All Writing and Images by Patrick Wey
Hang Me Up Somewhere…. Images
The concept that imperfect, is really just an intrinsic part of the “perfect now,” is a huge grasp for me. Your words were the “bullseye” they formed the profound arrow, striking into the heart of it all, thankfulness, love
Moment by moment, people suffer beyond comprehension , fall in love, give birth, get divorced, make food, fight, die, make love - eternal dance of life ……..