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Essay – In That Moment
Imagine what life would be from this moment forward if we moved away from the chatter and negativity our mind is swimming within and realize we are born from the stars, that all life on this planet is born from the same material and roots, and that we each have a purpose. Imagine what tomorrow…
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Poem – Beneath the Surface, On the Edge
A follow-up to a previous post – Beneath the Surface What lies beneath the surface, the playground of ancient times, lands ruled by survival, raw and primal, we forever live on some edge with a defensive posture ready to protect at all costs. That slippery edge of snow and ice straddling deep valleys, like the…
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Poem – Transformation
I watch the sun rise from distant cold moving water. White-capped waves emerge from the horizon and over time they will arrive at my feet standing on the rock strewn shoreline covered in clear ice. I imagine staying here through the passing months when the deep winter takes hold of this land and my body…
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Poem – Birth
In the beginning we come into this space as innocent beings fumbling around the empty fields stretching forever. We stare in wonder and with amazement as to the endless possibilities and the control we have of our life. Then something changes and the field begins to fill with objects and obstacles and where there was…
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Where the Path Leads
We encounter paths and options at every turn and we are stopped by fear and indecision. The ability to choose a direction and move forward and not look back is a gift. But when we stand at the crossroad with multiple unknown horizons our life stops and becomes stagnant and we become lost. Steeped in…
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Poem – Across the Field
Across the field I see the same material we are made of born of the stars out there.
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Victoria Woollaston @ in5d.com – Quantum Physics – Death Is An Illusion
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Dogs of Summer #1
Summer is not quite here, but that does not deter the sun, warmth, and life within the forest. The well-worn path lined with decades of growth, birth, and death is never lonely, is always filled with the voice of the forest. With a gentle touch and respect we spend our time free of the city,…
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Poem – Vow
I fear not the process, the natural end of this time here as I prepare for the next. I only fear the method and I vow to meet it’s messenger on my field with sword in hand beneath the white petals.
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Poem – Extremes of Death
The open field is not empty as the ground is littered with remains of the day remains of the fallen. Boulders serve as markers as crude tombstones and in some cases a reminder of brutality and cruelty. We stumbled across fresh bones and the skull of a deer carelessly left and scattered the remains complete…