Smokers patio

Sunday evening meditation midst the swirls and curls of burning fags, bearded men smoking ciggies, checking mobiles for messages ’bout their social standing, drinking booze with babes, the air electrified with lightning nearby.

What day this has been, my friends, when you’re awarded for your hard work, and I am handed the reins of a quiet life with which I choose to treat my friends and family to the wellspring of love within I’ve hidden for too long?!

Why hide that treasure trove from You?

Why deny one’s gift, one’s destiny?

Nothing left to fear.

Life is short.

Although but sets of states of energy in motion, how those states interact say everything these words merely skim the surface describing!

To say I love you has never been enough.

To show I love you by giving my love to everyone we know and to those we’ll never meet…well, the pipe smoker next to me, a wise old blues musician, understands.

You and I are performers, to the core.

Our performance is an act of love, unselfish, in service to others, sometimes sacrificing our mental (thus, our phyical) health until we paid attention, putting our love for each other to practical use.

Look at the result!

Years hiding love we cannot recover.

Let’s wisely share our remaining years with unfettered love.

The solar system brought us this far.

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Sunday morning meditation

On a steamy Sunday morning, thinking of the ones I’ve loved, the ones I’ve lost to the inevitability of death, I envision a future outside this happy moment, when action is called for, and smile.

Ready for a morning hike with new friends!

Carpark contentment

In this moment of quiet contentment whilst walking the upper carpark at work I realise I am in the most calm condition of my life.

I have achieved the truest state of the monkhood I sought long ago.

At almost 3:30 a.m., when the freeway traffic is at a minimum, sounding like ocean waves just over a sand dune, the cicadas and crickets dominate.

My thought set requires no external validation, the same every year at this time.

I know a few friends whom I will recognise on social media for their positive influence on me.

Other than that, my conscious self remains at rest.

Ahhh..

Summertime!

Japanese garden bridge in the rain

A person on social media asked which the reader thought worse, emotional pain or physical pain?

Of course, they’re one in the same.

Emotions are not aether, miasma, or entities separate from the body.

Therefore, the question reworded: what type of physical pain do you least like to endure?

Sleep-derived tiredness is my least liked pain.

I don’t know what emotions are but I do know that personal relationship disconnectedness reduces my ability to fall asleeep quickly, same with misaligned body parts.

Sleepiness prevents fully living in the ever-changing moment, causes poor decision-making, affecting moments not yet lived.

What, then, my friend, is Love?

Love, like everything else, is physical, measurable, describable, with experimental results providing a method to create corrective actions.

NOTE: Inert ingredients do not include the towelette

Lee leaned back against the Lexus RX300, facing Guin.

They had moved out of direct sunlight into the shade of a metal industrial building, drifting toward their motorcars.

They chatted with each other comfortably, eager to share their thoughts, wanting success to be theirs.

Family, love, friendship tied them together.

They spent time together.

Together.

They were together.

They gave each other love.

They were friends.

They had become family.

Love of dancing, happiness about their accomplishments, including dreams fulfilled, gave them more than hope.

As they chatted, as they set plans for more time spent together, they also set aside personal time for themselves, neither jealous nor upset that they were spending too little or too much time together.

They reached the point in their lives where they were no longer apart.

They were one in ways that transcended conventional spacetime, that transcended language.

As they chatted, they solidified their futures, melded their lives, meshed their networks.

They didn’t know everything about each other because they didn’t have to, the lack of knowledge replaced with trust, historical gaps filled with future plans.

They wanted to keep chatting, keep the small talk flowing, stay in each other’s presence, give up future plans with others to stay together in the now, in that moment that lasts forever.

Last time, Guin broke the spell they had on each other.

This time, Lee did.

Lee looked into Guin’s eyes, not wanting to leave.

He didn’t want to break the spell.

They parted, if only for a brief moment.

Lee had given up his daytime sleep to be with Guin, to complete plans with her, to set more plans in motion, plans that included revisiting the past.

To be continued…

Summertime

Summertime, what is summertime, when you’ve lived a good long life, felt thousands of generations of your species pass through you, when you feel old beyond your years, only energised when your marionette/puppet self is picked up and played with by others?

What is summertime when you work the midnight shift, sleeping all day, the weather a matte background on the stage of life?

What is summertime when you’re standing in awe outside a batcave whilst thousands of flying mammals exit the cave and a mother next to you chats on her smartphone complaining about her life to a friend, simultaneously yelling at her kids to be careful, caring nothing about the swirl of bats heading toward open waters?

Her reality is not my reality, our view of summertime completely different.

I avoid others when I’m unhappy and unable to pretend to be happy without the aid of alcoholic beverages.

I know that being the life of the party costs my mental health when I’m alone again, aware of the shakes and shivers of stage fright taking its toll on my wellbeing after entertaining others, my puppet strings slack.

Should I worry…?

Should I worry when I can’t taste the food I’m eating, when the coffee has no flavour, when the people around me seem like cartoon projections through a translucent screen?

Or do I know this is my normal state now, no longer a part of this world, just a passing stranger with only myself I’ll ever understand, if I know me at all?

I am tired, naturally so.

Time for bed rest, this five-year old in a fifty-five year old body wants to forget himself in his dreams for a while, maybe never wake up…