Posts by Dusty

stopped on a dime

there is some endless and lost sun
shining in ecstasy, shining forever
there through your eyes
i have noticed this fragrant abode,
this mountain of still magic
this place standing taller than time

through one who has come undone
standing still, my swing has stopped
motionless screaming in delight
of things known thru all ages
of things felt thru all time
of you who i know now
and will always love

i am stopped on a dime
i am suspended in a place
of living time

They say Inner Peace is free of charge …

There are some things in life I learned on my own.

Most have to do with organic bodily processes. The reptilian brain responses to external stimuli. “Built-in” stuff. Innate stuff. Fear, hunger, survival programs. Turning grunts and groans into meaningful – or in some cases, meaningless – dialogue.

With regard to growth, maturity, propelling ones self ahead in life, communication, livelihood, relationships, ownership… all this had to be learned. The learning process was as prone to fault as the marriage between teacher and student. Many questionable teachers, often a reluctant student. Many trials and tests. Many cyclical loops of learning new ways to break things, versus old ways to fix things. And the School of Life goes on.

The Temple of the Blue Sky

I believe in The Sky.

There are several Other Crowds that do too.

I do not belong to them, because their activities are suspicious, and because they wear odd garments, and because they have closed doors in their eyes.

 

One of them says the sky is purple, and they have all these purple books and purple robes and go to purple church and eventually Purple Heaven. They drag their children to Purple Church on Wednesday evening, because that’s when the Purple god created the Purple Sky.

This Is A Test.

This is a test, 1-2-3-4.

How many times have you heard that?? You’re at a conference or a performance; there’s the guy has his mike, testing 1234. You think, this is not a performance, this is not a star, this is just “Testing 1234”.

Yet the sound hits your ears, and it hits 300 other peoples’ ears and it sinks in. And they know him, that man with the pliers, with the unshaven beard. That man that doesn’t believe in his own voice. That man that has peanut butter in his lunch kit.

Testing 1234. He has just made his first hit. He has performed as a lead-in for the Stones, he has influenced the neurons of two hundred board directors who shape the corporate planet. He has revealed himself and all his hidden virtues to people who clean chairs and people who sit in Rolls Royces.

But, this is just a test. Testing 1234. This is just a test. And he thinks he is nothing and he knows he is nothing because his world of duct tape and electrical joiners is not on the scale of broadcast news. His wife has a better job. And yet he has spoken; all have heard. He has left his dynamic footprint, as all dinosaurs do, as the coming and going of leaves on millionaires’ trees.

the single drop

small pieces of duct tape
hold together the world of man
as our lights dangle from the christmas tree
the dried out christmas tree

in the eyes of humans
the spark remains
laboring behind masks of sadness
the concrete of laborers
cement, broken bridges of ages
the community of unconsciousness
the disjointed dance of unknown drummers

from somewhere deep, longing glows
the lost ember of certainty, grace,
sweetness;
our home we left eons ago,
we seed scattered winds
we wanderers of empty heart

the optical fibres of light
hold together the certainty of love
as one ignites beside the other
and celebration begins by fragrance on the wind

all it takes is one small cake
to feed the heart, hungry to know
the silence inside, the place where we hide
is both begining and ending
of the road home.

small hearts, small lights
in the dried-out tree of man
the dried-out sea of man
the dried-out me of man.

inside the desert,
the single drop