50 Shades of Redemption (Audio)

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Art – Matt Chambliss

Like ink on paper subtly changes the fabric of the universe

Mark by mark, letter becomes word, word becomes sentence,

Becomes history, the story of what is or what was.

You are written into my story, my soul.

Each gesture, sound, fragrance, touch, and emotion you etched,

You inscribed upon the deepest part of me.

I am changed.  I am altered and will forever carry you with me, in me.

You are a part of every thought and inhabit the space between every breath.

You went with me to frightening places and I with you.

Together we transformed the terror into our soul’s Hallelujah!

And restless terrible longing found rest.

Light shined in, and defeated the darkness if only for an instant.

The source of the demons that plagued and haunted our dreams

Both waking and in slumber.

I Am – Kinda (Audio) A little Southern Mysticism

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Image result for cheap carnival spookhouse image

I am

But who is saying that

This is me

The same one who sucked his thumb

But who is observing the me thinking of the me

I am the same

I have observed the changes

In my body

In my thoughts

My experiences

My beliefs

My habits

My desires

But all of those things are not me

Me is back here watching

Observing

I am beginning to remember that I forgot

I have missed me

I searched for me in many places

I have looked in the reflections and have mistaken me for them

To suck my thumb feels awkward now

Funny how I once was so attached to it

I am guessing there are things I am attached to that are as transient as my thumb even now

It is interesting to have the awareness back that I had as a child

Observing and wondering, separate from the Self, the Ego, at least sometimes

Fear must have created that projection I called me

Well, some of it

Some of it is OK and is part of my groove

I think fear must have built the rest because it seems fear is what enforces the construct and dread guards the exits

But like a carnival spook-house been through several times, I am getting bored with it

I am yawning, its so 1-2-3 now jump and . . . Que the strobes, now crooked mirrors and fog and skeletons and turn the corner where the drug addict Carney jumps out and yells

The fear is getting be to quiet lame, much like the raggedy clown that pops out of the dark place and flops around on worn springs

Turning the lights on reveals the primitive, laughable, side show that has held me hostage

I think I’m gonna look outside the mirrors and the cheap carnival and try to remember the one who has been watching

See if he is still around somewhere

The source of all the reflections

I like my Self OK

But I am more than what I have created

And the dude at the exit has warrants

He won’t bother me if I really want to go

 

Garden Update

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I like playing in my garden.  No mater what else is going on there is something there I can do that will make a difference in the outcome.  There is so much in the world that can not be depended on and remains outside of one’s control.  The garden is a place I can go that just is.  I can work a little and even leave it and it will go on without me, always happy for me to return.  I am not the magic there just a steward, a husband to the magic of life that occurs within Her.

20150502_134133I broke down about 20 empty cardboard wine cases to use as a weed barrier.  Then wet them down with water.  It is a good use of what would have been waste and will eventually become part of the soil.  My grandmother used old newspaper in a similar way.

20150502_155255Now there is fresh straw.  Like Epcot, only different.  It makes for a good foundation aesthetically as the plants mature.  It helps with the weed control and retention of moisture during the warmer months.

20150502_141425Gonna give the plants in the raised bed a week or two, then give them some straw to rest on.  As you can see the space I chose was not perfect in terms of the sun’s arc.  There is plenty of morning sun but around two the shade gets to some of the plants.  They will be fine as the sun climbs higher into the sky with the changing seasons.  It reminds me that many times the perfect situation never presents itself.  There always seems to be something in the way.  But what I do know is that perfect fruit can come from imperfect situations.

20150502_141436The Cucamelon seeds have sprouted and are ready to go in the ground.  I’ve planted some and have several to give away to some friends who want to do something a little different.  We should have plenty in a couple months.  This process is so amazing to me.  How is it that we have gotten so far away from the knowledge that sustained my grandparents?

20150502_155232There the are with the tomatoes.  I used some cut bamboo from last year.  I will make them a trellis as the grow.

20150502_185916-1God these pictures suck but they are what I got.  We do what we call “Wine and Jazz” once a month during the warm months at the winery.  You can see an arbor I built three years ago.  Grapes are growing up it.  The flower bed is awaiting the lantania to sprout to fill in between the lavender and the rosemary.

20150502_185825The people are beginning to arrive.  We served mufalattas, red beans and rice, and gumbo, and wine of course.  This is where I usually sit to watch and listen to the music and the people.  Sometimes I get up and talk or serve or to smile at someone.  I gave one guy who was interested in the garden a cucamelon plant to take home and watch grow.  He was fun to talk to.  But mainly now I just watch and listen and think on things.  The band was good.  The lead was a young but very talented jazz standard and R&B singer.  She was really good.  It made me smile and remember when the songs were alive.  Be Groovy!

Specters in the Dark (Audio)

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A cry, a soundless wail in the distance

Calls, seeking relief, redress

Images, memories emerge, awaken

Wanting to enter

Wraith at the horizon, the boundary of vision

Treads, leaving no prints except those familiar pathways in my soul

I grieve the dead

I mourn the now cold life that was

Ought is now not and haunts me still

But what have I do to with specters in the dark

Except, breathless, trembling I turn

Knowing the wraith is me

Weeping alone there in the shadows

I Found (Audio)

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Day Thirteen: Serially Found

I watched the weather of me through the day to see if perhaps there was something there
I noticed that it changed, unbidden as though another turned its dials
Sometimes the taste of that place between green and violet was broken by mountains of stark white cotton stretching from horizon to horizon
It called to something in me which wanted to be in that place of awe and wonder, but it passed over
At other moments my sky was filled with shades of gray and black ominous and threatening, fields of energy, alert to danger
The impulse to cover, to hide was strong but I remained still and it passed along with the rest
All I found there was that the weather of me shifts its shape to suite the situation
There was nothing profound there, nothing to hold on to, it just comes and goes as it wills

 

I sought meaning in the deeper things to see if there was some nugget, some treasure there for me
I noticed the Sage of me arise from the depths, ready to pronounce profundity
He sat on his throne, voice lowly intoned, gentle condescending words doled out to the yielding seekers needing a light, a way, a Wizard
And then another, a chocolate haired little boy, with dark brown eyes and freckles dotting his nose and cheekbones
He sought to woo with innocence and pouty lips, seeking attention, protection, love, crooked smile, shaggy hair, smelling of sunshine and romance
Then in the midst of my looking I heard Him laugh. The Jester, my tenuous but always faithful friend
He reminded me that what I was seeking would not be found in the costumes my ego wears
The profound can be another distraction and a game, as too the dance of affection What I sought was not there

 

Then, I watched the watcher, paying attention to my paying attention
Remembering again, that I know very little and how easily distracted I can be
Caught up in a self that is fleeting like the weather, changed by the currents on the wind around me
Hidden behind masks that can at times be mistaken for me, leaving me alone but entertained or distracted
I laughed along with the Jester. He always tells me the truth, especially when I take myself too seriously, or not seriously enough
Like trying to scratch an itch in a mirror, I sought but did not find, for what I wanted could not be found there
A wonderful playground of experience and love and learning and hope and grief, but playground it is, for it will not last
In seeking I found. I found that there is really no need to seek that which is not lost.

 

Come home boy it is time for rest.