Longing

Wishes in the Night – The Beloved (Audio)

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The night sounds rise and fall around me

As stars emerge from the deep black well

Fireflies dance on the edge of vision

As dusk gives way to the night

Coolness settles upon the land

Stillness settles upon my heart

Tiny pinpricks of light appear

Delicate, peeping through the black curtain

Now soft pearl glow cast across the silence

Each moment brings the detail into focus

So too my heart’s desire becomes clear

Defined against the backdrop of my soul’s quietude

My wish is for you

And my wish for you is me

That you might be filled with me as the emptiness of space

Is filled with glorious light

That I might be to you the peace

Which settles over the night calling nature to rest

A night with no bumps in the dark.

No fear of exposure

No longer watchful

Only rest and blissful surrender

And if I may not have this wish then my next would be

That you may see yourself through my eyes

Then you would not need my light to fill your night

You would know the power in your form, the elegance in your movement

You would know your beauty as a gift and light to this dark and troubled world

You are most desirable in all things

And from that place of confident rest your striving would cease

You would become a source of grace and hope

And would lift up all whom you touch

If I might be granted even my second wish

I would know that my life has had a meaning

For I have recognized the sublime among the ordinary

To have held such to my breast is to have lived

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.

Sunflower

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Art – Matt Chambliss

Music –  “Sunflower” Paddy Sun

Sunflower

From the day of Her budding She has longed for the sun
Her being is drawn towards the light
The very core of Her aches for the life-giving warmth
In the night-time she hopes for a light to shine on Her
But all that shines is not the Sun
All that has warmth does not give life
So even though she may dance in the reflection and the distraction of the moment
She knows that it will pass
It will not beckon her to put down roots into the dark rich soil
She waits for the morning
She longs for Apollo that she might be made whole
Her face ever toward the sun, seeking the heat and life her Soul craves
Yet to see Her, to know Her is life-giving
The Sunflower is strength
A symbol of beauty and faith and life and vitality and intelligence
She already possesses that which she seeks, out There in the heavenly Sun
Orbiting Her eternally, yet never accessible
She does not understand that she is venerated like she does Apollo
She is longed for like the Sun
That there are those who turn and follow Her movements across their skies
Who mark their days by Her appearance and in Her leaving
Rest O Sunflower, put down your roots
Allow your blues, browns and golden facets to grace the green of your new growth
You are already everything you desire

A Thousand Miles Away – Audio Update

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Art – Matt Chambliss

Music – A Thousand Years (Piano/Cello Cover) – The Piano Guys

I dreamed that I was awake

Or perhaps I was awake yet slumbering

Consciousness in flux somewhere between the two

I know what is real, I know the difference

I can feel it

There is substance and passion and depth and sweet rest my reward

I can breathe there

But sometimes reality manifests itself in one and then the other as it wills

So who is to say what is dreaming and what is wakefulness

The Real is not tethered to the narrow realm of the senses

It gives allegiance to none, for there are many ways of knowing

How close is a thousand miles

It seemed as if I could have reached out and touched you

But you were a thousand miles away

What is the distance between this breath and my next

A step or two, feet, inches, seconds, the measurement is irrelevant

So close, yet thousand miles away

I felt you walk into my dream

I felt your presence before I turned, before I heard the voices

I sensed the singular form of you so the sight did not surprise me

Because I can sense you from a thousand miles away

How is it that I can inhale the fragrance of you, hear your voice in my dreams

I felt your glance on my back like a touch reaching out, a kiss on my neck

But there was a gulf between that would not be bridged, a guardian watchful

Polite, familiar chit chat for a second of a second

I could not find your eyes

So close yet a thousand miles away

I felt you leaving and I turned to watch you go

My observation hidden behind the tinted veil

I watched you walk into another dream that was a thousand miles away

Then, at the last instant, the final frantic moment you turned

I saw your eyes seeking me, trying to pierce the darkened glass

I recognized and reached out from the shadows

I was close, but hidden, and a thousand miles away

So, I will write to remember, I will write to say

What it’s like to feel your warmth

From a thousand miles away

Plato’s Groove – Theme Song

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Plato’s Groove with Aaron Dick free-styling  on the keys

A little over two years ago I began to feel in a totally new direction.  Ego shattered, directionless, like falling in a dream. There was nothing solid to cling to. I began to slowly try things that seemed odd to my old self.  Something called me into a new way of being a me.  My hair grew outside the older restrictions I had placed on it along with my Soul.  In this new and strange land I began to find solid and hauntingly familiar steps to take.  It was like coming home to a place I had never been.  I had written this piece some years before but it had no voice.  I had some vague wish that somehow my very talented children might take up my writing and give it life but that was not for them to do.  I remember how nervous I was when Aaron started playing how strange it was for me to attempt it.  A couple glasses of red wine helped and we created this together.  I began to find my voice, even if it was timid and unsure, it was heard.  Now I do this and more on a weekly basis and think very little about it.  What was dangerous and new has become comfortable.  What I know though is that there are new worlds I need to explore and inhabit still.  I also know that moving from this horizon to the next will feel exactly like it did before I came here.  And I will never figure it out before I get there.  It is only in the going that I will know.

Time winds down. . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .

The clock ticks.
It fades in and out of my awareness.

The clock ticks.
Marking Time as It winds down to finally rest in Eternity.

The clock ticks.
Independent, without regard It plucks the very strings of the Cosmos.

The clock ticks.
Time now divided makes meter possible and cadence contingent.

The clock ticks.
The fabric of possibility is woven, lining the womb that is time.

The clock ticks.
Sacred Space emerges between the beats of past and future. Seeds can only be sown in the Now.

The clock ticks.
Slumbering Soul, never at rest, seeks completion of Its’ chord unresolved.

The clock ticks.
All existence is in motion, potential, moving toward harmony or dissonance, creativity or chaos, Life or death.

The clock ticks.
The metronome beats out the call to choose or not to choose. Both require a choice.

The clock ticks.
Whether background or fore, whether conscious or dreaming, It makes possible the awareness of Plato’s Groove.

The clock ticks.
Out of the shadows Life calls to life. There is underlying order within the chaos. The pilgrim seeks that which has always been hidden within view.

The clock ticks.
The artist’s heart does not create ex nihilo but rather chooses one and not the other, manifesting particular harmonies that resonate and call them into Being.

The clock ticks.
To act or refrain from motion is the artist’s prerogative. Variation ads pigment, or not, to the evolving tapestry.

The clock ticks.
Soul becomes more harmonious; at rest in the body, powerful its resonance with the Real. Dissonance no longer a mystery to be feared but rather consciously strummed to accentuate and more clearly articulate the Soul’s growing chorus.

The clock ticks.
Oh, Traveler strain through the dissonance to hear the notes which resonate with the pattern of your soul. Choose it at the cost of all others.

The clock ticks.

The clock ticks.

The clock ticks.
Each Soul’s resolution is to cultivate and balance It’s own polytonic sound in preparation for joining the romp with all other pure souls in harmony, dance, in art, in mathematics, and all other lenses through which we glimpse the mystery of the Eternal celebration that is Life.

Consonance. Congruity. Harmonious. Original. Authentic.