“When it can be said by any country in the world, my poor are happy, neither ignorance nor distress is to be found among them, my jails are empty of prisoners, my streets of beggars, the aged are not in want, the taxes are not oppressive, the rational world is my friend because I am the friend of happiness. When these things can be said, then may that country boast its constitution and government. Independence is my happiness, the world is my country and my religion is to do good.” by Thomas Paine
No secrets on a lucid walk. A proposal of mystery so different as thinking not so much mystery as only plain plans and sweet whispers. Dawn slips away and day’s almost lightest and slightest sights commence. Gentle rain not storms are best although lightning and thunder is sometimes missed.
Now and then as the laughter of strings from harps’ sings transpires, as poetries dance along these leaves of parchment and thin tin portraits. Dust spreads across this land as too much wind and too late water cannot increase fast trickles and tickles of streams and lakes into oceans of fresh liquid ‘cross another salt-less-sea. And! On this sandy shore we will caress soft sounds and acquiesce to our sweetest songs.
Dancing glides of wheels and those of ice rails arrive via feet and our ancient selves of balance and twists of turns and freedom without the gravity of graves. And! Again, singing strings of violins and cellos and bass satisfy twilights with song and rhythm and rhyme. Fiddlers play music late into evenings and dancers form circles near fires of light and far from darkness empty space and silence.
Here and hear now heart calls and sobs sans light and waiting without notice then just waiting begins wanting again. What happiness happens is possibly happening on dust speckled earth-side through goals higher than justified. Please maintain happiness for dust speckled us. Is a dust-speckled ride a stand-alone stride a solitary goal without end and without beginning or without purpose, but-to-be-point free?
Together words of joyful life thru songs and sweet harmony and true balance, are melodies of love. Tales and lies and glories’ deceits and tall words, historic speak and heroic praise are not required when the fiddlers play. Then arises exact strings of liquid verse and those actions toward peace. Seek hopes’ beginning in fires of spirit strengths and life’s power.
Together, our story of magic life and world love just is…We venture into drying air and cross wet sands and blooms of desert flowers and fresh air. We rejoice with a firm knowledge of knowing thru almost certainty another night and an added brighter day. And! We appreciate the erudition of virtue and of wonderful desire and of noble love.
“A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of custom. But the tumult soon subsides. Time makes more converts than reason. “ by Thomas Paine
Gather now for rooms-to-find-to-fill have crowded again, and nourishment is consumed as others line sidewalks where grate-covered warmth wafts upward from Calimesa’s underground to ground and around those standing watch or asleep with one side-warm and one side cold or one side dead and one side gone. Again, the living and dying and the thinking of dying and praying of leaving or staying another moment or second or minute or hours of night-time’s twinkles or mornings’ wrinkles, remain. Once flesh was fresh and spirit smooth and times of ages changed as faded lights start and stop and start again.
“May you hear every song in the Forest…And if ever you lose your own way…Hear my voice like a breeze whisper soft through the trees… May you stay in the arms of the Angels.” From— ‘Lullaby for a Soldier’ by Dillon O’Brian
And! Beautiful you are…