Spirits-Song Dancing…

Albert Einstein developed a Novel dance. It was called the ‘Theory of Relativity.’ This new dance—stated that ’matter is the same as energy…’ So! If a person consciously departs their body and enters a non-physical world or place would this spirit be neither matter nor energy?

Is there a formula or a discussion in the Scientific World for the existence of ‘conscious’ or ‘spirit’? No! Why? Are there only three dimensions? Is ‘time’ added to those dimensions? We as physical beings—also have five senses. So! Why is everything beyond normal—considered or called: nonsense, hallucination, superstition or religious? Our world is a magnificent construction of religious constructions. We believe or do not believe in derivations of inclined-living or higher-self or soul or spirit or great beyond-the-mean- averages of life or death.

Or! Do we simply wish better—God Self or Angel beyond the physical? Do we remember other self before birth and after death? If we do—then we are Universal Spirit?

Do we see outside our rejections and failures—as learning to be better or do we forget what we are? Remember when warmth was without fire? Remember when our mother’s blood fed us and whispered love into our blood-hungry souls before we became Scientific?

But! What of spark that travels into the light of joining life inside and outside the days of pasts-present’s-future.

Behold Spirit Dancer! Do remember when warmth was without fire and strength absolute without the Science of dimensions and senses and all was: nonsense-hallucination-superstitious-religious and without name. Before time wig-waggled across the universe spirits began.

Witches are the power of lives and life and choices and dictates and control. They are the fire builders and the rain of oils that fall from somewhere-to-there without distraction…The Coven hurls great sounds and flashes across sky and through the clouds.

In a world, the Cosmic Traveler visited and saw deserts and fertile valleys and green and salt and clear pools and the warmth of Blood-taste.

And! Beautiful you are…

Hearing Mozart Play…

What if we heard Mozart play? A phantom whistles and we know the sound and the song just before the melody begins and long after it ends. A piano strikes cord and rhythm flows from twin-brain to hands to fingers both grand and awkward. Remember practice. Recall recital. Remember applause. Recall joy as the music stops instantly after fingers rest. We are the classical singers of a distant voice, his melodies yesterday and today and tomorrow. Mozart still plays beside us well into the days of past’s future.

Pussy Riot and Putin’s Folly: Only power remains if all else fails either—through revolution or by insolvency. Power is government complete with economic and social inequality, corruption-malfeasance and the restrictions-destruction of the rights of the people. Three girls/women; freedom’s singers, creators of noise and bangs and chants and songs—silenced now by Putin’s Folly. Twin years of prison for ‘singing songs and carrying signs.’

The world of free people: We will spit on Putin’s Folly and the Liars of America’s failing government. It must be the days of ‘Gag and Puke.’ We’ve already heard that the Tea Party equals America’s Taliban. Tomorrow must wonder about today and shrug away yesterday…

‘Tell me – Tell me True…
Baby – Baby
Night child of blue.
But I do long to see
You, in sunshine and lollipops
And those rainbow colors
Not by my eyes.
And never teary unless
Streaked – smiley streaked and
Song-whispered in the night.
Baby – Baby
Night child of blue.’…from ‘New York Diamonds Ride’

By Philip M. Edwards

And! Beautiful you are…

Tears to Cry…

1…We find clouds within the river of souls. Rivers of the sea. These rivers born become sky. When the rivers become too heavy they fall back into the sea. Rivers-to-rain-to-earth-to-mountains-and-reason flows into sea…

We are born with all knowledge and wisdom and reason…We pass this way or that-many times born and many times moved. Born knowing all yet remembering in the physical is the challenge.

Is mind trick a past living and not in present mind-side?  Is this a cursed perception of no-know and bliss. Today! The feline lives and reacts and lives and we die every day as present gives way to knowing of days future’s past.

We constant filter and with the filtering come the rise of inability to learn the newest faction of the newest day…Why? Survival required or as young we faithfully believe that we are the protected ones…So! Does the manufacturing of physical pursuit and the push to procreate change us into constant filter and learning’s inability to survive in its most improved state of origin? Is development the cessation of originality? Can-can’t-won’t-don’t-will-will not, ad infinitum…We are a stop-start filtering failure-one splash at a time? We are the social creation, born individuals and seeking ways to listen yet forgetting to hear the use of universal song and the rhythm of planet twirl and the wig-waggle space of home.

2…George Orwell wrote of the difference between the proles and the folks in Winston Smith’s realm…Proles were nasty folk…however, these loved—joyous sex, raised children as parents, thought the way people usually think and were touched/untouched by government (controls)…in the name of being proper…Today, I fear that we are deeply involved with gov-speak, thought control and the manipulation of the few over the mass…I am non-prole wishing to be free.

Is faith nothing more than another word for instinct? And what is the actual difference between evolution and creation…We can still be the product of a creator(s) and continue to change (evolve) ad infinitum! Do we need a religion or a religious bent-curse-construction to be good people? What is a ‘good’ person? If creature—creators returned, if they are able to return, would these creators be so dense that they would not understand the physical nature of us grabbing an edge and hanging on to survive? Be fruitful and multiply–why not?  We are designed to procreate. Faith or instinct or just another word for one robot’s run with another robot…So! I prefer to dance along the lunatic ridge and robot-run out-of-the-way of necessity. The only difference I have discovered between us Robots is inside/outside! We share time-we are family we are unplugged–damn! Hoping that Me (Robot) unplug before you (Robot)! Survival dictates this hope. Instinct? The edge-framed in faith? I created to protect your sweet machinery…would not have it any other way…Programmed—oh-hell yeah!

We would happily check the past and the future to better understand today…understanding is another survival dance in three-time tracks?

3…She and her child almost became warriors turned inside-out and the enemy of each thought and word and movement in a dark lot after sundown inside or outside the vehicle of hope’s loss and under the street lamps. Raging usually saved for woman against woman’s territory and boundaries and love lost somewhere between proper and violence…Lost mother and lost daughter and feud-fire for every reason and no reason to lose or love one another except through blood-bond and reason-love. Drink my tears… I cry.

And! Beautiful you are…

Children of Summer…

These are summer’s small ones. Little boys, a lake, a sun, a length of blond hair, red hair, freckles and frogs. Brothers, little and younger, play in tiny waves too small to thunder toward the sandy shore.

And wind wandering through the pines that grow in rows along those rocky places where shadow, fern and grasses cling and mingle with swimming life, aquatic things, rainbow-colored trout and fish brothers  hoping to catch…

These are rafting days, orange and yellow circles filled with air and ridden noisily across a quiet bay.

These are singing days when shouts and shrieks and whistles call across the harbor where wood-hulled ships rest, as their bell claps set to sound by the rocking of a wave and the setting of their sails. Snake twins, those boys, those brothers made of blood and the eternal bonds of water and of blood.

Water children held above the line by the knowledge buoyant unafraid and free, defeating for the playtime, gravity and restrictions of a drier Earth.

Then sunshine turns westward and slips beneath the sky. Nymphs forgotten, paradise found and summer’s little ones.

Little beneath the scheme of earth and large beneath the stars. So bright! Those stars, filling the lake with silent sparkles, dancing gems and laughing diamonds… Tiny brothers sleep fast and safe within their dreams. Father listens to their brief and passing sounds of laughter.

And! Beautiful you are…

Witch Sparkle and Light…

TP_319874_WALL_cavalia_1We are the lathe of civilization’s mischief and magic and misery. Let it be known, to those spirits in the wind and in the dust, that we are the children of a meek disaster. Give us voice to tell our stories and with those spirits in the wind and in the dust, that we are accidents of this disaster. Give us a voice to tell our story. And! Forgive us if the stage we build and our actions are both frail and strong and our harmony scattered and our thoughts poorly articulated.

We cannot speak those perfect words. We cannot commit to ledger those wondrous numbers. Sometimes we do not understand how we feel. But everything has a name: every verse, every chapter, every song, and every reason, pain, notion, activity and hope. Hope! We create words when required and our lists of names are long. We match object to word and definition expands as does our understanding of that object. We speak, we understand and we communicate our stories to the wind and to all those equipped with ears and hearts and inclined to listen.

It is night and with the night, we touch the light of the moon. It is bright. It is the brightest sign that we are not alone. From high above parted clouds, drawn back by the magic wind, we see it both clearly and completely, for it is the rejoicing moon. We sing, we laugh and we dine from the harvest feasts. We bathe in silver dust and clean ourselves with new rain as it falls from a star-filled sky. We sing and we know these songs.

We understand the prose and we hum the verses with our hearts. Once again, we are children of summer and parents of another day.

And! Beautiful you are…

Kiss of the Sky

Sunshine and morning kisses. A slow day and thoughts and quiet conversation and never saying anything of importance and sunsets over the sea and sand and blankets and a glass of wine and love and darkness and butterfly kisses and touch and…

 

And! Beautiful you are…

Coming Soon: PME Radio Network (pmeradionetwork.com)