If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, Infinite.” -William Blake
Impossible dreams that eat at the moments, one by one. Throw these away into the dustbin of lost days. Too much sleep wrapped in a cold blanket of fear and doubt… false initiatives that fade like the setting sun. I could be somebody if I could only wake up.
But the Phonix must rise again for another round! And now, the time has come; realization has its moment. For you discover that the key to your prison door was with you all along… now live, breathe and be in each moment no matter where they happen to fall. Shout yes in your silence with a steady desire to constantly believe in the better nature of all sentient beings.
We are infinity and we chose not the wrong path, just one that’s meant to give direction. Like pieces to a puzzle on a dining room table… you can’t resist, pick up a piece and place it as we follow the moon to get to the sun.
*copyright 2020 jc *photo by pixapen*founded by jc 2014
What should one do… stand-still in the rain, umbrella open, covering every inch of your body from the raindrops falling asunder like water in a perpetual storm, never-ending, no never-ending. Or maybe one should throw the umbrella aside and splash head-on into the blissful waters shouting hallelujah, ” I told you so, I can defeat the rain”.
We find ourselves wanting to be braver than Helios and defiantly trying to drive our trusted steeds into the darkest of night defying the sun god his nightly victory over space and time. What one must do and hasn’t much choice is to defeat the dragons nine. I have Parkinson’s disease and on any given day I can either walk under the safety of an umbrella or splash my way thru the rain, mud flying all over me.
Almost out of a dream I witnessed some time ago that if one goes steadfast into the direction of there dreams things happen as if out of a magic hat, the universe overrides the objects that are not needed and in other ways summons forth objects that are necessary. Everything we thought was so obvious for so long is finally so obvious.
Heading downriver toward New Orleans on Christmas eve you can hear the bells from St.Louis Cathedral and the angelic voices of the choir singing traditional Christmas hymns. If you listen even closer, the sounds of horns playing out from Bourbon St… traditional jazz from Preservation Hall. These different sounds of syncopation… horns, bells, and singing in a blended rhythmic exchange of musical styles can only make the heart overflow with love on this magical night. But a peculiar thing happens on this night according to the National Weather Service that calls out for our attention. Every Christmas Eve winds out of the east rush from the Pontchartrain headed west toward a crescent in the river at the French Quarters… downtown New Orleans. All of this energy is pushing onward to the mouth of the river. Witnesses say you can feel the winds lift you up as though they were coming to take you away. Legend has it that Papa Noel, after his visit to the bonfires of the river parishes, leaves New Orleans from this very crescent in the river with these prevailing winds surrounding his sleigh guiding it downriver to the Gulf of Mexico and all points south. And yes the sound of someone in a loud voice or is it the wind against the currents, either way, ” Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.”
Oh bright star in a northern sea
As I wipe away the tears that once held me
I think that maybe what I see
From that bright star in front of me
In that land by a northern sea
Was never intended to be a star at all
Oh what could it be
In that land by a northern sea
Is it the twin star Sirius trying to fool me
For the brightest star, I’ve ever seen in a northern sea is Polaris
For if not what could it be
In that land by a northern sea.
*copyright-jc-image by pixabay-2019-9
“When the dream came I held my breath with my eyes closed. I went insane like a smoke ring day when the winds blow.” -Buffalo Springfield
Take me away to the Black Hills, to a single mountain in the Dakotas where Crazy Horse is imprisoned in the rock. Let me gaze at his unbroken spirit on high… captured in granite only so the multitudes can see and understand his madness. Or is it our madness we must come to terms with?
Take me to the innocence of my youth, through endless days of summer as though I were disappearing in the deserted streets, through sugar cane fields and pastures beyond the old churchyard as we rode each night at the witching hour thru houses for the holy deserted by time and sorrow. We walked for miles upon miles through these hallowed grounds and never grew tired. We will lease forget these days of youth, joy, and laughter.
Keep a piece of my heart and save the rest for the crows as they will remember me long after these days of innocence have run out and are gone.
Image by Pixabay…Copyright 2019-09
Many take shelter from feeling too much within
Some will tell you it’s a mortal sin
To fly so high and steep so low
Just as Perceval in tales of old
But to know when all else fails
When all is lost down the streets of desire
And the blind eye of regret is all that one feels
You will soon come to a realization that the truest feeling is within the heart
That light and love are born of a sacred vow
And the only real freedom there is, inhabits this very moment
The only thing they can take away from you is the gift of solitude, to fear it, to be deprived of the comfort of one’s own company
And to subsequently demolish the natural bridge to the universe…
Science looks to find the connection between Parkinson’s and Creativity
If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,’ then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced. -Vincent Van Gogh Continue reading The Starry, Starry Night, Van Gogh & Parkinsons.
Every experience, no matter how bad it seems, holds within it a blessing of some kind.
The goal is to find it. -Buddha
It’s been awhile since I’ve updated this blog as to my conflict with Parkinson’s disease. I say ‘conflict’ for every day is like fighting the dragon; win, lose or draw. Since I last wrote about PD, I’ve attended a 28-day clinical trial and moved to St.Augustine, Fl. which required me to find another neurologist. And since April is Parkinson’s Awareness Month, this seems like a good precursor to next month’s activities. Continue reading Mr. Parkinson Rides Again
“Change your vibration, change your life.” -The Buddha
After much thought, I have decided to change the name of my blog. Most of you know that I have Parkinson’s Disease and I’ve written numerous post of my experience and will continue to do so from time to time. However, the bulk of what I write is about other subjects that are of equal interest to me. Consequently, I feel a name change is in order so as to reflect the true nature of my site.
The new name will be, An Unexpected Muse with a subtitle of Writing… After Parkinson’s. My web address will remain the same; https://nimbus432.wordpress.com
Thank you for your friendship and support. Best Regards, JC
*Please see my page Parkinson’s Disease for my writings on Parkinson’s.
Whenever I find myself in the environs of Baton Rouge on Christmas Eve, I head south on a little excursion on River Road following the levee on the east bank of the Mississippi River towards New Orleans. My destination is St.James Parish, some 20 to 30 miles upriver from New Orleans. St.James Parish is home to the communities of Lutcher, Gramercy, and Paulina. I’ve spent a lot of time in this area during my college years, so this is a special place for me.
Even before I get to my final stop I look up toward the top of the levee and see wooden structures shaped like a pyramid, some 20 to 30 feet in height. The cross beams in the structure giving it the appearance of a ladder. Other neighboring parishes, Ascension and St.John the Baptist also have these wooden edifices, but none hold to this tradition as passionate as St.James Parish, counting at least 100 such structures built and all will soon be set ablaze to guide Papa Noel, on his annual Christmas Eve run to deliver presents to all who are children at heart. Continue reading Fire of Joy, ‘feu de joie’