Oceans

And at the end of the day
When the oceans kiss the sky
And the sky turning the deepest blue
Where the vast array of stars in the night sky
Give sight to the moon holding ancient secrets 
The meeting of an endless ocean to an endless horizon.
It is here that one can embrace the vastness of the universe. And it is here I shall stay... jc

Oh blue ocean seize the day
For the sea will survive when all else fades away
And with our courage, we’ll rise again
In the promise of a new day
For the sea is where we hail from
And where we long to be
And to henceforth, we shall return.

So blue ocean lead the way
And show us what mystery you hath today
For when the ocean swells with surface waves
I will see your name as the north wind lays claim
Tranquil in your deepest blues
Born from the sea.

And when the winds seek to divide
As Poseidon’s trident stirs his great oceans
The gust swells into walls of blue
But I ask, am I not the same as you,
For the sea flows through my veins too
So great ocean I swallow my pride
For we need each other to survive

I sit here in the middle of an ocean, Atlantic it is
You are in the very air that I breathe
Your winds purify the breath and energy I need

A blue ocean is in the mystics eye at ocean’s end
Lead me to a single breath of the wind on the water.

©jc2018-9 … for Little Bird

*Image courtesy of Pixabey

Natures Truth

It’s said that the Angels on high are joyously whenever someone turns their back on the everyday life. That‘s the journey, as Van Morrison sang, “From the dark end of the street to the bright side of the road”. The signs along this path are the inkling of a universe wanting to speak to us. Every turn is a lesson, the winking of an eye, which is contemplated only by those who stay young at heart.

Across the Mystic Sea

I awoke from an old dream last evening as the sun kissed the sky and rain came pouring in across the room. I am captured in time, of no major importance save that of time itself formed at the beginning of time save that of the mystic sea from whence we came.

Febuary

There are moments in time when we try to reassemble life’s rich pageant; assigning the pieces as neatly and securely as we can into a box of our own subjective thinking; a box that hasn’t any room for fresh interpretation. The analysis is so in sync with the cerebral brain that we fail to sit back and enjoy the epiphanies that are present especially when the pieces of this puzzle seem not to fit as we think they should…if our narrative comes together, we call it a miracle, if not we’re disgruntled. We tend not to appreciate that in the perforations of this chaos there are considerations waiting for our attention. It is only when we trip into overload from this temporal way of thinking, thus spilling forth into the mysteries, do we expand our thoughts into the universe of a higher understanding. It is then, I come to realize that what I don’t know is more than I thought I knew and I’ll never know it all. Thus, I stand blessed and open to all there is on the road of perception raining down in the pale moonlight. This is mindfulness at its best, waiting to hand you something you didn’t have an inkling you were in need of.

©jc2018-9

*Images by Pixabay

Tales of the Frozen Man… PD and Me

For some time now I’ve been employed in the process of writing a book on my life with Parkinson’s disease. In this process, my mind has discovered many forgotten incidences in this struggle, so much so that I felt my old blog post on the subject seem severely lacking. Also, I’m probably a better writer than I was back then. So I’ve decided to post excerpts from the book to bring my narrative up to date. These will appear once a week or so as my other writing also continue. Thank you- JC  

Home

In reality, the house was rather small. But it’s enormous in accordance with the memories of my youth as it was the first house I actually remember calling home. Things always seem bigger and grander when the past is taken in by reminiscence under the disguise of myth.

Echo’s In The Dark- Words

“I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all,” -Richard Wright

In an old damp cave or a treasure chest under the sea, scattered amongst pages, worn out pencils and to-do list, I’ve collected fragments of writing without a home, with no prospects in sight. These words are to the point and do not own any lavish pretenses of grandeur. They simply speak their truth as directly as possible, such as the truth a child will convey out of sheer innocence.

Song Of The North Woods

Just a short distance and I am amongst the trees,
I perceive the shadow of Thoreau and John Muir,
as I enter the realm of Gawain and the Green Man,
While the leaves from winters passed announce my arrival,
amidst the lower brush and decaying branches.

The Song of the Sirens

The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to salvation is hard.
-Katha Upanishad

Pilgrim

 To be wild is not to be crazy or psychotic. True wildness is a love of nature, a delight in silence, a voice free to say spontaneous things, and an exuberant curiosity in the face of the unknown.
-Robert Bly

It came to pass on this day, that the wild man who created such havoc casting out demon shadows he saw in others and himself; and the inquisitive boy yearning for knowledge at every waking moment, never getting enough, are one and the same for they are you and me, forced into enchantment and awareness, abiding in a lonely house off to the left-hand way of ‘being’ by the river of  contemplation.