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. Continue reading Natures Truth
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. Continue reading Across the Mystic Sea
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.
*Images by Pixabay
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 Continue reading Tales of the Frozen Man… PD and Me
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. Continue reading Home
“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. Continue reading Echo’s In The Dark- Words
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 sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to salvation is hard.
-Katha Upanishad Continue reading The Song of the Sirens
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.
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. Continue reading Pilgrim
We can’t embrace the warmth of the Sacred Father, the sun, locked in our comfort zone, nor without first venturing through the shadow land of the night, the storm… the abyss, the way of the left, the Nederland Path, which can never be duplicated.
-Heinrich Zimmer, The Art of Indian Asia
The Call is like the neon streets of the night and you’re pulled by faith into an immersed tunnel. And what causes you to follow this ever so faint voice in the wind, but convictions of the heart. And it’s telling you to stop being fooled by the imperious ego, who designated itself king of your life. Now it’s time to step outside your small world as in a leap of faith over a chasm or in setting sail to an unknown shore. Continue reading The Call