A Passionless Sense of Destiny

In This Moment (2010)

2010-04-26T13:15:00.000-07:00

descend upwards
sky coming down
hairs upright
as stars turn
up and around
weight shifts
with city lights
floating
above ground

In this half-life
a half-light
falling within rain
a droplet hangs
on spiders web
branching out
into city's deep
chords of dawn
despair

become blinded
to everything
but this light
of hanging moon
suspended night
time silenced
space as stone
a stillness
and edge

to sail
to sky
to sink
to sea

in this moment
in this moment
a choice

in this moment
in this moment
a choice

within to without (2009)

2009-12-16T17:15:00.001-08:00

within this moment
a scent of stillness
a passing peace
within this moment
our souls greet

the space between
a pace of joining
a parting uncleared
the space between
our boundaries merge

the lightness distils
a flow of being
a feeling becomes
the lightness distils
our bodies given form

one creates both
a story is bound
a dependance wove
one creates both
our hearts twice full

and grace builds
a softness in sound
a subtle touch
and grace builds
our great blessing

within this virtue
a decent to without
a knowledge deep
within this virtue
our being rests

Words and Meanings (2009)

2009-05-06T11:15:00.000-07:00

In the bustle, the drifting sound of conversation augmenting with air hangs meters from the ground. I pass through speech, over language and under meaning, words fall into the abstract phonetic strings they sleep upon. Moving between the intonation, negotiating melody, I'm afloat. Neither here nor there, the bodily boundaries fall around me, sublimating as glacier ice under bright summer sun, I rise up gradually. Dense weight on clouds, heaviness suspends backwards, the sea and sky upside down. Over and over, under and through, as thread harnessed in needles eye, wheels turn at hammer's strike, pulled into stitch. A drifting consciousness, stone-like in texture, but with lightness of spiders spin.

Awkwardness rises inside, all words meaning resting on the nothingness within.

Bring substance to void, matter to weight, self and boundaries, divisions, war, love and hate. Fill up words as more than glasses twice full, believe in more meaning, forget the everything true.

Sadness in Face (2009)

2009-04-15T18:22:00.000-07:00

heavy sweetness
perfumed the air
aroma of life
and of despair

the sadness in face
quick paced voice
eyes fold inward
to drown out noise

of pain and suffering
terrible memories past
fist over flesh
repeating fast

hurt so deep
grounded like stone
hopes lost
dreams flown

gesture waits still
quite in defence
shoulder raised forward
a ghost of repents

fleeting existence
life's living curse
as container of darkness
and labelled worse

what man does another
those terrible deeds
a haunting of will
of fury and needs

justified in morals
outside right and wrong
manipulate to crush
a life so strong

Inertia (2007)

2009-03-25T12:11:00.000-07:00

light seems to breath,

dipping, diving, run to ground,

flickering shards catch surface,

brightness hanging on edge.

and with flicker of bulb,

moths to midnight moon,

deep autumn lightning,

rolling above our heads.

tracks rattle underfoot,

in motion forwards yet,

dew drops on spider webs,

like spring's morning still.

one station passes,

glimpse with window's speed,

we are not of that world,

a world we barely see.

caught glance across carriage,

intertwines the space,

solid connection through void,

then becomes our fate.

moments so short opened,

sliced with closing doors,

quiet but piercing ringing,

ghostly echo of passing before.

a thousand journeys fold,

endless commute in time,

as passengers or prisoners,

life to death, and back again.

Passing Through (2009)

2009-03-11T10:22:00.000-07:00

droplet hangs

birdsong counters

weight in frame

window's still

open eyes

new-day's sun

word off lips

chords to air

suspends

curtain moves

dancing with

wind and waves

the ocean's floor

hands touch

soft friction

through sound

ear from mouth

connection

arm moves

hand to heart

gently held

safety

eyes catch

gaze between two

unity

smoothness

empathy flows

from one

to another

rhythm

across waves

calm sea breeze

lake in forest

silence

sky blue

light as clouds

sunbeams fall

towards ground

stillness

in flames

quite storms

as one

we rest

past dawn

Until You Belong (2006)

2009-03-10T12:17:00.000-07:00

Bring on the night sky

and roll on the storm

Let the rain hammer down fast

and inspire the soul

Embrace the longing within

and burn your fears

Do not worry or hesitate

throughout all your years

Fight every dying cliché

and render yourself unconscious

Fall with every raindrop

until you belong

The Rain (2005)

2009-03-10T11:51:00.000-07:00

Is it who I am, as I fall from the sky?

Is it who I am, as the people stand and cry?

Why is it me, who is taunted to uphold.

To be the bringer of the rain, the wet and cold.

Down we pour, as if the heavens were one,

And down we fall, marking absence of the sun.

Away we go, falling downward so free.

Is this who I am, the rain that you see.

The rhythms crossing as we tumble to earth,

Wind howling in the spaces between us.

A slight uplifting draft passes beat to beat,

As we do all we know to be true.

Hear me, for I am the rain.

This bittersweet daydream coming through.

Hear my call for the forgiveness of pain,

And take back to deeper truths.

It is me who waits in every night.

And only me who knows the sight,

Of bringing car and city, all feet to halt.

Washing the dust of past of the asphalt.

In the Academy (2005)

2009-03-10T10:37:00.000-07:00

Sitting here, a stillness hangs on edge.

The rustle of paper,

the clearing of thoughts,

Cuts through the artificial screams of silence.

This is a place where communication frowns,

An occasional hard glance from across the room.

I'm a particle in this cold silence sea,

Colleagues and students afloat with me.

If all life departed from this large and open room,

Silence would remain,

It's walls those of small children's ears

Acute, sensitive to pain.

A meeting place between the living and the dead,

Shelves and isles pickle things already past.

This is a place of knowledge for sure,

But here wisdom does not come fast.

One Great Thing (2005)

2009-03-10T10:02:00.000-07:00

'Wake up, I tell you'

'Wake up', he said,

'Wake up now and get out of bed.'

The land of dreams encompasses all,

Open and free, all for you to control.

In its vast forests, mountains run free,

But it cannot exist without reality, or be.

So dreamers dream, for dreamers to write,

And dreamers see in the distant light.

Dreamers swim, and dreamers float,

Dreamers dream of travelling boats.

Dreamers come and dreamers go,

Dreamers hide from it all.

A dreamer forgets just one great thing,

That a dreamer wakes and has nothing.

Tension (2009)

2009-03-10T09:42:00.000-07:00

The tension stagnates, hangs like a demon in the air around me. Its long penetrating fingers pierce my body, cutting through flesh and then bone, all the way to my core. A dark sticky residue lingers in the open wounds of my throat and stomach, were the tension pierced so deep, moves towards my neck. Into my shoulder muscles, pulling them taught, then swelling in my ears and filling my forehead. It clogs my thoughts, like fatty arteries, the heaviness and pain. I feel sick. As I reside further into my body, I search in panic to find the some safety of a passing memory or pervious world, I fail and I shake. I shake deep and throughout, every cell in my body reacts, every one wants out, anywhere, anywhere but here.

I open the window, clear the air.

Waking Moments (2009)

2009-03-10T08:19:00.003-07:00

When your barriers came down that night, the light inside was free. As a spring morning sunrise after endless half-woken winter sleep. You swept away the pain and worry, all that binds and blinds you from who you could be, waking up parts deep within. A warm, soft, radiating light remained, a subtleness resting on the soul.

You close the curtains again, fight against the new rising day. To dwell again in the darkness, with whom you found mercy so long ago.

Dreams and Futures (2007)

2009-03-10T08:19:00.001-07:00

When we see our world, there are always signs that tell us things. Who we are and where we’ve been, what we want and sometimes, what we shall see. An deeply fundamental and inner sense of divination cast by the way everything is. It’s our nature to attempt to find answers from outside to within.

Some see it in the clouds, woven patterns looming high up in the sky, others in the wind and its companions that fly. Some in puddles, with stones skimming across the lake, and others in the hymns chosen before their wake.

We all seek an element, a superstitious past, and we all seek the future, to know the things that die and things that last. An adaptation of everything is the way we all see, and rearranging our worlds helps us find who we shall be.

Inherent in our nature is a desire to dream. I dream of different future, as strange as that may seem.

Fortification (2009)

2009-03-10T08:18:00.001-07:00

The puzzle of barriers, wall, fortifications. The deep foundations offering protection from the harsh winter weathering of fears, worries, guilt and deceit.

But as the walls protect the soft, helpless and beautiful creature within from darkness and fear, they obscure the light. Locked up for your own protection, caged by the fear of the very fears you protected yourself from.

Never to see the morning light, the storms of emotion flowing between everyone outside your solitude. Never to feel fresh cold rain on your face, washing and renewing lost and dormant feelings neglected in the corner of your prison. You are left with the rough stone walls as companions, cold, passive, dead.

You have body, but refuse to dwell, to be with it. Tucked into small pockets and corners, you find yourself peering over the fortifications erected so long ago. Your enemies have gone, long died out and dissipated in the restless passing of time, but you are frozen. The deep foundations and heavy stone walls are what you have left, the ghosts and echoes of your tormentors. They are your open wounds, never left to heal.

You have become the tortured and torturer, the prison and prisoner. You sit waiting for the end, your liberation to nothing, your return to dust, your death.

Waterfall and A Matchstick (2003)

2009-03-09T12:37:00.000-07:00

Thousands of particles in a constant state of rebirth and destruction, travelling from source to destination, the core to the outer reach, this constant brutal chemical oxidization ignites and illuminates the very air before us. The simple exchange symbolises so much, our lives are very much like the match stick, once lit, burn intensely for a few short seconds, and then burn and fade out. Thousands of excited sparks burn together in sequence and order, governed by the all powerful luminesing glow and energy, a raw and pure life force, the fundamental called existence, or belief of existence, that controls and judges the world. Always the same however altered by its own circumstances and surroundings, like the waterfall falling to earth – a self displacement, in a place where something can be broken down to a hundred thousand smaller and equal segments of the same – a fractional being. The waterfall follows the river channel, yet at the same time created it, in other words, destiny shapes itself – as cause has effect, and affect it cause continually – as the river flows.

A Note to Dreams (2003)

2009-03-09T10:20:00.000-07:00

Complete dillusion, to start, loose every inhibition, let go, every part, dissolve every fear, until you are one. One with the rain, and one with the snow, one with the sun, and one, complete and all. Hold on to happiness, and lost in the flow. Fall with the loneliness and lost with it all. Break through every compromisable thought, with a resolution to fall. And fight every memory, minute and minute from your soul.

The deep, mesmerizing, dull and continuous hum of the fan resonates overhead causing you to fall, fall deep, deep under its spell. You are captivated, your mind creates images, repeating, drifting, augmenting. A tree stands in a field, crossed with the memory of your childhood house. Blue, red, orange, green. Emotions no longer speak to you in a mundane sense of reality, in this world; you are their creation, compelled to their bedding. They need no contexts, or concept, as they rule the energies of your subconscious and therefore are true. Deep within the darkest torment of the soul, they sway and create image, thoughts, seemingly regurgitate and answer every word you ever said.

The distant passion reverberates through your soul, into the conscious unconscious, or the unconscious conscious. Your ship heads of at the horizon, into a new ocean, a new world, a new dream. Here the seeds of dreams are found among the waves of past, present, future – dreams whether from your distance reality or the empty void of the dillusion. Set sail, as this dream is your last, your last breath of real fresh air, your last breath of the nurturing life giving energy of the world, or at least the world as you know it.

You’re chasing down a dream that is ‘just over the horizon’ – rolling through your mind at the same pace as the painfully slow rhythm of the sway of the vessel of your transport. The planks you stand on ache with the sentiment of existence, decrepit and yet strangely familiar, every notch recreating the feeling of each tedious detail of your life, each warp and split, the people you have met, (or are about to meet?). You see faces of your past. Someone tells you that you’ve been here before. Commentary is commonplace in the land where, to chase one’s dreams is one’s existence.

You’re lost. The car feels cold. Where are you? Everyone has disappeared, the driver, the passengers, yet you still move within, the rhythm of your existence towards the horizon, remember your journey... Without the driver you have no sense of direction, no guide, no light, no dark – no variables – a sudden, sudden shock.

“As you fall, fear. As you fly, wonder. As you scream, silence. And as you drift, loneliness. As you search further, failure. You know this dream repeats, again, over and over, falling, flying, falling, finding, failing, flying, wondering, fearing, falling, helping, longing, hoping.”

Your lost, the sand burns your feet, but you are looking for someone, someone you have to meet, somewhere, sometime, somehow. You don’t care for direction any more, or details, as you are a dreamer, and all you truly care for is the dream – the loss of caring, the loss of control. So you look, after a brief walk, maybe a minute, maybe a week, the city scape encapsulates you unable to brush the sand from your shoes. You find comfort in the warm synthetic amber glow of the streetlight above you, as if it were your spiritual home. The flickering temperament of your new goal sets a new rhythm. The search intensifies; you seek the goal of your goal, the ideology of accomplishment, not the realization of. STOP.... EMBRACE THE WALLS OF YOUR MIND, THE DARK UNFIGURED SILHOUETTE, AND THE GENERIC STREET WALLS, ONLY IDENTIFIED BY THE SENTIMENT OF A PREVIOUS EXISTENCE. They seem familiar, yet only exist as the boundaries of your mind. YOU HAVE BEEN HERE A THOUSAND TIMES TONIGHT AS YOU DREAMT A THOUSAND NIGHTS.

Where does the dream end and the reality begin? How sure are you when you arrive back in the car that that was where it all started? Why is the desert, the storm, the ship, the alley way, your sanctuary from this chaotic journey through the inner depths of your mind? Maybe this is who you are looking for? An Assurance? A Guide? A Relative? A Contrast? A Context? Perhaps to wake and inspire true judgment.

You climb the staircase, feeing that comforting warm friction of the carpet on your feet. You refer to a childlike emotional state, contempt. Revisiting the house from your childhood, in which you were born, grew, and dreamt. For a moment, time collapses to a singular, within to without; your energy seems to double within itself, without time and within a new reality. Only in the world of the dreamer can such powers be manipulated so truly without question or hesitation of belief.

The Night (2005)

2009-03-08T10:25:00.000-07:00

And what of the night? What of the faceless sense which comes through the dark? Not veiled but free through is own disbelief...

And what of the night? What of place where dreams come and go? Where I see the space that sits behind my head... A world torn open, rearranged, a world of words that people have said.

I see moments, places that never have been.

And problems, people all impossibly seen.

We drift through this timeless conscious, floating within it. Falling beyond our logical refrain, and create something beyond it.

Lover's Dream | Dreamer's Lover (2003)

2009-03-07T12:40:00.000-08:00

We sat and talked about the past, lying on that star kissed night.

We closed our eyes and dreamt of the future, of a little place out of sight.

I lost my heart in the depth of your eyes, a cold breeze flows overhead.

Tears ran from your eyes as you said ‘I love you’.

The most amazing words anyone ever said...

Journey into Random Hearts (2002)

2009-03-07T12:39:00.000-08:00

Subtle, kind, almost verging on the surreal. It seems strange how such attitudes may change more than, let say feelings. Yet attitudes are based, or biased, upon emotion. The question is, it seems, would be to attempt a search through emotional baggage and find the purity and inner peace. Surprising how peace can make so much difference, like finding the bottom of an abyss. We must find places within ourselves, all the inner caverns and photographs of the soul and mind. Places to see past and future, reminiscent on now. Therefore, inner peace would seem our objective and relative goals, once we have obtained it, maybe then comes the ability to see and help others find themselves in the same sense. To find the beauty in creativity, the roses blooming on the boarder of an emotional landfill. You must treasure every last pure drop of life’s energy, before time is up. Then may we both have satisfied minds.

Warmth and Embrace (2003)

2009-03-06T13:04:00.000-08:00

How do I know that when I see you face, what I feel isn’t just the warmth of embrace? The way you smile, and the way you sit. The way it seems our lives could just fit. It seems strange sometimes how you can come across people in your life, who never seemed to exist before, but after a week, can seem more real, more predominant, more than anything ever before. Give in to the rain that falls. Come close and brave the storm. Because what ever means more, than when we fall together, right past dawn.

Destiny (2002)

2009-03-06T12:42:00.000-08:00

Now destiny, that’s a funny concept, but the people slaved night after night for its hard cut silhouette and firm authoritive mountain-scape. Destiny is the lands of the night, where ambitious young and haunted old minds search. Destiny is the land of dreams you personally see, dynamic and relative to the one who inquires into their own personal understandings of their being.

Destiny is neither month nor year, past, present or future, it is existent in the hearts of inquisitive young men. The ever evolving population cannot imagine past the point of death, so the creation of a greater meaning of life, suddenly becomes so believable. Even if the meaning and existence of ‘God’ maybe true, the fear of death and non-existent purpose create the sense and craving called belief.

A world between worlds, it is a dark place as such, and always willing to capture ambitious new evening travellers, trapped within themselves, forever day dreaming. Destiny – the first dillusion and the first addiction.

Without (2003)

2009-03-05T12:56:00.000-08:00

Every time I open my eyes to something new, they are burnt. How can I not be afraid to open my eyes again? I’m falling in love with you, yet from each amazing moment we spend together, there’s one where I’m longing to be in your arms. And with each graceful kiss comes the painful time without one. I’m missing you. Even though you’re only a little way away, it’s more than a lifetime to see. The sun has set now, and I wish I was in your arms, revisiting all the world’s beauty in your eyes, and that soft but embracing grip of your hands. The gentle sound of your voice still tremors through my heart, and can find no relief. Hold me tightly, hold me here now, tell me how you love me, and I’ll tell you how I miss you so.

Tension in Conversation (2004)

2009-03-05T12:47:00.000-08:00

A tension in conversation. Suited man argues with Spanish woman.

Difficulty in translation,

Anger fastens pace

Pace fastens speech

Speak becomes unintelligible

I question in my mind, what might the couple be fighting about, yet I still remain to drift back to earlier readings, an emotional and physical transit. Staggering reality, conversation continues,

“but it was a trick question... understand... you cannot say that...”

My mind focuses on the suited man, an aggressor, dictator of words.

He represses the lesser English speaking ability of the Spanish woman.

Single, dominant, negative words, cutting, slicing, penetrating the conversation.

Verbal battlefield turns metaphorical labyrinth.

The perpetual vocal rape becomes intolerable to me. I leave...

Autosense (2005)

2009-03-05T12:44:00.000-08:00

The systematic sequence that drives this fabric of our consciousness seems to be such an abstract matter, however at the same time the abstract is our total liberation. In order to find the true spiritual or spiritual truth, we must venture just a little deeper within ourselves, through both guided question and with an outward reflection. Our reality is completely conceived and therefore consciousness is only what we interpret (simultaneous as the means to), so to find our complete inner self, we must look completely outwards, attempting to understand our complete submergence, with the higher aim of discovering our actual total isolation. But what about the land of dreams, he asks? Well dreams are a different place, above this basic dillusion, dreams are amalgamations of things just out of reach, unachievable aims, situations, fascinations and realities, the ‘Utopia Syndrome’. If we dream of dreams and not of plausibility and mundanity, then in hindsight, we shall never be disappointed, as once we finally achieved a dream, all we can do is dream of something greater. Lineararity however makes dreaming finite, as in total isolation from consciousness (time and space), we can dream forever as we have never conceptualised or achieved a total achievement, as there is always dreams.

A Thousand Times (2003)

2009-03-04T12:53:00.000-08:00

That dark place, where I now stand

Is cold and lonely, erratic and unplanned

The memories of where we came from

Just sit stagnant tonight, in my room alone

Tomorrow morning the sun will shine

Tomorrow I’ll wake up and all will be fine

Tomorrow the warm grass will pass through my toes

But today, all I can feel is cold

I’ve walked these floors a thousand times

A thousand lost hopes, and a thousand rhymes

Of how it is, and where I could be

In the warm light, seeing things I never see

Standing here now, holding out for more

My passions and dreams make me sore

Each lasting moment, longing to look within

Some other place or time, just fade to nothing