The Bird

So Im sitting on the couch and there is this bird. Small little bird perched on a newly blossomed tree outside our door to the deck. Looking at the bird I realize that its the same one that came around last year. Curious little bird, I think its a finch, just sits there singing its song of Springs arrival. It sure seems to be looking at me, maybe its a lost soul, like me.

The thing though with this bird, I feel the need to name it making it more personal to me. But how do you name a bird without knowing its gender? So human of me. So Because of this little quirk, Im going to say she, and that is just the woman in me. This so elequently makes this bird a part of the family. Showing up about the same times everyday to sing a tune, gerting our attention, then moving on. My partner talks to her, that is a man thing, and opens the door as an invitation into our world. Would she come in, who knows. Curiousity is open to everything, is it not. The bird sings and we talk back. She looks with her sideways eyes and we look on with both eyes fixed in one direction. Curious.

What do birds think about? Do they believe in God? A creator that they worship, because they believe they were made by that one source? What is the message they bring when they speak in bird tongue, sweetly inviting us into their world of beauty. A world of no nonsense, because it is what it is. No common thought, nor perceptions, no mindless gossip between species just whoever is bigger is the boss. Birds get along, so why dont we? So smple, they just go about their business, for what I can see from the window, watching out for the bigger badder birds that may rob their nest or swoop down and have them for supper.

There she is again, it seems like she knows I am writing about her, and its nature. She is nurturing me with his bird wisdom. How nice of her, because it makes me feel simple too. I kind of want to be in her world, maybe she wants to be in mine? A gesture of kindness as she looks up at the brightness of a reflection and chirps away in delight of my typing. My partner openng the door again to invite this creature into our world of excessive noises and to many thoughts. To be so free, I would rather be a bird, I think. But thats it, isnt it, I think. To much knowledge, to many choices to gather into a brain that maybe justs want to be left alone. No Televison sounds, no advertising, no washer and dryers vibrating the soul to no end. Simplicity to just be and to know only what is needed to know and that is how do I survive in a world of too many choices, and many more thoughts. I think there was a time when we knew how to do but its now gone with the simplicity of life.. A time before time when we woke up and happiness came with out convention.

Well this little soul can enter my space anytime and invite me into his world of song and believing that simple is joyful and happy is just being in the moment singing my own song.





Breathe deeply, completely. Open up to the newness of your thoughts, letting go of the old stale air that you hold onto.

Breath that ligures, holds onto many things without reason.

Thinking, blinking, compression, expansion? Much to do, hold your breath.

Demands, desires, futuristic thoughts, breathe them into eternity never letting them return.

The universe expands within the breath of your lungs, twofold. Air, vaporizes.

The stars shine with each cell that expounds, energy evaporates into other known sources and moves uninhibited, cycling and recycling, returning to be expelled.

Decompress, meditate your emotions. Look at your nose, it remains the same as you inhale. Exhale through your mouth. Say no more.

Decode the images as you compress, decompress, integrate with no regrets.

Decompression, an impression no longer excepted. It wants to linger, there inside.

Its no longer able to sustain, maintaining room for something that could be represented better, physically, with cleaner airways.

Listen to the motion, of breathing. Close you eyes, let it seep quietly into the core eternally. Then once again through the mouth with out words breath out.





The Glory Of Falling Down.

Life is good, and then there are the days we fall down. Did our feet grow in the middle of the night? Sometimes I wonder if the shoe god takes our shoes and ties invisable knots in them, even if there are no shoe strings. It would be better to have us put our shirts on backwards or tie the sleeves instead, then at least we would have an excuse not to fall over. We would just have no arms for balance.

Falling down is sometimes useful. When we fall down the ground is not so far away and what we see is a different perspective. People are larger and our children can be looked up to. Falling down gives us grace. Grace to understand that we are not as perfect as we would like ourselves to be. When we fall we fall hard, even when we catch ourselves. No one likes to fall. No one wants to be clumbsy let alone look that way. Falling down makes us feel small, inferior to those that watched us go down. It doesnt matter how we did it, it always feels the same.

“Why did you do that, your so stupid, dumby” and the beat goes on. We wonder why we fell, what prompted us to put the wrong foot forward. “It felt awkward this morning, afternoon, evening, I should have known this would happen” Then life falls apart for the most part. You berate yourself, getting  mad for being so unaware of the circumstances.  “If I had only known” is the big one. Of course no one invisble is going to come up to you and tell you be careful today you will fall down. You may sub consciously, but who listens to those gut feelings that could be prophecy for the next twenty-four hours. Life is good until it brings you down hard.

Hitting the floor isnt easy. You cant put yourself in slow motion and then fix it after like a video. Edit it so no one can see you fall. Falling down makes us uneasy like we dont have a grip on life. We would rather be velcroed in place as we start our day, just in case we trip on something. Maybe its our lips, words coming out to fast to catch them. Maybe its our thoughts, they too can run wild and get in our way, bringing us down hard. How about maybe not thinking, being unaware of the fact we are driving a car, riding a bike or even walking. Those physical things that we should be paying attention to, most of the time. Out of the blue, we trip, we crunch, we tumble and we fall. “Be brave, get up, dust yourself off and life goes on and on and on…”. We all make mistakes, not paying attention when we should, we even try to be positive faking it when it happens.  You have and we will again and again.

Crying like a baby, moaning about whose fault it is, or maybe being in denial that you fell is not going to help you get up any faster. Ok it happened now whats next, and how can I fix it, is what we should be doing. Fall down ok, get up yes thats the answer.

Not everyone will have a helping hand, a kind word expressed in our direction or will we get  advice to help us for the next fall. Most of the time we are left behind in our own self creatred misery, with our wounds exposed. Who carries bandages on the road of daily living, not many. How often do you see a person fall then take out a book and read the chapter on falling down? None I think. When we fall, its unintentional. Its not predisposed. We dont have a guide book on falling down, or how to get up for that matter. We just have to keep falling and eventually we will figure it out.

Try falling on purpose, get it over with. The ridicule, the snickering from our peers, and the aches and pains. Everyone falls down, everyone. One day its your turn and other day its someone elses. We we need to do is just carry on. Life happens and somedays it happens to be ungrateful. If your shoes are tied together, laugh about it, untie them. If you have two left feet, apologize that you do and find laughter in it. Complaining will get  us no where. Try new ways of deflection, hit the bushes cycling, trip over a rock while running, move with the challenges of the day. Be grateful that we have the days we fall down because how would we know otherwise.


Falling down may hurt, it may be hurtful but life is good and in the end we are all better off for it. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and when its time to tell your story we will all be listening to learn how you did it.













Life At The Bottom Of The Ocean

Looking down is all I see. Looking up is impossible, unimaginable for me. Sand covered bottom, spacious in its capacity to sit motionless below. Do I sit calmly admist the sandy botom awaiting the next fish to come along to keep me


company. Drifting seaweeds accompanied by mouthfuls of squid and octopus holding me captive.

I cant imagine being anywhere else. Cold waters run deep they say, but cold water also holds the heart still. Blood turns to ice and I am motionless. Freedom is above me, places where the sun shines and the warm air allows swimming. Coral masks the faces of those trying to see below but with little luck can they see deep enough to make a difference. Shallow thinking.

Below the depths I am free to roam around in my thoughts, creating good will among fishes. Crabs and lobster alike hold councils by the grip of their claws only allowing certain individuals to be there. I can see forever but upside down. Which is above I cannot tell anymore. Do I dive down only to hit rock bottom since I am already there. Maybe I could use a rock to dive off of and bouce to the surface now and again. I would like to see what the beaches look like these days. Its been forever since I have heard the wind sweep the sand of particles and debris. Longer since the sun has tanned my skin now so white and wrinkled from the sea water below.

The salt permiates the senses bloating me so I can sometimes float for a distance just to be different, sane I guess. I can do as I please I keep thinking. Do as I want yet I stay here and wallow amongst the bottom feeders and the enlightened ones. There bodies are my flashlights, so I can see into the darksest parts of my soul. Who can save me? Will someone know I am here and throw me a net. I would climb in I think? Maybe I wouldnt.

I dont know if I can survive on the surface among all those who act alike. There is no difference among many. I think I would last only as long as I did. Do I care? Oh of course I do its just I have gotten used to looking upwards all the time. Seeing the visions of all that have gone before me and to seek those who too will make there way down here.

The sea surrounds by body, it feeds my soul, it has captured my being. I float, I can even breathe, just not like you.

I cross my legs and meditate in the solemn sand unaware of what does go on above me, it doesnt matter becasue I am free to choose where I want to be and right now I choose to be, here. Not at the bottom but at the top, for the universe is upside down and I am the one who it evolves around. I can see me and I can see you through this fish tank. There are plastic people, miniture caverns and  tiny fish its all here in my world made of glass.



Stuck between two without a middle, isnt polorized. It doesnt make sense either, but what does. One season enters and another exits, do we question when and how they do so? Being content with ones conditions doesnt mean we are unconditional, in fact we find too many things to condition, and control.

The earth moves to the echo of its own sound, the oceans tide when the moon turns its head, long ways into the sun. Weather patterns are content with each others opposition and we huddle in our homes unprepared to walk out our doors.

A baker bakes a loaf of bread, he watches it rise to the occasion, fired by heat. With pride he admires his creation, only to turn his head and begin again. He never questions the ones that he throws away, he just stars over. How many mistakes are made in a day. How many revelations are sought in conjunction with those mistakes? Do we care, or are we daft to what bird pearches on our shoulders. The whispers are clear and unburdened, but in truth we shrug our shouldlers and walk away from what could keep us safe.

Heaven can move mountains but the mountains heaven moves is invisable to many. Its energy like the wind that blows but we shut our windows in case the dust flies. Heaven is also a state of mind, in which the mind empties out and only refills when needed. Thoughts draw pictures, black and white. Thinking makes them colorful, but sometimes we cant find the crayons and withdraw the lines with an eraser. Lines are beautiful when drawn in random, making pictures can cause us to go blind.

Belief is undetermined, bliss is unconventional. Words are nonsense unless we find value in the letters we have put down on paper. I am an ending to a story only half told, but will continue if their are listeners tomorrow.

Do we really understand or are we deaf to the knowledge we are born with but leave unteathered to discover later in life. Perfect and whole our view is smugged until we remember to get the windex and the cloth and wipe the window and we see the clarity that is right in forn tof us. Let the sun shine down, let it warm your bones, turn to see that you are not the reality but the realism of your hearts desire.