Time Traveler

Photo by Rhand McCoy on Unsplash

Time Traveler


recapping travels, prompts, energetic flow

Little Joey, from tree-trunk to tree-trunk pulling on khakis, jeans, or whoever listens, seeking poppa, adult presence being near, the search continues. Always accounted for most profound memories dancing with inspirational, shadow-marked calling brightest of days, inserting dialogue with self, mydriasis’ full spectrum.

Joey is becoming ‘We,’ no longer I, self-fading blackened past looking up to the one to be, higher self, and adulthood of nth degree. More truth serum needed, not necessarily, a child as mentioned earlier to adult, we are becoming, and we ‘just are’ belonging.

Aged and worn redwood, sequoia dreaming of once planted seed, recalling the troubling springs with wildfires ablaze, would the little survive, yet here she is fully grown to the heavens and skies painted tapestry.

Nightmarish sweetest of dreams, wishing once to return whence she came, homesick yet recalling a time before time itself, before seedlings earthly kiss, aforetime floating bubble imagined already before.

This childlike dialogue, innermost conversation, Two Owls given-sight as this or that, black and white, not just that easy, varying shades in between — situational piece, white like ivory keys, flat black and sharpened means.

While two sides to every coin, positive and negative polarizing thoughts, calling for attention, dividing sorts, yet more dichotomies dualistic in nature. Split entirely, again and again, yet subconscious doubleheader pulling an all-nighter. I see what I see; We are what We are.

Then sings my soul breaking into chorus, childlike, vibrational enveloping song, deliver me Oh Lord, once fiery ash-laden self-being, transmuted thought, transforming phoenix presence born. Dragon tamed or embracing, embodying ‘All There Is,’ traveling through time, forward and back, retracing and recreating, time standing still-Heart painting world on fire!

Canvas is born stepping whole-heartedly, self-realization coming of age, heart-strings tug self ought not to puppeteer cutting strings. Free to be, thoughts limiting mind-blocking to me, no longer, entering heart-space from me to We-We are Free. Here in this space, a tonic of the wildness flowing, drunkard souls, life’s eternal elixir coursing through our veins.

All this, Friday after all, clinging to stories of old beliefs anew, letting go everything, surrendering to ‘All There Is.’ Boundaries and attachments, no longer common in this space, foreign lands, thoughts unspoken by tongue, felt, transmitting frequency, non-attachment to even the ‘All There Is.’

So ‘We’ bid you good day, goodnight, Good Life, blessed be. Smokey Joe returns accompanied by Little Joey; we the pondering, observing the observer, silently ‘We’ watch from afar. Atop the mountain ways, rolled mapacho or piped inner-knowing, releasing a thousand lifetimes, puff, puff, breathing out ‘All There Is.’

~ Ani Po

_ _ _

This past week was not as planned, deflated is an understatement, as my world around me pulled from every-which way. In service, tugging at heart-strings, returning to that healing space of self, to which I have come to know and love oh so well.

The inner voices, battling to be heard, “we need to write! No we do not,” dialogue of self and higher, child and adult, daily occurrence. In attempts to recap the weekly prompt, throwing the puzzle pieces across the floor. Regrouping life’s Great Mysteries, Tuesdays and Thursdays edition, wanting to paint varying colors in between.

At the close, weekend’s fold, we observe in silence, called forth observing the observer we are.

While I could interpret this piece, I will leave for the readers to do as such. My experience, while may aide another, free flowing are we. Free to interpret, get lost in interpretation or miss the mark with lost in interpretation itself. I gift you these words to ponder, observe or throw out because I am Bat-shit crazy.

_ _ _

Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and more importantly the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

Eudaimonia

Photo Credit Linda Schoenthal

Eudaimonia
in stillness I am fulfilled

It is not without saying, pain and suffering existential hold of human psychotic continuation, intercalating the daily grind, introducing new possibilities, transcending constructs of being. Within our own chasten beliefs, like a distant galaxy waiting to be discovered, we need only fuel transportation, completing life’s journey.

Seeking out this pursuit of happiness, unbeknownst absolute meaning of what may be, nevertheless, forward appetence, fiercest of intensities, eyes burning hot with a laser-like vision for what’s to come. In a glimpse, given unto me, purest of joy, peaceful tranquility-I did it, it found me-this is Eudaimonia! And just like that, it is taken.

For a moment in time, sharing space with ‘All There Is,’ ecstatic bliss within and out of the field of possibilities, we’ve become what we sought for so long. Snatched instantaneously, with thoughts of finding such joy, infusing pain and suffering, returning as quickly as thoughts might permeate, what just happened?

Cogito, ergo sum, Descartes declaring truth in plain sight. Born into reality, single breath kissing the ether; intertwining, co-mingling dance with inspiration, born into life, from unseen to known physicality. We think therefore we are.

We are happy paralleled thoughts say it is so, contrasting misery, for we are that too. We are what we see, feel, think, and believe to be true. Intermediary source translating thought as to generational, collective ideologies, whichever wolf we feed leading the way.

This fundamental concept of pure happiness, escaping thought transcending mindful understanding, remains in silence or absence of mind in all its misery. Sitting with our drunkard selves, tears flooding life’s meadow, washing away distaste, formalities of being present, Eureka’s moment returns.

Cut off the head, clouded mind tainting our wine. Rose-colored glasses, beer goggles coming into focus, what was-is no longer, what was a fantasy-becoming living word, throwing out the playbook from second-century dogmatic ways, we are becoming.

~ Ani Po

Photo Credit Linda Schoenthal

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash