Pic taken by Author at Griffith observatory in California
Bittersweet is the taste
set forth by the closing
of another chapter.
Each quarter, assignment,
year of healing
and giving thanks for
moments, friendships,
all the way through.
To the most recent
a group that I wish I could take with me.
Alas, I do, in memory, thought
and forever in my heart.
To the entirety of
Antelope Valley
I give thanks.
Returning home
soon embarking
on the closure of unfinished healing
of the past.
I give thanks.
~Ani Po
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.
Neither acrid nor redolent go the desert winds. Entering naked — scorched — with flames of past and cruel memories in hand — trickling into the dust as blistered skin-pops, soiling and feeding the desolation.
A stranger in his own life — no heading but universal guidance at the helm — pangs of surreal humor watching the Mrs hand out the remaining scrubs no longer needed. Bursts into flames of laughter — bellowing the canyon floor — spotting a stranger donning his favorite top. Then another. And another.
Letting go of his past — like the multitudes of colored scrub tops — pondering if burdens now walk with the strangers in his bloodstained smocks.
Deep breath.
Divine dichotomies and universal laws play out in his world. Like a butterfly here — crashing into the winds of dragon fire — toppled yet another continent.
Layer by layer — peeled like an orange waiting for mulling — offering the perfect blend of intensities and flavor. His identity — the very essence — stripped like the scrubs at his partner’s hand — merging with the ethos of the cosmos.
Fortnight, hence another seven, soon will end — Antelope Valley’s gift of introspective glance — immense gratitude for this closing chapter book of traveling amidst foreign land. Once filled with pronghorns and galloping impala — desolate as the baron thought — packed with empty houses and scars from the ancestral fold.
Reduced to ashes filled in laden song — white stage — charred to the fiery red and blackened to the soul’s edge of transformation. Stories end — a new book titled as he returns to where it all began.
Deep breath.
A new story was written. Smiles — ear-to-ear — sipping on future’s elixir.
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.
