I think everything is connected. And I believe when we die our energy leaves our body and is transferred to the larger connectivity of the entire process of being. In my opinion, we’re never truly gone. However, I’m not arrogant enough to preach this as fact. I only know my experiences and what I’m left with having had them.
simmering evening skies
with a slight breeze
awakening our sensations-
the smell of the woods,
moss, ferns, peeling bark,
pine needles, evergreens, birch,
lightning bugs asking to be chased,
the comfortable cloaking darkness
stars stretching our vision
helping to remind us
in time, possibly
we’ll truly know
I breathe in a chamber of self
and spit when done
My selves cannot be me
I rip thoughts from pitch black,
place them on white paper
and stare at them until they speak
Sometimes the Devil looks at you through the mirror.
His soul slept
His heart did not
And we watched
Sent from my iPhone
People are fucking weak. Yet they love telling anyone who’ll listen how to live.
Ask them what they wore two days ago and they’ll talk about how they
plan on painting their walls, because they know it’s time to paint, but don’t bother
asking why the mold grew without cancellation. Fuck their mold and their societal illness. At morning’s age I knew this wasn’t good, but had no claws. And now that later is, I’ll tell what needs to be told. Even if it takes tears and smashed bowls on walls with hatred in my eyes.
Should I switch my fire profile photo for this non-glamorous, unfiltered, photo? I’m sitting on our garage footing with the basement footings below me.
I’d enjoy your input!
It’s all misleading
What creation are you
I is the self that self creates
alone and along with the ride