Riding the Light

The Journey of No Arrival

SLEEPING INTO AWAKENING

I was far away this morning

Understanding inevitability.

In the dream, two men were each my beloved

Of intellect & individuated thought

Each held mighty concepts easily

In both mind & sinew.

They welcomed me upon my approach

I traveled with them, offering

My sable-brushed ideas,

Fearful of being trite

Yet moved by the power to put together

Theirs & mine

For the wholeness this offered.

We came upon my car, trunk open, battery exposed

I knew this necessary. I knew if I left it, it would not stay.

I even recognized where I was

My dwelling behind a building

Where the vista opened

To reflective rivers, unhesitating

From which I’d learned the same.

I returned to my sleeping body

Puzzling to awaken in it

Felt the net of Ordinary descend.

I opened the door & stepped into darkness,

Where all the streetlamps were haloed

Soft, somnolent, unawake.

Even drinking my coffee

I could not tell which reality was mine.

NEXT

We are seldom ready for the unmaking of our worlds

Imagine the shout of surprise to find earth flat

As an underlying conspiracy!

But wake, we must, indubitably

If the future is dystopian, we will accustom to canned foods.

If we create our new reality,

Let’s opt for fields & fruit trees, for fertile grain

Let us see the clean bright shining

Even in the bowels of carven buildings

There’s no time for moving rearward

We all stare into this brave new world

When only by moving forward we bring it.

THE SITTING MUSE

I wake with poetry before commonsense

I seem to have fallen asleep on her shoulder

Listening to nursery rhymes spun of philosophy

Turning routine to raw talent

We share her vistas

Our inside eyes are staring

Even as my baby browns are fogged.

Coffee is not the usual scalpel of habit

Cleaving the mysteries of dreams.

I settle against her once more

She replaces her arms about me

She sings.

NO GUARDRAILS

Why are edges so seductive?

These places where worlds end & air begins

Where elements switch up reality & realty

The sky pushes against the land

Pressing down upon the water below.

My mind has become a wildlife sanctuary

Flashing brilliant feathers among branches

Lifted & lowered in a dance

Blow-through winds are dusted with dreams,

I breathe your breath, World,

I take part as I partake.

THE JOURNEY OF NO ARRIVAL

(a/k/a The Flow)

If I were done, I’d be there,

If I declare “mission accomplished”

Before I arrive

I reveal my ignorance

Of impending law.

I didn’t make a vow to bring closure

Only to carry it forward awhile.

I do, at times, believe in the world

Carried forward on the back of a turtle

Ponderous, amphibian, patterned in an eternal mandala

The land seems such slow going

Then we enter the water –

All grace & blessing

All ease with little effort

Until Eternity grows more shallow

Joining carefully with the land.

NEVERBEEN & NEVERWAS

I could use some new rituals

To replace these old habits

Help me peel away this tough exterior

To the tenderness within

To the succulence of loving all I see

Married to all I am

Seamlessly enjoining all I do.

Let the world, as such, infect me

Believe in me as I do her

Take provenance in my revelation:

The heart unveils the center

Expansion nourishes.

And if this is different, O Knowing Ones,

Let me silently decompose

One more absorption.

I dream of ascension

When the truth is I can hardly jump for joy

One step forward at a time…

I prefer to run down mountains

When success is achieved climbing them

Ah, human’s nature is a beloved backwoods

Overgrown & overblown with “what’s worst will happen”

Let’s turn this thing around!

Retrace our path as we re-turn to Love.

Labels

I derive from a generation which kept its labels tucked away from sight.

Not so today. Levis puts their labels along the seams, so they protrude like the tabs on pinafores for those old stick-the-clothes-on cardboard dress-up dolls. Reebok simply prints them over your left breast. Nike swooshes everything, from farmlands to billboards. As though they didn’t make enough after sweatshop profits! These manufacturers are what the nuns used to sneeringly call “brazen articles.”

What if people wore labels? “Wash in warm water only.” “Dry clean, do not iron,” And the worst would be the size tag jutting out from your neck, like a shark fin: “Size 16!” Mine would prob’ly just say “fatty, fatty, boombalatty” in the interests of exactitude & accuracy.

Thinker?
OMG!
Leave Me Out Of It
Needy
Coffee Now Or Else
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When we speak of transparency, I’ll lead the line on many topics. Actually, my face is of itself an LED display; everything I think flits across it. This can be dangerous in mixed company – I stay home a lot. If I flew a personal flag, it’d likely be the Andy Warhol soup can for “over-salted.” Still, I’m not attempting any Human Barbie look. Too many old dolls wind up headless / armless / legless, riding dust bunnies in odd corners. Oh, yeah, & naked.

My other labels, I hope, would read “funny,” “bright,” “sensitive.” Although I have the feeling they would read “sarcastic,” “smart-mouthed,” “ticklish feet.” The one on the back of my head would read “Does she really mean that?” And, um, yeah, I really do.

This is an age when secrets keep like milk left out in July sun. Of course, there’s a valid argument to be had that they never really did. Remember that old saw about a secret being kept only if one of the holders is dead? But it is different now. Egregiously so. Our vitals are sold off without even being bid upon. I recently read Google makes $12 for just having my stats. Do the math, everyone.

Does it ever run a chilly frisson of up your spine when the form you’ve just called up on the screen self-populates with your address, age, car make & favorite dinner? Mine even note I wear sweatbands doing massage, with the notes:

Wannabe human
May not have another book in her
Would rather be a cat smirking atop the bookcase

It can be handy when the speller suggests how to spell vinaigrette correctly. But other than that, I’m not as much into “arty-ficial” intelligence algorithms for the price of a vowel.

I want you to take a minute to think over your labels – your body language, your obvious attitudes, your words, all the niches you fit into by appearances, ideals & lifestyles.

Above all, don’t worry about any of ‘em. They’re self-populating, comprised of artificial stupidity & usually not at all what you see in your mirrors.

We are far too complex to be trivialized. It’s comfortable for everyone else to label us. Just like it is for us to label them.

Murder Disincorporates

Something interesting happened yesterday as I observed. My friend giggled about a story her husband had “made her listen to” of a woman witnessing a blood sacrifice in the basement of the Vatican. The gang laughed it off with head shakes & grimaces. Everyone “knew” her husband well: he’s a town character. I opened my mouth to begin the long tale of Reptilians, Annunaki in mitre hats, Vatican alliances with evil, ritual sacrifice…& slowly closed it again. Across town, there’s a discussion group where this topic would’ve engaged animated, interested debate. But I was at this coffee, not that one.

I continued sipping my smoothie silently, nursing my own thoughts. I know what I believe. I am interested in hearing their beliefs. What’s the level of disclosure to be reached here? Can conspiracy flourish in a group of upstanding “Christian” believers who entertain discussion with Jehovah Witnesses at the front door while pressing their literature into the trash as they close it?

I’ve learned to choose my battles. I want to see where the line of “getting along” divides & where I might tiptoe over. I’ve defended ideas in this group before. It can take lots of energy to get past the double-sprinkle donuts & open, yet strangely exclusive mindsets. Global nightmare is possibly not to be addressed in a friend’s living room at 8 a.m. over banana bread. But the converse continued on to gun control & how, since we knew no one personally & tragedy has not happened intimately, might be a topic dismissed with a trite, “what’s this world coming to?” platitude.

But really, I see both sides as being of paramount conversational importance…we are not a diverse group, but we are all seniors who have seen war, peace, history & we follow the current news, though not avidly.

We all know on some level that situations mirror each other. I look for “teachable” moments where I can cross over the acceptable lines to engage in fencing ideas with others. We did get to talking about how society seems to be going “kablooey” with opiods (causing mental illness), lousy nutrition (causing physical problems resulting in the “need” for opoids), consuming adrenalized beef products (causing increased aggression), demonic influences (causing claims “the devil made me do it!”), Mercury Retrograde & more.

The only real item of note; however, is how the story ends. Death is a disincorporation – a removal of the physical as the energetic lives on, Too many claim the power of death over life because they own a gun with which they only plan to defend themselves. Violence begets more of itself when viewed in the long-range. Just as many here would attribute the power of handling firearms to only those authorized to bear them. These individuals are supposed to be wed to the idea of defending life through the capability to deal death. And there has been much of note recently as to how this power is brought forth in society, whether amok in demonstration or peacefully marching down Main Street. The results can be dismaying in their sameness when guns are in the extant crowd, no matter the hands or hip holsters in which they reside.

The boundaries become indistinguishable when subsumed into the power of dealing death with the crook of a finger.

There used to be a largely acknowledged absolute that said, “Thou shalt not kill.” But that already was weak in a society that slaughtered animals for food. And yes, there are any number of rabbit holes to travel down with a statement that general. But it does involve a death which comes under the topic of discussion here.

Killing of any kind will never be a viable response to continuing to live well – individually or as a society. Dealing in death doesn’t pay off in affirmative life. But I nibble at this gargantuan topic with a toothpick & a salad fork. It just gave me pause for where I engage life, how much I am given to do so, why I choose my belief systems & how each individual fits into an overall scheme fringed all about, ultimately, with death.

Truth or Consequences

Some home-town photos…

We have a local trail, called the Healing Waters Trail. It started out at the edge by the informal dog park along the Rio Grande when folks got together to mark off a trail with rocks. It has evolved into a “real” trail with picnic tables, a bench & some pea gravel – whatever has not blown away or been marched away by walkers. Here’s an overlook as one starts climbing. The river is running almost green in the back; the Elephant Butte Dam is letting water out for spring planting. This water will travel to irrigate crops, being controlled through local “acequias” along the way, down to Mexico. (The photos are from Easter weekend 2018 – ignore the incorrect camera dates, please.)

Overlooking T or C –

Mysterious Creature Found Along The Trail:

The sun in a cloudy iris:

Some views of town:

Originals: (Note the prospecting pony painted on the wall over the truck’s hood.)

And shots of Mary’s fence. (Fence art is BIG here!)

Below these are the story of how I met Mary.

I was reading my book one night in my little studio apartment when a knock came at the door. Upon opening it, I found a tall woman in a broomstick skirt, looking quite distressed as she clutched her pocketbook. “I can’t find my car!” she wailed; “I don’t know where I left it.”

“Well, just a sec here, let me get some shoes on & I’ll help you look,” I said. “Did you happen to notice anything around you that stood out when you parked it?”

“No,” she said more quietly now, having garnered help. “Someone told me to come here & see this place. I figured the best way was just to park & walk around,”

“Ok,” I said, having tied on sneakers, “Let’s go!”

We walked around for about twenty minutes until Mary spotted her car on Austin. I waved as she drove off. Next time I came to town, she had her own property & is hiring out as a fence decorator! (This, over the course of five years or so.)

T or C is life lived on a Vortex as powerful, tho not nearly as scenic, as Sedona. It can also be a strange experience if you’re not ready for anything. I’ve lived her on three separate occasions & this one I love the best.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the quick tour, the one vignette, the snip of history & the pictures I took with my sister’s camera.

Love,

Carol

Nods of An Approaching Dream

My fears have left me, one by one

Waving farewell over sharp shoulders

Each attached to a dream instead

Rendering sleep the final exploration.

There are cats in my dreams now

And family

People walking carelessly by

As I point at their shoes.

Sometimes I am skyclad

Uncaring as I should have been awake

During daylight I dwell in my home

Neat as the proverbial pin

While my dreams stack in errant piles

Rising as my eyelids fall.

—————–

The me reflecting in you

Is not the one in my mirrors

Or my mind…

—————–

There are no borders, no barriers

To living this adventurous life

There is me upon the shoreline

Of an ever-shifting sea

Or me, blown before desert winds.

The news lays its crumbs into my blender

I have dusted these from sore fingers

I favor the surprise now, shedding

The peremptory of unknowns

For even the news is familiar from my dreams

Ever the known, unloosed & traveling by rail,

The windows scrubbed with sunshine

And the light behind my eyes.

—————–

Local journeys for a local girl

I only need hold the rails of life’s Ferris Wheel

To be lifted above perception

To be found by angels entertaining unaware.

Life circles ‘round, cycles seem uphill mostly…

On coasting down, the mileage varies

Everyone must master the Dances of Transition!

——————

It feels increasingly good

To close my eyes now

A moment of distance

Is a reverie by any other name.

The house responds to wind’s awakening

I no longer react,

Letting silence pool in my ears

Slipping through the backdoor of that dream

Just to look around.

——————–

The front door is left open

The tan-white face of an artificial Siamese

Stares unblinking, from directly across the room

(I named him Mitts.)

He has inquisitive ears, he tilts his head

As we each await the other to speak.

—————–

Blessed is the silence.

The hollow stairwell

Offers no fixed direction

The hats hang from hooks below

The single bed is still made above

All locks engaged, safe in the Gratitude

I sleep.

——————-

I said yes to the soup

Behind my fluttering eyes

To the dream that was that close…

I never noticed there was no spoon.

This page is spotted in dots

From my nodding pen, my nodding head

A tired hand holding itself up at end of day

Pecking at a poem.

Wishes (An Effort in Circular Thinking)

We all hope our wishes come true. Sometimes, tho, we don’t know how to handle it when they do. Recently, I told a friend I’d like to do a container garden in my arid backyard. Now that the light is changing, with the sun rearranging the shadows, I find there is enough light to do this. The best spot would be by the gate, but that won’t work since I need egress. It was a lovely bubble of a thought, but little more than that. An idle wish.

Of course, the entire idea is made more speculative since I know zero about container gardening in specific, & gardening in general. Everyone tells me, “Oh! It’s easy!”

My friend found a huge tub at Tractor Supply & happily gifted this to me. Now that I see the “container,” I’m even more tremulous. First, I’ll need about 60 pounds of soil. This means putting the tub where it will not need to be moved Ever Again (unless I buy a tractor from Tractor Supply & I don’t think the yard’s that big.)

So, choosing a spot comes first. Then the fill-er-up. Then seeds or plants. I checked ‘container gardening’ online & the search turned up beautiful flowerpots trailing pansies & vinca vine along patios upon which Home & Garden subscriptions have been lavished for decades. My yard is layered stone-on-dust & somewhat anti-lush while being dry to the point of acrimony, not to mention uneven. The desert sun cooks growings to the same effect as a microwave melts plastics. Besides, I want to grow edibles.

After these decisions…seeds or plants? I love the thought of a fresh salad, leaves moistly green, plucked from the backyard pot with a few cherry tomatoes & maybe sun-warmed stringbeans…but out here ants eat seeds, as do deer. They contain moisture.

T or C does have a community garden by the library. I’m not serious enough for this league of growing among experienced amateurs. Plus, we have one guy who spritzes his plot with what is suspected to be Round-Up, of recent cancer-producing fame. When confronted, he says, “It’s mostly water.” Before adding, with a scowl & a pointing finger, “You name me ONE person who died of Round-Up!”

I guess even if his plot is clear, he figures those nearby could use the public service of a spritz or two, including the rigorously organic patch farmers of T or C in the singular favor of his Rescue Efforts. I figure he’d be gardened to death & used for fertilizer if the participants found him out.

When your plants are in his Zone, although the consensual farmer’s agreement is never to use such chemicals, the finer points can be lost. It’s rather like Monsanto suing nearby ranches for growing the GMO crap they manufacture because the wind blew their seeds over the fence. One must ask, “Cui Bono?”

But, back to my tub. The expense & labor of toting all that soil, finding seeds/seedlings, plus the need to borrow an oil rig to put drainage holes in this heavy-duty plastic are beyond my budget in the moment. Now, I understand most wishes can be expensive – otherwise it’d be so much easier to make them happen, right?

I like little wishes that are simple enough to easily manifest: Here’s an example of one such happy ending. In the 80’s, I listened to a show called “Echoes.” It aired late at night on the university station & featured unknown, esoteric, mildly weird music (which I now refer to as “massage music”). I longed to buy the CD’s from the show, but at $25 + shipping, these wouldn’t fit my wallet. Recently, some local has been divesting himself of a collection of “Living Room Concerts” as they were called, at our local thrift. I have gotten Volumes 1-7 for twenty-five cents each. The music is just as good now as then, still unearthly, still eclectic.

So, you can see I am enamored of wishes coming true; however, timing has much to do with it. I wouldn’t, for example, too much appreciate getting a pony for Christmas anymore. Nor could I afford the gas it would take for a plum Challenger. A house is off the List: I’m not allowed any pets here. So, the Wish List is entering the Reader’s Digest Abridged Version in honor of practicality, space, time, effort & cost.

I can get $5 rebate on my Walmart bill, though, with one more credit card purchase before the end of this month. That’s at least one bag of soil. See? This is how my mind works. And after three husbands’ worth of pointing out illogic & inconsistency, it is still how my mind works.

So maybe I’ll just go check their stock today. Maybe I’ll bring home a couple of bags of seeds. Maybe the landlord will lend me his heavy-duty drill. Maybe I’ll even invest in a jar of poppy-seed salad dressing to keep the dream alive.

Fresh food will give me the energy I need to earn from my odd jobs to pay the credit card(s). As one hand washes the other, I’ll wind up with an immovable yard decoration full of dirt all winter. But rocks are free in the desert. And I’ve always wanted a really nice rock garden.

Riding the Light

The Journey of No Arrival

Carol’s Carousel

**I don’t know what to think anymore. I barely know how to think. Anymore.**

I have had to research bump stocks & look up Nikki Haley & John Bolton. I spend time poring over reports about McCabe & Comey to try to understand the current “political scene” when I want to scream at everyone in DC, “Will you just behave?”

I am so over Darwin & his purloined theorem about survival. I once read that the word “love” was mentioned 96 times in The Origin of Species, while the phrase “survival of the fittest” appeared thrice.

I often tell people I’m allergic to TV, but I still find myself drawn to videos on the computer which show the exotic Cirque du Soleil acts, dancers who can move their bodies as I no longer am able, political commentaries which contradict each other one after the next.

The last frontier is never that. Horizons rise & fall regularly. I’m alive so long as I keep moving – even if it is in a circle while the calliope plays corny music. Cuz I don’t know anything, anymore.

Labels

Murder Disincorporates

Truth or Consequences

Nods of An Approaching Dream

Wishes (An Effort in Circular Thinking)