Riding the Light –

Blog

  • Moving On

    Moving On

    MOVING

    A tribute to T or C where we’re all here mainly cause we’re not all there.

    I always give a piece of advice I like to repeat: “Don’t put down your glasses when you’re fixin’ to move.” 

    Now, I step within the framework of these words to peer out from inside them. The view assures me I am in a different space, a more variable space. I untie from anchorage, my homemade balloon striped with new experiences, breathes in air element. For a longish time, I have been letting go of Earth, one tie-down at a time.

    I have claimed to be a battery. I don’t carry out the work so much as charge it to occur, or to continue, or to simply watch the success happen. The work presents itself with interest & need, & I plug in. I could be a meanie & say T or C owes me, but the truth is I leave it with a greater debt, for so much feels unfinished. Yet it was not mine to begin with since, I can only ‘inneract’ with it all.

    Then that tiny voice teases inside my ear saying, “You were here for the boost, kiddo, battery, remember?”

    It’s taken years for the Age of Aquarius to wash over me. I brought along a boat & dory first time I left home, now I leave with power-pack made of thank-you notes, the kind I always write.

    I’ve dismantled my desk, dismembered my writings, disbanded alliances dependent on geography. T or C is a cauldron; I can only cook so long before looking for another recipe. I’m not being flip about any of it.

    But change just tickles the Hell out of me.

  • How High That Moon?

    How High That Moon?

    Even the news seems void of course – a Newsprint Retrograde that never goes positive. Oh, it can go gleeful at times, but usually about items that have a “Hmmmm” trailing after. What has happened to “information” is criminal. The language barrier has become insurmountable & the tech is not yet outwardly invented to translate that to humans at the level where it engages our truth meters. (This can be done, but only by the heart-brain after exposure to a more resonant Truth; an opening, as it were.)

    In that larger space this Truth is interpreted by discernment. I could add every adjective there is before that word & be accurate with each. Truth is, for us each, our perception only. There’s no way for me to function with someone else’s since my discernment is individual to me. To the media, I am what is known as a lost cause – but it was they who lost me first.)

    I hope to be one of those Truth translators. I hope to develop my fantastic personalities out there in the ether: my superpowers. It’s my vocation to be a voice for Truth & have mine be adaptable/acceptable/accountable to & for others, for the positive.

    It’s not my way to take over the world, but I wouldn’t mind being allowed to drive sometimes.

    For Heaven’s sake, where would I take the world? Well, on my Journey, of course. For each of us, there is really only our Journey. Most travel in the same direction but the ones determinedly traveling backwards upend the entire flow in a fluttering super-babble of mis-directives.

    I understand there’s no understanding anymore to fight or flight the System. Where I choose to not submit is not mainstream, but no less imprinted on the Akashic. I’m making my mark & it’s atop all the ones I’ve already made. There’s a cliche for that, “carving out a life.”

    Wait’ll we find out it’s an illusion we all made up, a long story with a nasty character who curses & never gets written out until the very end … That one to whose name you react to along the way; (names being triggers.) I’ll bet it will happen in tiers: some will casually walk off the stage for a coffee, some will break in ways which are not as much wounds as triplicate repair tickets (body/mind/spirit). For many, the intensity will be too much to unwrap our heads from for a time. And then we’ll find out there’s no such thing as time.

    It’s an anti-Eternity to live here like this, tapped on till we’re tapped out, flapping the pages of the script with all those red-inked, last-minute-change marks.

    I believe once we discover the joy or our real divinity, we’ll sheepishly laugh, clatter off the boards, thumping each other on the back as we exit stage left.

  • The Fountain & The Feather

    The Fountain & The Feather

    THE FOUNTAIN & THE FEATHER

    I saw the angel from four blocks away

    I hesitated, trembling: I heard him say,

    “I know you from among the stars –

    You’re one of them, you’re wholly ours.”

    But somewhere his voice became a song.

    He held out a hand I shakily took

    He pulled me in closer, he gave me a look

    Not one word aloud, but a music arose

    He tugged me forward, I stood on his toes.

    We danced together down an empty street

    That led to a fountain so cool in the heat.

    He trailed his wingtips, I soaked my feet.

    No words were needed, nor did we say

    Together, invisible to all on the way…

    When a kid popped between us, tossing a dime

    And grinned at each of us, one at a time.

    At sunset we parted. I watched him fade

    One feather remained; one only had stayed.

    I reached for it slowly, glowing & white –

    When a small hand quick-snatched it into the night!

    That child again! Not home in his bed?

    “It’s just what I wished for!” He hollered & fled.

    Carol Borsello

    July 1, 2022

  • What Mortals!

    What Mortals!

    Each time I return

    It is as a Stranger

    Earning again through unfamiliar lands

    Knowing not the traps & triggers

    Of permissible behavior.

    But a good grasp of generalities

    Keeps me fed.

    I came here for the Greatest Adventure of All Time

    When time was not real, but a construct in the minds of eager energies

    Spinning on what started as an intoxicating play of light & shadow:

    Hide n seek: we hid God: Now we seek.  

    Ah what fools! What mortals we turned out to be!

    —-

    One Eternal Day

    Life stalks me somehow. Even when I shave my head & hide,

    I look out to see Life peering in, making sure I live in this kingdom.

    Life needs me – yeah that’s what I tell myself, when each path

    Leads me right around into the fray;

    When each stream by which I meander empties into

    An ocean where I’ve stood many times

    Watching myself set sail

    On the voyage of this

    One Eternal Day.

    I know now the drama happened

    When I wandered into a fractal

    Seduced by a happier ending.

    I moved through much & into many –

    Lifetime by lifetime, like stones across moving water

    Each an enactment of what I’d learned in the past.

    That’s why they began to stick together…

    The rowhomes in my mind,

    Each with a ghost in the attic.

    The closer I am to sunset

    The more I see in the also-familiar darkness.

    —

    BREAKAWAY CIVILIZATION

    If you believe in monsters, they’ll devour you

    If you do not, are you incautious?

    Unconscious?

    Incurious?

    I believed in monsters more before

    Than now.

    I was concerned once upon a time for myself

    But now I really want to avoid the collateral damage.

    Knowing how we’re all connected, & that.

    I haven’t run away for years now.

    It’s time.

    There is no connection.

    Every haircut is a rebirth, a do-over.

    Then I look in mirrors to say, “Still not you!”

    “You’re that Universal Kelly Girl with a new ticket down on Market Street.

    Get your gloves on, girl, we leave soon.”

    —

    There is only a real world when you start divesting from it.

    The world clings … a scarf … a stone.

    Set these aside; the NWO is right in wording if not intent:

              You will own nothing & be  happy.

                        It’s not a threat, they don’t own that.

                        What happens with birds of the air who own nothing

                                  Yet to whom all is given?

                        So are we meant to be.

    Source tickles us with Light, sudden flashes,

              Snapshots well-laden with memory –

                        An afternoon in a fall of light to camera

    That moment the wave became particle

    A paint-ball from your pineal to mine, so tenderly awakening

    From its dream of light to our Reality.

  • It All Sounds Great

    It All Sounds Great

    My neighbor walking a friend’s dog lost 43 pounds. I used to walk every morning, before not wearing a mask made me a criminal, before getting Covid left its strange symptoms like a dogpile in the front hall…can’t get past the forever smell. Shall I make this my defining event? Someone else can do what I said I would do & did not? Who’s more disappointed – my laboring heart or my shell-shocked brain?

    Of course the disappointments I’ve caused myself are the most damning. I pass thru the same sin-detector every day: shoulda, coulda, woulda, if . . . the Four Horsemen of the English Language.

    I understand why forgiveness is difficult – of course it is! I have often struck out across the Sahara of blame with no water & a too-short walking stick. I mutter & murmur & remind myself that without masks & lots of cameras on “record” & the fact I’m moving my mouth while talking to myself all remarks can be brought right back to those flapping lips.

    I am inordinately fed up with the lack of civility, along with so many other losses in the society of my youth. We may have been brainwashed, narrow-minded, preoccupied with great guilt Catholics, but we said “thanks” when it was due even when grudged. We sat at the kitchen table whining, “Bur what should I say?” when told it was time to write bread & butter notes. Moms were enforcers as well as cooks & Mom’s standards were much higher, even if limited to one ethnic, cultural track. Why? She wanted me to be better than she, have more, define myself by enlarging, allowing standards.

    I am an allowing person but I no longer deal with inefficiency, stupidity & downright prejudice. As a senior, I’m accustomed to keeping certain reactions muffled (except when muttering.) My brain is screaming like a siren a block away at times, but I can usually exempt myself from situations before it blows up & leaks out my ears. It used to be a validation to say something did not belong to me as I’d never do that…whatever it was. Now it sounds like a denial of guilt. How does the “innocent before proven guilty” assumption function here? Didn’t that used to be the standard?

    I guess I didn’t consider I’d experience such societal devolution – the ability to drone people with accusations & misinterpretations from a world away. I don’t want to be bothered with trying to make the best of the situation – I just want it to be a good situation because it is, as it is.

    I never thought to see blatant & rampant stupidity in print: men can get periods! men want to be women! What happened to the ultimate masculine insult: “you act like a girl!” Women, in turn, want to blare their denial of brave mortality on civil rights, wanting to be powerful, wanting to be the guy next door. I’ve no need to assume the lesser, baser qualities of either sex thinking it brings me power. Why can’t it be this simple? That we allow children to be children, babies to be born & beloved, men to open a door for us, ladies to be beautiful just as they are, men to be responsive & considerate. Instead I am looking at pics where I need to read the story just to see the teller – to figure out if they “identify as” man, woman, mineral or vegetable. Or animal.

    If a guy came in the ladies room at school when I was a kid, it would have been about as horrifying as a monster movie from the first row… & the nuns would have marched them out to the flogging field behind the convent. But then guys I knew & grew up around would not have been caught on the feminine products aisle unless it was a hazing incident involving being blindfolded. I knew not one fella who’d march proudly down that aisle, snatching the last box of Tampons to brandish at check-out.

    Well, I can’t tell you what happens next. I don’t think it will involve keeping my mouth still, so just point the camera somewhere else – maybe at the unicorn in the corner since the impossible is on 24/7 livestream, all news all the time, not so much reporting as attempting justification.

    Never thought I’d be the last one in my family tho we were never close before we started dying off, so what’s the difference? Never thought so many things that every day is a journey into the macabre, victimized by spell-check. Guess I won’t be shutting up anytime soon tho selectivity of topics is narrowing more with passing time.

    Letting go of victim mentality is something to bang your shoe on the table about.

    Doing no harm is a potency to continue to cling to for recharge & new ideas to talk about.

    Where’s love today? Time to pick up that journey-staff & go walkabout. I’ll keep you up on what I find, ok?

  • Foolish Monk

    Foolish Monk

    Seems I’ve held this shape forever now, but that’s because I don’t really remember what forever was, just mainly what this shape is. I don’t mean shape as in body only, here.

    Even the wind knows boundaries are to fly from & fly over. Change invokes a resounding chord, yet I pluck a single harp string. I am happier when change is gentle, making friends first before taking over completely.

    Lately I don’t mind being led down the Garden Path. It gives me time to look around, a change from faithfully watching what my feet are going to land upon. It gives me time to smell the flowers.

    While sauntering, I remember all the orders to “Sit up straight!”, “Feet on the floor!” & on. I’m not sure now’s the time to drag this out of the Pensieve to examine, but I’ve been off the mark before. My body has these favorite postures & always has. Lately it’s a longer time preparing to stand up than the act. It feels good & right to take it slow.

    Heart is the ultimate Editor in Chief, sometimes her wheels grind very fine indeed.  

    You must be honest with love to the point where no fabrications may occupy it. (Tho many haven’t wanted truth for a longish time.)

    The cadence to which I marched set early & is now the cadence to which I am at rest.

  • Itinerant

    Itinerant

    I feel a bit stranded, the deflating balloon on the corner pole signifying “party’s over.” It went well, this longish gig as a ‘homeowner.’ It is no longer upon me to remain here.

    There is a strong parallel resonance going forward on all the other me-lines, too. To you who choose to partake of this reading here, Salut!

    It is the best feeling; not to be netted in ego but to find a bit of a better way to squeeze through it into Spiritual Sovereignty, or what I feel that status to be. It’s a glass bridge at best, another showdown with Faith that has us both walking away, slapping at dust & grinning at each other.

    It occurs to me that I am following a different & distant directive … that one about when the time comes to Believe, one lets go of perceived security & hearkens on, finding safety in the journey. Faintly I hear the beat of a distant drum in-heart, resonant into fade as I listen, distinctive when I don’t. It is not in my nature to be or become complacent anymore. Recently & just along this path, I’ve deduced that my greatest progress is made reining to a halt to listen.

    Unlike many, my heart quickens at the thought of owning nothing & being happy. Wasn’t that at one time the goal of all Pilgrims? All you had to do was get your dream off the ground in your mind.

    One of my earliest-recalled poems phrases lines about being at home wherever I land as my lifelong goal, indeed, ‘free as a bird,’ finding sustenance always to hand. Reputations have plummeted over ages, but there were true-thinking  Servitors, true to prayer & dedicated to a set-aside life, a ‘holy’ life. We are Pilgrims, owning only this moment. Often the willing Traveler opens the way in joining the currents of the roads, becomes iconic & of itself, an Avatar.

    Walking a Pilgrimage has drifted to the bottom of my bucket list, yet I am having the thought drop in that this life now has been exactly that. I’ve lived & “done” my time. For some reason, I squeaked in past the censors to be born here – an inside-out spirit only now fitting in as all of life turns itself so.

    The older I get, the more my life resembles a smudged carbon copy, well-penciled, with many phrases dug out from repetition. So what if I turn out to be an  eccentricity foisted upon a life which started out on track but somewhere jumped the rails.

    All I hear is, “Yahoo!”

  • Revisiting the Cave

    Revisiting the Cave

    REVISITING THE CAVE

    When Climbing Through a Sipapu

    You do not question handholds.

    You accept rain as your due

    For the upcoming world expects

    You to be moist with dew

    When you emerge into

    Your blessing for occupying

    The Dry Lands.

    dry, as in dust-dry,

    bone dry.

    Little marrow left, whittled

    From warrior into Weapon.

    Emerging into a where assuming color

    As you look, taking shape as you imagine

    Ok, so here’s the visual I Got:

    and comes with a Warning:

    ‘Read it as you will,

    lullabye or bullroarer,’

    But read it for the sake of God!’

    The God Who is alive in you

    At times as dry for doctrine as you a drink.

    Spirit has a shy approach for

    All my Faith’s so strong.

    She is as silent as sure

    No longer needing Proxy

    That divine realignment of self to higher-self

    To me is Enlightenment.

    It taps one shoulder so both tremble

    Give a tiny    startle     of attention.

    Mine bring a smile: What is coming to me?

    Or dare I hope –  one more heartache leaving?

    I breathe & am breathed in return.

    HAVE YOU CLEANED YOUR CHAKRAS TODAY?

    yeah, me neither

    guess my New Age belief system has

    only adequately prepared me for anything

    happening after that.

    I have this boatload of beliefs I’ve

    been banging along behind me,

    this entire she-bang

    of opposing opinions.

    What I’m saying is I wouldn’t mind

    If a cosmos push wanted to

    Connect with my tush …

    Here what I’m sayin’?

    Like move this all into recycle for me

    Someone else’ll use it

    I guess I need a pretty good break from my mind

    Awhile.

    That’s what got me into all this.

    Sign by Register: “Remove Ears On Check-in”

    We’re laying down a soundtrack now.

    Are the quarters prepared?

    Best we could, Boss, we checked his blueprints twice.

    Why don’t you run me through the main menu, please.

    OK, Boss, nothing you haven’t heard before

    I’ll be the judge of that, sir.

    Ok. Just generalities; gotta keep these things fluid

    what with the Free Will factors to circumvent.

    We’re already skimming the line on that one.

    The usual: school, other kids, family alterations,

    Physical, if it’s on the plan.

    Prob’ly marriage

    Career vs. anything else to have a living

    Move in with physical again,

    Then go for the end, come on, Boss,

    You know the rest.

    All right, all right. On your way,

  • Living in Reflection

    Living in Reflection

    This morning I sit in the corner of the couch, my legs in a vee, my computer on a lapdesk reaching from knee to knee. I see a flutter on the white front door (open at an angle to me) & glance up to identify a bird winging by. It comes to me that I often use reflective surfaces, facing life indirectly. But this is done automatically now. I think by everyone. as we face our dramas & get reflections back in media.

    The point is to ask how much of our reality is reflection? It sure seems real at this level. Yet the poems, the learnings, the subjects of deep and intensive studies urge our return to a reality we are firmly convinced we occupy. There is always a deeper level when we look more closely, though. Most of the time it’s a little farther out from where we & often a bit higher up. Of course, it’s always a Decision. It always requires more work on our part to get there.

    But we’re very busy in the Reflection.

    While busy causes echo ~ (another reflection.)

    The self-help & the selfies reassure us of our presence in a rendition format only. Since they are never pictorials of our true self, of our true self-perfection, they become a log of this reality’s unfoldment for us. If the outside is a reflection of the inside, how do I mete change out to myself?

    Later these pics will be looked upon like old Polaroids sepia now with age – with half a memory for when these were the latest tech of all.

    We will say, “Look, here’s where I decided I needed to make a change & here’s where I really got to make one.”

    Most of our soul hidden by some cloaking device.

  • Fire

    Fire

    Once upon a time, high up in the Sandias outside of Albuquerque, I sat comfortably in my van, in sunshine, while ten yards in front of me a solid wall of snow slanted down, making the rattling, that sliding sound as when there are so many snowflakes they bump into each other.

    Today I prowl indoors, couch to kitchen to couch again. To go outside is to venture into a marshmallow clasp of heat, clingy, smoky, stinging if you are driving with your arm out the car window.  The apartment is sealed up, the swamp cooler refining & wetting the air.

    Tonight I walk outside to the grasp of smoke long tired even of itself, yet still pouring upward, the smoke of a forest being transformed from earth to ash. It is an exhaustive fire. It is not going to sleep for the night. It’s an irresistible heat, sustained, defensive & bullying. Smoke nestles down in the bowl of the town, a cloud from a distance, yet seemingly clear from within it.

    The breaking mornings are coolest; a shifting night breeze has peeled off the smoke & the air seems moist in the absence of that forged heat.

    Indelible summer arrives.