extroverted introspection


I sit in a park of green green grass — amongst the brown that was not touched by the sprinkler – that which is sparsely populated with trees that know wind all too well, and my straw coloured hair whips across my brown and freckled cheeks making it difficult to focus as my picnic is threatening to pick up and move across the park and into the ocean if I don’t use all of my good sense in hunkering down. I have already made one run for my notebook as the pages flipped open and spilled all of its precious content for the universe to see (not as though it hasn’t already seen all there is to see, but I would compare it to an ‘up-skirt’ panty shot you would find in the tabloids, nothing too out of the ordinary but invasive and rude all the same).

Any and all pressing issues – the real and the not- are blown out of proportion now that I am on the homestretch of my first premeditated pit stop, the Redwoods of N.Cal. I suspect once I find a calmer port to call home for the evening, that which this wind has strewn about will find itself on steady grounds and I’ll gain clarity on where to turn to next, my current surroundings being the manifestations of the reality in my mind (a reality that only I am to face!) I giggled when I noticed that in my first post I used the symbolism of mind as the ache in my shoulders, and now, the physical reality of the genuine ache in my shoulder — predestined in a way that only synchronicities can be, if you are keen enough to find them.

This life and all of its players are a metaphor within a metaphor within a metaphor and once the metaphor is seen and understood, one is freed from the confines of what it represents, going beyond its face value and into new territory, usually another metaphor (which adds another dimension to life). Travelling does not in anyway distract you, or I – whatever, from the actuality of what is of mind, but amplifies it, and instead of having it be cast aside in the ‘I’ll get to it later’ mindset as is usually done when one is in routine at home, the symbolism behind every change in direction, every strewn page and excessive thought or purchase, every dribble down the front of one’s preferred outfit, every bruise and scar, every person that one does or does not connect with, can be witnessed and studied and paired with some psychological grappling that begs for healing.

I am unable to suffer from a thought or from a physical dis-ease without looking to find the origin, whether I find it or not depends on whether I am ready for it, as if I am it is clearly there in the light of day looking for a little love to comfort it. I’ve been drinking a lot of wine lately, ironically being that I’d been so *disgusted* with the act of drinking that I’ve avoided its intoxication for years, but now that I have all of the time in the world to examine the excessiveness of drink, the excessiveness of any thing, I am partaking and comprehending, and partaking again, ready to repeat what I gained from the last bottle of vino or whathaveyou, and yet not quite ready to part with it. Coffee has become my friend again, and if I do not have drink or caffeine, my mind is probably ready for food. Anything that I am able to use to excess, I am ready to obliterate my being with. I prefer to come head to head with excess rather than push it aside, afraid and resentful of what it represents —


It is futile, when a pot smoker is against drink, and a coffee addict against pot, a drink against anything at all – a health fanatic proclaiming to be above it all– as what they are is against fear; against anything is fear itself. The free mind is impartial to all, and neither for or against the intoxicant or state one finds their self or others in, but empathic and understanding of the methods in which one attempts to hide their essential nature from their self, whether they do or not, they are able to find acceptance. In acceptance comes healing. In finding this, I am not any longer saying no to anything, until it is as authentic as breathing, and there is no moral decision to be made, only one of ‘yes please’ or ‘no thank you’ without the judgement that tends to tag along.

I’m writing this as if it’s the ever pressing issue I am faced with, but really it’s a side project I’m working on – one of authenticity and understanding. Most of the time I am sober of thought and mind, with periods of boredom, contentment, loneliness, rage, and ecstasy, the usual per usual, unenlightened and some times uninspired and ready to veg the f out. My face burns with sun and dehydration, when I look inside my wallet it’s like playing hide-and-go-seek, and my hair is forever tangled with perspiration and wind. I love to live and I live to love and a cliche is only a cliche if you don’t understand as all words and efforts of word are meaningless compared to the depth of feeling – symbology only spirit can comprehend.

As fer this dang on’ dang road, like I said I’ve reached California, way ahead of schedule if there ever was one. The road has been good to me and I have aged in this short time. The people and ‘scenic detours’ caring and fleeting in passing and I’ll probably write about those adventures tomorrow, when I hang out in Trinidad (California) for a while. I intend to search for a farm, or some farms, to work on until it’s time to get to work on what I really came to these parts for, which is another story all together.



In this short span of time


I remind myself that all of this is mine, alone.

I align with truth, as I Am

No Thing is truth

No Thing can align me with truth

As I Am


Each day I awake I am confirming


I start again


The tediousness of living/repeat for best results


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