Green Ink: Ramblin's and Writing

Emptiness, you are the mother of all things.

Ideals encircle me; closed, complete.  Fixtures in which there is no need, no restless hum to search, to seek.  Idols; dead things.  They are not real!  But I am.  I am real.  Therefore presence must be Here, but I am not aware of it because I am it.

I am bleeding green all over this page and my rage is... quiet, but thick and filling the air of my dreams for life with death, death, death.  I can't Imagine from reality, or tell a story to inspire me.

Help.

Who?

Who do you think?

There is only one help, the Universe is it's name.  It runs on Mystery and befuddling is its beginning and end.  Whatsoever thou be called, thou Art.

Thou simply Art.

so, tell me a story.  A good one, spun with love like a drunk, happy spider.

********************************


I've been down long enough to realize
that this is the forest floor.

My eyes, once blinded, are growing accustomed to the silver-blue glow of moonlight that reveals silhouettes of puff-ball purple flowers and sprays of yellow buds that shiver and spark in all their simplicity and make the night worth living through..

On a never-ending journey through the Heart of this forest, we are... sweet like roses... wise as snakes... we are... in the flow; the green ink that runs through her trees.



********************************

Inky Dark

I am the inky, quiet dark
that precedes your spinning spark:
footfalls like a great gold bear,
on mountain galaxies hung in air.

Stars spin themselves into being, released,
when we kiss - endless, restless peace.
Itchy, twitchy, richly bliss,
deep thrumming hums, can you handle this?

I am the wrecked battle ship,
fit for firing bone to bits.
I shattered into a kindling heap
on rocks like flocks of sharpened sheep.

This pitiable pile will be rebuilt,
into a home, a cabin on stilts.
The truce was called, I raised the bar
that stopped the flow of Whatever You Are

I am wood and flesh and bone;
I am home for spirit in stone.

I am bewildered, therefore I write.
May we sweep the cobwebs...
and turn on the light?

---Evergreen