A Meditation

A garden bejeweled
a radiant bathed shimmering buddha,
massive, fountained,
linked with others-
dissolves under corrosion,
filled with demons,
pitted black, frightening
I tried to give it the nectar of self
the letting go muscle relaxes
with practice.
it calms, it boils,
it clarifies.
It is not the same exstacy
it is not the same horror
it is something more realistic
than either extreme.
a balance.
both are there,
but damn that garden felt
amazing.

Chores

Laundry
Dishes,
Cleaning, Sweeping
Thankless doings that have to be done.
Maintenance.
Besides making the bed, I'm trying to do them at night, when my creative reserves, my Michelangelo's, are low, instead of eating up my fresh Michelangelos in the morning.

Last night it was difficult to rally.
I expect it to be the same tonight.
I need a general, a sargeant that barks orders in my head when I get home.
A horsewhip in hand.
DO that hours worth of thankless ditch digging regardless.

Do you end the day with the chores or start the day?
If you end the day, it may feel like missing the milking of that last little bit of the day, but you will sleep easier and build discipline muscle to sleep on.

Dream Rehearsal

Last night I dreamed doing things. I woke up. I went back to sleep. I was still working in my dream, dreaming things I guess I need to do, rehearsing the waking things as I slept.
The danger is feeling like its already done because I have already spent so much time doing it.

Magical Journal

I've put down my magical journal for a few years now.
It is not that I haven't had magic in my life.
By magic I mean those undeniable synchronicities and artifacts that lie outside of explanations attributed to the reticular activating system.
My kids are magic, but I blame my kids for taking away from the attention of this little hand bound book I write these observances down in.
Now I am forced by financial weight to take up the last thing, a desperate measure, to influence fate.
More magic.
Big magic.
despite the world,
despite the kids.