A Fool's Itinerary

A Musing

It occurs to me, that there is a difference between playing a role and hiding behind one. Masks come in many forms.

Wild Longing

Wild Longing

(to be read aloud)

There is a part of me, a part of me that lifts his head at the sight of the moon, that longs and aches for some unknown freedom. Aching, for some wildness waiting to be known, a savage abandon half glimpsed through morning mists and the half-forgotten nursery rhymes that were so much darker than I knew when I still knew them fully. 

He rears up now and then, with the same substance as a shadow on cracking pavement in flickering streetlight, with the same hunger a child has for the next chapter of the story to be read aloud by the one person who could do it right, with all the voices and everything.

This velvet shadow in my soul is raising up his antlered head and howling, howling for the syrinx to play and let loose the passions, howling for the drum-driven wild hunt to call him up and out and onward, howling because he has no words for this ache and so he borrows a phrase from a tongue man so rarely speaks, the language coyote still calls out into the night, AWROOOOOOOOOoooooooooo he calls now, on this night, he and I and me and me and sometimes I know, maybe just maybe, that if I wish on the evening star just once more then perhaps…

[end]

Anonymous asked: i've seen the facebook status and the tumblr post. tell your tumblr followers. what did you do? what happened?

Thank you anonymous for the concern, but if I had wanted to explain the details publicly I would have. I was bitching and venting is all. It had to do with housing and I will forgive them eventually I’m sure. We’ll leave it at that.

Honor

Such an odd concept.

And yet it is one I find that I hold close, for good or for ill. I never really decided to, but I have realized that I do hold myself rather strongly to a loose code of ethics.

Honesty. Nobility. Compassion. Don’t let others down if at all possible. Always keep a promise. Never take advantage of others. Stand up for those who can’t. Forgive, especially when they need it. Take responsibility for mistakes and try to make amends. Help others when you can. When it is needed, there is no shame in taking time to heal oneself. Be polite, in most situations. Be respectful. Don’t abandon a friend. Never stop loving. 

That’s a lot of my personal code, actually.

A Musing on Certainty

(All my musings are just that: Musings. Thoughts and reflections. I hope my thoughts spark some thought in you, but please do not swallow anything I say whole. I am constantly questioning, and thinking, and one writing may contradict another. Seek your truth.)

There is a strength in absolute certainty, and an immense danger. The strength is in grounding, of comfort. The warm weight of certainty can help you through so much. The danger is of knowing something so deep in your self that to remove this certainty would shake, in some cases shatter, your very being. We all have truths that we hold dear, deep in our souls. This is not bad! But remember that you are the one holding it so tight in your core. You can hold something deep inside you and still now and then lax your grip on it. If the belief is questioned, take it out and examine it. Turn it over and feel for cracks and faults. Change it if you find it is no longer in harmony. Reaffirm what you have found good. Allow what is false to drift away from you. Otherwise, when the questions come, as they must, one of two things happens: A) The questions never get through, and the belief is protected by willing deafness, by a person blind by choice to transformative truths. Or else, B) the belief is held tight until it is ripped from you, breaking your heart in the process, throwing you shattered and uncertain into the chaos of the world until you can find a new truth that is in harmony.

Let your truth breathe, I say. Hold it in too long, leave it unquestioned, and it grows stale, stagnant. When you do not live your faith actively, this is easier to do by mistake. 

I have the love of life still in my heart, and paint-stains on my jeans. I have my pencil, and a pad of paper. I can still see the sky and the trees of the park from my window, and though I’ve washed my hands I can still smell the oil paint on my fingers. I was feeling rather down earlier, but these things make me feel better. 

A musing on Life

If there is a God, some creator or creators, he or she or they have given us the most precious of gifts- Life. 

Life, so full of love and hate and anger and joy, so full of stubbed toes and unexpected kisses. So full of beginnings and endings. So full of death and suffering. So full of birth and joy.

This is a world in which clever little naked apes build great temples to abstract concepts like Divinity, Law, Justice, Money. This is a world in which there are people happily living in squalor and people suffering in grandeur. This is a world, in which we tell stories and tales, sing songs and ballads, create art and religion and philosophies, in which men and women pledge their very lives to higher causes; we live in a world of cowards and heroes, martyrs and maidens and dragons. How can anyone think on this and not be in awe of the simple mustard seed?

Life is glorious! To be alive is to suffer and learn. It is to create and destroy. It is to seek what will never be found, for the sake of the seeking. It is to laugh until you cry and keep laughing anyway, laugh until it hurts, laugh until you cannot stand. It is to love and be loved. To be alive, to truly live, is to experience the pure and unequaled rapture of life.

One need not even recognize this, to have found one’s bliss, to have become in tune with their inner nature. There are thousands of paths, through this single wood. Walk in glory, my friend. Namaste. Go in peace.

Up the hill

Jack and Jill went up the hill 

and smoked, and made love in the clover

Jack cried to Jill

I need you, I love you, I want you, You, YOU

Jill whispered to Jack

Slower

Slower

There

Like that

Jack and Jill went up the hill 

And got so high on their weed and their love

They thought they’d never come down

They saw so many stars

They thought they were the night.

Beltaine’s Call (The song of the Solar Warrior)

Flower maiden, come to me!

I am Jack Green, the Spear of the Sun!

I am your warrior! I am your bard!

I will fight for your honor! I will sing sweet your praise!

I will nourish you as the sun feeds the rose!

By oak and broom and meadowsweet, I shall swear to you my love!

Come to me, my bride, and I will lay you down

up among the heather and the soft clover beds,

deep in the flowering greenwood, my love,

out in the fields of the crops and the corn,

I will lay you down and sow in you my seed!

O Maiden, my flower bride!

Meet me with your lips, soft as the rose-petal!

Bare for me your breast, soft as new green buds!

Spread for me your thighs, soft as the soil worked by the till!

Open for me, in these open fields, 

my maiden, my love,

And I shall plough thy soft earth!

You are my woman, my goddess, my flowering earth!

I am your man, your god, your sun! 

Come to your green man, my flower bride,

And our love shall spin the wheel!