monday inspiration and contemplation by the moon…

salivation.  the art work.  uyen tran-gjercle, your pieces at the ghost gallery have transformed my perception and filled me with beauty and awe.  titanium quartz art on the pointer and beneath the collar bone like a lantern….

walking in the sun, dress in hand to get hemmed at the dry cleaners.  why don’t i wander more, i wondered…i don’t always have to have an end point.  i need to wander more.

i wandered the south hill and felt the dark and light.  the people in recovery from drugs and alcohol in halfway houses, the sexual offenders, the drug deals, the rapes, the muggings, the soiled socks shoved inside angry shoes hitting trash soaked soot colored concrete…and i felt drawn into the epicenter.

i love the hill.  why?  i asked myself why.  and how i felt.  did it feel good to walk through this deep shade?  no.  yes.  no yes no yes.  i am pulled here by a force larger than my desire for comfort.  reminded me of hearing that customer say, “it’s not good to chase comfort but….”

i don’t want to chase comfort.  i am a panther.  i am protected.  i don’t want to prove anything.  i am a gentle flower.  what the hell is going on?  when i was younger i craved this.  i craved anonymous gritty concrete with lit up places housing glass faces.

i don’t want to stop being a part of this pulse.  i feel devoted.  to this place.  the power of place.  my love affair with place.

and yet i must travel….

what must you must?

i was visited by a spirit the other night.  it let me know by leaving a pumpkin seed on top of a business card, and also, leaving the bathroom door open.  the woman in the laundry room this morning, with the cute pug, said a sewer rat came up through her toilet into the apartment.  she lives on the first floor.  yucky.

the mice are being displaced with all the construction and reconstruction of the hill…

it’s like when you are under personal renovation, sometimes the dislodged rodents flee to the surface and you release as a rash, an illness, an angry storm, or a flood of beasty tears…

the dark and the light co-exist, both being what people refer to as God (in various ways.)  or what atheists refer to as nature.  call it what you will, believe what you will, your will chooses, and what it is-is silent as a door mouse unable to be dislodged by any amount of human tampering.

can’t you feel it?  that silence?  the way it says to you that you are living the dream of being a person, and when your body dies the dream will live on in whatever way possible….in the heart of a living loved one, in a heaven carved into the atmosphere of collective imagination by belief, as a part of everything, a holographic molecule, and a celestial being made of light living two hundred and thirty four parallel lives…or whatever the dream may choose to be, including nothing at all…

so many cigarettes are being smoked right now, outside.  i watch them through the window.  a coughing twenty something with red dots and lipstick on her face and lips.  a bearded hipster that sort of looks like a young robin williams.  and a dapper college boy donning a beige blazer and pompadour hair.  smoking culture, i was once a part of you…

now i am one of those people with a yoga mat slung over the shoulder.  i never thought i would be she…but you know what?  it’s not about identity.  and that’s been the theme.  as time goes faster and faster, my identities quickly scatter like bread crumbs for pigeons…

…except for the chosen few identities sewn into my skeleton.

friends are getting married.  i wonder if i will?  i wonder if i care to?  i wonder what is next in life?  from society crashing to building the collective to traveling to exotic locations to something i cannot see yet…

but i feel it…change….coming….for me and you and all of us.