savoring the ultra fleeting…

currently i am sitting out on my parent’s patio. it’s six thirty am. we’ve just eaten breakfast. the temperature is in the seventies with clear blue skies. oh how luxurious to not be cooped up in my dingy studio apartment. to have space to move around. pristine cleanliness. fresh fruit. listening to birds and one owl. peace. i crave this. yesterday was a magical travel day. my lyft driver was from a ethiopia, also a gypsy soul and a film maker. we talked about the trials of being an artist, the commitment to it even though we are not “making it” by society’s terms, and needing a full time job to pay the bills. we also talked about needing to travel and live many places to satisfy the gypsy. he also lived in new york, vegas, and san francisco. i told him seattle felt like my home of homes. when i said it there was no resistance inside. get to the airport and breeze through security in five minutes. land a table right by the window and listen to the acoustic live performance. board the plane and listen to krishna das podcasts. get off the plane and don’t have to walk through the shitty-ass vegas airport. the tram is right off the gate waiting for me. get off the tram and baggage claim is right there, along with my ride home. the universe gifted me. i never felt so happy to be here as this time. i think i might be heavily steeping in the temporal nature of existence right now. each moment feels ultra fleeting. my urge is to savor. i am hyper aware of death, aging, and the steadfast movement of time. i have zero interest in acting like death doesn’t exist by wishing for great things to happen to me. great things are love. this is all i feel. kd kept talking about his only desire being to stay in love and how the movie of “me” matters less to him the more he practices. i feel this right now. i could care less about how i feel or what i think aside from paying attention to it out of habit. it’s hard to put this into words, and words feel like they are lying. suddenly i am thinking of georgia o’keefe and flannery o’conner. desire to paint in the desert and write short stories? maybe. i fucking love the desert so much. my spirit rests here. seattle may be my home of homes but the desert is my heart. the sea is my soul and the forest is my body. the cosmos are my mind. intense dreams last night about sex and pain. the unconscious is letting out more shadow goo into the safety of loving consciousness. always more work to do. thankful for the presence of love like iron holding down the fort…

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