And da, ba ba ba beat goes on . . .

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The presence of peace is channeled through our deeds and words. This is the teaching I accept, usually, yet not without posting updates. The Creator exists to empower unconditional love, challenge our penny Annie human assertions, and to provide a safety net when we lapse into fear.

Many practice their faith through a religion. The organized methodology to learn love and peace is the educational format needed to become willing – leading to layers of cranky surrender and singing bowls of acceptance. Studying religions is a daily act for me. Here in the fertile jungle the presence of life and its oneness in pattern, energy, and reality moves along without one iota of my nerdy consciousness – this too is a form of religious study. I am the observer monitoring without judgment or calculation.

Nature, the Creator’s lesson plans, constantly provides joy, if we let go of our innate human arrogance. I converse with monkeys, birds, flowers, and other living beings without expecting a considered response or connection. Yet, the communion happens when I least expect bringing into my awareness fresh understanding and wonders. Yesterday, it was an Ocelot crossing my path. Today, I listened to the monkeys chittering and the alpha male howling to protect his family at 4:30 AM. From these happenings I eventually discover, once again, peace, gentleness, and a replenishment of my faith in good.

Living alone is neither a test of my groovy solidification nor an attempt to live like a monk. It is what it is. The last couple of weeks the whole day and night alone is like wearing a scratchy coat, turned inside, as something unknown frantically searches in one’s pockets.

I owe Gaza – weird and weirder. I am grateful for God for this existential crisis of the fractalization of the heart? Okay, have not silently integrated this eye-popper. The #Gaza suffering inventoried, the interviews, the graphic visuals of burned babies and destroyed lives served as a painful oddball way for my shields to drop. What I am calling PTSD in verse. In this solidarity of change, a epic one in my life, much is yet to be revealed in intent or prognosis. The goal is remain open (as advised by the wiser ones), to experience the gamut of concerns, to speak openly without hesitation (read this blurb as such) and to ever more gently let the river flow.

The Creator’s plan for me, and you if you are willing, is far more loving in expectations of compassion and unity. My brain works constantly devising this scenario and that one playing out in my head too many possible scripts. What I refer to as the haunting bane of creative-director-itis (my former career). The irony is of course, none of these imaginations are the exact path the Creator is nudging me along to a manifestation.

I have a dear friend, who fancies the Que Sera Sera statement. I have written about the concept of what will be what will be both as reflective therapist and kinked-up artist. Looking through the slag glass window of one’s weepy soul is an innocent act of cosmic faith? The tooled heart pools the compassion? The over active mind categorizes the truths? The noticed intuition whispers? During these last weeks I touted over and over again Gaza was a watershed for humanity.

Today, August 29, 2014, the tule fog lifts and Gaza is a personal watershed or possibly predetermined waterloo. The emphasize is love. Suspended over the ocean with a bent-up pair of wings and a ragged tail floating in a thermal not of my doing. Free to be me is one more shredded profiled page in the artsy novel of life on the Hospital Planet.

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