No passport

Sliding down the corridor, its getting late. I have time only for a note before the conductor finds me.

I was thinking of you a little more today, maybe remnants from my dreams. I love your beauty. Your spirit makes me happy.

Thank you.

The house that Jake built

We sat there, in a building of wood and mortar, in the house that Jake built. I recall people weeping in the shadows, a woman holding my hand and the cold Prairie wind blowing snow past the stained glass windows.

Whitened streets of that forgotten town. I never have forgotten that sequence. Why it comes to mind now, I have no idea but felt that it was something to be shared.

I fell asleep again, not wanting to but helpless.

Dreams come fast, surreal but yet lifelike. Memories called to life from a hazed mind from the battlefield. Scarred, beaten but not broken the dreams call me to times when the Spirit flourished, music played loudly and it was a kiss, interrupted.

And still the train continues through the night...

Evening moments

The train is slowing down as the sun slips behind the horizon.

So much to think about and so little time to breathe it all in. The cabins are cozy and filled with Turkish cigarette smoke, mouths with Turkish delight. The conductor shouted out something but I was too labored to pay attention.

I wonder what the next turn will be bringing to me? A trip home? Reinvented love? Old memories that are reborn, fresher, newer and more toxic? Or will they leave my heart intact this time around? I wonder as I wander throughout the various cabins, peeking here, looking there.

Each room is different with a new vista in their windows. I could spend a lifetime in each cabin;mine seems so dreary after looking into so many others. Screeches and hoots. A jail cell. A lover's cupped hand. A smile. It is all there for you to see.

She knew who I was and walked up to me. The priest had told her to stay away from the likes of me but she came anyway. I smiled at our our past and loved her all the more for it. I looked out my window to see wolves running along side the train with her reflection looking back at me.

I don't know what to say to her. She came looking for answers but I can't seem to untie my tongue. Fear? We make our pleasantries, our "How do you dos?" but then are silent, as tombs covered in Spanish moss. We are forgotten but we remember.

The priest has walked into the cabin. I am glad to see him. It breaks the silence we shared. He breaks a lot of things that we shared, but sometimes that is the role that you play, the cards you are dealt, so to speak.

She doesn't turn away and this surprises me. I can hear her wanting to hold my hand, but she is afraid. Afraid of so many things, but mainly of being hurt, of looking foolish. I want to tell her to take my hand, to believe that she will never be hurt, never made a fool of, that I care. That I can love.

Instead, we bow our heads to our laps as though in prayer. I do pray but she cannot, nor will not. The priest is sitting with his papal vestments shining brightly, smug in seeing her sin. I see her beauty. Her honesty.

She took me in when the world had thrown me out.

Daydreams and other lunar landscapes

It's 7:00 am and I didn't see you last night. I dreamt a lot of things but I didn't dream about you. Or maybe you were there, in the background, merely watching everything unfold.

Fame and fortune await. But is that what is really important to you? Would you prefer to have someone that is simply there for you, loving you for being you? No pretenses, no games. Only a steadfast love that carries through the ages?

Some of us, chase fame and fortune as though it were the drug to give us eternal life. Some chase "love" found in one night stands and others chase for the love of eternity, knowing that somewhere there is a heart beating in time with theirs.

So what did I dream about last night?

I dreamed of bombs and explosions. Of standing on the golden sand of Pharaoh.

Hiding in the dark

Wisdom in a thimble. That is all it really is. The world moves further by and wisdom gains no new traction, imbeciles left at the boarding station.

I recall an old saying that ignorance is bliss, then humanity has it in spades. Humanity has hatred, ignorance, greed, lust, apathy in spades.The world has a sick darkness about it, worm ridden blanket that covers the hearts and makes us cold.

As I ride the train, talking with people that hopefully are evolving, I see littered debris among the landscaped poetry. I see the fire behind the corruptible words, ice behind the rotting smiles. Why people would choose to hide in this darkness is of a great interest to those that ride on this train.

Of course there are multiple reasons, multiple guesses. People looking for the Truth that fits them, not to see how they may fit the truth. Then again, this is my revelation to you. Look beyond the surface into the deep, where the living water runs.

Silver escapes the neon lit sky and we dance in the dining car.The Talking Heads play in the background and its fitting for tonight. I hold on to you a little closer and I hear distantly:

We're on a ride to nowhere
Come on inside
Takin' that ride to nowhere
We'll take that ride

Maybe you wonder where you are
I don't care
Here is where time is on our side
Take you there...take you there

We're on a road to nowhere
We're on a road to nowhere
We're on a road to nowhere

There's a city in my mind
Come along and take that ride
and it's all right, baby, it's all right

And it's very far away
But it's growing day by day
And it's all right, baby, it's all right

Would you like to come along
and you could help me sing this song?
And it's all right, baby, it's all right

A little much isn't it?

I often wonder about the readers that come here. What are you thinking when you read these words?

I wonder what head space you might be in when you drop in, a delicate balance sometimes, but it is important to me. If you are sad, then I try to be sad. If you come here with a smile on your heart, I hope that you leave here the same way.

You still think that things are impossible. I am here to tell you that they are not.

You think that freedom is independence. I am here to say that there are better freedoms to be found.

You want treasure just to look upon it. I am here to show you magical kingdoms that unravel streets of gold.

You come here feeling unloved. I am here to whisper that I love you.

You came here feeling stressed out about your life. I am here to let you forget about the outside world for a moment.

To quote Robbie Robertson:

"Who else is gonna bring you a broken arrow
Who else is gonna bring you a bottle of rain
There he goes moving across the water
There he goes turning my whole world around" 

I wanna breathe when you breathe
When you whisper like that hot summer breeze
Count the beads of sweat that cover me
Didn't you show me a sign this time


Can you see what I see
Can you cut behind the mystery
I will meet you by the witness tree
Leave the whole world behind

I want to come when you call
I'll get to you if I have to crawl
They can't hold me with these iron walls
We got mountains to climb, to climb"
 

Salud!

Я часто интересую о читателях которые приходят здесь.
Что вы думаете когда вы прочитаете эти слова?
Я интересую какой головной космос вы могли быть в когда вы падаете внутри, чувствительный баланс иногда, но важно к мне. Если вы унылы, то я пробую быть уныл. Если вы приходите здесь с усмешкой на вашем сердце, то я надеюсь что вы выходите здесь такой же путь.
Вы все еще думаете что вещи невозможны.
Я здесь сказать вам что они нет. Вы думаете что свобода независимость.
Я здесь сказать что более лучшие свободы, котор нужно найти.
Вы хотите сокровище как раз посмотреть на ем.
Я здесь показать вам волшебные королевства которые unravel улицы золота.
Вы приходите здесь чувствующ нелюбимый. Я здесь прошептать тому я тебя люблю.
Вы пришли здесь чувствующ усилены вне о вашей жизни. Я здесь препятствовать вам забыть о внешнем мире на миг.
Salud!

When brown eyes are crying

"Don't cry brown eyes."

The voice came out of nowhere, waking me up. I found myself in an embrace, buried in a bosom and fingers stroking my hair.

I looked around but no one was there, not even the priest. The train rode steadily on through the night. Landcapes and Martian worlds passed by my window. I must have been dreaming a dream.

Echoed voices. Softly. It was my memory playing tricks on me. I have always been on this train. No one has ever called me brown eyes or is that the lie? I remember Egypt and Paris, but I don't remember her name.

No. I am sure you loved me. Maybe I read it in a comic book and took created it to become my own memory. Lois Lane to Superman perhaps? MJ to Spiderman? It doesn't matter. Does it? I hear a whispered yes and that is good enough for me.

I turned to Isaiah. "This is the way, walk in it", and I will try. That's all I can do is try. I can try to love you more than I did yesterday and I can try harder to follow the course that He has me on. None of it makes much sense, but nothing ever does.

The baby is sleeping now. Her tubes removed from her lungs. The engines of this train are humming, synchronized to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Rest easy little one, tomorrow is going to be another day.