Other Worldy Blessing

 

 



Have you ever felt you weren't in the real world, that world where everyday happenstance is predictable, with solid footing, that sense that we know where we are and have a semblance of control over our lives?  Yes, a long sentence, but think about it. What I think is the "real" world is really the never ending thought that I "know" something.

The other day I had an out of this world experience. It was other worldly and felt so true, so perfect. I felt I had not lived before that moment. My past, my future disappeared. All I felt was pure joy, and a happiness that seemed to flow through me. Drowning in grace, the horizon disappeared in front of us. I felt in a circle of Spirit that words cannot fathom. It was an energy, so sweet, the part of myself I feel is connected to another dimension, to the Source.

 

We drove the boat out on Barnegat Bay to watch the sunset. The last ride of the season before pulling it out of the water. Not a soul was on the water, it being November, and the shore was covered in colorful  shades of orange red yellow. It was incredibly vibrant, taking my breath away.

Whoever coined that saying "take my breath away" sure got it right. We watched the sun sink below the hills and rode out towards the mouth of the ocean. We found ourselves sitting in the middle of the bay, and the Light engulfed us. It was quiet, the horizon seemed to disappear, the colors spread out, the skies light mimicking the shades on the liquid surface. With every minute the radiance changed shades of different colors, continuing to amaze us with its magic.

We didn't want it to end.

 

We were in a Blessing. The grace filled moments we shared illuminated more brightly, the love we have for each other. We could literally feel the awe and gratitude exuding from our hearts out towards the Spirit surrounding us. When we finally had to drive the boat back towards home we knew we had experienced a moment to be relived again and again in our lives.

 

 

 

 

 

Long Time Gone

It's been awhile. I figure there is so much to read, so much to catch on, to learn, so little time....who the hell reads blogs regularly? Much less write one. I can't even really keep up the Facebook thing. It stills or deadens my brain immediately which could be used for other purposes. Not that I don't read some amazing items, and may even post them. Not that once in while I want to share a picture of my life with others......such a dichotomy. It also allows me to see some people I love to pieces which causes my heart to open or jump. And also it's a lot of crap.

And there is my own old belief about what I say doesn't matter, that it's not a sign of humility to write about my ideas, attitudes, thoughts, etc. What I feel and say may matter or not, but for this moment it's real for me. And is that worth putting 'out there'? So this is, once again, a practice for myself. A writing practice, a little like walking daily, or learning to play an instrument. Easy or hard as I make it.

Life is a whirlwind, a place of gratitude and, sometimes solitude, sometimes not, always choices and more choices. Today I live on both coasts, have two amazing places to be me in. One in the redwoods of Northwest California, the other on the Barnegat Bay in New Jersey.

I have family whose story could be a magnificent book (if only someone could write it....ha!)
And a hundred short comedic, philosophical, crazy and entertaining stories could be shared here.

Turning 60 has definitely awakened my heart to the time I have left. So has watching a friend die and other myriad experiences. I am grateful for all. We have maybe a day and maybe a small lifetime left. But life is meant to be lived each moment, hopefully without drama, a lot of thankfulness, open minded to the next moment, the next different perception, and most important of all......my love for others and how I generate that.

That's a big job right there. It is worth posting here. I do better visualizing and explaining smaller daily experiences of life,  and because Life is composed of those individual situations, lessons, moments of sadness and joy.....that is what I will write about.

The Night of SANDY 10/29/2012

BEFORE this moment I was ok. But as he sloshed back from the neighbors generator for the third time, the wind howling, and howling is how it really sounded, the water up to his waist, and I looked out into the dark and the  water and realized how much and how high and how it was continuing to rise……..THEN I got scared.
Storms have been energizing for me in my life, I relish them, the thunder, lightening, wildness, unpredictability of all of it…..Love storms. Once on the Big Island one raged for about 10 hours, I could see lightening striking trees in the woods, the power out and the rain……oh all that rain. No fear, just amazement.

This experience was different, a new perspective, no beautiful sounding thunder or sparks in the sky to wow over. The lights went out and candles were lit. We listened to the wind pick up but the tide seemed stable. No real fear from inside just curiosity…

A few hours later the water rose to 4 feet outside, and the sub pumps failed, and the basement began to fill with water seeping through cracks along floor, through boarded up windows and below doors, when standing in a foot of water inside and realizing what was outside……………….reality began to set in. It was instantaneous, the realization that we couldn’t possibly walk out into that mire of dark and water to safety. We were stranded.

Within a few minutes the water rose enough where I went up a few stairs helping hold the flashlight while Jon attempted to plywood up the back door. All this in a matter of moments, realizing we’re here for remainder of storm, trying desperately to batten down the hatches as best he could in the basement and then……a loud crash, the sound of broken glass and splintering wood and water water everywhere…..flowing through the front wall breaking the newly installed windows and frames and then the front door busting through, water ripping the outside plywood off the windows and door…….the water rose to over 5 feet inside the basement. As this is happening we don’t see how items are rising in the water starting to float and then a 6 foot stack of hardwood flooring falls over missing Jon……and we are totally fucked. Sorry, but that word is too perfect not to use here.

My fear for Jon, his health, our lives, passed like a dream in these moments.

Dresser drawers and tools and wood, cleaning stuff, coolers and anything that floats all things imaginable; a basement filled with as sundry items floating running into each other as 3 foot surges plow through the open holes facing the bay. The wood flooring banging back and forth and into walls and stuff floating outside to who knows where……

This is when we headed upstairs, the actual living quarters, to relative safety watching the level of water climb stairs, while junk and broken pieces of someone’s life floated in and out with the tide.  My cell is dead by now, his is still working but no way to be rescued in all this. The water seems to stabilize on the fifth step down and we lie down to sleep. The banging below from the basement jolts us, with wood and furniture all night long a noisy soup, the sound of water louder than any banging. The wind, the water, some rain….surrounded by natural elements proving to us once again, water is the more powerful force to be respected always.

It is morning, after sleeping fitfully, checking water levels most the night. The wind has is calm , the tide still in surging downstairs. I look out the window from where I sit in bed and alongside the house  is a 30 foot sailboat. At first I think, Jon’s boat has floated over, and then realize it is not our boat! We go outside on the upper deck and review the carnage in the light of day. The water is so high around neighborhood there is no asphalt to see. Beside the huge sailboat on its side in our yard there is a pink kayak way in the back yard floating around looking inviting and like a possible way out of here. The rest is a war zone. An unimaginable wasteland of water filled with floating objects looking out of place and the next thought…..way way too much cleanup work. The kayak is too far to reach without wading to our chests, the water is cold, we are cold…..and still shocked about the whole experience.

Going down the stairs and out the front door was impossible with debris still floating jolting around the basement. Although the water level had fallen slightly the ocean bay surge was still causing a wake of continuous water in and out of the house.

 Our last texts on Jon’s phone were with friends who said they were coming to get us. ‘How’ was the problem.  I could see a man on a kayak about 200 feet away, too far to yell, but as he came closer to shore the tide took him back. It was then that I knew I would not stay another night in that house no matter what, even if I had to swim out.

 Gazing out on the devastation from upstairs, the quietness, the yacht club collapsed in to the bay; through all this watching and contemplation; the  ducks, the seagulls, the trumpet swans and the shorebirds who lived in this part of the shore, walked and straddled and made their day to day talking noises as if nothing had changed. As if the biggest storm in a hundred years had not just hit the northeast. That grounded me watching the shorebirds.

 Then from around the bend we see two men with water up to their chests, making their way towards us. One with a big smile on his face and a camera in his hand, our friend and rescuer.  My eyes fill with tears;  some from the leftover drama of the night before and most for the gratitude that people care, that we are cared for, that human smiles in the midst of carnage mean more than any loss incurred.

 They wade get  the pink kayak still floating in the back yard, we climb down the ladder from the second floor, and they float us to safety out of the cold amidst all the devastation, later to learn how much more others lost, how the coast suffered; that our experience was worse that some but not as devastating  as many others.

 There is more to the story; the aftermath, the grief, the cleanup, the loss of power for days and days, the homeless, and post traumatic experiences of some….but that is another story. This is just one couple’s story of surviving the night of Sandy.

I have been so remiss in writing on this, I feel like another person. No, not really, but feeling guilty and judgemental about my lapses gets me nowhere. And who cares, it's only supposed to be writing practice for me. Right.
So life moves on in places I would never guess, I continue to do the footwork and hope for the best. That means hoping for what I want. Not nessesarily what will happen, and who the hell knows what is good and right all the time.
People throw around the word FAITH, which I have great respect for. Just have a hard time having it, feeling, believing it, on a daily basis. True faith is letting go and accepting what is, that is, after I do everything in order for it to go my way.
I could get all personal about deatils: selling home, moving, love, energy, dreams, but really how boring for the rest of you. And actually, blasting my insides out to the cyber realm is boring to me too.
So really, I am moving towards something, a change, a charge. I feel a bit charged today. Good enough for now. And whoever happens to read this (besides me) I'm pretty sure I love you.

Ocean Entry Dec 27 Big Island

Hawaii Full Moon Eclipse

The stars almighty brightness stunning

My spirit humbled in their presence

Clouds and rain for weeks barely any sun

And this early morn all swept away for this spectacular sight

So many stars

The moon heading down in the western sky

A giant peach with a color like calm

Mesmerizing to watch the miracle

Of moon and sun and earth

Passing each other

Falling stars streaking by

More  magic like icing on a cake

Can it get any better

Standing alone with my thoughts

So much spirit so many stars

Full Moon 11/11/11

Today is the anniversary of the day I was given the gift of recovery. At least I think it was the 11^th. Or close to it. Can’t really remember the exact day I picked up total abstinence and didn’t pick up anything else, but it was right before November 11, 1987.

Oh my, that day is a miserable memory. I said goodbye to my four year old son at daycare and my mother drove me to a treatment place. I call it a place because it wasn’t a ‘center’ or a hospital or cold and whitewashed. It  happened to be in the woods, up in the hills of western Sonoma county.  Looked like an old lodge in the redwoods, not fancy, just human and funky.  Which wasn’t what I was feeling in the least.

The way I ended up there is a story in itself. Let’s just say a recovering alcoholic of the old-timer variety was sitting across from me while I told my sad sack story. He was the Employee Assistance program person for the postal service at the time. This is when actual recovering addicts and alcoholics were running programs like this. Soon after, a masters degree was required. Don’t get me going on this subject or I’ll regress. As I tend to do. Anyway he cut me off while I was whining crying, and said he had a plan for me. Blessings to this man. But not what I was feeling about him at the time.

This was two days after being kicked out of my home by a husband who was angry, betrayed, and at his wits end. With good reason.  We talk about having the disease of addiction, but it doesn’t let us off the hook for the actions we take while in it. His denial enabled me to keep up my own, but once his was broken through, all hell broke loose, and I knew in my heart the bottom had come up to bite me in the ass. I felt my whole world had ended. And in many respects it had, and although many insights have come in the last 24 years, that day I knew only one thing. I was fucked.

As I write now, I see the slight dark humor in all our stories, our perceptions, the person we were compared to where we have come. It doesn’t erase the fact that addiction is a killer. Of our physical  selves, our bodies, some of us fatally. Never to see the smile of a child, the touch of a friend, the intimacy of love, the nature of our magnificent earth.

The disease increases the insanity of our minds that tell us we are separate, as we continue to live in that bubble of isolation and fear.  But, worst of all, it kills our spirits. The part of us which dreams, aspires, takes risks, guides us to courageous acts internally and externally. The spiritual nature of the disease and respect for what that feels like, to be spiritually bankrupt,  is what keeps me coming back for  human connection, for earthly connection,  the reminder that there is whole big magnificent world out there, keeping me in the loop of humanity. And that opens the door for so many other miracles. Too many to mention here, but miracles of mind exploration, body exploration, earthly traveling exploration….all of it.

Ok, so I got a little carried away there. Life is serious and joyful depending my thinking in the moment. Today I feel gratitude and so much love. Wish I could bottle it and give it away. Giving is receiving and I have received so much love. Today I will try to remember to smile every moment. And give that away.

Thank you…..xo

Hudson Fall

Pink orange pastel red
Lingering shades of green
Colors of the sun setting
On a misty day

The clouds floating with purpose
Somewhere to go somewhere to be
The airs coldness belying the coming season
No time for summer plans
All is over in this time and place

Cold winter snow wind
Coming to cover the world
Homes with steep roofs
Creeks flowing muddy already
No way to hide the seasons change

10 Years Ago Today

For the generations who remembered where they were, what was happening on the day JFK was shot; this same experience is shared with the 9/11 tragedy. We were all somewhere living our lives, and although our experiences are different, and how can I possibly compare my experience to someone who lost a loved one that day?…..We were all affected.

On September 10, 2011 a mothers 17 year old sons’ lung collapsed. She was called at work and hurried to the high school, and after being checked at the small local hospital, they said taking him to a medical facility 30 miles away would be a better idea and since using an ambulance might take longer than driving him herself; she raced there. In emergency the doctor poked a hole in his chest with an instrument as big as quarter, no anesthesia, hoping to inflate his lung……….this is my story.

I spent the night in the hospital room with my son, waiting for his lung to right itself, to inflate, and hopefully avoid surgery. I’ve learned since that the pain in growing boys’ chests with this kind of trauma is one of the most extreme kinds of pain.  After a sleepless night his face was white, he was crying out……and the planes were hitting the World Trade Center. In retrospect of course I see the confusion, the grief, the fear in the nurses faces. But in that moment I saw people distracted, my son suffering in agony, and me powerless running around looking for doctor to give my son morphine or some kind of painkiller to ease him. The only thing on the small television in the hospital room was the Manhattan skyline…….

So much has been written of this event, of our feelings, of anger, fear, and grief. All of it expressed through the years in the most poignant ways.  I cannot come close to conveying all the event, and peoples experiences of 9/11 entails. Today on the 10 year anniversary, I do know what I have learned through this. More about our human capacity for compassion and empathy for one another.  More about hate and fear and how that destroys our hearts and the hearts of others.  More about how one event can rip a country apart, and bring it back together. I have learned so much about New York City and its people and love them as if I was one of them. That is unity in the midst of pain.

My son had the emergency surgery that day, and was in intensive care for a week.  I basically lived at the hospital for two weeks and missed much of the initial fallout of the tragedy because of caring for him. Being a postal employee I missed that we were called into Civil Service emergency, with no planes meant no mail moved. The country was in crisis and so were we, in a different way. The TV in the hospital kept us informed and there was nothing else on, just as when I was ten years old, and John Kennedy was assassinated. 

I remember a night in the ICU. Two of my son’s friends had snuck in to visit him. One, a young girl, was curled up on the bed with Casey. I recall that feeling of caring and sharing pain, and loving each other and how I hoped his friends would carry on in their lives with that. Life’s moments are made up of these small instances that bring to our hearts what really matters.

In honor of those who died on this day ten years ago, for those who suffered in any way because of this violent action; I send hope and a heart full of thanks for the resilience and love of the human spirit.

Glen Ellen

Glen Ellen

In Northern California  now, the scent of sage, dry grasses, the  fragrance of the late

summers of my youth, of my life. Absolutely incredible how our sense of smell

stirs the brain organ in as sundry  ways (geez always have trouble with the

spelling of that word! Another brain block)

Anyway to get back to where I am. Sitting up in bed in the most beautiful renovated

barn you will ever witness, feeling like a little princess with my tea, early in

the morn, friends stirring in the house, wild California oaks under foggy skies

out my window.....and the freedom to do whatever my heart desires (ok, within

reason) all day today.

There was a time I lived up this road a piece, on a hill overlooking Sonoma

Valley. It was a small redwood cabin with a wood stove on the edge of a

vineyard. So amazing what passing time, recollection and retrospect will do

to our memories. It was one of the most difficult times of my life, but the

smell of the morning air with that hint of wild sage this morning, blankets my

memory with a sweetness and longing. Wondering where that time went, where I went,

where  my dead friends have gone……

I am not sad at all, just nostalgic, even hopeful, sentimental.

Looking at my age and the passing years.

Gee, I hope there is some new wisdom inside me, or do we keep relearning the same

old lessons? Not that I feel old, in fact my heart has the same stance, the never aging quality

of curiosity hope love awareness,  awake to the future……..oh the air and coolness of this morning,

and the strong scent of summer dried grasses carries me.

World Suffering

How many Navy Seals went down in that helicopter in Afghanistan?

Their families, their daughter sons wives mothers fathers

The grief of this time on their shoulders

No more sitting at the dinner table

Walking in the woods

Playing with the dog

Swimming in the ocean

But there is much more suffering than we can fathom

The face of famine in the children in Somalia

The young people being massacred in Syria

The prisons around the world filled with suffering spirits

The misfortune and distress caused by men against men

How does our psyche hold all this pain?

Of the world, our earth, without bending over

In a fetal position of utmost surrender

How do we keep any semblance of hope alive

In our Spirits?

Poetry is Good

Poetry is good. Good therapy. Good for the soul.

Good for the heart.

Poetry is a release. An exercise.

Makes you feel you’re doing something to help yourself.

Nothing to do with thinking others may read it.

An exercise of desperation.

Maybe healing a slight wound.

Or a major one.

Writing helps me to go on.

Just one more minute. One more day.

All of it doesn’t really matter.

Life begins with birth. It ends with death.

All in between is extra.

Gifts and burdens.

Love joy pain awake in life.

And so many feelings.

Often confusing; sometimes tingles, sometimes tickles.

Sometimes a knife.

Poetry is good.

The Search

My goodness there is so much information on the internet. Take for instance, bettering your life; either through yoga, healthy eating, prayer, learning to love yourself, taking charge of your life, that manifestation thing……..you get the drift (I love the word drift used like that). Anyway these entries on blogs, columns, in Huffington and a million places actually do have answers. I am making fun slightly, but there is some great advice, solutions, insights, all at the end of a clicking mouse. People have stuff to say about their lives, how they cope, their inspirations, what works, self love blah blah blah. There I go again.

And so many great quotes from down the ages………..it’s all at the end of our fingertips, in books, so many books. Don’t even get me going on books. My mind is a sponge for the answers to happiness within, acceptance, love in all its forms, the Sweet Spirit we are all a part of………..But I am lost in all of it. I soak up everything and nothing clings. The next day I start over with what simple thoughts I can remember to apply to my horrendously painful mind.  Yes, I’m in a quandary (another word to like) a darkness of the soul, pains of spiritual growth, depression of mind and spirit, or the shit…….whatever you would like to call it. And there are incredible helpful stupendous answers out there. But the awakening will happen within, not out there.

I have some very clear short sentences that help me remember I am a lovable spirit in this human body. And that a whole lot doesn’t even matter in this life we live, as centers of our own universes. Phrases that save me from myself. Sayings, affirmations that help change my thinking. I will not repeat them here, as they are that personal.  I am not a blogger/writer/theorist with the answers for anyone, but someone reaching out in the ethereal cyberspace ozone (while practicing my writing too) attempting  to become visible. Possibly seen, possibly felt. Maybe even a joint empathy in our crazy trials and tribulations.

In my search for answers, helpful solutions, or the set of words that will awaken the light, kick out my monster, and have me live happily ever after………I learn about you, myself, the world. And as far as feeling on top of the world? Well, it just ain’t happening today. Maybe tomorrow. I promise my next blog will be funnier.

Creativity

I haven’t blogged in awhile because it seems everything is personal, and I don’t particularly want to get personal with cyber. Internal controversies they’re called in some circles. And although ‘those’ people meant something slightly different, I have got them big time. So, let’s try this. Remember the point of this blog is to practice writing, with the hope someone might see it and give me feedback. Hint hint.

Creativity is a gift and most of us are unaware we have it. Unaware as in unconscious. Yes, we walk the planet with our eyes closed, our ears shut; but mostly to drown out the deafening sound and sights of all the chatter. Chatter being media, internet, social online overload, TV, drama, Wal-Mart, traffic, business, sometimes family and friends even, and you get the drift. I like that word drift; float, saunter, ride, skim, become carried. And that’s what we do. Ok, that’s what I do. I become carried by what’s in front of me, thinking I’m paying attention, but not really. Becoming insensitive to the trauma of the world, because how do we survive in full awareness of what is really going on.

Yes, I know you’ve heard this all before. So my dilemma is to channel the internal strife caused either by internal or external forces (in most spiritual paths the external is actually decided by the internal. Ok, another subject for another day) and make art. Some creative energy period. Pen to paper. Finger to computer. Paint to brush. Eye to camera. Blueberries to pie. Seed to ground. Fingers to piano. And that’s just the beginning.

Now, I may not be able to do all these things well, but amazingly I have already done all of them! (Seriously, me on the piano is like science fiction). But becoming inventive and being ourselves in this inventive process is not about anybody else. It is about the expression of our dreams, our spirits, our internal nature. And since we are all unique in beautiful ways, what we have inside waiting to be expressed, counts.

So my friends, without divulging all the tiring tribulations of my insides I managed to write a little piece about hope. Hope for your dreams. Hope for the discovery of ways to dance through this life a bit lighter, taking in all that affects us, and generating some small creative piece of life that is you. And at the same time I gave myself hope for this.

Thank you.

4AM

Trying to write wanting to write can’t sleep so might as well. Making sense of it is not the prize just blah blah blah write to fill the time ease the soul keep from picking up someone else’s writing. Gosh, that’s so tempting. To read what’s already written, and so much of it. Could fill my days escaping into stories and pictures real and imagined. So many ways to take a trip without putting words to paper. But…….

What about my own creativity my own story, not my story story but a story. Although I suppose all writers have a bit of themselves, their heart their soul in the story they write. Yes? Maybe not. I’ve read some pretty crappy stuff.

Do you think our parents/ancestors leave psychic mush in our DNA, our neural net, the stuff that haunts us, that makes us wonder why we feel this way, act this way, think this way? What I mean to say, the things we can’t explain that don’t seem a part of us, but seem to have always been there? And not good stuff, let’s get clear about that. The dark parts, the sadness, the self-sabotaging thoughts, the complacency, the holding back on our dreams. Do you think some of that is ingrained by another life, another spirit?

There I go off in the ozone. I like it there. I want be to somewhere besides here in my own head.  Been reading about our souls, before life, during life, after life. Reminds me this isn’t all there is, thank god. I’m not sure what is “there” but that other dimension is captivating engaging comforting. So much of what I give power to, what I may think is important, just plain isn’t. Just useless sludge.

And I will stop here, because if I tell you what the only thing that matters is, I will sound trite and like so many of those sayings clichés spiritual wisdom coming out of my you-know-what.  The word, at least this morning, seems so over used and does not do its’ meaning justice. The meaning being grand, vast, empowering, blessed, heartfelt.

But, I do wish you much of it.

Bin Laden

Ok they got him

I’m chucking my Buddha in the back seat

Not just throwing him in the back

But covering him with a blanket

Want to feel good about someone getting shot in the head.

That Buddha is trying to creep out

With a little mindful smile on his face

Get back there you bald round man!

Teaching me about not harming

Not today

What about all those harmed Sept 11?

And around the world in the name of a god who doesn’t exist

What about the trauma some will never get over

A shot in the head seems a small price to pay

So it’s rationalizing

So one shot won’t stop future terror

So what

I’ll let the round man who smiles sweetly

Out when I’m good and ready

Probably tomorrow.

After seeing I AM (Documentary by Tom Shadyac)

It’s a lot of spacey mind stuff that makes sense

We are all connected

By our hearts, guess what

Our hearts talk to our brain

Not the other way around

Every thought of stress….or love

Makes a pattern in the universe

Grief is a type of love also

Its what opens our hearts

To let more love empathy compassion out into the World.

That is such a good thing

To know that empathetic principle or energy

Is the best part of us.

Gives me hope for us humans

The animals already have it down.

Consensus decisions already happen in the natural animal kingdom.

We humans seem to be lagging

If the tallest mountains in the world, and the oceans and air

And all that connect us, are enter-twined in shared energy

How can we help but to love all be all share all

Quit consuming all?

How can we be guilty of doing….nothing?

My 'Coffee' Table

My desk, well, actually my coffee table.

Why do they call it a ‘coffee’ table?

TV table, living room catch-all table maybe

But coffee?

Ok my desk-table in front of TV in the living room

(Why living room? Do I live here?)

Geez, Kim .  Just write quit questioning.

 With computer,  and sundry paperwork, let’s see, ten books.

Ten books? What the…..they’re only here because I think I’m reading all of them.

Some even at once.

Ok there’s more. Five candles. One of those angel/jesus tall ones in glass.
I like those. Burn forever.

One beautiful crystal. Tigerbalm. Some pictures in a pile.

Whatever you do don’t open an old box and pull out pictures that rip your heart open,

Because they end up on this table ripping you up for weeks.

Till you figure out where to put them, till in the future you find them again.

Sheesh....when they say our lives are a circle I get it.

Pen, remote, phone, calendar, little coasters (that must be for the ‘coffee’)

I like this little prose poem.

Is it a poem?

Well, it is my table I’m writing it on.

So I’ll call it whatever I want.

Bombs Fall

Bombs fall out of the sky
The sky, the same beautiful shade of blue
Men, their fear palatable as fresh cut pears
Running on human adrenaline
The ants in the dirt marching
It’s what ants do
Men surviving or not
What men do
The sky still a beautiful shade of blue

Armstrong Woods