11/9/2016

If there are two things I’ve learned,  it’s that it's a bad idea to self medicate,  especially with ideas. It’s been an easy seventeen months, gorging from the firehose,  catching the excess drool in a bucket and never tiring of my own counsel. Now, knocked sense-full,  I see the bucket has not just overflowed but stained the carpet from my LazyBoy to the Omega Point, way out there,  ever and always just a little beyond the horizon. 

A metaphor about the nitrogen rich healing power of a forest fire helpfully plops in my lap,  purring for attention before dissolving under grace’s midnight sun. 

When the ideas are gone it's just this:

Aristocrats and dumpster kings
Watching the aurora river its way through the valley;
Crowds on both sides throwing opinion and judgement to the opposing shore, into the dying arms of  sleeping midwives.

No delivery there,  but always a current here,  in the river of light.   Healers, helpers, artists, dreamers & thinkers paddling with the current in a chain of cedar canoes, ever forward,  ever forward.