poetry

Where will the spinning stop when it has begun?
A concoction of stress and joy, the thrill of the dive.

Spinning 4 plates or more, pauses to consider, no room to falter - the ship flies too fast to spare a moment carefree - or can we still see?

The blind are busy fixing our key.

Watch a Fabulously artistic video about a white animated man who moves across the city walls using motion capture still repeat frame photography.

Flowing the spirals of time. Nitched and locked in the golden line.
Peace in the unlimited bareness of open being.
No layers to hide, an open heart.
Memorized by gratitude & grace.
Your calls spring in the wind.
A time for place. A time for space.

When your being lets down its final fight - you will absolve your last fright.
Naked you cloth the sky in layers of arctulated care.

A hard turn, a calculated click. And life whirls a new trick.
Always more than before, forever changing when once there was nothing more.

a handful of coral sand ruffles in your hands' warm clasp,
the rolling sound of waves spins air in gentle folds along your cheek,
the soft caress of layered pristine sands press gently beneath your feet,
plummets of fog lazily slipping between jets of deep green,
a spray of blues so vividly and widely colored your language inadequately names them,
a family of crabs retires beneath your weight,
boats bounce splashes in mountains of white,