Cloud cliffs drift over rough barked deep green pines,
As the scent of cut grass and damp earth caress the neighbors’ star spangled banners;
Holding at bay the crimson-tipped spears of deep-rooted anxiety sprouting like noxious weeds menacing the fragile fairy of tranquility
Beneath my lukewarm coffee, the open page advises The wise man knows that it is better to sit on the banks of a remote mountain stream than to be emperor of the whole world.
[Perched on a sun warmed slab of limestone, encrusted with Cambrian fossils, my friend, dead now for forty years, and I snatch crawdads from the cool stream running through the pasture on his grandfather’s farm. Licking away the stray crumbs of peanut butter pancakes, I idly sharpen my Barlow knife in a leisurely figure eight pattern like my grandfather taught me. Later, we set off with a battered Folgers coffee can full of crawdad destined for the trout line.]
[A falling star of trivia interrupts my reverie – the average person spends 47% of their waking time wandering in and out of daydreams.]
The flowing stream of consciousness recharges the mind-dynamo.
From cosmic gyres to electron clouds of potentiality,
Reality contains myriads of fractally folded dimensions.
But a thousand subtle shades obscure the jagged edges of meaning,
As insights flash and flit about the periphery of awareness like fireflies.
In a moment of clarity, the mundane transposes into the extraordinary.
Tracing along an ancient dream-track summons the creator-being who parts the mists of the mindstream to briefly reveal- With our thoughts, we make the world.
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