the tempest, ten months later

I remember the tempest…on late spring…throw me  away from the safest place I believed was the most secure place of the universe…my armchair, my little corner in my house…surrounded by my books…hills of books…the big books in the basis…the pocket book at up site…today the books are around other places…some little hills at the floor…but I stay sitting down in the same armchair…in the same corner…the same spotlight shinning my writings…readings…memories…reveries…wishes…my house is more a home after the tempest…that spring tempest that seems to sweap my place away…my little shelter…my little nest…my little space of peace, freedom, joy and love…the late spring tempest turned my home a more sweet and warm home…it’s just  autumn…the autumn warmth…the autumn leaves at streets…the summer in my soul…today…the golden full moon seems to look at me…I noticed her at the set horizon…when sun and moon meet each other…full moon…lovely night…the tempest change somethings…the tempest made transformations…I keep standing trustful…keep going to futures…and as an endless lullaby…the full moon seems to sing with me a sweet song…and we keep going trustful to good futures…me…and you

two reasons to smile

in despite of all…I’m here, and you too…for a while…for just a moment…when my writing reachs you…when you read my writings…for a while…during this meeting in the middle…at the point the half writing touchs the half reading…the half word meets its other half…such a joy!,…such a lovely instant…a flash instant…in despite of all difficulties and problems of daily living…in despite of challenges and some sorrow…for some instant…the blue and the joy are one lovely sentiment…free motion…when loveliness frees joy…even when all is fallen…love sets…gently…near hand…near heart…near soul…facing bad news…facing troubles…I ever have two reasons to smile joyfully, ever trustful…me…and you…and you ever have these two reasons too…love, much love

daydreams, nightdreams

dream at sleep is good…who is the dreamer?,…dreams do not visit me so frequently at sleep…when I wake up at sunset barely and scarcely I do remember a dream…some sleep records I take when a dream comes up by morning…the strong sensation, however, is the tough perception of daydreamming…these daydreams also do require time…in everyday living I listen that so common assumptions ‘there’s no time!, or ‘I don’t have time’, and so on…but I don’t have time…no one have time…time is not a property…time is not an object like a bed or a chair is…it’s an illusion the statement about have or not have time…we live in time…and in place…while dreamming, there’s other time and other places…a dream resembles a fairytale…when I wake up in the mornings…sometimes I feel I wake in a dream…the daily living…plenty of times and places…plenty of choices…and daydream is close to imagination, to leisure, to spend the time wisely, lovely…creatively… the old adagio is true, the importance of be awake and aware of the present time…as in a dream, the past does exist in memories and reveries, the future does exist as will and desire…the imagination is a source of choosing to live an easier daily living…the choices fo everyday living for living well…that so simple wisdom of well living…considering all difficulties and daily tasks and appoitments and problems and delays and bad news…even though, if it’s possible to choose, this is the practical freedom, the practical joy…far away from theories and some beliefs…perception is not a matter of belief, but trust in self perception and awareness of a day…a night…as ever brand new instants for choose joy and freedom, and keep loving…love is not a vanish glance nor only a word…love seems to be some perception and care of goodness, human goodness…love is life too…I feel love is all…love is the messenger…love is the message…when all is fallen, love sets gently and stands near the hand…the heart…the soul…living a good life is simple and difficult…more than a challenge, it’s an opportunity…to feel the texture of dream and living…at some point I can not separate one from the other…to dream and to live are expressions of some solely one…I choose to live close to dream, and close to other realities…close to fiction…art is this endless lullaby…someone can listen before fall asleep…to enjoy other dreams…the core and realm of a dream is good and lovely wishes…at days…at nights…ever love

spacing

I don’t have time…I try to count with my hourglasses…but I have some space…be my house…be the city…be the streets…my house is a shelter…my house is a built…peoples need a house…to spend the time within the family…within friends…time is more abstract, space and distance are more concrete ones…the streets and the city shall be an extension of a house…like a big house where we can live in peace…and work in peace and good will…it seems there exist some architeture of a house, and of that big house, the city…the earth…a house done of bricks of earth and labor…with strong roots, and strong roofs…however, a house must be also a home…I don’t have a home, I am a piece of a home…the toghetherness is a home…a house with love is a home…a trustful and grateful house is a home…I live in a home…you live in a home…we can live in a home…architeture is do empty spaces…how can imagine empty time?,…the good labor is fulfill and nurture that house with love..is feed with love these empty spaces…then, almost suddenly but smoothly and slowly we can enjoy and inhabit a home…I can buy a house…can I buy a home?,…can I rent a home?…I can not sell a home…a home is not a property…a home is some farmyard space and some restfull garden…some seeding space, some harvest place…seeds of love…joy and peace harvest…when I come out my house…I got with me the hourglasses, the clock…to timing the time…but which direction?,…I got with me a compass…the direction is solely one…the love road…the love enjoyment…the share of good ones…the share of loveliness…that shared place, home…that beloved place, home…spacing love, spacious love…the common ground…the common horizon…more than a place, stand in the loving road…keep on the love track…anyway, there’s only one compass…the compass of our shared goodness…our shared love…our trust…good trust…one compass, one love…to all peoples…one direction: humanity…humble labor…this is our home, lovers…just stay alive in!…please everywhere as our skin…come on…lets stand toghether…as individuals, as a home…one home…plenty of goodness…the doves over the roof are telling about freedom, peace, joy, and ever love…ever trustfull and gratefull sentiment…a home is a sentiment…an amorous sentiment is a home…some loveland…beyond time and space…some lovely flight…and the care of humanity…roll on, loving road…lovers, keep on loving…roll on, loving river…the soften path…the common path…not only in my head…love ahead

I don’t have time

do you have time?…I don’t have time…time is not my property…nor your’s…I sense I do live in time, that closeness of time and living, time and life…if not, where I could purchase time?, or rent time?, or sell time?,…to whom I must address my demand?…I don’t have time…I try to spend the time joyously…I try to enjoy the time gratefully…I try to share the time with you, reader…if I do write, I also write for you…this way, we can share the time in a lovely way…and spend the time toghether…going further…to good futures…no one must be slave of time…I am not master of time…I try to just live in time…time is not of mine…time is our common ground…I guess we…me and you…we are time…we don’t have time…the invitation to spend the time joyously…ever near heart invitation…I feel time as an ever opportunity…to live and send praises to human goodness…sometimes I long for old days…sometimes I long for another time…but the invitation is to spend trustful and joyously the time…now…like children do…like some wise way to spend the time lovely…I don’t have love, I do love…you too

one rose, my garden

one rose is my garden…perhaps the blue rose…perhaps a yellow rose…bluecolorful roses does not exist in nature, but one rose is my garden…at autumn, so beautiful rose!,…a blue rose…at down times…at up times…the blue rose is there…such small garden…not only in my head…love ahead…keep on going the loving road…the blue rose is love…its blosson anytime…our common garden…to blossom joy and trust…our common garden is love

writer, painter

I’ve written a lot off line…some of these writings are on line, and the best place is this blog…a little home…to share the living…sometimes I feel that writer work is close to a painter work…each time I can write online drafts…each time I give up the search of the perfect words and phrases, I can write something, like a painter searching to draw some paisage…it seems like each word is a color, and the phrases the painting motion…the text and texture is some between paisage and a piece of writing…not so close to the sculptor…although my writer work seems to build a touchable one…as when I can touch a statue, I can listen the sounds of a song…it seems that writing is something that does exist while its been reading, and after vanishes…in the air, and in the soul…as sculptor, as a scriptor…a writing is best touched as a book…a book in old fashion, some concrete one…although my will is not in the book, but in reading motion…a writing is one half, the reading is the other half

prose, prosody, poesy

I’m studying poetry…the rhythm…the time…the forms…the bound between prose and poetry…so tiny boundaries…there’s some point where prose and poetry are one…the human voicing…the sonnet, a fourteen line verse…the cinquains, a five line verse…the haikus, five live verse with twenty-two syllables…but the solely way I reach for sensing a poem is chanting the words, as I play the musical notes at my old acoustic piano…the human voice is a wonderful musical instrument too…and I do spell out the words of a poem…and i try to sense a poem most by listening through ear…as in music…a poem and a song are related to time…to some succession of some noticed one that come up time after time…some escansion…some true chant, but I’m not a poet…I write some prose…I appreciate lively conversation…that prosody, that music of everyday speech…and I sense the poetics in all peoples…when peoples talk…sometimes resembling prose…sometimes resembling an endless poem…I just write, in between prose, and some poesy…and i sense a poem, as i sense a song, some blissful emotional thought…when emotion and sentiment meet in the middle…and love turn around and within…nor prose neither poesy, but some writing effort to share love and joy…art, done with words, pleasant phrases, fairy tales, of everyday living…somehow, poesy jazz up from prose when a chant can be listened…writing texture…some fine blend of prose, talking, and poesy…anyway, I just write…to share love…to support silence…the ground of sound, and music, and togetherness…roll on, loving road, and lead within all loveliness…to support time, and distance

going on smoothly

so hard…so simple…simplicity raise up some fear…simplicity brokes much thinking…it’s not needed much thinking…there’s so much love to so many tears…and so much joy…in despite of all…when all is falled…love remains…I don’t know what love is, I just sense love…I don’t know if love is an art…and any knowledge about love I see as some illusion…love is an experience…knowledge about love vanish itself, when love do catch up…love seems an endless experience…near the soul for all peoples…as a common bread…a common thread to weave and sew writing cloths for the body, and the soul…some fairness dress, some deep skin…love is not as stringing together a long chain of experience moments, but a sudden and soft perception of goodness at a glance…at first sight…at second sight…the look of love…the song of love…openness…to lovely roads…I take some stop, to stay on the love track…openness, to good futures…as promise…as a building future…love ahead, it’s not only in my head…and doubts and suffering might ruffle my feathers come straight…but I try to calm my mind…breath deep…sense the goodness…human goodness…such a brave task!…simplicity, love ahead…and anger and fear…I put all in my good will…love crucible…not changing myself, but taking some love transformation…accepting the goods…facing bad news…enjoying loveliness…each people is inhabited by seeds of kindness…grounded love…roots of love…no matter what love is…I sense love…the sound…the song…the word, and beyond…this tiny thread of love, embroidering loving words…line after line…loving roads

sleeper, slumber

I’m being old…time passage is an universal one…at this point of my biography…at this point of my path…I try to sleep early than before, and wake up at sun set…its autumn, here where I live…this week was good, but so much work I did…some needed rest, the sleep…some farmyard week…some restfull nights…but just around midnight, I feel my day is just beginning…I like the night…I like the steeling stars…I like to hear the rain drops at the windows…I like the soften night, fairy nights…at night, just after sundown, my body and my soul arises…my will sets…and sometimes I can enjoy the night invitation to keep going all through the night…some reading…some writing…some get-together with good and rare friends…to stay closer to my dearests…there are many ways to stay together…space and distance are not matters…the love bond encompasses all…when I go to sleep nowadays…I chant silently ‘slumber, slumber, tonight…tomorrow is another brand new dawn…its all right’…and usually I fall asleep…no dreams…at sunset, I wake up…and the brand new day seems another dream…good dream… another day to keep on building a better world, lovely world to all peoples…to just stay alive…to enjoy any piece of time…love is in the air, and in my heart…am I a dreamer?