A point of view:
Sometimes our thoughts are compiled into a point of view.
You know the thoughts about what we think of the world as it stands today.
But there is another point of view.
A simple point of view, a view we sometimes forget about because it is always there, always available.
It is the point of view that we see when we first wake up.
Or the point of view we see when we look out at the world to see what is before us.
It may be a garden out back, a working crew viewed through an open window,
a sandy beach with a red horizon, and a blacktop road at fifty miles per hour.
It is a deliberate choice that we make to put us in our proper perspective with our environment.
I can vision my body going out into a meadow and closing my eyes.
Standing still and then opening my eyes for the first time.
Absorbing the texture and colors in my point of view.
The thoughts moving threw my mind are the colors, textures and smells of my surroundings.
A point of view.
Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French muser to gape, idle,muse, from muse mouth of an animal,
from Medieval Latin musus Date: 14th century
1: to become absorbed in thought; especially : to turn something over
in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively
2 archaic : WONDER, MARVEL transitive senses : to think or say
It is morning and the quiet still of morning is green
I reread the above sentences trying to understand why I would write such words.
Maybe it is because I can and I understand the way to type words on to a colorful background.
This is a glorified piece of paper that I can upload into a storage area with an address.
A post it note on this/our computer screen.
If I could just remember why I am standing here in this field all-alone.
The weather is nice, but I wonder why I am alone? I am clothed as I remember in my work uniform and boots.
I do have a fondness for pleasant weather and this is my kind of day, but how in the world did I get here?
I have had memories of living alone, wishful thinking, but that does not explain this, what in the world happened? Why am I standing in this field, something is going on, is this a test?
I have imagined myself living without any help before, could this be my answer?
I had imagined that maybe the civilized world that I lived in has ended and
I stood alone to fetch and fend for myself.
Someone in my past had told me to be careful in what I wished for; I seem to be paying that piper.
I thought that I could live like this forever, I do have what I think is intelligence.
I imagined myself standing like a Greek god with my hands at my hips and looking over this small planet.
I can marvel at the colors and stately beauty of this ball of elements, this earth.
Just look at me as I stand rotund and out of shape in a field of green, a weeble.
With no help or being nearby I think that we could live like this forever.
We could stand stately and proud and dare the world to come closer.
Has the author put us all in our own colorful field?
What am I to do?
When night falls we will realize that we are not alone.
The eyes of the wild creatures of the earth will watch us very closely. What am I to do?
We have to learn to use our knowledge, the things that we learned in our life.
We can look for some useful tool and use it, but if no tools are available then we must create some to use.
Can we survive all alone or does our life require the help of others?
How difficult will it be to remains alive and not be food for other creatures.
What can I do to survive?
Do I have to find a cave and figure out a way to start a fire?
Then after the fire is complete then I could maybe get some sleep.
Who is going to watch the night while I am asleep?
I may need to find another human to have some sleep.
I know that there is steel, but how do I create it by my self?
Everything that I saw before this moment had been created for my pleasure to use as a tool or a weapon.
Can I possibly create everything that I know of by scratch?
Or do I have to search the world for other creatures of intelligence to help me out.
Is this new possibility based on each human helping each other out?
Does each one of us behave in a way to help another? Are we dependent on each other?
Or can we stand alone without any help?
It is time to move. It is time to be keen and aware.
Creating objects to see/feel/hear/sense/understand. Drawing a line to the center of your horizon and then down to the pot of gold. Turning a piece of chalk sideways and sweeping a rainbow across the sky. Using a computer to link thousands of people together and show them colors and thought.
Opening ones mouth, pushing sound out into the atmosphere. Communicating with people, animals and large antennaed boxes (across the room) with practiced sounds, created languages.
A web of telephones lines created by the military for speech and given to the public. Control of the internet is being fought for by the people that like to make money, whether they will come out on top remains to be seen.
Combine Speech and the Internet
You have a forum to speak your mind, though it is not entirely free, it does let you speak your mind to the point of being heard by any group of people. Indeed a very vocal way of speaking your piece.
A very inexpensive way of talking to millions. Being part of the democracy/or some part of some community.
Did the cave man talk to rocks, throw a tomato at his wall, then stop and stare at his creation, waving his hands in the air in frustration over what the lady of the dell had said just that afternoon. Have you ever walked along your path speaking to yourself, waving your hands in gestures of composition. Watchers of the great games speak and yell at black boxes plugged into the walls of their fortune.
I place little marks that we understand on this computer screen, and guess what?
You read/understand some of what is placed in this area.
Turn a piece of chalk sideways and sweep a rainbow across the sky.
As we walk, we leave behind the past and step into the future. Some of us would rather step back in time and live a simple existence. Some like myself, step into this electronic media. I jump into this pot of human behavior.
The Internet has provided for me a place to speak. A place where I pay for the space to set my thoughts and remembrance's of family and friends. Unique, how time travels online to you. I can set an emotion of love or hate. You as the reader can say bullshit and walk away or you can walk up the incline of our rainbow and see the earth with a different perspective. Amazing what our little brains can do, spinning yarns into quilts of friendships. It rains in colorful patterns here.
Here I can create woven patterns of thought, never needing anyone to define my attitude or presentation.
This can be crap on one page and pure genius on another.
These are the steps we are undertaking into human behavior and electronic arts. Good or bad.
Advice on web sites
Do you want to put your thoughts online, tell a tale, give advice, trash the world, give birth to more Morningstars, entertain? There are places on the web that offer space for free if you use them as your Internet connection. You will need at least 10 megs to feel comfortable, five megs will do.
If your going to sell something you will have to pay for your site. The best advice is to look locally at your Internet provider. Go to different places and see what happens at each site, but check your local provider first and see what they offer. If you can type you can build a web page. With a few phone calls you can be online.
You can color the world with Golden Poppies and Morning Glories.
We were sitting around a campfire. There was a warm glow from the wood fire. We were listening to a storyteller. Our minds were lost as we gazed into the red and black charcoal.
I looked over and tears were running from Laurels eyes. We had heard and seen a wonderful world in our minds. The storyteller had created an image. She had spoken a tale. She had sent us to a wonderful world of thought.
We had shared a story that had been passed down from one generation to another generation.
The stallion high up on the hill paws at the ground, marking the ground, his world.
Telling us that this world, high up on the horizons blue grasses, is his.
Marks on the earth by Stallions, Bucks and Bears.
We are all placing marks with meaning on this planet.
The pen is mightier that the sword, marks on paper, now on computers.
Traveling at the speed of light to every home on this planet.
We have told the world to please stop the infections of greed.
Mothers, sons, fathers and daughters all have computers,
all can sway opinions with voices of light.
The times are truly changing.
Peace and Good Will Prevail.
Far out badaba.
Beautiful words we absorb from minds long gone and past their prime. Tales written on parchment, paper and disk. Tales written about lifestyles we no nothing about, but we are eager to understand the parallels in mind and thought.
Words do wonderful things to our minds, they supply the supple tender thought of our loves
tender moments. The spice and lust of our glowing forms. They warm the inner emotions with joy and love.
They supply the orange and red glow of a burnt piece of wood that is a danger to us. Words provide the pain in the hot ember as it sears our hand.
I read an article by Lou and he explains to me about space.
The space required to make a person whole or one with god.
I allow my self to be tethered and restrained by our present society. If given the space to roam. I can drop the restraints and tethers. Lou speaks of the space that should be given/set aside by the state to creatures like my self. Places to learn and make adjustments to our mental state, so that we too can function on this planet. He made it work, but our Great Society was not impressed. There are a few places on this earth where you can roam free without restraint.
I have adjusted, I understand the space that I occupy and I am happy to feel all the emotions life has given me in my present form. I allow this society to dress me and tether me. I am lucky to be part of this worlds revolutions. As I see history, I see what others before me have seen. Our technology provides quick access to knowledge. We are improving, but we need more space. I do not think killing people to provide more space is the answer. If we look up we can see quite a bit of space. I would love to be back in the free environment of Morningstar, the space provided by god with its lush fruit and trees of knowledge.
Tall redwoods with bark bright red and as big as my hand. Pine needle beds to lay on and slumber. Looking up you see the green leaves and powder blue sky. A cloud that is a rabbit is now a snail as it rolls by. The warmth of the down bed is comfort in my mind. Peace, and take care.
Learning words, every day I learn new words.
I put these words into sentences.
I convey ideas across the wires of technology.
This writing moves from the past to this present, twisting emotions into words.
I do love to splash colors before your eyes.
I am learning to understand mankind with a lot of pompous bull spread throughout this writing. Take it with a grain of salt.
an egotistical drama,
being on the planet Earth,
going from wealth to poverty
and then back to wealth.
The middle class wealth of the fifties, down to the self imposed poverty of the sixties.
I had traveled in my mind with John Steinbeck in 1962,
reading whatever was available. I was bombarded with thought.
Doubt was following along behind me like a flying kite.
The math was not right. The black lights were speaking freely and I was beginning to understand.
It did not take much coaxing; my mind was basically there.
So now after thirty years I write, so you all can see the bare bones of one simple life.
This writing is a continuing peace of work
And as you may notice that it does change from day to day.
The work is being done for our pleasure.
And I must say that it is very pleasurable to put words on paper.
If the work makes someone smile or leads them someplace good it is a plus.
Which also makes it flawed with memory.
Hopefully these words and thoughts are the seed of something wonderful.
If something is not right, speak up and we may change it.
Dennis is what I was called from birth to high school.
Tom is what I was called during my military duties.
Tomas I took after dropping out, it is what my grandmother called me.
Some of us passed over the land called Morningstar Ranch.
Chances are that a very few of us have ever met. We were all blessed with a place to call home in our hearts and minds. We
passed this turnstile of time into our future. Each of us has a story of Morningstar, a beautiful and wonderful story. We have
kept our story in our minds, like the people of " Fahrenheit 451 " we walk around with the chapter of our own being. The
stories are coming to the top like sweet cream. This is a slow evolution, but each of us knows that time will pass if we wait too
long. Ramon touched each one of us with the chapter with his own thoughts, opening the gates of Morningstar Ranch in our
minds. We all knew we had a story, it was just when was it coming to the top.
Cut and paste the fragments of your life into a mosaic, like the quilt, each of us will hold a different color and landscape of
knowledge. Paintings ,pictures, songs and dust.......
The Red Ball Boots
Someone at Tolstoy told me that
if I was going to survive the winter there then I would need a good pair
of boots. Having money at the time, I decided that the next time
that we all went to the Dairy Queen, I would look around town and see if
I could find some place to buy a good pair of working boots. Somehow,
for reasons unknown to me now, I ended up with a really good pair of Red
Ball rubber boots. I guess, at that time, I did not know that boots
needed air to breathe. Well, I don't remember the time period we're
talking about. It may be Spring (1967 or 1968), give or take a year
Anyway, I cannot wear my dress shoes here at Tolstoy Farm, so I put them up in the attic of the main house. Well, doing farm work was dirty, hard on dress shoes, so I was wearing my work boots. So that Spring and Summer I wore my boots.
When early Fall came around, I decided to go pick apples in the Yakima valley. I had been there in the Yakima valley the year before picking hops and apples. I knew there was good money in picking apples.
I left everything I owned at Tolstoy, knowing that I would be back after the apple harvest. I took only the bare essentials, clothes, and boots.
Well, things don't always work out as planned, and I ended up at the Morningstar Ranch. My Red Balls were still on my feet, with their sturdy steel shank.
A good time was had by all at Morningstar. It was the place to be. Everyone knew that and everyone was there. For some reason, I stood fast and ended up in the poky with Red Balls. Do not forget, this is the story about the Red Balls.
I was having trouble at that time with Doris the wench in training, the Judge, and poison oak.
Ambo and Kathy said that they we going to New York. Kathy was from Manhattan and Ambo was from New Jersey. Tomas said, "Can I come along?" They looked at me surprised at what I had asked.
We hitched to Colorado where we got a ride from some young woman with two children in a VW van. She was going to New York. Share driving time, thanks. When we got to New York, Ambo said that he was going to New Jersey, see ya. I ended up at Kathy's mother's apartment.
The day finally came for us to leave New York. I tried to look up Jose on the lower east side (another story), but no luck. Ambo came back with a car. All we had to do was to drive it back to California. Ambo said that we were going to stop in Chicago for a day or two to visit his friend Laurel.
Did I ever say that I had not taken off my boots yet?
While driving in an eastern state, I got side-tracked, and Ambo and Kathy went on without me.
When I finally arrived at Laurel's apartment in Chicago, I decided it was time to go back to work. Lessons learned with Kyle at the Buddhist Temple in Carmel and the Judge in Santa Rosa. Everyone welcomed me back with a rousing Hawaiian Baby Rose Wood party that went on until Monday morning. Ambo and Kathy said it was time to go back to California. I said that I am staying here and finding a job. This time Laurel looked at me in surprise.
After Ambo and Kathy left, Laurel said I could stay until I got back on my feet, so to speak. Laurel, being a take-charge woman, promptly took me and my boots to a dumpster where I said my fare-thee-wells to the Red Balls. She gave me another bath, with special attention to my feet.
We got into her 1967 metallic Sea Green Mustang and headed for the Loop.
We parked under the El and walked across the street to a Thom McCann's Shoe Store.
She in her tailored suit and
I barefoot with my church-colored corduroys and cape (with red patch), and belt made by Sylvia.
My first pair of real shoes in God knows how long.
He walked tall and arrogant.
He wanted peace on earth.
What did Tomas look like in late 1967?
Picture a farmer with his rubber boots shoveling crap out of a barn. Remove the farmer and leave the rubber boots with the dung standing in place. Place Tomas in the rubber red balls. Place some orange corduroy pants on Tomas, they are a little to small and short, there is a gap between the bottom of the trousers and the red ball rubber boots. A leather blue and brown belt with a harness buckle made by the lovely Sylvia is around his waist. Put on blue check long sleeve cotton shirt, the shirt you would see on a lumber jack. Find your self a army wool blanket grey in color, wear it like Ming of Flash Gordon days of gone by. Place the cape on Tomas, beg one of the girls at Morningstar for a patch to place on your wool cape. The patch is only one of many patches being sewed together to make Lou a quilt.
Tomas has black/brown hair, he stands in his outfit, his mustache too long and gross, smiling with a silver tooth bright next to empty space. He is agile, passive and aggressive, hard working and stoned. Dip him in some dirty slurry and rinse as best you can.
Now we have a gentle creature, he is very happy to meet you, very happy to know that you are alive. He is very happy to receive the crumbs on his plate. He worships the ground he walks on.
He is only one, there are many more like him, they are all different and unique.
If you have written about your life at Morningstar, send Ramon a message saying that you have a written story. Or better yet
open a web page and tell the world, most space is free, be careful when choosing a space, some places sell ads over your face, or make you wear a sign around your neck.
An e-mail about hats in my life
Do people always remember hats with fondness. I do.
I go back first to my beanies, the one with the propeller on top they were the rage at one time. The other beanie had folded back edges, looking like they were cut with pinking shears, this beanie was adorned with pins and buttons.
Next was the brown Fedora, the hat my mothers dad put aside, not wanting to through it away.
I asked if I could have it, he said yes, imagine the raiders with their lost arcs.
The blue ball cap that was worn backwards or to the side, our gang style, with no logos, just a button on top.
The black Spanish hat my aunt had. A flat stiff brim. It's beads hanging around the rim. I wore it, though it was hers. The castanets went with it, she rolled the castanets like a Spaniard would roll his rrrs. I danced for her, standing proud like a matador, stomping my feet to the music "Malagueña" on the record player, ole!
The Cowboy hat, you rode the broom stick, like a wild stallion. Your shiny silver pistol in the air.
The Coonskin cap with it's tail hanging to the side, the lice came with it.
The Indian head dress, received as a Christmas present. This still may be found at the dollar store today.
The English driving cap, plaid with buckle and snap on the bill.
The white sailors cap, rolled with salt, down to the eyes and cocked.
The blue bandana keeping the salt out of your eyes, Red Ryder and Geronimo, sometimes with feather.
The Sombrero given to Laurel and I in Chicago from Judy and, it hung on the wall. When it finally fell or was draged down, the cats sharpened their claws on it, what a waist.
The blue Fedora given in peace to us from Laurel's dad Jack. It fell to our closet floor, unknown to us. Our male cat at the time, marked it as his own, gee thanks.
The white hard hat, something to protect from the hard steel headache ball swinging on the river. It still gave me headaches.
The baseball caps of the South, logos everywhere, the uniform of the day in the south..
Straw Panama hats keeping the sun at bay.
Well I've done it again! Laurel just informed me that the E-mail message I sent was in error.
Laurel said that the message that we received was about "Brain Capacity" not "Hat Size". I said something about just scanning through the E-mail that day.
She said "Do you remember when you had your back surgery?"
I said "Yes".
She went on to explain to me about my brain capacity, and then what the neurologist said to her after my brain catscan.
It seemed to the neurologist, that I had a rare brain structure called the "jerrold forrd" syndrome. It seems that a few people in the world are born with this brain syndrome. Living normal lives, sometimes missing a step or two, but normal lives. Laurel went on to say that I had four lobes in my brain instead of two. The doctor said most of the forrd brains had three lobes, but that he would get back to her on that one. She went on to say that my brain used 95 percent of it's capacity, which was very very good, but that it worked a little different than most brains. Most people have a train of thought, where as the train carries a great amount of thought to and fro, with a great many trains of thoughts moving though their brains at one time. Well in your brain ( she was talking to me), it seems that you have a trolley of thought. She went on the explain that one trolley of thought went down the hill and one trolley of thought went up the hill. And that even though I had as many as fifty trollies moving at one time, a trolley was not a train.
She said you'll have to write all those people and explain about the hats.
Anyway that is how I got started talking about my favorite hats.
Sorry for the mix-up.
It is fall, the leaves are turning red. Sometimes we go beyond the limits of normal living, whatever that means. I know of people that would rather live in the woods that live in the cities. I live in the country in a small community. It is a compromise with the mate. A little city, a little country. I love the inventions that man has created. I sometimes wonder how long I would survive without these inventions. I tried to live without all these invention, but that was impossible. The planes and stars are constant reminders of what I learned in school. Here is a reminder of how great the mind is, how the simple is great.
I was standing by the front door when Laurel came home from work. She had groceries in the car. I heard "How long have you been standing there?" Startled, I looked her way, seeing that she had groceries I went to her aid. I pick up five plastic bags and headed for the front door. She seemed surprised that the front door was locked. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked I said that I have been home awhile. Do you know what you were doing? I said that I was looking at the door handle. She looked at me surprised. I went on to explain to her the importance of the discovery of the handle. Who exactly invented the handle? She walked away. I said don't you think that handles are important? She started unpacking the bags, I helped her put the groceries away. Do you know that you have been standing out by the door for a good half hour? I was thinking about all the handles we see everyday, the importance of this discovery. I never saw anything about this in school? She started cleaning off the table. I started emptying the dishwasher. I headed for the computer. What are you doing she asks? I going to find out everything there is on handles on the Internet. She says "stop" very softly. I start loading the dish washer. Maybe I'll know more about handles tomorrow. Handles are amazing.
pots and pans
1952 While growing up in California, I resented the days of washing pots and pans. Young children want to go out and play after dinner.
1960 During my stay in the military, part of my duties were to wash pots and pans, these jobs were assigned as once a year job assignments, no big deal.
1963 Getting started after coming out of the service, a person has to start somewhere, cleaning pots and pans is one of the first starter jobs and then you move on.
1967 When a person lives on a commune a person feels responsible for taking care of a group of people, everyone on the commune shares with the responsibilities, and one chore that I performed was to wash pots and pans.
1998 Just today as I was washing the pots and pans left over from Thanksgiving dinner I saw the reflection of new ideas and thoughts in bright labor and clear water.
cat on my head
Laurel is perfectly happy to have a dozen cats running around the area.
Last year we were down to four cats. Two outside cats ,a stud (Possum, guess what he looks like?)(He was a Tom) and his mate (Girlfriend)(she was a lady). We kept things from getting out of hand. Two inside cats who were ladies(Alley Cat, found by Eli in a alley in Hammond, Ind. and Sweetie who came by our house one day and moved on in, one day I asked Laurel who is that?, she looked at Sweetie(She is a house cat, it is to cold or to hot out side,but just right inside) who was taking a dump in the kitty litter, and said that's not our cat, it looks like, maybe? I don't know? oh well) All the former ladies have had liters, all the kittens have been given to farmers who love cats, cats are mousers. I was perfectly happy with these four.
Allison stopped by a couple of months ago and said "I found this black cat at school, he needs some help, could you help me mom." Laurel said can I ? Tom said no. Please? Ok just until the cat gets back on it's feet. Tom "that's me " named this cat Davy Crockett. While sitting at the computer writing about Morningstar the cat jumped off the printer on to my head. The little tiny kitten sat on my head as I typed, it's tail hanging down alongside my glasses, hence Davy Crockett and his coonskin cap.
Two days later Sandra calls (The Angel of Kentucky). She has this cat she does not know what to do with, it keeps getting under her feet. Sandra was in a recent car accident, Laurel went and got the orange cat (Peaches), somebody at school told this cat to drink eight glasses of water a day, what a pisher? Sitting at the computer today I hear water running, I look over at the faucet, nothing there? I soon realize that it is Peaches the pisher soaking the kitty litter. We took her to the vet. She is good and healthy, she drinks eight glasses of water a day.
Now we have two kittens, no wait. Laurel came home for lunch the other day, six weeks ago. In her hand she had this greasy ball of bones, the flea's had to climb up and down this kittens rib cage. This kitten had rode in a car for fifteen miles, his little brain was startled. Ok Ok She named him Odyssey.
These cats love it outdoors now, it took them a while, the out of doors awakens their senses. For a while there they had to come inside to go potty, what the hell is this world coming to, when a hard nose like me lets a cat come in to go potty. Enough!! They stayed out side for two days learning the ropes, Laurel said let them in.
They come and go now, their cats.
Changing your mind
The society we live in is fast paced. So I have found it necessary to change my mind from time to time. After work I usually head home, I move right to the bathroom. In the lower left hand drawer is where my extra minds are stored. My work mind is filled with water tables, rainfalls, three day predictions, "Yes sir, can we help you?", and other factors that let the river flow free. My home mind, cleans up around the house, talks to cats, pleases or not pleases Laurel, watches the latest ball games, etc. My space mind wanders around the house looking at fish tanks, doorknobs, empty bowls, sunrises and sunsets. This last mind is by far the most pleasurable, since pleasure finds its way to the most discreet areas of my body just by laughing and thinking good thoughts.
My admiration of the sixties goes back to the way that I was brought up.
As I was growing up in the 1940s and 1950s, I was taught conflicting lifestyles. My grandmother taught me about nonviolence. The black and white newsreels at the local movie theaters taught me of Gandhi and his nonviolence and at the same time the U.S. government said that everyone was equal. The Good Guys (the ones with the white hats) at the movies did everything right, they did that right before my eyes on the big white screen. The Roman Catholic Church was saying to love thy neighbor as thy self. In our Sunday Schools Jesus was being a really good man. The Garden of Eden was the place to be.
As I looked about the news I received every day said that women were not equal, blacks were not equal, and I was not equal. In the 1940's the Nazi's in Germany were destroying millions of human beings. Islands and nations were being destroyed because of war. Riots were started because people were not being treated right. People were dying because they were good.
I grew up listening to all this information and my mind was being bombarded with conflicting viewpoints. I was an impressionable young man and I believed that what my elders said was the truth, I had no reason to believe that anyone could lie about the world. As I slowly aged, I knew something was not right. My life was confused because of family problems and conflicting news about the destruction of the world (The A Bomb), and this had me not wanting to do anything but understand, no help was given to me. I rebelled but had no place to go. One side of me worked hard and the others side of me asked why? I lived my life as I thought I should after my military tour of duty 1959-1962. There were problems brewing with other young adults, but I knew nothing nor comprehended anything. I worked several jobs moving about. The children were rebelling, young adults my age were rebelling but I still did not comprehend. I knew that the music had been changing, we were hearing about the abuse of the black man with his music and his lifestyle. Society did not want to change to a better behavior toward different individuals. We knew this was not right. Everywhere I turned I realized that something was very wrong, I knew this but I did not know enough to do anything about it.
A revolution was forming right before my eyes. I was too blind to see it or I could not grasp the thought that I could do anything about it. The music was seeing it. Where in the world was I? I was working thinking that my optimism would change the world, I may have been right, but I did not know this. Everything around me was changing. I shared in the feelings of the young adults around me, but I did not see.
I do not take any responsibility for starting a revolution. I was pulled into the full bloom of the revolution by the kindness of my friends. I felt all the warmth of the energy spent in helping your fellow man. I being the fellow man, the earth being the fellow man. I was put in a situation to be helped, to be taught, to be guided. The realm of humanity helping me was tremendous.
The tide of change in my life was done.
I lost my inhibitions.
I learned to express my feelings, to lose the patterns of conformity.
I learned that it was ok to maintain those patterns of conformity,
but it was also ok to be without those patterns of conformity.
Thus done, the guilt in my mind was gone.
These things were taught to me gracefully.
I was free to be me.
I could walk without cloth or shame.
I could visit the Garden of Eden.
I could talk to Eve.
I could share my life and wealth.
I could study all thoughts.
I could see the word.
These were the things I did and learned.
All these things were done during the revolution of the sixties and I continue to live in the community of humans on this planet.
I do hope you may now understand the meaning of community.
I give you Peace, Badaba, Love.
PS. Before you die, do you want to know that you did well and did something right?
Yes, you did and MOST of the world understands and thanks you.
Tomas Muse by Date