As we travel along our own path we see different things.
I see a young man at the river looking at his latest project. He built a water paddle wheel which does two things, it provides water for the commune and it creates electricity for the farm. He did not use wood ,clay and rope to build his creation. He used readily available technology from radio hut and the local hardware store.
I look on the internet and I see people from all ages writing about peace. Each in his own terms willing to share their knowledge with others for no cost, a few sell trinkets.
Each man or women tells a different story, a different way, a single path.
I see a women who wrote about how to live on a commune using the present laws available. Sharing her wealth of knowledge for a price.
Her knowledge so valuable that others are willing to buy the knowledge so that they too can live in harmony.
The women is a blessing.
I see others organizing funds for all causes, these things I see on the internet.
I see poems of love, a cry for peace.
I see people crying out/longing for friendship, a hand to grasp in the ring of webs.
All good things I see.
I did not look for the bad, the evil. I know it is there, waiting for the young eager child.
Letting them drink blood. Very bad vibes.
If you are a child looking for pleasure, find a good hippie, take them to lunch.
A morning walk at Morningstar
I am walking the land without clothe or shame, thin bare bones, the poverty speaks clearly. Others call it waste. Walking nowhere, seeing nothing but the space before me. Others call it a daze. As I approach another human, we smile, very happy to meet another in our presence. The senses are keen, the awareness seen. People are dressing me. If I wear a brown robe, I walked and talk, blessing all the humans I meet with awareness. If I wear a clown costume, I spin and dance, walk in the park, smiling with the flowers and children. If I wear a blue uniform with my name on the pocket, I labor with love, salt, sweat and mother earth.
Young men and women in the sixties had their own agendas. They were moving toward their known or unknown goals. I for one did not know where my life was headed. I assumed that everyone that I met was on the same path that I was on. I was wrong. My studies were always around religious philosophy, that was the direction that I was heading. My assumption was that I thought everyone was studying the same way. I was wrong. I took no school course in philosophy, that was my personal love. The Garden of Eden comes from my grandmother, her magazines with the lion and the lamb, people walking around naked in peace. Peace though non violence comes from Gandhi, be simple and good. Art as work, work as art, come from Michelangelo and his dedication to work for perfection though doing. Looking into all thought and images as a means to improve ones life comes from Leonardo Da Vinci and Thomas Jefferson. Sharing ones wealth for the good of the commune comes from Tolstoy. Being the image of god comes from Jesus. Rules and laws come from Moses and his Jewish nation. Seeing the one light comes from Buddha. Respect for the elders in the family comes from Confucius. Love the one your with comes from Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.
Being seen as a human and comforted comes from Sylvia and Joanie.
Open land comes from Lou and Ramon.
Does this happen to you? More messages in a bottle.
Laurel and Allison are speaking on the phone on Sunday. They have a great time coffee klotching and talking about womens stuff and things. They speak about getting together and planning a great too doo. Since they have talked on the phone and the good vibes are so great. Since I was in the area during the past two days, since they have spoken, I should know what the plan is? Right! Has this happened to you. They swear on a stack of Good Books that you were informed.
They'll say to me, " I told you last week." They talked on the phone last week is what happened.
Sinced they talked then, they assume that I know what was said.
Things that happened after I left Morningstar, people may assume I know of. Others know the facts and people assume I know them also. What I wrote about is what I remember, all other details I read in articles by Pam and Ramon.
Because you have spoken with all the others, you assume I know the all the facts.
Say Hello to old friends. Go watch the Puppets play. Go watch mom and dad at the park.
Sidewalks and paths for people on foot and on bicycles for all of America. I think Mr.Williams is on the right Path, help him out.
What do you do?
I did work.
Now I paint pictures with a computer.
Why? I remember writing love letters to people when I was younger.
I drew hearts, clubs, diamonds, spades, flowers with petals in pastel tones,
I wrote the word LOVEand colored it in pastel.
I wrote WE ARE and did the same.
What was I doing?
I was putting you in a place and time, which hopefully is the present.
Hopefully a pleasant place.
Maybe a place to see a flower or smell a biscuit.
Do you remember walking theHAIGHT and just staring at the posters?
Is this FLOWER POWER?
I guess that is whyLAURELkeeps me around.
We put each other in our place, which is usually home.
I will remember Memorial Day as the day of the mother/soldier. My mother fighting off my father to defend her children from the great war in our family only to disappear beyond the thoughts of this nation/man.
I will remember all mothers who fight off the drunken rebel and the tyranny of their broken lives.
I will remember all the women and men who fought and died in the struggle to stay sane in our world gone mad.
I will remember Memorial Day as the nation of men and women who died fighting off the tyranny to make our country free from the evils of mankind.
Our Gererations of Love comes streaming through the Valley to our Hearts.
Is it egotistical to take care of one being?
If you take care of ones self, does that encompass our relations with others?
How much strength does it take, to take care of two beings?
Do you need a group of humans to take care of a group of humans?
Where does the answer lie, how do you explain to one child that they exist and that
they are a marvelous creation who wanders and wonders about the universe.
Do words tell a growing child how truly great they are?
How unique we are as single beings, how unique we are as a group.
Do we stand in the place provided?
I love the expression
" Goodwill toward Men".
Do people understand words as being good.
Though the opening I could see the drawing on the wall of the cave. The fire was throwing warm light, creating movement in the still night. I sat, watching the drawing on the wall. They had painted the sun on the cave wall. I remember back this morning, feeling depressed and sad. I had felt that the world was against me. I had felt the pain in the back of my head. I had felt terrible. I thought I knew what to do, so I had walked to the side of this mountain and gathered some wood and kindling. I had sparked a fire with flint in this cave. The first time I had seen the drawing, it had reminded me of how simple the past can communicate with the present. The simple drawing of the sun on the cave wall spoke of a time past. The time where one human decided to communicate with the future. They decided to tell us that they knew the sun. The simple drawing, a old circle and radiating lines told of emotions gone by. They told the story of someone drawing in this cave. The life trying to reach forward into the future. A life with a history, a life willing to create a drawing. A life whose time frame has long since gone. A life that had lived and loved, fought and cried. A life that had walked and talked in this cave. A life that had seen the sun. Sitting in this cave I look at the sun and realize that I am not alone. Someone has left a message on this wall. I watch the drawing as the fire's reflection plays tricks and dance on this wall. I know that someone else has sat here and watched this sun as it danced and entertained them so long ago. My sadness is long gone, as I slowly understand what I see, the muscle in my neck has relaxed, the pain I understand. It leaves my body. I'll come back here and sit at some other time. I'll again share the time with the one who painted the sun.
No Place to Be
The lonely place, the place without thought.
The closest place to death, no reality.
Without light or ego.
Alone without being, no bliss, near death, understanding nothing, white or black. No colors to paint or see, no depth or void.
No awareness or imagination.
No being to comfort or hate.
The lonely place.
No words to even comfort our awareness.
Blank not even black.
No place to be.
Love guides the forlorn.
Off in the distance, I see the orange glow of light. I am not alone. There is a man with a
candle walking in the caverns of my brain. He is looking for the seam, the tiny crack where
normal behavior seemed to have separated from the normal track. He said he started
looking in 1998 and is working his way back to 1941. Somewhere in the dim light there is
a clue to the separation from the mother ship. There are some scars and some brilliant
points, but no clues to the drift to the left.
Some where in this vast array of thoughts are the clues to my state of being. Pieces to the
puzzle that will give clues to the world of my sanity. In the meantime I will assume that I
am sane, but with a strange point of view.
Some where along the line, societies point of view became flawed. The worms had escaped
and there was no way to put them back into there proper place.
I had no dreams of Che, I was just lost and looking for the truth. There is no valiant
warrior deep rooted in a cause, I was lost, I am just looking for the truth. There are no
deep roots planted firmly in the ground, I am a lost wandering child, just looking for the
truth. I had no clue of the world surrounding me. I had and saw the answers, but had no clue as
to how these fit into our puzzle of life.
There is a place in time where knowledge falls in line with emotions.
Words and emotions line up and travel to my mind simultaneously.
With the knowledge of each new word the world becomes clear.
Life falls in place, a place as simple as that.
Somewhere between standing in the woods without a stitch
and driving thru the streets of an industrial habitat, I stand.
Frowned on by some and admired by others.
Where I stand is not important, to be seen by others is important to me.
My ego demands some acknowledgement otherwise the soft wet sand that I am standing in will sink.
I think that we all stand in the wet sand at some point in our lives.
To see and to see them is important, never forgetting the paths that we have walked.
Saying hello to the new found day and its passengers.
Love guides the forlorn.
You are the human beings that
move at one hundred miles an hour. You dart about quickly scanning over
whatever you do. Skipping lines of text, getting the general gist and sweeping
away/darting to new horizons. Reading thousands of messages as just glimpse
of life. Absorbing knowledge and maybe a little wisdom. You fill your basket
with truth until you are exhausted and pass out tired waiting for another
You are the human beings that move at one hundred miles an hour. You dart about quickly scanning over whatever you do. Skipping lines of text, getting the general gist and sweeping away/darting to new horizons. Reading thousands of web sites as just glimpse of life. Absorbing knowledge and maybe a little wisdom. You fill your basket with truth until you are exhausted and pass out tired waiting for another day.
You are the human beings that move at one hundred miles an hour. You dart about quickly scanning over whatever you do. Skipping lines of text, getting the general gist and sweeping away/darting to new horizons. Reading thousands of newspapers as just glimpse of life. Absorbing knowledge and maybe a little wisdom. You fill your basket with truth until you are exhausted and pass out tired waiting for another day. If you get this far it will be a miracle, there is probable something in the text above that you missed and will probably make you mad, chances are your long gone because you are not going to put up with this stuff any more.
You are the human beings that move at one hundred miles an hour. You dart about quickly scanning over whatever you do. Skipping lines of text, getting the general gist and sweeping away/darting to new horizons. Reading thousands of faces as just glimpse of life. Absorbing knowledge and maybe a little wisdom. You fill your basket with truth until you are exhausted and pass out tired waiting for another day.
You are the human beings that move at one hundred miles an hour. You dart about quickly scanning over whatever you do. Skipping lines of text, getting the general gist and sweeping away/darting to new horizons. Reading thousands of messages/websites/newspapers/faces as just glimpse of life. Absorbing knowledge and maybe a little wisdom. You fill your basket with truth until you are exhausted and pass out tired waiting for another day.
If you get this far it will be a miracle, there is probable something in the text above that you missed and will probably make you mad, chances are your long gone because you are not going to put up with this stuff any more.
Just take care of your body and see the little flower/child bloom.
Words are thrown into a dryer, where they are tumbled and
polished until they are smooth to the ear.
Depth in the meaning of thought is only a matter of opinion.
Words are used like formulas.
Add um together until they come out right.
About the aura that surrounds our bodies,
you may think that this is something of great
spiritual meaning. It only means that our
bodies give off heat. You may think that is
something of great spiritual meaning and
I would say that you are right.
Pay no mind to them, if you ignore them, maybe they'll go away.
Laurel and I have heard that before.
We have moved to Kentucky and a different group
now utters those words in silence.
Why eat organic food?
The main reason is the effort the grower puts into the garden,
to not pollute it with chemicals that are harmful to the earth.
There is a good chance that he will treat the labor on the farm with equal dignity,
a shared self respect for humanity and the earth.
It may take thirty years to cleanse the earth of pollutants, so be careful how you treat your garden. Learn about the organic ways to turn your soil into rich organic loam.
It may take thirty years to cleanse the earth of unfair labor practices, so be careful how
you treat your labor in your garden. Farm with equal dignity, a shared self respect
for humanity and the earth.
Organic foods do not need fancy ads or packaging,
saving the earth from unwanted waste.
Thanks to Hew
Or Complete Nonsense
The twisted and turns of events.
The people that loved,
now hate the world they left behind.
The cow jumped over the moon.
Too much society,
too much greed.
They left to form a more perfect union,
but they hate the world that is flawed,
Three Men in a Tub.
It is all the same planet,
you here, me there.
We cover our bodies with cloth or silk.
Some of us anoint our feathers with dust,
some of us grovel before the lords.
Now we want to fight to form a more perfect union,
how bizarre, ole peaceful citizens.
There is a strange world that I live in,
mentally free of all trappings or
Laurel dresses me in the garments of fad.
This is our world, a world that can turn on a dime,
when we see Morningstar the world will change again,
twisting and turning the events of our Halloween skies.
Where are the comfortable pockets for this hopeless dreamer?
There are no hash pipes winding around this room.
There is only a mind that uses words to wander around till noon.
Rub-a-Dub-Dub, Three Men in a Tub.
Valleys of Green Mist
Today I am the dictator, a total
pain in the ass.
Maybe if I stop and write about this, the power and feelings will fade.
Maybe a better person will rise into being.
Ideas and deeds do not have to be done on time, precisely on schedule.
Theses places of the heart and mind can be in disarray.
I have only just written one paragraph and the dictator, the silver pointer,
is moving away into oblivion.
His stainless steel pawns are being replaced by flowers.
James Taylor is singing in the background with J.D. Souther, now Sting takes the stage.
Every time I here James Taylor sing,
he reminds me of the search for Ramon by Joanie during his illness.
Music and thought spinning us into the realm of lavender dreams.
A cloudy view, a misty green moisture in the air.
The hills and valleys of green mist, a green clover on your lapel.
Creatures that wear clothes
Creatures that wear clothes,
who do not have the courage to be seen without them.
A civilized world without reason. I read wonderful words by intelligent minds.
Minds that carry a thought though the spectrum of styles.
Interwoven moments of extreme intellect who mock each other.
We live in a wonderland of toys. Fulfillment is within our reach.
We see our wealth daily, it is spread out on our tables.
Abundance of knowledge floats at the top of our cappuccino.
I read a paper, I see a movie, before my eyes are the wonders of intellect.
I smile knowing that these creatures are really nice. Amazing what the mind can do.
We awake the inner being in our head.
This is not so bad. This is not so bad?
The rain has ended. It looks
as there should be a Easter Bunny running across the yard,
laying and hiding colorful Easter Eggs. The trees are starting to flower, the sap is flowing
in abundance. Wild clover is turning the green fields lavender. Vehicles are moving, there
amber lights moving in the morning light.
The world is feeling good. Gray skies seem warm. I have a choice, I can change and see a
I love the activity the Most Newsletter is generating, warm emotions cover the landscape from sea to
shining sea. This generates pleasure deep in my being. Different beings, different Ideas, a
spectrum of thoughts. Our childhood is coming of age.
The noise this morning was loud.
The birds on the dam were raising hell. The killdeer were making a fuss,
the seagulls were making a clutter, ducks and cranes were adding
to the intense level of sound. I could here the roar of a truck as it moved
on the highway in the distance. A very loud warm spring morning. As I walked
the noise became less noticeable. What became more noticeable were the
white droppings that the seagulls left behind.
I had to watch every step.
What we endure to create a lifestyle.
Today I am reminded of the complex beings that we are. We use our bodies to handle intense physical manipulations.
Our bodies handle dexterity with grace. The younger and stronger child with will and determination can climb a sheer wall.
When I was young I did not know what I was doing, the abilities were in place, the will and determination was not.
It was not until my drive with Kathy and Ambo to New York and back to Illinois that a will and determination fell into place.
I had a yearning to work very well and it showed.
I was not into vanity or dressing to fit in.
I was into work, what the body does to fulfill human desire, to achieve the light in the blue sky.
At that time I had no clue of any talents in my possession, other than a good work habit.
How could I know how to climb a creative ladder?
I thought what I created was meager, as I do now.
The difference is that I want the world to know that I exist.
The ego has stepped to the forefront.
The dazzling red cape is teasing the bull.
I am getting older and I want all the world to see the day.
The stallion paws at the ground, marking his world with his hoof.
Telling us that this world, high up on our orange, red and blue horizon, 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 made on paper and 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.
Hell! I don't know!
A Pastel Blue Atomic Bomb is facing East,
A Pastel Pink Atomic Bomb is facing West.
My Dads Pastel Lavender home is right smack in the middle.
A bit of sarcasm for you nostalgia buffs. Wishing you were back in the good old days, crying and cringing under your desk at school, a pooling of urine for our Beloved Loving Fathers.
My hair is greased down in a Ducks Ass. Pink Pegged Pants and Black Bombers.
I know I am going to die, so what gives with all the rules. What am I doing in school?
Why is God kissing the Popes Golden feet?
Why are we behaving for a Bleeding Jesus? What is worse, nailing a man to a cross and letting him die in a long bitter agony or hanging an Atomic Pastel Bomb over a innocent child’s head and letting them whimper, shiver and piss. And then to top this off, you mentally or literally smack their hands with your Golden Ruler.
And you wonder why the sixteen year old children are putting flowers in guns?
And you wonder why we rebelled?
I am almost sixty years old and I still think you are Golden Asses.
Who is begging who to bite the Red Bomb is our Rosary Garden?
I know! I know the answers now. But do all our children know?
I didn't mind all the pastel back then, but I was scared of the stinking bombs.
Children want to live in the Garden of Eden. Let them live in the Garden of Eden.
Don't let them die in some smut wasteland.
Build them the Garden, not the bomb.
Define the word discipline properly.
It may have been Pleasantville for you, but it was not for Pleasantville for me. The fifties are not a place I want to return too. I did the best I could under difficult sitiuations, heaven only knows what my father did to our family. I certainlly have no clue only spectulation.
Discipline. This was taught to me, as the fact that if you make a child work hard and teach them good from bad with a stick or belt they will behave, " I will discipline my kids!" was the call of the fifties, as it is now. I rebelled. I worked hard because of the this discipline, but the love of the mother was not there. I have welt scars on my butt, I stood my ground and I rebelled, I traveled a road mentally alone with a lot of confusion and no sense of comfort. No "Motherly Love" as Frank Zappa says. I devoured my step sister Diane, thinking her compassion for the love of my life. I clung to her like dust on a television screen. I have done the same to all the women I have known. Sylvia and Joanie were very eager to correct the wrongs of mankind with love, compassion and comfort. These women corrected the wrong and made it right. They supplied the "Motherly Love" as I sarcastically say. Discipline made me work hard, it did not give me a mothers love.
Laurel devoted 100% of her time to the good welfare of our children, she gave up the 9 to 5 job for the full 24 hour love affair with her family. The children are gone and she is back at the 9 to 5 job.
I did not use a stick or belt with Eli and Allison. Eli and Allison were taught good and bad. They were cared for with love. They had the freedom to choose the religion and life styles they wanted. They learned to work hard as a method of doing good and learning. They both played hard, dipping into places that made us cringe. They always kindly went the way of comfort and love. "Motherly Love". Looking back to the joyful times as an example of good living. It is very important for a mother to be with her children, giving a teaspoon of love, a shoulder or hug of warmth. It is very important for a father to be around too. He is the guy who rushes into a brick wall trying to catch a rock, with a great thrill of being alive. He is the guy that jumps into a lake without thinking to save his daughter. These are the fibers of family, you provide life, love and comfort and stand up for what is right.
The mind needs a family, the body needs a family.
I grew up in the San Gabriel Valley, the years 1940's thur to the 1960's. During this time period, there was not a very clear view of the mountains, the clarity and purity of view was not there. The smog was a fact of life I called normal, not knowing any difference until my stay in Hawaii. I realized then that something was wrong with Los Angeles. I think it has changed now, but back then it was terrible.