I almost never draw anymore. My guitars hang on the wall and collect dust, my brewing equipment adds to the clutter in the house by taking up storage space that’s probably better used for more practical implements. The bees in the backyard fly in and out of a hole in a box whether I’m there to tend to them or not. At some point (diabetes. . . cough!) the things that I was passionate about each became just chores. Passion comes and goes.

Now I have to find sustained and lasting peace in my heart. There is no other option. If I can wake that in the hearts around me, so much the better. Here in the evening of my life, what am I dedicated to nurturing, promoting, and projecting in to this beautiful world that seems to be hurting so much? What can I do to ease and facilitate the painful birth of the next world to follow?

I received a compliment on my “style” the other day from an attractive young co-worker. This woman is literally half my age and has a keen interest in fashion design. Not being exactly good at accepting compliments and rarely hearing such from someone so gorgeous in their own right, I side stepped her remarks, saying that style is for “fancy” people and that my messy hair, Native American bead choker, bandana, raggedy old concert t-shirt, and billowing Thai fisherman pants were nothing more than a minimalist accident of dealing with myself. Damn, I hope I didn’t discourage her. Her compliments that day have been the sugar in my morning coffee ever since.

Why would we even settle for “small kindnesses”? Just put it all out there! Are we expected to be some sort of extra in the movie of our own lives? We’re the author, the director, executive producer, the lead role and star, the gaffers and film crew, set and lighting designers, audio and effects editors, the real and present audience who come here to witness this collaborative drama, horror, suspense, action-adventure. . . . love story, play out in the theatre of the Magnificent Now. This is not a dress rehearsal. I promise you, life’s nothing short of our very hearts revealed!

Our possibilities are, indeed, realized in conversation. We have the right to remain silent. Anything we say can and will be used against the barriers we’ve maintained against loving one another and actualizing our connection to everyone around us. We all bring with us the love of divine creation to this life but too many lose our way in service to a false identification with ego. Our efforts to such ends are never enough, often fall short and build resentment. With the accumulation of the emotional residue of fear and anger we forget who we are and why we’re here. Given enough evidence and time I will reveal the Christ in anyone who dares to enter into this conversation with me. No small talk

I will always reach out to you, my little one. . . oh, my Love. Life is so lonely in your absence. I cannot go back and correct my errors; I cannot move forward through this crushing doubt. Tears wash away but so much grime from the past and the light of catharsis illuminates but so far through my shadows. Here in the stillness and silence of darkness I can only accept what is, come to understand this feeling of neglect turned inward, to understand what I gave away and forgive. And then forgive. And forgive. Please forgive me. . .

Living art – that place would be my own dermis. I don’t work in the industry any longer as diabetes and age chips away at my eyesight and I never liked collecting or had a proper space to store and utilize all the uni-tasky equipment required to tattoo. That said, I’m grateful to Ayla Roda taking me on as a client and am looking very forward to my appointment with her in October.

The real work of art at hand is ourselves. We create heaven (or hell) right here, right in this moment, through the experience of our own lives. It’s not “out there” waiting for us when we die after living a good life. It’s a collaborative and completely creative effort – A multiplicity of trial and error to the ends of transforming this very planet that we all share in common, from a galactic insane asylum to a paradise. But how do we actualize this state of grace that is inherent to each and every one of us if we cannot reconcile the division in our own minds and heal the wounds of separation in our hearts? How do we realize heaven without first becoming angels ourselves in the eyes of one another?

Thank You, Michele! We often overlook ourselves in prayer or whichever spaces of compassion we choose. At the end of the day we still need to care for ourselves before we’re of any help to anyone else. Isn’t it funny how we begin this journey with a single tattoo; after a couple years we’ve accumulated five or six, within a decade a dozen more to the point where their edges begin to overlap and stick together and we’re, essentially back to just one? Like the medium or not, my register at work in the summertime is like a mobile 8-hour art exhibit! Keep cultivating the garden of your heart and share its bounty with anyone willing to accept your graces!

Thank you, Carol. There are days when I’m inspired to pour my heart out here for our daily writing prompt (other days, not so much) and certainly not for the ¢heap currency of social media ‘likes’. I usually compose these entries during shifts at my unfulfilling retail job where my authentic work is placing myself in service to so many that I see held tightly in the grip of the deep trance states of ego identification and consumerism. When I’m able to reach through to even only just one of my cherished customers it’s enormously and personally gratifying to know the world around me might just be shifting to a more loving and peaceful frequency, one heart at a time.