is it enough to admit that the planet is dying right now, that its being destroyed, its sad, people are people brought together, when really how nice it seems just to live away from it all, and eat the food of the earth, and be free, what has happened to those days, they seem almost here, somewhere in the Fairy town of Mada, where the water flows below and the tall conifers above are intertwined with the people and spirits of nature. Yet why am I so tall? As a tall fairy it is hard, I am a quiet one and so life flows over me, like the river over the shallow shores, and suddenly everything is changed, is it not the growth, the way of the tao and movement of all things? I think perhaps, but it can't be known, it just seems that spring has come, and as I fight to preserve the trees, and as all the spirits coalesce around and seem to speak a language of light, something so pure, and free, I wonder what will happen when that is gone, when there are no more quiet groves, so I plant, and I wander, with a tent and a stick, the time for sleeping is over, for I have brought the cowbwebs of non being into such a paradise, where all joy is inherent, and life is weightless like flowing lightning. There is that buzz though, not of a didgeridoo, but the chainsaw felling a tree. Something in me breaks, could it be we are the one's we've been waiting for, stalwart and ready, adventurers happening upon the greatest epic this world has yet seen? I have seen my true self, I know where I come from, deep in the woodlands, among leafies, flowers, glowing orbs, and wise tree people, imperceptible, to those who in some hurry, cast their eyes too quickly over their own assumptions, yet there is a calling from deep within, and under where me and Flo now reside temporarily, as we prepare our venture, into the truth, spurned by intuition, for we are repeating through time, and changing, the tiger is out of the jungle meeting with the young children, and exchanging jokes with the tangerines, on the shades of orange inherent in this fateful mornings golden sunset. A morning that I myself have missed, somewhere in a dream, descending from the last mountain, and guided by the Guide. Free now finally, it seem, upon the winding roads, where the florae msang incandenscent, and I wonder where do words come from, are they themselves, little plants? floating in the sunlight upon this great chi ball that is our sweet earth, and we smallest and the largest in our dreams that set themselves, sinking into our souls, defining our lives, yet nothing changing. In reciprocity and coexistence, both worlds were formed, and all spirits had found their home, and True Love! Our hearts, wound up from so many years of polishing and waiting from uncomfortable angles, and in improbable miracles, where for once, that unknowable thing, came to open us, and there is love. Boundless, beyond the metal plates and opening up like the great branches of Adawapayo where we sat, upon the worlds and within worlds, the sounds of life reverberating through us, still, this dream had come to me, but I woke upon my bed, here upon this land, and its metaphorical soul soil, and its sands. Though resting in endless possibility, there are those who live in this world, and I see, though is it true? Why does my heart break so with the severed trees, within them our people have placed pieces of themselves.. and now they scatter once more, into everything... new, unfettered, free. Maybe it should all be destroyed like that. We were smoking a bowl down by the river, and puffing around and such, perhaps a gnome using books as oars, where winter left the brooks, well, and pulsing with fish, yet it would seem its only a room, only shut out, quiet, alone. What do I know of the real world, really, Ms. Delaney? Because surely you only hide your genius, to have lost the way, its hard to get it back, all the birds still dance, and the hums still teeter so how can you be so distressed? What have you lost? You will lose everything, are you not alive? Where the little crocuses grow and the grass gets thicker, something about it, that is Wanti, where the Dhea live, in tiny hidden corners, where big ones feign to fit, and yet it all is invisible, and nonexistent, like the countless buddhaworlds, and what goes on there, beyond our curious glances, everything is the Pomo, goddess of ecstasy! Rogue of Love, forbringer of threes and nines and seventy twos, resting in the old mighty call out to open sky, like a leaf on a flight, and so we where there, at the bridge, Flo and I, far away and pristine the ground, lifted by fate, and yet nothing, there we saw everything. Below the life stream pouring across the planet was beautiful, so strong, yet all around dark, right above, the head of a logger, who reached out and caught the leaf. We asked, him who he was, and he seemed to understand, and he spoke of the other land, a sacred land and Pomo bless him this divine earth, all this strange ways, where they roam around in boxy cars, and carrying the onions of hope in their sighs, built upon hilly inflection, yet in expression.
"You should not cut down the trees!"
said Flo.
"Theres a lot you shouldn't do"
He said.
What does that mean? Within the answer there was fruit, and within the fruit was the seed, and it was all complete right there, we could see no need for time, nor place though the trees where cut, they were whole, as in every place, in knowing where its true boundaries lie, so is this the fairy way? Are we the guardians of entropy? I retired to write, though knowing that supreme nothing is everywhere, what could I do? Another day, another adventure, the outpourings of divine love, the transformation which sets in my soul, with you, in everything, life bringing, bliss making, purifying.
There is not much I have to say of this world that has seeped over us like a celestial cover, for this endless night, though when the dreamcatcher pulls me forth from these hallucinatory reveries, perhaps pray chance, if we still exist, we'll do an eternal dance in the forest, and meditate, then renounce the world, and know the truth of all things, which is nameless.
Their names were Live and Grow and Love and Sing
