Birdy-1901 (Live Version)

The Forgotten Chapel

The Message Of Now #17

My Message Remains - Everything Is Here - Now Quietly,cautiously, life stirs and the tune becomes real. A floating point of touch. A place of deep faith forms, and fills the space within the heart of being. Over the air flows the willowed breath of birds, seeking the winds and currents of faire sailing. Free formed, wholly selected tastes of succor flow__from the tree of life. The center of the forest is damp in the early morning light. The glade at the edge of dawn is overflowing with the creation of the natural universe. Buds and dragonflies and birds, are high in the trees and on the lower limbs. Dewey flowers primp for the raising of first light. The smaller animals of the early day rise. They are finding their way to the edge of their earthly home. They, all, are taking their places at the rising of the sun. The sight of the new day gives their birthright it’s form. Their beingness is formed in the absolute recognition of purpose and plan. They were born for this life. The words of a man does not change any of their desire to live the day as it unfolds. It is all for the taking. That on this night, I was in my heart moved to scribe the mind_ that sees all_is a precious gift to my soul. That which Is_and has ever been and will forever be _is just another peaceful meditation. On the light of love and the glorious being _who is holding our destiny in the arms of God. We, the undivided whole, are holding Love in our hearts__and we are being the truth of our parts. God’s plan to heal the Earth is heading home _In_Love. The Magnificent dream of our souls is being found every day in the increasing velocity and rhythms of this flowing Love. Your magnificent gifts are a dreaming basket holding possibilities of purpose. Everyday brings more order and form to the beauty of mankind’s participation in the perfect understanding_that Nature has already formed and ordered_within it’s Kingdoms. All things wonderful speak and add to the true wonder of God’s dominion. The practice, the meditation, the work and the play of Life. The prayer of Love. The healing of Mankind. The reward of_being Alive. To see God’s Kingdom Come. *********** I dedicate these words to the art and hope of your life_ ‘shoutoutgirl’_You are a divine soul_ I love your way. From this life’s words_ in notes you become. You are the music_I hear,TR ********** The above poem_ Written in comments by me(TR) on blog_’poemmeback’, authored by shoutoutgirl. April 27, 2007 in the middle of the night. I came across it today. It represents a pure connection I had with the art of shoutoutgirl’s concept. I never lost that moment, it will always be with me, because she identified the holy sequence of Faith over Matter. We are all poets and singers and writers of Love. I believed I could know her_ by poemming her back. I did the best I could, as did many others, and we were surprised at how wonderful it was. I miss the art and love of you, shoutoutgirl. Please come back and grace this stage. You are missed. I did not ask to do this. It is just my way. Saying…We love your Way,and Peace to you dear child, TR

Sparklehorse-Please Don't Take My Sunshine Away

Friends Both Real And Imagined

“Who’s the giant sleeping on the sofa?” she asked. “That’s TR,” I explained. I’ve had to explain a few things to her, as you might imagine is the case with anybody who comes into The White Lodge for the first time. It was very kind of her to offer to help me, but at first I chose not to respond. I work for her, just as I work for many others, and I am accustomed to seeing the secret inner lives of the people I work for. It can get rather personal, I suppose. So I felt odd asking her to help me – or taking her up on her offer to help me. Other people are quite comfortable revealing themselves to me – stripped bare, as it were, though in a non-physical sense. But I tend to be very private. People tell me I’m easy to talk to, that I listen well. People often unburden themselves to me. Another might say it is too much information for him to bear, but I don’t mind it. On the other hand, I unburden myself to nobody in particular. I don’t really have a me in my own life. I have a very hard time asking others for help when I need it. What we’re doing is packing. We’re packing my personal things. I also felt odd because Christine is a lady, and the “new” house is no place for a lady. Yes, I’ve mentioned her before. I wrote a poem about her a few years ago, posted it here. It’s somewhere in the archives. I think I even read it aloud for you. Christine is a genuine girlie-girl – very Juicy-Gucci, if you know what I mean. She arrived wearing pink – or, predominantly. Christine is a person who never knowingly does harm. She doesn’t gossip; she doesn’t have “moods.” I have never once heard her to say a bad word about anybody. We have become good friends, but up until today the context was always this: that I work for her. “It’s very crowded in here,” she observed at one point. “The place is nearly empty now,” I pointed out. “I mean the people in the walls,” she said. True, The Squabbler’s presence leaves a very strong… ah – afterglow, even when he is out of town, as he is now. I explained to Christine – who I sometimes address as “princess” which she doesn’t seem to mind at all – that The Squabbler’s first wife turned into a municipal building in Illinois. He visits her a few times a year. I think that’s where he is now. I am told she was very beautiful – built, I suppose is the right word for her. So it is good that The Squabbler and I are friends. I have always liked buildings better than people, and so does he. Christine nods to show her understanding. My friends have gone now, most of them. I hold them in memory. It is true to say that I always did, even when they were here with me, and even when The White Lodge was full of life and laughter – in memory and imagination. The place is empty now, waiting to be filled again. It is just about to enter a period of rest, like the epigraph on a tombstone might say about the person who is buried beneath it. The White Lodge has always been no more or less than the inside of my mind, and The Squabbler is everything I happen to know up till now. Many people have visited. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen in love; I do it rather easily. But no one ever seems to stay. C’est la vie. Of course, there is the giant on the sofa, but in a few days I’ll have to move that sofa. Pour some coffee into him maybe. Squabbler’s no use with things like packing and moving. The only way he can move anything is by sending it through another dimension, and then who knows where it might end up? I don’t want my Viennese music box, which I have been carrying around with me since the age of nine, to end up inMilwaukee. Why do I even have such a thing? It’s really quite stupid. So I sent him off to visit his wife, or whatever – just to get him out of my hair for a few days. The days turned into a week. I’ve been shuttling stuff back and forth, and cleaning, and working, without much sleep. Yet the task ahead still seems so daunting. When Christine called me to ask how I was doing I actually started to cry. It is too much for me to do on my own. And so I allowed her to come help me, and we have gotten a lot done. I feel better. I feel a little humbled. I suppose I needed that. A typical man, she might well have been saying to herself. But she didn’t say that to me. All she said was, “I’m coming over right now,” and hung up the phone, and fifteen minutes later she was here. On Friday morning we’ll have a U-Haul, and – not to forget Dad, who is over at the new house getting it in some sort of shape while I work here – we will then shift the big stuff. Almost everything else is in boxes. A few really big pictures – the monk on the mantel, for instance – will be carried separately. The Darling Toms have looked at the roof and declared it deplorable. They will soon come up with an estimate for installing a new metal one. The grass is still so high that you can only just see that there is a house there if you look closely, but the lawn guy has said he will get to it this week. All is well. On Tuesday I will be at last out of this place. There is so much good work to do. The new and improved White Lodge will take more than a couple of years to whip into shape, but I will. So, after we packed about as much as we could, discarding a good lot of junk in the process, we lit some candles and we had some pizza, and she squeezed my hand as she left. Girlie is gone now, leaving her scented ghost to hold my hand and stroke my head. I wonder if she’ll stick around for a little while. I miss my other friends. I rather like Christine. She has some hidden depths. What do you think of her? And I will also miss you – for a little while, anyway. I’ll be back soon, God willing.

Posted by John, the Squabbler

Prospects Abridged

Say to yourself__ “There is something here worth saving.” Life is not a foregone conclusion. The loser is not lifted until he stays his state of mind “Click, click, click.” Who can tell your story. This rusty old machine is digressing to a worst and last scenario. Reliving the dregs of the dreadnaught run. “It’s an ever gathering storm.” Switching back. Some things are looking brighter in the light of day Occidental conclusions of an oriental mind.__ Prejudicial preferences of one__ who confuses collections with reaping from the wine. From the Da__Da__Da__world of cliches:………. “I have to save my skin.” This is not practice__ This is the ” Real Thin ‘ .” I am not contented. It is not enough to dredge it up. To bring it out To regurgitate the senses. No pointless play, I will rebuild with the simplest of tenses. The glistening strength__ a thousand fold__ beyond, my old pretenses. Make a stand. To change it here, and deliver yourself to overcoming the fraud. I’ve strained my ear to catch the theme that originates from changing time and gear. Revolving in the present tense, I hide by changing elements. With no direction known__ I confuse myself with noise. The hurtful heart reckons it is done. When it lays hard and cold in the trenches. Pick it up and dust it off…. with the best of intentions. Eventually to act as one__ who really cares, if his acts, Are making any sense. This is not an inconsequential act of my own recompense. Not connected still: my sense silenced. My life in need of real. To make sense now__ To seize the day. To learn my way, To earn my stay To harbor no ill__ will toward anyone. Everytime a word is written, it symbolises a thought or idea A credit to the brain. Does it add to my measure? Does it drain my life away? Words like, ‘ therapy ‘, ‘collective of the unispheres’, or ‘Nazi’ are all, just what they seem. They, by themselves have a ‘keynote’ aspect. They tell a story in themselves. I would take ‘Nazi’ out, and I could do that right now,… But__ First, I want to say, I hate ‘Nazi’ themes, and every time I hear the word, I am revulsed. Begone with Nazi for ever and ever. Don’t forget the pain. Don’t forget the pain. Which they wrought __ Their hate. Reject every and all aspects of this Evil thing. Be gone with that effect. Love them. Hard to do. Love theme “the peacefullife” the quiet and joyful noise, music, students of the love of life__ The Art and Building of a better world. We (can) save ourslves from those who think we have fallen. Real action Love, Love, Love__ Emoting universal kindness and peace for everyone to believe, For real__humankind. We are growing in our resolute way The real world of love is coming. In many ways__ it is already here. So, this is what, I am really about__ Nothing else will do. This is what __ I see. To be strong enough __ To believe in One’s self. To accept, that this is real. To start, to begin__ To not give Way. After breaking in and changing round, I’ve seen progress from last night ’til today. I feel, that what was happenstance, before, has become something to be recognized. For more than one, the skin was strung upon a passion found. With flowers round, he brought the sounds of light and day. I’d give this up,but it goes of it’s own accord. There is a reason for my void. For one bloody day, I held in sway, the skin, that holds me in. Truly thin, transparently so, it cradles my vast space and all my parts. A tiny package with every note__ focused in phase…. It moved without the limiting mind of personal self. In a relaxed and peaceful stride it ran toward all directions known. The pleasure of your company resolved the toil of my play. To bring in everything that was cast clearly__lit and honed. Back to the cast that fear brings__ In… I fought the waves and wind To be strong enough__ to prove my name, even when I was hurting Don’t feel sorry for yourself This is all in the past now. You proved it all, last night. Get out of the way of your selves’ You are unified__you’re whole. No shame or blame is cast. No crying now, Ratify your existense. It’s not enough to be only__ this shell To crack and not break outright. What was before is no longer, then__ What is now is created, again and again. I must claim this voice and rework his valid truths. Till they are clear and beyond all doubt. The best that I can do. While China slept, the world did sleep. Each country kept it’s particular illusion. Each generation keeping it’s own counsel. They all think they are right. Real truth is not sold by corporation. Corporations, think__ They are the Trust. Communist or Capitalist West vs. East Vectors on the map. They are self limiting programs in demise. Morality is not their stock and trade. Of Western minds or antithesis… despot’ s dreams__ They have their own agenda. The protection plan What’s yours is mine. Th Protection scale. Those that have are always right. Everyone else is blessed by their poverty The lack of filthy lucre. Speaking of proof This is coming to a screaching halt……Chop, chop Snip,snip Before I go much under. This has been self- indulgent and possibly, very vulgar. I hope not too offend__only to open up to the new beginning__ that sweeps up, from behind… To begin again. To recognize…I am leaner now in thought. I am not the prey of my own conviction I am worthy of pity or respect. Changes were there. I worked today, even if you won’t see. I hardly made any dust, It is true. I worked today, I earned my way Love me for this, and say, ” good day ! “ “good day! ,” I say, Back to you. ” He cares about what matters” Sometimes, just to find the space, To live, is just so very hard. I am not a drowning man. I own my vessel. Take responsibility for command. Don’t grab on and pull me down. I’m bailing out this ship, before the ghosts of prey__can circumvent my mind. “You, over there “,…. the me that finds it hard to help__ “Your uneven oar is swamping my boat, with incredibly thoughtless conceit.” Disunitive, abrupt, and caustic thoughts…are Interruptions from your fear. ” Don’t let me do to myself, what I would not hear of, from you” Accept in these, the sojourn, that this forelorn dread has wrung. Discouraged by the lapping, arduous, waves of fear the mind, that hung itself__ for not believing In a faith so strong__ where honesty and truth and love__ prevail. What time has wrought, the journey done. This is more than nothing. It has to have it’s say To work out all the kinks If not today, then later today. If not today, then when? It’s all the same time. The paradoxical moment of truth. In place is now. In place is here. Everybody knows, It is Now Here. The covenant of Peace. I know this__ I have not let go. This is the way, I stride today. It came to me to relax and allow. It is creation being found in the act of mind and hand and heart. A soulful longing for my better self, that is always hiding in the eaves. I’ve learned a lot__ Thought is an overall collective. Left unstrung, it flops about and too easily comes undone. Hopefully, today, I gathered up my iniative to survive the downs and lows and sub standard piles of crap I always seem to gather. I have the gleaning powers of a garbageman. I will sit and listen to the same news story over and over again. Truth be told, I’m a sucker for the daily life. and the trouble it can bring. Then I went off on some diatribe about crappy attitude and the non healing linear mind. Can’t remember what I did wrong. I’m not going to be mad I’m going to be real. “If that’s all there is, my friend, then let’s keep dancing” Miss Peggy Lee, singer of the song. Go about your work And leave undone the actions of malice. The cure exists as Love. Love is all there ever was. Love has to be The rest is undone and without a thought. Remembering itself__for it’s own existence. A new stage will come in me this day. I will flow with love and all of it’s intention. Love is all I will feel, and all that I see. Over and over, I strive to see and feel__ You are seeing me in peace and hopeful Go now into the day and Be Real. Love is Kind Help out. Trust the Rust-1985-

Adele-Set Fire To The Rain ( Live) ITunes Fest...

Confessional Orders...

I want some of that. It comes to mind. Enough of me. I’ m all about the gathering fame. Questions? What appears and disappears. My ears are burning. I read the proofs. This ship is going down in flames. I love to work on this game. I love the down time, when I can’t even believe…I,I,I! Am I for real? I sure like that. I want to be this person, who holds his chains. I finally answered to my name. Who knew! What came, when I asked for the time? The question asked by one you’d choose. See… I  have my reasons… to be, Here. It is the love in my tears. The breath of being here. I love the games we play, and I feel the rhythms of this art. It is soft and gentle and it just flows, off my arm like honey from the bees. I’m loving, lovin’ you. Listen? why? …Do we run? Run away! Leave out the part, that loses the place you’ve been. Come home to me and begin __again. I miss the heart that we became. Breathing softly into the years ahead. I hold this dream for you. I don’t know why we came this way, but I became from loving you. As unusual as it must seem. This person, I am becoming breathes his life, as the breath of  you. Let me explain. I am learning a few things along the way. My counterpart is a feminine beauty of womankind, who reads me and knows, that I love you. You. The shape of  this heart holds to the task of  learning to smoothly taste and feel the long held knowledge of believing in the life of man. The emulation of the loving hand. The hands, the arms, the body of me, loving the way of the life. Became. The kiss, the embrace. Tenderly, wanting to hold you. Your face is as it seems the light of this life. I am here in my life of this time_dreaming the life of art filled and music laden desire. Passionate_sun, warmth of truth. I am learning the exchange of beauty for the words of being subjected to truth. My proof is to gain the beauty of words, as a heavenly gift that I can give to anyone with the hope, that my desire speaks to the heart, and holds for you the sense of … Why? We are here for all that we desire. I can’t lose these gains. Forgive me … If I presume to see a better way. We are free to choose. I make this up as I go. It is words that fall in my throat, Each spoken through my face toward a place on the page of the heart of you. Presumptious to discover a recovery of the two. The pair, the true dimension of balance and the art of holding you. So close, the breath heals my eyes with senses warmed. The rocking, swaying,  gently passing moments hold the inception of perfect similitude. That is grace. I know. I have come back to you. My place is here, but I came, and I recognized. You are, forever, I. Sailing on the great ocean of life. I became a sailor___ sailing home. Guided by the heavens. When I listened, I knew, I trusted . My place. It is whole, and it is here. If I played music, You would be my everysong. This life is not wrong. Everything on this night… Belongs. I will always love you. I want to believe I have love enough for you. I am not ashamed. I am whole. Again. When, You came. I believed. Now! Love is not the same. True love Understands. I hope. You will hope for me. Some night. TR6/2007

A Beautiful Plain

A Beautiful Plain

          A beautiful plain lying beneath the protective shadow
         of a high range of hemlock crowded hills.
         The village set there in sunlight.
         It’s red tile roofs gleaming.

The ocean wrapped itself around the headland.
The waves hurled themselves upon the rocks.

        The bed was handmade and the polished cherry gleamed
         in the reflected light.
        His hands held an onion and a knife.

The car passed by the window.
The curtains shuttered from the breeze.

        The park was full of people.
       There were lots of voices
       and childlike movements.

Bricks are a common shape, but
they can be formed differently.
The sidewalk has cracked from the years
of roots heaving underneath.

        She entered the store by the double doors.
        Moving across the shining floor, she found quickly__
        What she was looking for.

The child’s eyes were teary and very open.
Her mother crouched before her, and
wiped the tears away_one by one.

        My Grandmother was happy once, but
        I never remember her laughing.

What is a safe?
Are banks on the edge of a river or
full of other people’s belongings?

         I see you across the room, and I don’t identify with the feeling.
        A letter to Mom and Dad would be a nice gesture.
        Would a letter to both be the same?

How do I qualify to enter a course that can help me?
Even as I appear helpless.
I change the two dimes and a nickel for the quarter in my pocket.
The glass wall is full of advertising for beer and cigarettes.

        The light changes to red, just as I enter the intersection.
        What is content?
        When it appears to me__I don’t even know why I am here.

Employment or personally requesting the job meet my needs.
I am full of the old ways and beginnings, that can’t lose.
I am ending with the same. Truth lies.

        I know you live somewhere.
        The sand in your shoes tells me you live near the beach.
        She went to school, when she was young.
       Long before she met her final fate.

How do you feel about the presence of love?
Don’t ever quit__not even for a moment.
you can stand at the top of the hill, and
watch the cars one after another_passing.

        Describe a life worth imagining.
        Mine is for sale.
        Wrongly put__I regret to say_
        that I am passing on to the other side.

The other side of what?__the page.
The newsprint on his hands is one addiction.
He didn’t know he had.

        Integration for me is the ability to see life,
        as a whole work that enjoys existence.
        Together_ I would be more than I am apart.

Part music, part words, part lies, part truth.
Pour in water, add soil and sunlight,
and there stands a moving creature waiting__
for light to fill his bones.
Spirit voicing matter.

       Skin on an arm. Part of a body.
       Non-integrated wholistic self.
       Can’t be anyhting else.
       Thinking_ as a function.
       Reaction to what you want to know.

It is a light shone into darkness.
Eyes are blind, when they see__
everything to be of the same value.
I need to see opposite__ to what I think.

      It is what I see__ that isn’t seen by me.

Punk_in a word_is style. Yuh!
The word is greek to me.
Nothing means less than zero.

      Qualitatively speaking_your hands are lovely
      And sensitive__in their holding of my apples.
      The grey, green kettle boils excitedly on the vintage stove.
      If I said everything in my thoughts is other, than what I wish.
      That would not be true. I love it all. Afterall.
      Seventeen years, since I became one day.

Today is dark, cloudy and wet.
The mist is wet with cold foregotten
Remembrances of the sea.

       Today’s format is no different,
       than yesterday’s or last year’s.
       My day’s are only my own,
       if I do somethingI hope to do again.

I am numb, but I am clothed.
My clothes are shredded newsprint and flickering cathode rays.
__from the dark night’s viewing.

         Nothing there__I see I am addicted to mouth thoughts.
         I am mashing toast and buttered sugar between my teeth.
         Pledging my_ self  to swallow before the teacher takes away my test.

Waiting for nightfall,  I  turn my back.
Lightbulbs, bare and flickering,  beneath
insulated floor joists_ just above.
Head here__The comfort of not feeling anything.

         Integrating traditional concepts of what is real.
         I know I am kidding myself__sitting and
         fooling with my contrasting aspects and pain.
         Pain so bad__There are no tears or shame.

So many unrelated things__some don’t even qualify__as things.
Farts are a pleasant noise and
they (may)escape to become
a part of the real world.

         More credit needs to be given for the endurance
                 that describes__
         what has become of reality.

Life may not be an existent course
on the real aspects of what goes wrong,
If  you don’t pay attention.

         Just commenting__
        but I am an interactive bloke, afterall.
        The softness of her breast encouraged his heart to let go,
        and be with her__his soft light_without.
        Politics being inadequate to the caress.

Language__that is not your own.
Who can blame the interpreter.
Don’t exist in me.
I won’t claim my part,
that was you.

        Which is exactly__ my point.
        It is time to carry on.
        My whole life has been real.
Even the parts I faked.
Can’t claim_
I didn’t know.

         So for all of that,
         my seal is,
         I now love __
        everything_
        I didn’t claim.

May God bless every memory,
and forgive me
for my lack of intention.
I am reclaiming,
what I called the death of me.

         To know __
         That life is real.
         Breath of You.

Trust the Rust__Oct,1990