Archives for April 2017

In upside down bell jar moves, the markets may stall.

I think that’s what they said while I was waiting to order a cappuccino and croissant.

The ideas, the information and in fact the knowledge to be gained when conversations one is not part of float into the listening mind…amazing.

Most stories. allegedly fiction had seeds sown, the fine dust of ideas from real life events.

The traffic streaming across a narrow bridge contains many ideas amongst the drivers and passengers, the radios, and listeners.

There is a better solution to every obstacle, which transforms it into a highway of flourishing evolution and progress.

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Mix and match.

The metaphor merely meted out more.

The merriment of flickering grass was comfortably contagious.

We are mortal veering on astounding longevity.

As they all say, the quality is all important. A long tedious and viewless journey is less beneficial than the feisty, tasty, lively full flung shorter version.

We take the winding road and leave the straight-aheads to get lost in the pleasures of dark alleyways.

Do not ask for whom the sun rises.

Let it be sentient.

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There’s gold in the streams and silver in the trees, don’t stay still while you catch the horses galloping by. 

Since the rise of the mountains and the stirring of the seas, the holy people (self appointed and anointed) have told stories about the old days, the ancient years.

The tales tell of long haired maidens and their discoveries in distant lands, expeditions led by leading lights and the crazed ideas of  men in tights. It’s all confused now because no-one wrote it down. 

The weaving of long faded truths and wafting winds of disobedient inspiration.

No limits here…gamble as much as you please.
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In faultless synchronicity the wood had been carved into the shape of a scorpion.

The statue was valued by the descendants of all ages and times. 

Sending waves of sheer silk reasoning and harmless prickles of electric excitement, the leaders and the elders and the babes all agreed in one cheerful tide.

Easing into third gear, adding fuel to the fire, bending the boards of learning and discernment, the roads were already travelled and the destination reached long ago. 

A new tale would be told and they all thanked you for it.
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Time to sing that song you wrote so many years ago. 

Yes we are listening.

And, amazingly we love it! 

The trees, tall and strong as they are, sway not to the wind, but to the music you offer. 

Lots of love,

The musician.