Blossoms and fresh cut grass

         Things grow in the sun-light. It may be a hot flaming ball of fire far-far away from the Earth, but in the glorious moments of spring it is the harbinger of growth and warmth in the seasons. I like to think of it as young in the spring, much like everything else. Youthful in its light, bright and fresh. Rising increasingly early with a whiter, faster, brisker light. It is our young sun raising our young plants.
         For any that have laid on the grass lately I should like to say that it is in fact alive. It is cooler than the sun, warmer than the cold, moister than the earth. And, they say, it breathes too. But, For all that talk I don't really think it minds us laying on it. No, not anymore than we mind our close and nurturing ones to lie on us. It gives us a good cuddle. Cuddle with that grass!
         The blossoms too, that bloom on trees in spring time; they are also alive. They aren't selfish, they grow in great splendor to be looked upon, and if one feels one lacks that certain natural beauty they hold they gladly share. Lie under a blossoming tree and the petals happily fall with a breeze to kiss and ornament your face.
         Often times I think they all chatter, though I do not know what of. They whisper in a great rushing voice as they talk back and forth, mingling words with wind, and one cannot help but think they tell of their recent return from wherever they go for Winter. They tell tales to eachother, and in one unanimous voice proclaim indeed that Spring is here.
         I would like to grow this season in or out of sunlight. It seems right, with the grass and blooms, to rise up and take day. Make what one will of it, but if such things as grass and trees can enjoy living so vibrantly I can scarce imagine what one can do with hands and feet. One must only ask himself in the morning what with these will I make today?

Simply

           "O be wise; what can I say more?" (Jacob 6:12, bold added vigorously)
           "Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise." (Alma 37:6, bold once again added quite vigorously)
           I don't seek to define wisdom. Only simplicity. Glaring me in the face, the over complex analyzer. I am confounded (does this make me wise?).
           I see meaning, and that meaning is beautifully deep. I love the depth of life. I love the voices of common household objects, the relationship of clouds and stars (like blankets), the... everything! I love words and eloquence. I love reading you! Looking for depth! This means That.
           "Please bring me the your most complex entree! The one with more ingredients and dining rules than actual composing-molecules (They are scanty portions)." And it is then, as they bring you the chef's delightful creation smothered in twelve (12!) sauces that combine to do nothing more than destroy any hope of your tongue tasting normal food again, you look over at the table next to yours and see the culmination of goodness: The french fry. One potato, sliced long, deep fried and salted. It is then you realize your folly.
          The beauty of that fried embassy of simplicity (The humble french fry) is as desireable, fully and simply, as any mass and grand creation. As easy to handle. Smother in Ketchup. Enjoy. Though, of course, simplicity is a healthy and good thing and not innately fattening. (What happens when you try to complexly define simplicity? You end up with french fries). It is better done with single words. In simple purity these small things gain their great power. More power than loquacious speeches, dissertations, or the entire OED ("Madam! I wrote the O.E.D" -J.R.R. Tolkien).
                                                                      And then
          Fresh cut grass
                                                                                             Warm sunshine
                         Window struck rain-drops
                                                                Running through sprinklers
 Happy
                                         Tickles
                                                                                        Open windows
        Read with me
                                                                                                                        Smile
                        Hope                                             Simply Express
                                                         Be believing
                                                                                                                                                  Tangle
     Jumping up and down
                                                                                Embrace
Hold on                                                    Yours
              Milk and cookies 
                                          Fields and stars
                                                                     Good morning                    
               Goodnight         
                                                                                                                   
                                                                           Wonder
                                                       Wonderful
                                                                                Wonder-full
Life
                                                                     
                                                                               
                              

I want to hear them

         Oh world. You look. What is it you see? A moment of my day. A moment of my life. Maybe you look from the news caster's perspective: Short clips. What is pertinent. "The man was killed in a car accident, he had five kids." Poor fellow, whose life can only be told in moments. We feel for you who died and had five kids. Perhaps we also have kids. Oh my, now we attach our memories to your children. Associations. We never hear, no one ever gets to tell us in beauteous clarity, of the man as he woke early every morning to make a fire (to keep them warm). The man, this fellow, as he planned every Sunday to walk with them through a park. This fellow, how he would make them blush-(embarrassed!)-with his strange hobbies,  like pretending to be the vice presidents of the United States while they sat in ice-cream parlours. But, no. Only: "The man was killed in a car accident, he had five kids." I hate the news sometimes.
           People walking by, sitting beside me. Conversations over a distant side-walk. Like chatter from different countries, continents, worlds. As understandable as they are. They seem so distant. Just people. 6.5 billion someone told me. But what of them?? Do all of them have five kids, I wonder? How would the news summarize their demise? If they had only moments of air-time given them, how much more story would we be missing? How much more could any of them tell me on a spring day sitting beside me on a park bench? And I wonder, What are their eyes like? What did they do for fun, or how did they talk? Who did they love? And I see it now. There are stories. Oh truly, 6.5 billion stories. Lifetimes long. And! I want to hear them. I want to hear them.

Composition

           I may appear a fellow on a bed, hair unkempt and eyes closed. Glowing laptop on my stripey blanket, on my purple blanket, on my lap. I would appear relaxed. I am thinking, we all are thinking (I would hope). Why not me? Why not now? In FACT. Why not make a decision? Why not make the choice right now to create something?
           The world may be spinning right now. I can't really tell, but I'm sure someone thinks they can somewhere and is quite dizzy. Maybe he will blame it on nausea or some kind of inner-ear infection. His choice. Decisions.The heart of the matter would come back to what he thought. What he thought versus what is true. What bearing does that really have? Why not create something?
           In all the splendid coaxing of our media one might forget his perceptions matter. Everyone else' seem to govern the world. People spend millions on presenting their point of view. Mostly lascivious ones. "Our product IS better." Look at what they are making? While others go on destroying in their vicious game of top that, and all of our daily decisions are reduced to trying to decide whether product one is better than product two. Really now? Really? Is that the extent of our power? I don't like the options. *flick* and the screen can go as black as a pearl and a world of overwhelming ideas will be relieved off of my shoulders. Someone else can choose their products. Lets go and choose something else.
           I choose to feel wonderful right now. I want to. I choose to look you in the eye. Yes, YOU. Because... because. Because your pupil is black and I sink in. Because I can't think of a better way to go sky diving than in your eyes. Deeper. Deeper. I feel wonderful. I did choose to from the array of all available choices. I have tried many of them. And the ones I won't try? Others have tried those. I am good at watching and deciding. Deciding what NOT to choose. Deciding what to choose. And, I choose to feel wonderful right now. And, I think when one chooses to feel wonderful one creates something wonderful. I will create my wonderful life. My composition.

Only up

Saying what is essential. What we need in life on lists. Sustenance or clothes; a place to stay out of the weather. Home. Oh home! But what kind of existence is that where we only have what we need to live? We can keep people alive. We can hook them up to machines and make their hearts pump. We can feed them. Yes, we can keep you alive. That mustn't be confused with making you live. We can't make someone live, just keep them alive.
          One might call being alive a starting point. Where we begin. We climb from there. We choose to live. The question becomes not "what do I need to live?" But, "what do I need to be happy?" Truly, the correlation between living, and happiness: Between surviving and satisfaction, is a larger one. We move to more ethereal, emotional, realms. To be loved, to be understood, to do, to love. We start to grasp at life and shake it! Sift it, find what clings and climbs, and what sinks to the bottom. Start to understand what satisfies, edifies, personifies, self. Where we stand. Find confidence in that! Supplies provided by one who knows, we can build a foundation. Our foundation. This rock we've built on, sure. This divine rock. Then, we know where we stand. We are living now. We can sit in the still of night and know we exist. We live. We can smile. Now, now we may find joy.
         Then, one mustn't confuse living, being satisfied, with finding joy. Not just to live this good, but we seek excellence! We will Thrive. We will Climb. Higher. To not just live, but scream in vibrancy! To sail through the night sky of existence like some celestial flame, and one may look in wonder. Look! Look at life! Look at happiness! And, Living. Standing. Standing is a great place to start.
           

Gratitude, Joy; Core

        I walked the street this week, down roads that seem unfit for walking. Cars blaring by, trees scarce, and grass still just waking up and waiting for the emerald blood to rush to it's head. But, oh could I walk in the daylight and feel the sun and know that there is God.
        I exist. I really do. I don't disappear every night, or cease with the coming day to present myself. I wake. We all wake. Why do we all wake? I wish I could be there for the deciding moment when one gets out of bed. See the resolve. The grit. The determination. The "yes life is, but it is" in their eyes. But, I am privileged I can see it in my own. Look here eyes, speak; tell me what i want to know.
        Walking then, and taking stock of how grateful I am to exist. How grateful I am for the color blue in the skies, and being able to see the color blue, and being able to feel in it that deep mesmerizing. Oh blue sky, Oh sunset, for having no judgment on what I am. To feel strength in God's creations, all of them, and to feel that sure attachment to my divine father in those choice moments of brisk air. Alive. I am alive and I know I am, and he knows I am, and I know he is, and I feel him in me as he felt me in him and bled for that feeling. And dear father loved him for it. I love him for it.
         Expansive: Walking and knowing I am grateful for more than this. Expanding out, My fathers love for those I love. Expansive, all knowing, all giving, all allowing, and I follow. Follow me him that I may love them. Look at his trust that I may trust them. Oh Father, how grateful am I for that love held for them I adore. Them I adore.
         I have made many promises in life. Many agreements. Agreements I would hope benefit all. Hands to shake and signatures to give. Hugs and kisses. We part for a time, but just for a time, as a trust is given. You can see it, see it in the wake they walk. See it in their eyes and hear it. Hear it in the way they talk. In the way they say goodbye. And, though I cannot see it in God's step, he leaves other ques. See him wink between the branches. Watch the lights at night high above, and feel yourself slip away in confidence.
         One starry night and I could see it in brown eyes. Defined look, strong moment. Affectionate seal. Sliding palms. And she walks.
        How grateful I am we all exist.

Goals, Patience: Metamorphosis

               The sun is playing hide and seek with me. We have been playing my entire life, but recently the competition has been heated. He veils himself behind clouds and teasingly grants only a moment or only a minute or almost a full hour of warm desirable presence. Thus, vindictively, I have decided that I will also hide, shadowed in The Structure (echo echo echo), and only come out for moments or minutes or almost full hours. I make the excuse of calling it schooling, but now you all know the truth. There are times, however, when I chance to show myself that the outing is mutual (against all odds), and we meet full on. I prepare myself for excuses or a sudden disappearance, but the dear silly sun then acts strangely in that manner that is as if nothing has happened between us; as if there never were any game at all, and I find myself helpless and obliging. In those sudden unearthly moments my arms are free and embracing the embrace of my warm, callous, distant, harsh, soft, nourishing, hypocritical, friend. *Sigh* Then the game is on again.
                I find that like the sun I and my goals have a very off association at times. Hiding from them was never intentional, but the darker parts of my mind often choose just those things to shroud. Perhaps they know that a ship without a destination is nothing more than a toy boat. Who doesn't want a toy boat? But toys become tiresome and without purpose. Ships do not. Goals are as lasting and as eternal as destinations, One after the other with no end: the travel is the prize. The destination is the port before the next plunge, and every plunge builds as we achieve our purpose. Oh purposes. To have financial stability (or rather, to have finances). To read every book I own. To write every day. To speak what I mean at the right moment, when I speak. To give everyone the space they need. To improve upon all of my relationships. To visit the temple more often. To bear enough patience to do any of these things, and then, to not forget about them in the waiting.
                It is in the waiting I suffer most. If I appear calm it is because I am forgetting something. There is SO much I am waiting for. I write it down, plan the necessary steps, wait for a satisfying life-shatteringly gigantic change to suddenly occur, and then.... then wait.
                It is said that Time waits for no one, and I will say that I wait for time. I wish we could make some sort of allegiance. I feel so capably changeable and it restrains me with hours and days and weeks and years. Rules rules rules! Necessary (necessary necessary). Ouch. Painful. This metamorphosis.
                I feel like this room is my cocoon and that day by day my life is filling with colors and wings that I cannot entirely see, but that others seem to. The look in their eyes makes me question--question what I am--for the better. Maybe the look in my eyes does the same for all of you. Maybe we are all, in our best state, the most loving of mirrors. Maybe that is frightening. Maybe that is why we play hide and seek.