stepping back to find the unassuming and unexpected

It's sort of like biofeedback, just less self-absorbed.

When I am moved to write, I write. Almost as though it is not me doing it, I am practically in a frenzy, a trance state. Then I wait, to read the work later, see what I think of the results a few hours, days, weeks, years later. Or I see what response it gets from the world, sui generis. It tells me how far the meter moved, and what I am thinking and feeling, insie, where so many of us hide our truths.

Well, what do you know?

"Unassuming Smile" has shot off the meters. Reader comments, hits, even a featured placement on some websites that I didn't even know linked to me. On a scale of one to ten? A twelve.

Unexpected (hmm, seems I've used that word before, somewhere).

Uh oh (seem I've used that words before, too, no?)

I've tapped into a new vein of inspiration. The ore behind arbol hru, sun's blood.

Cinnabar and pitchblende. Life and energy. The unmistakable, unbreakable link between poetry and life.

God, time to dust off the robes I had honestly thought I'd retired. There will be moments over the next days, weeks, months, years, when I wish I hadn't looked to my right last Thursday. That I'd dropped the topic.

Life without regrets is boring. Life lived for regrets is a wasted stain on an indifferent tapestry that tells no story worthy of mystery.

I asked for a path, and I found one. Time to see what this tired old soul still has in its arsenal of dreams.

But this is well-timed...I needed motive to get off my ass and prep for the tours, to finish the books. To be me again. I sang today, spontaneously, as I danced up a flight of stairs, "Stairway to Paradise" from "An American in Paris". I am barking mad, but glad for it.

There just isn't enough time for the orchids.

Sigh. I asled for a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one.