kokopelle: (cat - raptor)
A friend quoted "Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself." by George Bernard Shaw. This led me to write the poem “Where I Looked”.

Where I Looked

I wandered far to find myself
exercised my questing self
seeking what I did not have
in far fields on journey’s path

the seas were wet as well as deep
waves both valleys and mountain peaks
across these roads my boat did flow
the passing depths not journey’s end

deserts stretched too far to see
hot to cold as sun revolved
above to sky and then to earth
yet there I did not find the goal

the forests held more than trees
animals stalked my careful steps
eyes shone back by campfire’s light
silent witness to secrets kept

man’s fair cities rose to the sky
while sinking far under earth
knowledge held by my cohorts
where found hollow in false light

a lifetime spent questioning
what I was as I searched
the miles as witness to the hunt
across the lands my feet quested

in the end I finally found
the elusive spark contained
I was a product of the journey
life was about where I looked.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170814.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
During a dream I traveled to a world beneath the earth’s surface. The poem “Land Beneath” shares aspects of the dream.

Lower Bond

I’ll meet you there, along the path
boulevards will shepherd us
two lost souls beneath the fray
invoked by peril to a land below

search for the hidden underground
entrance under the danger words
just stand still and you’ll sink
to a place few suspect

you’ll descend to the nether ream
known to those who travel there
though more than you would think
beneath the staid reality

visiting is the only option
for some reason none will reside
instead they travel here to there
past the echoes of bygone days

it’s a world lost to time
lodged beneath what you know
left behind to find its way
nothing changed, there to stay

at the end we’ll ascend
no longer will the twilight shine
seek the light with sun’s warmth
leave behind our lower bond.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170618.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
The poem “You’re the Journey” was inspired by the quote “the awkward middle chapters that you wish could write themselves”. I’ve found that the middle chapters are proceeded by deciding where to begin, on your terms. The here to there of the middle is unique for each individual, and the chapters are written as events unwind as in their time.

You’re the Journey

We wish the chapters would write themselves
the ones in the middle between here and there
asking for action, demanding progress
this should easy except for duress
the angst of the soul in response to desire
of where it’s begun and where it must end

the present is ready to be shared by all
though conflicts arise from difference of views
one from the other, each with belief
disputes of where the journey begins
the basis of the what and the why of trek
are decided in favor of the questing regent

the shortest instructions are put to the hand
pointing the way, but not explaining the path
these are the notes that the journey will find
when focus is put to the wants of the soul
the moments are plain, confusion dismissed
directions decided each day as roads unwind

there in the distance lays the desired
the guidebook is stamped with towers foreseen
within the pages are blank waiting pen
the only way forward is to write the passage
taking what comes by the stroke of the quill
inscribed by the hills and thee valleys beyond

the middle is banished as ends are achieved
these are impressions by those who proceed
without focus given to paths under feet
beginnings are middles and ends are the same
when writing performed in the course of the day
they are so written when you’re the journey.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170304.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
The YouTube video “Running Away (cos sometimes you have to pick a random city and get on a plan)” inspired me to write the poem “Another Land”.

Another Land

I would travel to another land
to have no comfort near at hand
only strangers all around
so much freedom, so much fear
the latter I embrace with relish
because it alerts the mind
making me feel alive
outside of comfort’s arms.

Strange weather I’d not expect
views across the alien land
another place people live
not my own, somewhere else
with a structure almost normal
until I realize the disconnects
between A and B of my realm
turned to B and C in the elsewhere.

I’d like to dance to find comfort
grounding shared, habitual
may the residents hold my hand
show me how to do the same
warmth is the essential element
along with shelter and subsistence
these may keep me alive
a body’s heat would feed my soul.

Freedom is a word I’d use
when no connections can be found
responsibilities are far from hand
a starting place for discovery
there I’ll stretch wings held too close
in environs so long my place
there I’ll fly through another land
to find new comfort near at hand.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170205.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
The poem “Slippery People” was inspired by work on Tumblr of the same name. I took the title and sought to see where it would go, and it did, into the pained joy I feel with my friends.

Slippery People

Slippery when wet
a distinct hazard
people are a mess
the haphazard curves
death defying drops
to uncertain bliss
where are safety belts?
pinching tender spots
now left far behind
we’re not alone
in the rush to slide
jostled as we bounce
those quick accidents
caresses too short
when life separates
the warning stickers?
about falling hearts
misread up in the rush
only applying
to those not so wet
instead the portent
exclaimed to the choir
slippery people
darlings of my soul
we may yet stumble
with company
zooming ecstasy
at the journey’s end
moist with ancient tears
damp with joy’s response
wet in joined response
we’ll find what we want.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161215.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
The poem “Snowflakes” is a play on the four directions, a path walked during the lifetime’s spiritual journey.


Snowflakes each from God’s fair hands
cast to fall when they might land
in a tempest from fate’s four winds

in the east the journey starts
the whole of self is sum of the past
turned aside when the steps begin

in the south the rivers flow
highways of the early years
ask the dreams why tears must go

in the west the sleeper wakes
through the fires the dross is burned
treasures found when all seems lost

in the north the gold is dug
wisdom shown in the past twice found
once in the heart and then in the mind

the winds turn round to the start
what came before will come again
the pilgrim white from the journey’s breadth

each snowflake has a different way
none may arrive before they leave
in place of ice is bright diamond.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161025.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
Some journeys are made with friends and others are made alone.

Distant Cloud

A trip to the distant cloud leaving the world behind.
Far from the common place, where this world does not exist.
Desire to travel becomes the all, consuming passion of the waking self.
Anywhere but here is the daily mantra of the soul ready to move along.

The past asks for its given due, pity the beggar of life's betrayal.
The present is all there is, the future is assumed not to be.
Permission given by words not said, lapses when attention is turned.
Hindsight will have its place when the gaps are realized at last.

Beware the bouncing ball not seen, it rolls towards the clouds.
The slope is slight at first it seems, the cliff hidden in the haze.
Disagreements fade to the black, selfishness has found its place
in the realm of hopeless vanity is the haze of irresponsibility.

Sanity has left the stage, fickle companion at the best
now seeking another way, lost in the woods of the mind.
Tools are the guiding hand be they small or they large.
Instruments required at the start, cursed in vain at the end.

Solitary is the final verdict of the passenger leaving alone.
No accompaniment is at hand for the last departure in this life.
A trip to the distant cloud is the reward found at last.
A pity we cannot not all go when peace is an orphan left.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160301.
kokopelle: (Cat - Bunny Love)
I’ve been social dancing since 2001. I am still gripped with self-image issues. There are partners that I don’t ask to dance because I don’t think I’m good enough, they normally dance with high(er) caliber dancers, or I felt that I failed them at some time in the past. I don’t think I’m alone in this. This is the bad news. The good news is that most of this doubt vanishes when I encounter uplifting dance music. My concerns vanish as I seek something beyond a comparison to other dancers or illusionary achievements. The poem “Dancer’s Journey” is a three-part examination of this shift. The first part, Dancer’s Challenge, is an introduction to the challenges faced by a social dancer. The second part, Dancer’s Separation, speaks to the debilitating doubts. The third part, Dancer’s Union, speaks to the therapy of an ecstatic dance. The bottom line is this: dance and then dance some more. You will feel better for it.

Dancer’s Journey

Part I – Dancer’s Challenge

Indulge me while I share a tale
of doubt's firm grip on the heart.
Too often these are shared by those
who seek the dance to sooth their soul.

The social scene is inhabited
by those with skill and those without.
Comparison is natural
when differences are seen by all.

Some are near deities,
years of practice make for ease.
Others are fresh to this,
struggling to make some sense.

First I will reveal the ill,
the ego crushed by dis-ease.
This is not a pretty sight,
but it is one too often shared.

Then I will take a turn
away from the dancer's shame.
Too precious are these social steps
to learning how we all may dance.

Part II – Dancer’s Separation

They are too pretty,
too handsome to approach.
Only the best dance with them
when with mortals they do mix.

The dance deities fill the floor,
moving partners to their side.
Converts to magnificence,
I dare not ask the same to dance.

You'll see I'm inferior
to those with bless dexterity.
I stumble in delivery,
unable to match their harmony.

I dare not hold my partners close
as gods of dance dare to do.
They have a divine sanctity
while I can only share the room.

These reasons separate
myself from the dance I crave.
A deity I will never be
even as I watch them in jealousy.

Part III – Dancer’s Union

Then the music plays,
trumping my insecurities.
I dance from a higher source
as I take partner in my arms.

Proximity brings humanity
to those with divinity.
Flesh made equal as we dance
when pillars fall to humanness.

Music becomes the highest source,
the tune transcends both of us.
Motions lead from heartfelt needs
to honor these harmonies.

The lyrics are ageless guides
immune to the superior.
We are all equally asked
to follow them in the dance.

I grow aware that I too have
the spark of God in my soul.
I and they are equals now,
found the same in grace's arms.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160203.
kokopelle: (Cat - Bunny Love)
Life has many twists and turns. The improbable happens everyday, and sometimes, periods of time for the outcomes may take years. The poem “Flames” is about such a situation.

Poem for Day 289 – 20151017

Flames spit across two worlds,
burning bright unto themselves.
Potential begs for consideration
of what two flames may do together.

Ages close enough if fates declare
that strangers are met to reconcile
separate paths so walked for many years
are meant to merge in future days.

Distance is the gulf in between,
bridged if they are to be together.
Pay it no heed if they are serious
in seeing how this may progress.

They'll each bring baggage high,
rally to remove the most odious.
The past is meant to stay its place
when hearts move forward running light.

One life may be in its twilight,
not too late, but still winding down.
Another yet to burst into brilliance,
for a world all to see.

Then together they'll grow older,
flames may sputter with the wind
of dusk's breezes blowing in,
but still bright enough to show the way.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
The poem “The Journey Back” may or may not be autobiographical. Only those who have known me for a time can vouch for its veracity.

The Journey Back
Poem for Day 288 – 20151016

I. The Descent

I was called to author words,
but I would not embrace the path.
Madness was all I could relate,
and this I could not write to a page.
Would the world want to know
of a person who struggled so?
Insanity was not in vogue,
and to this I could not console.

Perfection was my only path,
to prove myself worthy of all.
The bill came due for my soul,
and I could not deliver in return.
Mistakes were okay for others,
life embraced by the fragile.
This I did not allow for myself
as I struggled to carry on.

I used to want a quiet death,
one in which I would fade away.
Life disposed after the struggle,
forgotten by those who stayed behind.
I'd be put up on the shelf,
or stowed away in the grave.
The only thing I asked of life
was to erase me from memory.

II. In the Depths

The prose flowed in response
to the demand to write everyday.
The letters sought a connection
to a world still estranged.
Friendships were formed in those years,
some still linger to this day.
Too often the madness did intrude,
and those brave souls carried on.

I sought beauty in possessions plenty,
the oddities filled some space.
Sadly the echoes still resounded
across the gulf consuming all.
To hold without letting go
became my way of grounding life.
This only achieved the mountains
of cold debris above my head.

The end beckoned to me everyday,
whispered cold promises of relief.
Nothing would be better than everything
blinded by sorrow and anger.
Still I plodded on, duty called to me,
things to do and commitments made.
Continuing was all I could do
while I waiting for the death's release.

III. The Journey Back

My words are not longer stilted
by walls erected to protect the world.
More of the self is let go
to illustrate the breadth of life.
The madness I might have felt
is held to task to illustrate
the common threads of living found
in the hearts and minds of other ones.

I find myself in humble mirrors,
reflecting back the deep flaws.
They were not indictments of a man,
instead they only show where I've been.
Roads traveled by too few other people,
but enough to convey that I am not alone.
They echo back sincere thanks
of my spilled ink shared with the world.

The end grows yet closer still,
but now it is by time's wheel turning round.
The reaper will have his due at long last,
but until then I have much to share with you.
I find comfort now that a crowd may form
to bid me farewell as I retire.
Remember me as the earth is turned,
the journey back has many forms.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
The poem “Dusk of Year” has at least two underlying themes. The first is the challenge of continuing a year of poetry until the end. The low hanging fruit has been picked and everyday is an adventure in inspiration. The second theme is one of aging. What to do now? What does life have to offer?

Dusk of the Year
Poem for Day 254 – 20150912

On the dusk of year,
wheel turned to last thirds,
the path now long traveled,
and the arms must reach high.
The harvest continues,
pursued by the one
who sets the shared table
with stanzas of words.

Past treats of life's trials,
tasted by all at the sup,
demands more of the same,
yet more richer than last.
Back to the orchard
visited often enough
for another day's meal
of ink for you spilled.

Scan the low branches,
with nothing but leaves,
the fruit has been taken
by days of past lore.
Climb the mid branches,
visited often enough,
some fruit may be found
as the soul searches on.

In highest branch arbors
not climbed yet this year
are the soul's hidden fruits,
richest yield of the quest,
Now set the long table
on the dust of the year,
the ink will be spilled
as my soul is poured forth.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)

200 days of poetry so far in 2015. 300 days of poetry if you include the 100 days I did in 2014! 165 more days to go in 2015!

I really appreciate those who have read along during the journey. Some of the poems have been happy, some not so much. Many have been very personal and a bit raw. Everyone has been very kind as I've shared myself. I really really appreciate the cooperation I've received from those who were “subjects” of my poems. Your involvement in my life has mattered, and to this end I've shared you with others.

I want to share some thoughts about the journey.

  • The two prevalent themes present in my poetic portfolio are death and dancing. These fight for the upper hand in my life.
  • After the first 100 days I stopped using a rhyming dictionary. I mostly used Rhyme Zone (http://www.rhymezone.com/). I now use alliteration as much as I use rhyming. The former can be more subtle than rhyming while being as powerful.
  • I've focused on lyrical lines, meaning they have eight or ten syllables. Mostly eight. Now my mind delivers eight syllable lines of poetry on cue without effort.
  • Most poems took 15 to 30 minutes to write.
  • I enjoy telling stories with my poems. They typically have a beginning (introduction), middle, and end. The end references back to the beginning, pulling together the effort.
  • I usually don't know the title of a poem until I'm finished.
  • I really like to write lyrics. Most of my poems are a refrain away from being songs. A few turn into songs. I would like to know more about the music side of things.
  • I hope (plan) to turn the best into a book or two. There will be enough for several theme based compilations.
  • All my poems may be easily viewed on my tumblr page: http://poetryaccident.tumblr.com/ .


kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
Being a magical one means diving deep before seeking to survive. The poem “Path of the Magical One” is a brief look into the journey.

Path of the Magical One
Poem for Day 165 – 20150614

To be a magical one,
with a hundred thousand hopes,
an equal number of sorrows,
triumphs of the striving will,
sobering defeats of the seeking soul.

Witness the tools of the fallen one,
held in hand and heart alike,
unseen by those around them,
half remembered at the best,
salvation held close at hand.

Memories are the first tool,
reaching back in time,
joining disparate lines,
creating illusions of connection
where there is no separation.

Knowing is the greatest tool,
thrust upon the magical one.
Curiosity is fascinating,
knowing is the taskmaster,
distractions made illogical.

Dance and music handmaidens
to the muses' desire to expand.
The magical one hold tight to hopes,
releases to sorrows to their place,
and the seeking soul continues on.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
kokopelle: (Cat - Bunny Love)
Life can be a lonely affair, especially when a person has their own goals and beliefs. Bumping into a like person can be both exhilarating and confusing. Where could it go? Is the recognition shared? The poem “I Recognize You” speaks to the struggles that occur after finding like minded others.

I Recognize You
Poem for Day 072 – 20150313

I recognize you,
a soul like me.
It's a rare thing,
like hen's teeth.
Now I'm not sure
what I'm to do.

Hello my new friend,
breath of fresh air.
Stalker of my visions,
doppelganger of my life,
What portents do you
hold in hand for me?

Shall I allow you
to escape from me?
Is this meeting
really meant to be?
I've been spooked,
arrested from my life.

It's been so long,
here alone like this.
I've wandered a part
in this wide world.
You hold up the mirror,
I recognize myself.

I could call this
It is more like
Strange animals
finding a compatible.

I've got my plans,
goals stretching afar.
Do you fit, mirrored one?
Distract or guide me,
with so much alike,
do you desire same as me?

Is this thing mutual,
do you find me unusual?
Is the chord struck monotone,
or is this reaction stereo?
Air thick with tension,
see how my hand shakes.

Engage my body,
this would be nice.
My mind is engaged,
may the rest follow?
Heart be enthused.
I'm so confused.

I recognize you,
sweet fellow traveler.
Take up your bag
and walk with me.
I'm not sure what this is,
but I'm doing it with you.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
kokopelle: (ATHF - Moonnites Rule)
The majority of my social media friends are under 30. I am a bit older. There is a magic that I feel when I interact with them. I am just so darn impressed with most of them, and I take encouragement in their example. My life, while it has run longer, is not over. There are journeys still waiting for me. I challenged myself to express this through poetry, and the result is the poem “Mutual Journey”.

Mutual Journey
Bonus Poem for Day 024 - 20150124

I look to the young and envy them so.
No, this is not true, though I still fixate.
What is this thought I want to create?

I have to consider their place in my world.
What can they tell me that I don't already know?
What do they have that I lack in myself?

Truth comes to my tongue, revealed to my heart.
There is no difference between young and old.
Today is the place from which we depart.

The past gives me wisdom, scars mark their space.
This is shared by the young, though they may have less.
Marks are the maps leading to anyplace.

New prodigy, stretch your wings and now fly.
You have so much potential, roads not yet walked.
World could be ours, now just out of reach.

I look to the young and walk by their side.
Mutual inspiration will be our guide.
This is the thought I wanted to create.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Horse Totem (Default)
The first of january is an auspicious time to begin my next artistic project: the year of poetry. My goal is to view the turning of a year through the lens of poetry. I've opened doors this year, but there is still much to discover and create. First 100 days (done!), next a year, and beyond that, perhaps a lifetime.

Year of Poetry
Poem for Day 001 – 20150101

A year begins
with a single poem.
A journey begins
with a single step.
Where will I travel?
Who will I meet?
These questions are moot
as journey begins.
A year will pass swiftly,
too fast in some ways,
and at other times too slow
when I am in dismay.
The important thing here,
the crux of the matter,
is that a year of poetry
is a year shared with you.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
I originally strove to do 90 days of poetry. This changed to 100 days, and by coincidence, my journey ends on the 1st day of 2015. I wrote the poem “100 Days” to look back at the journey, consider what I've learned, and to ponder where I will go from here. Two of the things I want to really share is that a daily practice really opens a person to all of the emotions that can be expressed through an art form. There is joy, passion, sensuality, rage and grief. These are all valid and poignant. Secondly, I am heartened by hearing from people that they read my poetry. These are a blessing, but there are also many do not respond to it openly. This matters little if I am sharing part of myself and making them more aware of themselves. This is the magic of art.

100 Days
Poem for Day 100 – 20150101

I've traveled this road
for one hundred days.
I've discovered many things,
the most important myself.
You've been my companion,
urging me on,
as I've traveled this road
so long and so short.

I've crossed many hills,
and plunged many caves.
The sights have been bawdy,
sometimes quite risque.
Then I am maudlin,
consumed with hot rage.
The mood did not matter,
the art shows me the way.

What have I learned,
on this journey within?
So much is possible
if I continue to stride.
The days were a dawn
of work yet to come.
I have more to share
with a world eager to hear.

Firstly, trust that you touch
more ones that you know.
For each that is visible,
there are more that not.
They welcome your art,
and bring it into their heart.
You will not know who they are,
but they welcome what you impart.

Secondly, grow as you travel.
Art is fluid, flowing,
and has no set master.
It will bend to your will,
and you will kneel to it.
Seek new horizons,
follow the trail,
and you will be blessed
with life unrevealed.

So I pause here at crossroads,
look right and left.
Perhaps I will go forward,
but never back where I came.
The journey moves forward,
with you by my side,
and we will see more days
beyond this one hundred I've tried.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: (Meatwad Cute)

I want to explore aspects of practicing that may not be familiar to everyone. I'm going to focus on artistic practice, but my observations apply to other pursuits like athleticism. Mastery of most anything is benefited by practice. The eventual mastery is a reward. I will share other rewards that come from practicing.

I am now of the opinion that practice of artistic pursuits should be performed on a daily basis. Do something! I now write and photograph daily. It is not practical to practice some artistic efforts daily. Use the “off days” to research and plan your efforts. Promote your work on the these days. Unless your are phenomenally naturally talented, of which few of us are, you will benefit from daily practice.

There is a progressive chain of benefits that come from ongoing, preferably daily, practice. The first is that you are forced to focus on your work. Life is busy. There is lots to do, and practice keeps the spark of artistic endeavour alive. Communicate this to the people in your life. They will learn that you need that time to practice. A habit of practice is formed, people learn to respect this, and the desire to pursue your art is kept alive.

The outcome of focused practice, especially in the creative arts, is the realization of new ideas and techniques. I am constantly thinking about the blog articles I will write in the future. I peculate ideas and ponder where I can take themes that I've recently encountered or new themes that I want to explore with fresh eyes. My daily photography prompts me to be always evaluating the landscape for photograph opportunities. Practice nudges me to think and look about the world in a way that I normally would not.

Ongoing practice creates a stream of artistic output. This output may be rough on the edges and unfinished relative to your big goals. Don't discount the creations of your practice! They will serve as a portfolio of your work. Some will be better than you imagine. Others may be reworked in the future, leading you to the artistic output you are desiring. Some output will be blatant mistakes. This is what we call learning. I've found that the mistakes are far outnumbered by the gems. Keep the output of your practice. Honor your progression as an artist. Your “practiced” creations are more important than you can imagine now.

In summary, the unsuspected rewards of ongoing practice are the continued focus on your craft as your form a habit, getting people used to your pursing your craft, the development of new ideas and techniques, and the creation of a portfolio of your creations. The life of an artist, and for that matter, and athlete, is more about a journey than it is about a destination. Practice is the path of the journey.

kokopelle: (Sinfest - Devil Booth)
I recently saw an article that listed the call-signs of being a highly sensitive person (HSP). I’ve seen this kind of evaluation before. I appreciate evaluations, but I am also wary of them. Popular evaluations almost always make explain away our faults while making us feel special. I believe that this does us a disfavor as the message of such evaluations feeds the ego and not the soul. Why??? These evaluations are based on groups, and our soul is uniquely our own.

My birthday is June 20th, very near the Summer Solstice. In the past a friend of mine remarked, "oh, you must be a person with qualities of X (I can't remember what those qualities were) because of the time of year you were born." Let’s suppose I am "special" because of my birthday. I can probably find a book that explains why it’s so. But is that really why I am special? We are all special in some way. We have talents, hang-ups, abilities and liabilities. It’s nice to have a story to explain why I am special. Beware! Evaluation based stories are group based, and they merely feed the ego as we become the hero of our own story. Our special abilities are glorified and our faults are explained away.

I say these stories are just labels. Labels tell us where we are good and bad. They accentuate the good and excuse the bad. They empower the good, and where necessary, permit the bad because “it is all in the script of the story”. The sweeping generalizations of the labels can become as dogmatic as the sweeping generalizations and expectations of organized religion or politics. We are told something like “You will always have a quick temper because you have red hair”. Bolderdash. Our souls deserve better.

It is OK to have labels. It is OK to label oneself as an introvert or a highly sensitive person. The catch is that a label is only a reference, not us. To be more clear, a label, such as highly sensitive person, is the map and not the journey. Life is not lived through labels. Our soul is not a label. Life is about much more. Labels are merely a tool and not the outcome of our existence. Just as the map is not to be confused with the journey, the labels of specialness are not to be confused with the true potential of our lives.
kokopelle: (rural house)
There are two theories on what life is about:

1)  LIfe is a journey of twists, turns, endings and beginnings.  There is a purpose, or perhaps a series of purposes.


2)  Life is a ongoing ever changing moment that only looks like a journey.  The purpose of life is a matter of the creation of the moment.

I embrace the second theory.  What do you think???


kokopelle: Horse Totem (Default)

September 2017

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