My Secret

It's my secret. 

That I love her, she knows.

My secret: Just how much.

My eternal hidden treasure.

Must never be unearthed

Lest She, I and all inhabitants

Of this place be obliterated 

By its all encompassing enormity.

I must carry my secret.

All the while speaking softly

Daily

I Love You

She knows

But she cannot ever know

How very very

Much

It's indeed a time release

Meant to be enjoyed

In measured doses

For all eternity.

A.G.S.

The River

In a time of uncalculated confusion and conflict,
I walked.
Not seeking.
Just walked.
My journey brought me to the river.
The ever changing, adapting river.
Nothing is calculated here.
Never is there confusion, but always there is conflict.
It seems the river found me.
I watched it again and the beauty that finds its way to its shores,
that flies above it and that lives within it.
My confusion was not remedied and my conflict not resolved.
It simply melted away with the sound of the river.
The beauty of life is
that there is always something to wonder about in spite of it all.
I've missed the river.

A.G.S.

His wisdom

"I think sometimes we struggle or have conflicts because we love. We want to be loved in return. Just simply the same way that we do. And when we don't feel loved as we love, we get confused in our hearts. Never forget who you are. Let your love flow out of you just as it does. What comes back is it's own and came from outside of you and as such, you cannot be responsible for it except in how you allow it to touch you."

A.G.S.

High strung intellectual

High caliber intellectual
to you what can I say?
woman that I am
who with her children
doth play
most every day
at home I must stay
I try to reach you
but you turn away
clumsy as I try
to formulate
thoughts or questions
or notions
with you to share
I'm never there
to foolishness reduced
are my spontaneous reflections
No, I can't keep up
with you
high caliber intellectual

Party Night

Apheida
Oh moon where art thou gone so soon, down, down behind that hill since before midnight strike?!

Ruphus
Oh just havin' a little party over at my place. Good sound, some dancin', groovin', movin' - with the canine and the feline. Every sound of life beats inside my heart.

Apheida
Lover of life, feel you not the summer darkness? The moon smiles onto me in the morning come winter. Tonight it is gone.

Ruphus
Comes darkness, comes night life. Sun light strong in day time hours, the partying stronger come night fall. No moon need be witness to that. Join the sleepy canines and the crazy felines in their nocturnal serenade.

The Billboard

She looked up at the billboard and admired the beauty of the woman depicted next to the symbols *alpha* *chi* *omega*. It was an ad for some sort of life insurance with the promise of benefits from the beginning to the end. "The beginning of what?" she wondered, "the beginning of life? At birth? in the womb? Can you even pick an insurance policy then? Didn't need one on the other side. Or, beginning from the moment of contract signature until death? What is death? The end of being able to pay for the service?" The answers to these questions weren't clear to her from this piece of advertisement. The woman's beauty though was to be admired for sure. Her seemingly unkempt hair framed a soft angular face with sudden curvatures accentuated  by the movement of her gestures over the years. Many, many years and countless experiences evoking a plethora of thoughts and feelings, unspoken responses and ideas expressed on the seemingly silent canvas that is her skin. And beyond that colourful surface laced with lines, some bold, others perceptible only to a fine-tuned lens and eyes aware of what it means to live a human life - beyond that surface structure, a body of flesh formed to the smallest of details. Acid muscle mass and sweet deposits of fat, symphonies of cells and sub-atomic particles all orchestrated to sing the song of an aged siren, a mature madame with something to show for the years on her back. Something to show quite literally and very figuratively on the face of her spirit clothed to bear the lessons chosen by an elusive consciousness disguised as matter of fact.

Man and Kind or Russel Wilson Style

Sistine Chapel, the Creation of Adam. The penis doesn't matter, look how small it is. I used to walk into a bar like I was a man. No man would care. Would he? No man would touch me, nor would I touch any man. No man could. Could I? Would I? I'd talk like a man, walk like a man... Penisneid, Freud? Envy? Of what? The red chakra, the sexual one, is the base one nothing more. Located near the bottom of the spine, where a meditator sits upon. Sure, man needs to reproduce to go on. So does woman, right? Then follow orange, yellow, green and many colours more. Purple rests beyond the shore. Where Nietzsche found the Übermensch to be - the one, the creature to have overcome man, and woman alike. He can? How doth she go on without anyone to lean on. The core comes alive amidst the colours of sensual sensations: touch, food and lore. Earthly creature is a body bound by desires driven by the will to live more. To go beyond the base desires, the basic needs of life's demands. To overcome the diminutive surface shell of survival and rise above along the tight rope which is human a paradox play of animal and spirit, lonely creature severed with the freedom of will. No longer group conscious, not yet become One. Straight shot, lightning boult from the ultimate Source of unconditional love - whatever that means - can one even be sure?

Ruphus and Apheida

Apheida
Immediately as I start to write, I feel inhibited. Like I'm going to fail, like every word could come out wrong, lacking in poetry, skill and style, unprofound and devoid of meaning. I stop, hesitate to go on. Do I think? Am I self-conscious? What do I possibly have to say? Anything worth writing about? Does it matter?

Ruphus
Fear of uncovering self?

Apheida
Of finding myself unable to express oh the many metaphysical experiences of an uncouth mind, a cocooned soul? I feel self-conscious and realise I am also self-critical. A perfectionist?

Ruphus
Can anything be better than what it is at a precise moment?

Apheida
Until it is no more - anything! Since everything is constantly changing all the time. The same dancer will never step twice in the same way, or reach, or lift or turn or stretch or bend, or stand or sit the same woman or man.

Ruphus
And yet ... there is constancy in change.

Apheida
Is there constancy in change that is constant, that is without change? Constancy in constant change: what does it constitute?

Ruphus
What is constant? Consciousness is constant, a perpetual awareness and where lacking, the ability to be aware, the possibility of awareness where it isn't there. Constant awareness or constantly the possibility to be aware, constitutes consciousness. Consciousness is constantly aware. It is aware of its own existence, and it is aware of change. That anything exists, means that it is, when it isn't, the possibility of it being. It being anything. It can be anything.

Apheida
Then what is? Change is and it is constant. It is constantly changing. Then what remains the same? Change is inherently not the same. What changes cannot be the same as anything, not even the same as itself! Every moment passes and many more pass swiftly. Show me a person who is aware of every moment in a lifetime, who can  recall consciously all the changing moments, who can be aware of all the moments lived!

Ruphus
The possibility of that person is certainly there, whether or not we are aware. Awareness is always there, the question is, whether a given person is aware, that is conscious - to be fair. Consciousness is constantly aware, despite a person's will to share in the awareness.

Apheida
Who is consciousness then, if not a person?

Ruphus
Consciousness is anyone or anything. Give it any name you want!

Apheida
Divine force constantly aware, observer to all that is constantly changing.

Adivinanza

Con el paso del tiempo existe claridad en el camino. El mismo andar se mueve sobre un sendero. El río tiene una dirección. El salmón conoce aquel camino de regreso a su lugar de origen. La razón de ser del ave es el aire. El compás de la tortuga son las corrientes marítimas. De los cuadrúpedos son las sierras y los valles, las simas y los vegetales celestiales.

Y yo estoy parada en algún lado en un cerro, o acostada en una sala, o sentada en frente de una computadora o en un avión o un submarino, y estoy mirando tantos caminos. Y miro quien va por qué camino, o se arrastra, o asciende, o vuela, o nada.

Y me pregunto: "¿Qué camino voy a tomar?" Y pruebo muchos caminos y me doy cuenta que los puedo reproducir. Puedo nadar sin aletas, volar sin alas. Puedo crecer en los árboles y hacer hoyos en la tierra.

Puedo construir puentes como el castor, esculpir figuras como el carpintero. Y luego, ¡puedo romperlo todo! Y volver a despertar en los escombros. Como el árbol puedo estar parada ahi nada más y echar raíces. O como una piedra ahi sentada dejar que baile un universo de minerales hasta que el silencio logre nada.

¿Quien soy?

Rätselhaft

Im Schritt der Zeit gibt es einen klaren Pfad. Der Gang selbst schreitet voran. Der Fluss hat eine Richtung. Der Lachs kennt einen Weg zurück zum Ursprungsort. Der Vogel ist der Lüfte wegen. Der Schildkröte Kompass sind die Meeresströme. Den Vierbeinern sind Berg wie Tal, Erdloch wie Himmelsgewächs gegeben. 

Und ich stehe irgendwo auf einem Hügel, oder liege in einem Wohnzimmer, oder sitze an einem Rechner oder in einem Flugzeug oder U-Boot, und schau mir die ganzen Pfade an. Und ich schau mir an wer welche Wege geht, oder kriecht, oder steigt, oder fliegt, oder schwimmt. 

Und ich wundere mich: „Welchen Weg soll ich gehn?“ Und ich probier viele Wege aus und erkenne, dass ich sie nachgestalten kann. Ich kann ohne Flossen schwimmen, ohne Flügel fliegen. Ich kann auf Bäumen wachsen und im Boden Löcher bohren. 
Wie die Biber kann ich Brücken bauen, wie der Specht Gebilde hauen. Und dann, kann ich es krachen lassen! Und aus den Trümmern erneut erwachen. Wie der Baum kann ich da stehen und Wurzeln schlagen. Oder wie ein Stein da sitzend ein Universum von Mineralien tanzen lassen bis die Stille nichts erreicht. 

Wer bin ich? 

An old man once wrote ...

I'm an old man now. 89 years old and dying. I'm as tired as I've ever, ever been and I am reflecting. On my life. At this moment, I am reflecting on this moment in my timeline. I remember how it was hard and smile at the thought that one of the main thoughts in my mind at the time was how it felt like time was moving so slowly. In the grand scheme of my many days, this time frame is small. Since then I have lived and long before then I lived and it is but a chapter. A blip. As or more important than the others. I missed you so, but as a result I have had a happy life. I've been married twice to the same wonderful woman. I've watched my beautiful children grow into beautiful people and laughed and cried and watched people live and seen people die. I've been alive and I worked hard and played hard and loved hard and easy. I am a happy kind of tired. It's coming to an end just as so many thousands of days in my life and I feel like I've earned my rest and I seek that place I've been dreaming of all day long. I have reached the moment of the day which I cherish the very most as I crawl into bed again with you. I drift off to sleep at home.

A.G.S.