...sometimes there are paper moons... they remind us of our two-dimensionality... they take us into a page that gets written by our steps... our steps are every movement or not, as recorded by time in the space we are in...
... at the moment... i am in a cafe... the same one i've been coming to for years... have seen dynasties rise and collapse... and i Am still here... until i am also a ghost lurking in the backyard, doing asana...
...the measurement of my story is the time that runs, and that my fingers struggle to beat, to out race... just like my feet often do... just as my eyes do... beating rapidly, exposing exposes of a life of man-child-istics...
...in the name of ALLAH... the Most Compassionate... the Most Merciful...
...all praise is Always due...
...on paper i appear to be crazy... all over the place... seemingly stable for the first 20 years and change and then a combustion... a flight... the space changes and the time in each space becomes fractional... until i am fractionated palm oil... saturated with munchies spots and hang outs in bottles that i thought had the message...
...this blog keeps me committed to Self... although i doubt anyone reads this... i wonder if it would only keep you in a state of confusion... there were thanks i'd get, early on... when i had an audience in mind... i let go of that... let go of you...
...i am back in america... americanistics... my american god i trust as much as i trust a god tethered to any nation...
...all praise is due to the prophet muhammad for erasing lines and borders... for reminding us that nationality is grounded in true borders set forth by spirit...
...this full moon... based on this emergence from the womb... which i've learned is traumatic... coming into the world... this full moon... share... me... as i am... reaching for Self... as i navigate asthanga tertiary... a house towards ashram community... mama need a house... as i hold space for this medicine of yoga and herbs and bodywork... going public...
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