Your answer might be here, but it is yours, not mine. I find it necessary to pre~warn of prophecy and poetry here. My truth won’t let me rest with still voice. So I have this space. This is fun. Learning to navigate and create. Beats repeating past mistakes.
Typing is too slow. Video blog is looking inviting. What if I make mistakes… inevitable. Yet, the dark morning sky calls me from sleep to network when it wants. I can only surrender. It is January now.
Thrown for a loop doesn’t have to suck, I tell myself.
I was told parables to understand. They must have connected with someone somewhere with insight that I missed.
Who wrote the parables? Who, but our moms and dads, and pinged their bells with temporary satisfaction.
Tell the kids
Morning will bring a new day
Today is Tuesday in January 2022. Mars claimed Tuesday for someone many moons ago. Mars will keep surprising me it seems. It popped up on my horizon with the sunrise yesterday. So red I had to look. So red, and they say representative of the action and war of our moment here. I know it’s out there again, pinging my morning bell, like a red pusher.
I will blow my conch shell at it, and duck out before the neighbors know what tone hit them. It’s a cold floor day.