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The chorus says, “You cannot get past this thing; you aren’t able to overcome.”

But in the moments of still-silence

(not noiseless silence, but calm silence)

The Singular voice speaks 

over the 

Cacophonous Chorus of naysayers

And we are 




With peace

With certainty

That we are

That I am





Finite and infinite

Finite in how we measure moments

Seconds tick

Minutes drag

But the now?

The present?

If we live in it

If we let it capture our attention and keep us

It will last forever

The future will steal the infinity of the now

And the past will rob us of the beauty of the present

But right now…

The taste of coffee on my tongue

The ocean breeze

The sun

Infinite and finite

All at once

via Daily Prompt: Finite

service elevator

service elevator
Image Source


Rise above

rise above what

above whom

above pain

above hate

above despair

above those we call


elevate thoughts but seek lower status?

lower ourselves to meet the pain and grime and the hurt?

when we elevate-rise, will be be shiny and glowing?

or will we rise-elevate in a shiny glowing way

only if in the now we get low

with the down trodden?

via Daily Prompt: Elevate

Daily Prompt: Continue


Fushimi Inari shrine in Kyoto.

The torii gates just keep on going and when you try to capture a picture, the people just keep on coming.

If the Torii gate is the division between the spiritual and physical world, the line between the sacred and the profane, walking in places like this makes you wonder where that division really is. Maybe the sacred spiritual spaces continue a bit into the physical spaces. Maybe the line is thinner than we know.

I miss Japan.

via Daily Prompt: Continue

Living #DaysBetween

August 9, 1995

I was working the late night shift at a local cafe, and had gotten off work at 5:00 a.m.  I was dead asleep when my room mate knocked on my door, stuck his head in, and said, “Dan, Jerry’s dead. Jerry fucking died, man.” He closed the door and I lay there looking at the ceiling, wondering why it was even blurrier than normal.

Later that afternoon, before going to work again, we sat in the living room and played one of the taped shows our neighbor had brought over, and we mourned in community.  We probably made a burnt offering or two, also. That’s how we coped at the time. 

When we walked into the cafe, our co-workers wished us their condolences. They all knew how much Jerry meant to us. And it seems funny to talk about someone I never personally met in such an intimate way, but Jerry’s music, his voice, it’s THE voice, the SONG, most often playing in my life. 

The Jerry who watches over me from our shelf
It’s been more over 20 years since that day when I thought for sure I would never dance and shake my bones again, but I have. You weren’t there on stage playing, Jerry; but your soul was there and you were having “a real good time” right there with us. 

We’re in the Days Between again, the days between when the cosmos dropped you into this bright blue ball and when you went back to the cosmos, and I still miss you, man. I still cry sometimes when you sing that one note just right, and we catch a glimpse of your soul. But I smile, too. I laugh at your genius, when you go from some wild and insane improvisation right into the part of a song that the improv had to resolve into. Those moments when I have no idea where the ride is taking me, but when we arrive all I can think is, “Of course!” and laugh. 

Mostly, Jerry, I just want to say thanks for the music, for getting me through some shitty moments, and for playing the tunes I needed in really great moments. You taught me how to dance without a concern for who might be watching, and you gave me a family, a tribe, that adds so much color to the world.