Witnessing by participation

I am witnessing life.

I am life, aware.

Life is a short word and a container for every moment time ticks in your existence.

Music plays with time and gives those who are listening, maybe even those who aren't, a space to see and hear life in another rhythm. What is your music?

If I am late for work, life is moving slow against me, or I am racing through it with seconds tapping at my heels as I kick up the dust of angst and inside-my-head criticisms. I see all of this in an avian perspective. Why are these my choices?

Am I being clear in this illusion of significance? I mean to write something about the fragile word, life.

Breath might be everything, cells divide and ideas are born and blood reaches the brain and I know, I feel that I must breathe again. Two actions, in and out. Time is irrelevant here, it's more of a feeling, a surrendering, a giving and allowing.

English is the language I am writing in. Anyone who reads this will have their own interpretation of the experiences they have had in comprehension and applying words to feelings and thoughts to make meaning.

In other languages these words hold different meaning, and experiences or not.

I think we are all witnessing each other as much as we are ourselves. There is definitely potential here.

It floats into our perception like a fragrance that teases your desire as you anxiously spin to find its source... 

Feeling into what you perceive can be like dancing with the wind. When it feels right, it will carry you.

Be aware of this feeling.

Witness your life in your living it.

This is me in Petaluma California, near the Tamalpais bay in the wind.

the void abroad

pageantries of moonlit reveries

cricket echos of my memory

city speaks with foreign pleasantries

'bonjour mon ami.'

'you mean me?'

all in the greeting, the fleeting meaning- was it just a greeting?

one of a kind salutation gratuity

the lover's plea, a good morning/good day blessing

after reading 

truly seeing the paint is peeling

happiness is what we think we need

though the 'is' is the real seed

the application of happy is first, to 'be'

the quest may seem hollow, at first a cavity

though i know vulnerability is the key

we are enough as ourselves you see

time needn't seem less revealing

only lifting negations off unknown possibility

the chance for change is the sweetest tea

i might be hiding 

lying in this apartment writing

like a kite's flight etching shapes into the sky's blue siding

sliced deep purple cabbage, my stomach inspiring

a hodgepodge of carrots, potatoes, healthy colors perspiring

in the pot of boiling water colliding

Paris has decided to refrain from concentrated rain

falling is not on the menu du jour today

the clouds inhibit my play

though i prefer to stay inside and relay these phrases 

from my mind's voice to the tips of my fingers tapping rapidly in places

gracious with freedom of cases

i am not even looking where my fingers land

my memory reserves the sensation of correct placement

like a clock could ever forget to tick and tock

with it's gears complacent grinding adjacent

sputtering with oil, my tongue is tired of thinking in my head

the bed is too comfy with it's red spread

my lethargy is inspiring deep thinking of what is left unwed

'the void of common thought whilst along a shared road is the missing link to existing whole' 

that's what i said just now in my bed.