today in the midst of some more massagechristiana likes to dig, as well
I mean I need it for my hands, rilly
she rubs out the twigs in my arms embeded
tell me about your father
and I reiterate,
my recent dream
(no perfect photos of john lennon on the net)
and my been the last one to speak with him
she asks me if I can remember that moment.
I feel like if I remembered it, I'd be making it up.
let yourself imagine it then
and that experience reminded me of a shamanic journey -
creating a power place
there was the short concrete stoop, the fall leaves
the smell of my father
silent at my side
silent watching the people go by
what is he saying to you?
that silence is enough.
that he loves me.
and so I felt a moment, like some strong shit comin' over me
like I'd found a retreat
a place I could go to sit and feel my father
and feel loved
is that so wong?
as long as I don't take it too seriously, sue somebody or something
wandering haight street thereafter,and then tonight I come back to work and I work and I posted an extended yesterday
I saw "autobiography of a yogi" howard had recommended
and this dude is recounting from age 6 dialog
talk about imagory. imagined memory imemory. whatever.
power in near truth.
not like this web page, this is all real!