If we are from the future - we would see this world is good. That things are in the making, and what was realized later is now in a nascent or youthful age, just starting to take form, starting to grow. We know how it will blossom later and it is a slant of nostalgia we behold this moment here.  We would know this is not bad and was never as bad as we thought it was, and that would improve later.  We would be aware of how each thing said was so precious, for later it would have been forgotten, given to annals lost to history.  

We wouldn't take anything at all, or at least anything we didn't need because we would be afraid of changing a single thing.  Things would look so fair and fine, each moment of our time travel like each moment in this past now, such now past, was so lonely, solitary, and absolutely darling.

I wouldn't know how you would fare later, because I hadn't met you yet.  I only know you exist in this moment and that you have a past and you have a future, but I would feel and perceive no end to you, neither in time, in fact, or in dream.

To raise a point of contention -

Pass through safely the valley of the unknown is a very process by which each move is a move taken in caution and innocence.  There is much unsaid in the present age.  It was freedom we were looking for, from the binds that inertia bestowed upon us, like so many chains that criss-cross straightly and diagonally.  We knew not anymore exactly what they were, how they were made, why they were there, if they meant anything.  This is the sin of the past - not to say some moral wrong had been done unto a person or us in general, not to say somebody was hurt in particularly, but there was something that only dragged on which had become meaningless.  It is an old memory this one, not archetypal but stereotypical.  A usual guise or veil that had been spun over the centuries and held on so desperately as though of its own will though it had no will of its own.

We had to traverse an impossibility to arrive again on new grounds.  We were on a ground, but it grew very large and expansive so that there was no end to it.  This was different from the infinitude of the universe, the night sky, for it was of our own making, somehow, it was past already but it still persisted, and in the back of the moral consciousness there was a soft gnawing sound that just seemed to grind on and screeched though we could not hear it, nor discern it, nor make anything of it.

It is not at all the past that was in question.  History is the way with which in the writing we remake the past as though that which did not belong to us is ours, but in the intelligent and careful writing, in the curating and the selecting, care took what happened and transformed the continuum of manifold into some distinct account now sensible.

They talk of amnesia in some circles, a social kind.  Did we forget something important?  It is the converse of what was experienced in the old world.  Where we strived to move on and leave that which bothered us for it was not of sense before, in the new we are not sure to a state of certainty that we had carried with us all that had mattered.  All the annals of the worlds we had built and lived within hidden in towers lit by candlelight and dusty libraries cleaned by bats but we could not fit all the volumes into our little luggages which had to fit into the bay of the boat.

Now looking at these volumes digitized we are sure there is something there, but is all of it worth looking at?  Why were they locked away, and are we disposed to decipher old realities as recorded without being burnt?  These are good questions, but undoubtedly, what we think we are missing is not a specific excerpt from one specific volume, though it may well be that the clue could raise in us a sudden awareness of something we can almost remember, if we can just locate that needle in the haystack.

What does it mean - a needle in the haystack?  Precisely, what appears shiny in the dull matted hay.  What appears to our percept as unique and relevant, yet in context of the particular haystack.  There may well be one word being sought, or a method to explain something that had mystified for the entirety of one's life.  Anything could be found, as long as the record shows.

A digression happened in case something of note could be meaningful here in this post.  What matters to us in the New World is knowing that a choice was made in coming and making this world.  The choice is to maintain a degree of freedom in our constitutional mode of governance and social being.  There is no sense in doing away with all for a few reasons out of order.  What matters is that we rediscover the specific needles in the haystacks - and there are many for they were made to be only needles and not chains.  If we could only recall what it was that we distilled from so many centuries of hardship that enlightenment became a reawakening, as though we had fallen asleep for eons, we should find ourselves in good hands - that is, in our own hands, yet true but always must stay absolutely true.

Self and beyond

 I talked about a tree, of myth or Nature, if the two be different - how could we know to that state of certainty?  It is a tree that flows since it matured to be barely more than a seedling, on a small pile of dirt incidentally collected about it, in slow but moving currents on a lake, in a river, a pond, a sea.  As it motions upon the movement of the water, seemingly by will or by trickling or by intent from above, the little tree starts to grow, and as it grows, it collects more soil and dirt, and nutrients and minerals, and all the elements that make it grow.  It collects sun beams in its little leaves and water permeating through the pile from below or absorbed from the moisture in the air, so it grows more and more, while its collection of what makes it grow, about its bourgeoning roots, accrue too.

So it travels, a wandering tree that breathes and absorbs and collects.  Its treasure is the natural bits and pieces and bytes and piles that had come naturally to it or that it reaches out to bring to itself.  I don't know what else the tree does, but probably like all normal trees, it talks with other trees and plants and flowers, through whispering and muttering and bear fruits very small or medium or large.  And speak with birds and butterflies and bees, while the eagle holds watch from above.

I read this once on the open web:

"The Lord revealed to me what the soul must say when ascending into heaven, and
how she must answer each of the upper powers:
I have come to know myself, and I have collected myself from everywhere...
and I know thee who thou art: I am of those
from above. And thus she is released."

I wonder if the little tree growing up ever asked where am I going, and from whence I came.  The way for the little tree as it is for us presupposes it began some time ago somewhere for some reason discernible by science.  Nowhere is it told how originated its means and reason to be.  Somewhere is a cause be it first cause a long time ago or an immediate cause as in why and how it is in being.  We cannot know all though sometimes it appears we can.  By each small moment is added the incremental additions that add and increase the happiness for what we have possessed, that is to say, of Life itself.  Drawn out in time, our being miraculous that we should be so here now, so tomorrow we are still here or we are remembered and so we are still here, as yesterday we were here unless we were born yesterday so today we remember and can recall the momentous being yet still unexplained that we were yesterday.  We must call forth our right to recognize that we are such as is from the miracle of birth - by each minute and momentous instant a close inspection discovers we are like born again - to say, birth in each moment attention catches is real and actual being, the meaning of "be here now".

If you have contemplated this for some moments, and notice!  Look again at the pavement and see if you can catch at least one or many stars laid in by the same miraculous revelatory beginning.  It is of our own perception - that of the being human.

Every Man and Every Woman and Every Human into the Future of Our Own Devise

 To be deemed so to move in motion forward like time that is paced upon the undulations of the natural flow that grows by measures so true as to be pure within the wellsprings from below, so heaven rejuvenates in spite of so much pain that we grew from the moments before, then yet now poised before perfection Like glow of a mountain at sunrise after a night of cold freezing so cold he said that morning when I recalled that yesterday I was frozen in a town But when the sun rose then so softly and delicately the beam casted onto my face like a torrent of warmth It was just a beam.

That night I had a nightmare or the best dream of my life of peace and calm and absolute silence bestowed by the cold And was nothing for I knew the sun was going to rise but in a few hours' time.

There was a shoulder bag and it was light and heavy Light with the thoughts of a thousand years the cosmic ion on which we ride the ride of our lives Drifting through space so vast I was recalled for a moment Hovering beside the Earth but so far away I looked down and up yet here I still stood but I was already away I knew the Earth and knew not space Somewhere beyond was a moon the sister to the Earth and she hid behind the veil of darkness that only screamed silently that life was not its own but here now I suspend like a tin can in space just drifting yet Completely still.  I could not for the moment recall my life for my vision beheld the blue globe that did not glow green though I could see green but it was no like the pictures they sent from the telescope It was a globe of indefinite boundaries Like emanation that spoke kindly of birds and flowers and make of infinite variation Though I saw not God nor did I see myself I knew in being we are in being Here now I looked down again and still could not see the ground I cast my eyes up and could see no skyFor here I Am still in being despite so far away.

Another night years later I had a dream in slumber that was passed to me in a message My papa said look here it is through this window that opened is the space that is nothing but I looked again I saw All I can't recall if courage walked me through the portal magically open but already was I there.

He was or is still a Man of Space.  We are Humans of Frontier We shall take with us nothing in particular just hte precious belongings and all the memories the cargo could carry so the New shall be seeded with the old and memories well will always project the trajectory by instruments of our make that our ancestors have left to us by their devise and their intention so that we too shall devise that of our own to chart our paths to go beyond to leave behind yet remember All and all Shall we advance upon the Will of all who see us take leave But only shall we plan Towards the Future he always said because we knew from our own memories the paths of our ancestors The Makers The Creators The Architects The Composers The Artist The Philosopher and So Many more We all came we Did do so now we recall.

 "que sera sera, whatever will be will be,

the future's not ours to see, que sera sera,

what will be will be -

when i was just a little girl

i asked my mother what will i be

will i be pretty will i be rich

here's what she said to me -

que sera sera, whatever will be will 

be, the Future's

not ours to

see, que sera sera, what

will 

be 

will

Be."

"...distorts the heavens from pole to pole

And leads you to believe a lie

When you see with, and not through the eye."

not with the eyes but thro' the eyes we see

- Blake, the Master

To

 What is the state in which one cannot take another step?  To presuppose life goes on whether we believe that it does so after one's own passing, whether from a place specifically, or from a place and time indefinitely - so much remains in the void of absolute knowledge.  So life always goes on, we pray it is true.  When there seems no further step, there is one more.  It is so promised by so many who had gone and seen that tunnel at whose terminus was only light and bliss and certain happiness not to be denied.  Whereupon fear comes upon us, this was never that moment.  There were more, it turned out, in the material world we are searching for, more we can live for, more we can make and create.

If these were dark times, the lights and the darks are intermittent.  Here a shadow, here a light yellow shadow, here an orange glow, there the radiance of the sun.  In the reflectance of the blue and pale silvery moon we contemplate.  We contemplate the moment, we contemplate the joys; we contemplate the pain and the darkness, we contemplate that we made a step there.  How often does the moon rise, nearly everyday.  How often the twilight, every night it beams a million light beams from infinitely and indefinitely far away, here we know we are for the light shines always so we shall never be in darkness.

I thought, here is my journey.  I envisioned a path, sometimes made of concrete, sometimes made of sand, with a scattering of pebbles, each so perfect and beautiful to behold, a moment of its own of the infinite universe that shall forever glow.

This path, I thought was my own.  This was a path, mostly narrow, I tread this path with certainty and pride that it is my own.  

I imagined other people with other paths, and our paths shall intersect now and again.  I was informed this was a lonely way.  It is uncertain how one's path and others' paths intersect and know each other, by what not visceral contact do we find union and communion with what is.  We tread as carefully as possible, and we move as boldly as possible, into the future.  I say, into the Future.

There is a sense we should have our paths together, where we share our intimate depths and so we erect the sanctuaries and the holds where we can share a meal, share a walk, share a dance, share a thought.  On the networks bright and lit to the mind's eye is a space like the infinitude of the universe where we shall posit forms of our own making, be it in words or pictures, in animations or still photographs.

So our paths find many dimensions, some still and always moving.  We are in motion and we are still, for we are here but not just in one place local to what we remember.  We are in many places, in relativity with each other and all the forms we erect for each other.  The dream exists in a space that bears no name nor signature, only silence in which all symphonies of life breathing talking singing dancing they are all found.

So we found ourselves, here, this unreal yet entirely actual space where we shall know each other and find our friendships and trust where they happen, where I sit today, and where you are reading, we are together.  First now, later then, and then always my friends.

 A step backward is a step forward, even, in time.  The move forward is not some blind push as though upon some giant storm cloud that hisses and blows and by one current threatens to blow us down.  No boat was right by the enforcement of one and only one single motion.  We move this way and that way, enforce or by better words encourage ourselves to move now here this way together, and now here that way at once.  Returning each time to each ourselves was the trick, the secret behind the routine that abides by the law of the guide.  To grow from each day as though it were the first day, even reeling and not quite sound of mind we must stay true by the North Star for it shall guide us to the next local calm.

On the West the sun was setting a few hours ago, and now it is cold.  We were shivering but we always knew as we know now the sun will rise on the East side of us, starboard, probably.  In another few hours' time the first sunlight will hit, the radiance in beams that shines warmth onto our face, cold and frozen though it might be for just this moment when the stars are out shining terribly bright and sharp to rewind our focus back to the pure state of being, in precision.

The slow move of the hand of the watch.  Tick-tock, the clock used to say.  We move forward not by blood and only sometimes through the drops of sweat the way was made.  Why?  What is this toil but the proof of work, or traversal, that is overcoming, which is the query to victory.

No moment was ever stayed for its being of pain and loss but those that truly matter.  We never lost a single battle for the war was always won through its having already been won whether this way turned out or that way.  The war was within ourselves and never outside, the guru was wont to tell us.  It is true to an extent but the pain and toil tease us and claim we have lied to ourselves, the world outside is so much greater.

We are still on the ship.  We never left the ship, could you recall stepping onto the same ground?  Do you recall deciding to return to the old?  But don't we all remember we revel in the state of uncertainty, of the novel, of the yet having had happened?  We are on the verge for we believe as we have always believed in this is Frontier.  Nothing was settled and nothing will ever be fully settled.  On sunny calm days we should have a picnic on the deck or whistle at the mysterious sea birds or fish with our ridiculous lines to laugh amongst ourselves with beers and lager and fine mysterious wines.

Gee-wiz, we would say, here we are still.  We laugh and hide our sadness at those who had gone before and departed too early.  But still we breathe the fresh air and are glad.  We lend our hand in help and secretively in kindness with our mates and we descend from the deck to check our bunks.

Freedom! One day, and soon!  We rejoice at the opportunity for something unexpected, and we shoulder the responsibility when the dimmed arrives in silence to rob us of our moments spent in laughter and wine with crackers and paintings and cartoons and tele-vision.  The moment on the deck is real, it is of grand Nature.  Never in the wilderness when we land shall we expect we have docked and left this boat.  This one here, this one on which I shall always sail.

We are One

 To step upon a place and find a break.  Give me a break, they always seem to used to say.  I could take a break, you said yesterday.  It is a realization that could constitute what we are looking for.  To say, bring into reality something good, something real, something that has all our support.  Not a personality, not a new consumer good like a new pop though that would be good, but something Great that we can all rejoice in.  Give us something new to believe in, to work for, to talk about.  It really cannot be just anything anymore, but something worth living for.

Whereupon the surf is a break is where the currents are in harmony with each other so as to make a motion we can all ride upon.  We are no small creatures, we are the greatest - of Rationality, of Good, of Love, of Soul.  Realizing this of ourselves is but the first, middle, and last step of every breath we take. This must be so.  To realize all of one's potential seems ridiculous, ludicrous, even cautiously, highly dangerous.  But why not realize something that is uniquely me, and you realize something uniquely you, so that he too, and she too, and so we all gather together in noting what is better and what belongs to tomorrow to our sons and daughters and grandchildren and the great and the great great and the great great greats.

Returning to ourselves, we move forward in all honesty and earnestly.  Stepping back, we gaze forward and not prejudge the momentous interaction as already done, not perceive the future as already made, not know beforehand that it was already over.  It was not made, we must always recall, and then when it was, by those before us, we had already forgotten how for we did not make it ourselves.  That is the land the house that was made for us.

If one step on the front porch was broken, and then another step, and then a chip away from the side fence, and then yet something else or that or this then that then that and this, what to do - really, just sit on the now broken too rocking chair and gaze and lament the sunset is not so bright as it used to be?  Or step up, and fix that first step, so that another step could be taken, so that Pete could water the now half dried out bushes, or Dan could paint the room for his son, or Chelsea finally redo that compost and rescue the drying rose, or what needs to be done? We must ask ourselves, what do we do for the house of tomorrow - it shall not build itself.

No more waiting, the day starts tomorrow morning when I will list the things that need get done, for urgency now takes the guise of Necessity and calls me to mend my own little house and look after my patch of property that is deeded by the way.  There may not have been some grand sense of possession for I am free, but I shall wait no more.  If I wait another moment, even the raven shall call and then who will do the work while I read Poe's poetry.

No heart shall remain broken where the heroism of All stands.  No anger shall step over the kind pebbles and grasses and flowers - we are not only a united people we have gone beyond the realm of the possible in the land of the turtle to produce such a house as the United States.  How many minds had toiled to produce the constitution.  Do we recall it was not one nor ten nor ten thousand but all the millions that journeyed by boats that vomited out the sea and scared away that devout sea monster lying awake wondering what little boat should pass today?  It was no small boat by the way but the grandest cruiseliner that ever sailed that carried us over the unforgiving ocean beneath the infinite skies.

We are here.  We are stronger.  We must stand up to the heavenly heights foreseen by our forefathers and our foremothers.  We must own up to knowing the break when we see it and see the storm for what it is, something small and local, nothing that matches up to the sea monster, and that sea monster shall not match us.  We are true and we have actualized Leviathan that holds strong and will grow and will muster the minds of a million to generate the Order we seek, for our hearts stand true and strong and our minds and hands are ready.

We are no small creatures, we must remember, and what is more, the house was not built for nobody, and therefore we are not nobody.  I am One, you are One, he is One, she is One - together, we are won.

US

 On the swift currents we are riding.  Upon greater surfs never seen we are motioning.  Where are we going but towards the future we have been planning.  We did not know we knew already, that we would be here at the moment when we are at an abrupt moment in such silent urgency recall is on the verge of happening.  We are looking towards something, a milestone of memory we had placed at a distance some time ago, when we were more certain, when our heart was still and beating, our breath so leisurely and at zen that we for some time together thought of a tomorrow further away and we made something like a vow to reach this milestone, together.

There hasn't been a moment of rest since this time so long ago, only a few days ago, no, more than two decades ago we thought of something together.  It was to move forward regardless of how certain we could be about what future lies ahead.  It was to make the gains necessary to pull each other on board and lock into some indefinite but real agreement to forge ahead.  In our actions independent and mutual we were certain in our being US together - that nothing shall stop our way for the future is ours and will never not be our own.

Tomorrow will always come tomorrow, and today shall always stay today until the setting of the sun and the rise of twilight.  There seemed to be no path ahead, no reality already forecasted that we knew certain to be each other's.  But we knew more than they did, whoever and whoever not they were who could be that ultimate invisible nonexistent fear that shall never appear in our soul.  We knew enough to push back against the unreal and the fantastic because we had something better, and so, we knew better.

I have never thought I had what it takes, we secretly told ourselves, and yet when necessity calls, why not me.  Why should it not be US who triumph when our reality has been better and truer than our forefathers could have imagined.  So what if our houses look boring and cookie cutter to those who just arrived?  I had never said one house with a fence was what I stood for.  It is a way of life built of a dream that realizes the house we call country.  The Future is the perpetuation of the house because this country is my forever home.

To return to those moments when the milestone was placed.  What were we dreaming of?  We can still remember, how?  We remember in the memory of our body and our soul and our work and our family.  It was with each moment we forged forward when so much was so seeming illusory and fragile that together we held forth the future to be one of definite and real actuality.  Like a destination it was placed, forward into time such that we stood then knowing we will stand now.  Nothing can bar us from uplifting this house we call country; nothing shall stop our way in placing another milestone.

To the future!  The urgency will not now be settled to win some petty war or conflict.  The necessity now calling is asking us to dream our tomorrow house and its people.  Who came here searching for peace, order, and most of all Freedom, if not all, everyone and every last one of us?  Who can reach forward with courage and call the bird of Freedom to soar - let he or she who sees each and everyone around him or her stand forth and shout in quiet and civil manner, say Who are you, and why are you here?  Come meet me tomorrow, let us resolve our differences.  That is what Necesiity is calling us to do today, to talk and to realize that we need not conflict from the outside to find once more the reality of our common dream of Freedom, our shared house of country, our reality of family and God and all our friends whose friendship could extend to You, to You, to You, to You and to You.

Up

 The action in the act to proceed beyond one's reach is as though upon a beach of sand so loose you could barely stand your ground.  The blue so azure up upon the surfs so soft as to be indistinct below the bright deep skies draws the path of two seagulls.  The tranquility in sanctuary returns our troubles to the loose sands crumbling below our feet and draws us upwards towards the sky where the invisible eagle lends supervision in his silent flight with measure and rhythm so constant as to be heard from afar as a jet engine's roar.  By measures of increments so fine is his path we must pause to reflect on the situation of our bodies and minds on the ground reeling with the rotation of this green earth that finds us so big and mighty as to forget the quick elegance of forever flight.

No Race

The race to the top. Was there a race to the top?  Who ever came up on top but the person who took what was necessary to make another step forward.  Their own step as an individual, and sometimes on rare occasion, a slightly larger step for their colleagues, friends, and families though often their own step became even smaller.  Too often in the daily rush we fantasize something beyond means something beyond our vision, our common gaze, the grasp that is with our own hands or our own individual minds, that we strive beyond what is necessary or appropriate towards that greedy deity we call ambition.  In the mess that followed, self-justification and post-rationalization raced along at a frenzy pace, that forces a blind over our dash pane and instigates nightmares of things that never happened, for for one moment or two our vehicle had dimmed.  

That deity of necessity often calls in this hour, and urges us onwards with the depths of a thin membrane posing as though it were the darkened surface of a deep ocean that though tumultuous maintains its peace in its endlessness and knowledge of eternity.  While nobody ever could fully guarantee our future in that our destiny is fully within the knowledge of our heart and soul, no human make was made with the forever promise of that kingdom often forgotten but for a moment in place of the endless pleasures in goods and particulars.  In the promise of the land of our own making, we have made a commitment to each other.  This promise is one that must be renewed deep inside of ourselves, each and everyone, and must bear reminders by those around us and for each of us to surround those near us.

This promise is the promise that we shall stay free, free as a bird, free as a tree, free as the eagle that soars.  Above us is that precious sky we now know to be only our own, the earth's own, that shines blue in an emerald glow from day to day, that fades only for awhile to give us the sight of all that lays awake for us when we do not look, even when we forget, each night it is there smiling upon us, glistening in the deep velvet that is the forever space and that deep and contemplative time.

We are here, yet not alone.  We smile so the world smiles too and this we have bore with great responsibility and pride, for we are free and we shall by the magic of the stone remain so.  The guarantee is the promise we make each day that we shall stay free.  Freedom had never bore a price but by the poet's words.  Truth by higher powers contain for us each day the beauty of the rose, and the lily that grows on the side of the road; as is the truth in the pebble upon the pavement and the stars engrained into the ground.

We must race to the top, yes, but it was always in the smile of the higher power that we are in yearning of the embrace of what true nature that holds and embraces us in the making of our cosmic bodies.  We must not relegate to others the making of our fate, nor delegate the discarding of our troubles: this is what I meant what I say we must stay strong.  To learn again the wonder of the child, the innocence with which we can bear a moment's darkness shall save.  There is truth, we must remind each other, in why we have come here so many centuries ago, or at least so long and so long ago.  We have been searching for something: it is so elusive as to be lost in the records and instruction manuals, for it is subtle before it is bold.  Its name is Freedom.

Upon a verge we stand, for we have been frontier for many days.  In each age, turmoils abound.  Yet, each age chooses to forget its troubles when it wins the victory in memory and fresh experience of freedom.  Upon this verge we all stand.  We have been standing, not just that, we have been sitting and lying down, in wait for something more.  When that something more is something we already have in truth, in fact, in the depths of our heart, we still must wait in vigilance.  We own the heritage and the inheritance by those who came before, and so knowing, we must own up to taking the age by what hard knowledge could come tomorrow or did already come today.

 This is.  Mess?  We have withstood more.  We have withstood enough.  Too many items amiss or out of order, if only the order from above coincides with order from below, or from the left, right, east, west, north, south, whichever label comes of the moment and all the records from yesteryears.  Studious all our work has been.  Yet, when by increments history has been built and written, our internetworks have loaded with the thoughts of more than a few billions.  Today we are faced with a new kind of challenge.  Yesterday we imagined we would go through the annals byte by byte, and through studying while recording we shall come upon a new verge.  Upon this frontier we now all stand.  Looking back there is little fantasy left of how little work faces us as the day's challenge.  For years, we have stepped forward, realizing the frontier by each moment.  Every leap feels like a tiny step.  And not amidst gold, but upon alphanumericals that spin in all different colors, sometimes even with a neon glow.  How should we sort through all these precious records and mundane lists alike?  On this topic we must dwell a little now.

In all times previous, history was made in the castles and scholar's study, when each alphabet could be contemplated upon in each exercise of the scribe.  History was made in increments that span a century, while today history is made not only in the writing and the making of each and every logic, design, and technology alike, it is made too in each and every mind democratically inclined.  

For within each of our mind is a vision and a memory.  The vision is of tomorrow, of five years tomorrow, and of retirement in the beach house.  It is each our own, but in our hearts we remember something elusive, something hidden, something by the name of I Am American.  Who remembers beyond yesterday's grocery list?  Everybody.  Everybody remembers his or her parents' middle name and maiden name, the high school's name, the face of the guard at the door, the face of their high school sweetheart, the cost of the coffee at Starbucks, which key is the mail key, the cost of toll across the bridge, yesterday morning's weather, and so on.  Then there is the face of the American flag.

What are these stars that spangle the banner?  Who still remembers the memory of the roads paved with a million stars.  In the snow they glitter - the snow was over lands not by concrete but by top soils never touched.  The snow fell last night, but they too fell two hundred years ago.  They fell soft some nights, and heavy like a downpour of a blanket on others.  There was barely any public light except that twilight that falls angelic upon these lands that shall be forever free.  The stars were everywhere: not just from above where the dark firmament was dotted by billions and billions, but upon the snow that would one day be orange pink and yellow was the dream that erected this never falling flag.  The dream spread silently like the message carried by a million messenger pigeons.  When word came that now we shall lay down a concrete road, this after the fact of stars being discovered over millions of miles of dirt roads, then too in the concrete is sprinkled a billion stars.

This concrete paving we now call ground.  As we rush from our day to day, we cannot but find amiss something.  What could it be?  What could possibly be the reason that at the back of our mind screams here I am still and here is the world my forebearers devised.  In the midst of the rush sometimes the memory slips that it is the house of my ancestry I live within.  By the blood and sweat, and yes, upon conflict ultimately won out by peace, does this house now stand.

In discoveries like these, which now today so easily do we ascribe to those persons we hold upon a pedestal though correctly so there they shall be beheld, were meant for each of us, every single last citizen of this great state.  These are our stars, and in each of them are inscribed a million memories left to us by our Great Great Aunt Bertha.  One was told while you were in the womb, another over breakfast when you spilled your milk.  So many more that were lost when you drifted off on the bus wondering how best to mend the relationship with your ex and things like that.  

To make a new discovery is not always consisting in inventing something so extraordinary as to knock your wife's socks off.  But sometimes it is.  There is a clue to this problem blocking the easy path locked with a padlock only you can open in the depths of your mind.  The Clue is always the secret, sometimes a secret even to yourself, when a problem is mysteriously solved.  Search for that clue.  Whatever your profession, I think it is highly likely that there is a non-set of problems associated of improving the good of the country and perhaps even resolving the bad spotting the country.  Be brave, and behold those problems in solitude and seek that clue that appears especially in the hours of quietude and solitude.  Upon that clue you shall find a process to search in the annals represented at your library and your smart phone.  If a solution is found, seek that forum formal or casual where to advance your ideas.  In time when we all have rediscover that childlike wonder of discovering solutions to problems everyday and great, we shall talk and discover the way forward is still the one we seek the future together.  We shall seek tomorrow on this green earth of the galaxy, in the house of a billion stars below our feet and above, and across the gossamer network lit with a thousand suns, albeit usually tiny and hidden in the wires, for tomorrow shall rise at the precise time forecasted by your local meteorologist, exactly as we planned.

The Day

 The land is vast.

If upon the road I go today, well, the open road that spans my head should spin with delight.  For what sights I shall behold, with my eyes over the road, the open road.

Dreaming not of home, but the home land, that land of my ancestry, and the nature grand, the awesome builds.

For nothing comes out of nothing, nearly, in the world where I dream I shall dream is real, as real as this house, this porch, this tree, this lake - this road.

Awesome is the world we make, even greater the grand Nature that houses our little house.  The Maison of lit networks, the grids of light those little photons and wires and towers of electricity those tiny electrons that amass and transit by the billions and billions.  For where shall we go but home always on our return home.  Even where we gaze onwards, and outwards, and ay Upwards, we shall find in our heart the deep dreams rooted in always in our forever home.

The traverse is great, for what are we, we little creatures of the day, the night, the moment and that Eternity.  Under God we all live.  A woman said, you can Know God in your heart.  Where did the heartbreaks go that dimmed and darkened that broke and shattered, when in the light we rise and rising by the small elevation we are lighter and dump the small events of heartbreak.

With courage we rise, in fear we fly, we are no small creatures, but the greatest - in landing we laugh.  we are no small creatures but the greatest - of rationality and love, of cheer and genius - small minds shall not defeat, for it is rescue they need.  And so seeking on the way lost in the darkness.  We too must muster the courage to stand our ground.

Nobody dares accuse us of a miniscule spirit for in victory and peace this country was raised and won and is now today rising.

The New

 The state of affairs is such that no centralized effort could begin as a centralized endeavor.  The land is vast and the people great.  No matter how much money could be said to have been collected, financing occurs on many levels and consist of more than monetary funds.  Our past efforts began in a distributed way too, in the history of the erection of cities and throughways.  Offices were established only at a later date, when efforts were already well under way.  

There are many determinants to the success of even a small singular project.  Large scale efforts cannot be called a project, although projective thinking always was the beginning and the middle and the late stages as well.  When the endeavor is under way, the endeavor comes from a force drawn from the collective will of the people.  This is of no surprise because in each instance the drive is consolidated from the large state of constant communication, occurring at all levels.  In this state of mind, we have already overcome much.

The trillion dollar project is the title for such an endeavor being proposed today.  The trillion signifies the scale of the endeavor.  In it is hidden and collected the determination, the endurance, the desire, yes, even desire, to come upon a grander pasture, to realize a greater vision.

I invite you to lift your eyes and imagine the world we are to build.  It will be a greater world; and it is at once the country we have always known.  The luxury and acumen of finer infrastructure could be at hand, but it takes you, and you, and you - it takes all of us to feel and sense what can be at hand.  The moment we are ready to take upon the new challenge being proposed by the administration is the moment our talent and drive will at once become committed and dedicated to what great endeavor possible in our lives and in our lands.

Begin at once.  Let not only the marvelous and amazing appeal, but let too the rational and practical reign as well.  There are great things ahead for in our minds and bodies dwell the belief our victories shall be won by miles and miles at each moment each of us arrive at the vision.

Returning To Nature

 Nature on Earth is everywhere.  

The leaf is green in many shades.  It is soft and gentle, whimpers a little and whispers when you run a finger upon its face or tickle its underside.  Usually, it is darker underneath while the top side is greener and brighter and more vibrant for all the work it does.  It absorbs sunlight and breathes in carbon dioxide.  In so doing, it generates food for itself and where there is leftover energy, it shares with other leaves and the twigs and branches, and the entire plant.  For our benefit, the leaf breathes out oxygen so that the oxygen can nourish our lungs and our bodies.  The oxygen travels pass our lungs into our bloodstream, where the red blood cells grow plump, filled with oxygen, and transport this precious element throughout our bodies, invigorating our souls.

On a nice regular day, stand beneath a young tree.  It is growing, busy as it is absorbing sunlight and carbon dioxide.  Sometimes, the leaves communicate with each other and sometimes the tree is communicating with other trees.  The trees talk not only through its wavering in the breeze, they talk by sending subtle signals composed of small chemical molecules that travel through the air.  They have to signal the changing temperature and the changing wind.  They have to talk of coming rain, snow, and yes, even hail.  On occasion, when tiny armies of insects call, the trees have to tell each other, they are here!

Beneath our feet is the soil where the roots branch out and grow.  The roots of one tree may touch the root tips of another, entangling, dancing ever so slowly.  Nutrients like minerals and elements like nitrogen are circulated through the moisture permeating the layers and strata of soil.  Just like the leaves, the roots are busy too, sorting through the various bits and pieces of molecular matter to find those the plant wants.  The roots are a part of the plant and they know what the plant wants from what they themselves desire.

Up upon the air, the branches and twigs are in motion.  They are so alive!  Birds big and small come gather.  The trees are their homes.  Many harbor no nest anymore.  The trees are all their forever homes.  The birds gather and talk over the circumstances, ever so present.  They want to signal to each other what great weather!  Who has been loud.  How do I feel today.  What are you saying.  This is what I would say.  

In the harmonies of nature the birds live.  This is why they always sing in symphony and never any sort of noisy cacophony.  Like the birds in the trees, we could too celebrate our forever home, this nature of our earth.

From the eagle's eyes