Still—Star Light Secrets…

…Please Note… (Not Poetry—in True Forms—However—Just For Me—Fun)…

Not everything that can be counted really counts, and not everything that counts can be really counted… Albert Einstein.

There and perched high on dream-side—at flips of mind-sigh—we move across—this universe so fine. Alive and gone and alive and gone—‘til counting-time catches us with mind-sides swirl—sight of mind-light bright—brings another way to see…And Oh! What a wave to see—to be—to know and again to have seen.

Yes! To have seen—so it seems and to see it all through Love! Again…

Sighted! Righted to see the shadows’ tuck—inside texture’s—ghosts and inside shadows—inside—reflected swirls of star light—and—lighted night. Is it true that—if we build a shelving unit—created with shelves—structurally made to sustain—heavier weights—than the objects we just purchased—should we—avoid putting that object on that unit? Is a waste of strength practical?

“The moving power of mathematical invention is not reasoning, but imagination.”… A. De Morgan

Steel Riders pause by waterside as tides of water—kiss shoreline—wave length along with one hundred sounds—as gulls ride the dips of above and around piers of ruined wood and splintered ages where once—Calimesa City stood—and tide changes—matter to boat anchored and ships sailing against the evening lines. The water’s edge and skies of blue and pink and red and orange and yellow—as earth spin sets sunlight to softness and twinkles of sky-lighted-canvas—sheets the blue-gray into darkness and stars light the sailor’s way along the caverns of space and place and the race of time.

Is a waste of strength practical?

These are the salty ways of salted seas and flecks of foam scattered—along shore-sided shifts of sand from wet-to-dry and dunes rise—above and beyond watered edges—before ruined boardwalks remind-nothing-of- something—once savored and watched and known by forgotten ones—once upright writers of the times—and the sounds of ‘days of a future’s past.’

Still! Still! Still! Still!

Slaves of speed—those things filling corners of—house scatter and caves overwhelmed by many needs— requiring covers to crawl into and away from storm’s wrath—drenched in sweat and rain and dried with winds of howling sounds and lighted by the flash of light streams—traced along the edges of cloud swirl and twirl and reflected from a trillion eyes shining bright into those nights of storm and clutter—and later—mist lifts from a million places outside caves and houses and homes now forgotten and almost gone.

Still! We all cross spaces along these places of— races in time gathered—and night ships crossing heaven’s ragged ridges…

We do not summon gentle love…It whispers to our spirits—and touches us beyond the flesh of resistance and routes of layers and lives inside walls too high to be climbed or under or around or about the shouts of daily doubts and flight. Love heart touches and reaches—into body frail and those impossible attempts to hide among thrones of thorns and weary costs already paid and already spent. Listen—just listen.

And! Love reminds us of the equality of equals—woman and man and the spirits of all trapped and—living sentient sentences of life inside body—minding body.

And! Beautiful you are…

Capitalists and the Cultural Void…

We’re told the capitalist is a rugged individual, a lone wolf staring down the barrel of bankruptcy, a hero taking personal risks. But that’s a convenient fiction. The real gamble isn’t about their bottom line; it’s about ours. It’s about the slow, insidious erosion of culture itself. Because, let’s face it, they aren’t just risking their fortunes; they’re betting on our apathy.

The dance between progress and preservation requires a delicate balance, and vigilance is our most crucial tool.

Consider this: their success hinges not just on identifying a market need, but on creating one. This often involves dismantling existing values, replacing them with manufactured desires. The family unit? A hindrance to consumption! Tradition? Outdated and inefficient! Community? Secondary to individual acquisition!

They cultivate a culture of disposability, not just of products, but of ideas, of relationships, of meaning. They dangle the promise of fleeting satisfaction, knowing it will always be just out of reach, fueling the endless cycle of consumption. And in the process, something vital is chipped away.

Capitalists, by their very definition, are not merely personal risk-takers; they are, perhaps more significantly, cultural risk-takers.

We see it in the homogenization of entertainment, the numbing-down of discourse, the relentless pursuit of novelty at the expense of quality. We see it in the erosion of local identities, replaced by global brands and shallow trends. We see it in the commodification of everything, from art to education, reducing human experience to a transaction.

The personal risk they take is calculated, mitigated by armies of lawyers, marketers, and lobbyists. But the cultural risk they impose on us is far more profound, more insidious. It’s a risk that permeates every aspect of our lives, shaping our desires, our beliefs, and our understanding of the world.

And the worst part? We’re often complicit. Seduced by the shiny allure of the new, we willingly participate in our own cultural dismantling. We trade authenticity for convenience, depth for distraction, and meaning for… well, for more stuff.

The dance between progress and preservation requires a delicate balance, and vigilance is our most crucial tool.

So, the next time you hear about the brave entrepreneur taking a “risk,” remember that the real risk lies not in their balance sheet, but in the cultural void they are actively creating, and the chilling realization that we may already be lost within it. The gamble isn’t theirs alone; it’s humanity’s, and the odds are stacked against us.

And! Beautiful you are…

Of Societal Disparities…

“There is no death it said
on one side and the other side of the paper
the voices are the same the thunder
is the same roaring in our ears for
on one side and the other of the paper it said
there is no death
There is death though in the paper where
the muffled pencil moved
Only in the paper only in the shrouding paper”… Annie Besant

Potential is limitless and innovation encourages hope among those who tirelessly endeavor against considerable odds, the prevailing irony is impossible to ignore. Here we stand, witnessing an intricate tapestry of human aspiration and resilience overshadowed by the stark contrast of political apathy and detachment. On one side are the countless individuals striving for recognition and betterment, while on the other, we behold the political elite, ensconced in marble towers, exhibiting an unsettling blend of arrogance and indifference toward the very people they purport to serve.

In various societal spheres, we observe the relentless hustle of the masses—the professionals laboring long hours in pursuit of career aspirations, the artists channeling their creative energies to inspire, the activists advocating for social change, and the entrepreneurs embarking on ventures that could reshape industries. Each represents a thread in the complex weave of society, united by a shared yearning for acknowledgment and progress. They grapple with challenges, persevere through setbacks, and maintain unwavering hope, creating a vibrant undercurrent that pulsates with the energy of potential.

Conversely, the political landscape exhibits a disconcerting inertia. Politicians, seemingly fortified by their positions, often project a facade of power and authority, proclaiming policies and initiatives that promise progress and equity. Yet, upon closer inspection, these proclamations frequently appear vacuous, lacking the substance needed to address the pressing concerns faced by everyday citizens. The gap between rhetoric and reality widens as leaders bask in the glow of their accomplishments, unaware, or perhaps unwilling to acknowledge, the struggles that define the lives of their constituents.

By acknowledging the resilience of the populace and responding with actionable solutions, society can forge a path toward a more equitable and connected future.

This disconnect between the political elite and the populace is palpable. As ordinary citizens navigate a world rife with economic uncertainty, social injustice, and climate crises, they are met with assurances from their leaders that fall flat when juxtaposed against lived experiences. The promises of job creation, education reform, and sustainable practices often dissolve in a haze of inefficacy, leaving many to wonder whether their voices reach the marble corridors where decisions are made.

Moreover, the irony is further compounded by the way information is disseminated in our digital age. Social media platforms amplify both the accomplishments and frustrations of individuals striving for change, while simultaneously providing a distracting cacophony that can drown out meaningful discourse. Politicians utilize these platforms to engage with the public, yet often prioritize soundbites and superficial engagement over substantive discussions. This pattern suggests an unwillingness to confront the complexities of the issues at hand, opting instead for a performance that prioritizes popularity over personal connection.

It is crucial to acknowledge the role of systemic structures that contribute to this disagreement. Economic disparities, entrenched power dynamics, and institutional inertia reinforce a status quo that leaves many feeling disillusioned. The voices of the disenfranchised grow softer amid the loud proclamations of those in power, and as discontent brews, it becomes increasingly clear that change is imperative. The potential of a society hinges not only on the ambition of its individuals but also on the accountability of those who govern.

To reconcile this dissonance, a shift in perspective is necessary. Citizens must advocate for greater transparency and responsiveness from their leaders, demanding that the struggles of their constituents inform policy decisions. Politicians, in turn, must descend from their lofted heights, embracing humility and empathy as they engage with the very communities they represent. Recognizing the value of grassroots initiatives and empowering local voices can bridge the chasm between political authority and public sentiment, fostering a deeper sense of trust and cooperation.

The dissonance observed in contemporary spirits stand out as a profound reprove of the urgent need for change. As we continue to hustle and strive for a better future, it is incumbent upon both leaders and citizens to foster dialogue and collaboration. By acknowledging the resilience of the populace and responding with actionable solutions, society can forge a path toward a more equitable and connected future.

Only through the intertwining of ambition, empathy, and accountability can we hope to confront the disparities that define our times and build a world where the aspirations of all are recognized and realized.

And! Beautiful you are…

Never Is Ever Lost…

Often, a gentle shift can change everything!

We shift into objects of alternative daylights with the accepted expectations of extraordinary flashes of original thought and lights of magnificently creative creations through perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and congested repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and ‘cinnamon-spiced tea-or-coffee-or me-or-you-or-us or’ in the becoming of an impression immortally important and into legacy’s realm repeated and recalled and re-tweeted we ‘amen’ to both; the previously consummated and the just about to transpire! ‘Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win we must be us.’

 Nothing is ever lost, it simply changes form!

Thus, we shift and shape entire worlds-genetic swirls-string strands and simple-to-form complex-and-familiar repeats. As around flash creatures of various ages among the various stages of angel just light innocent or evil or other brightly created in intricacies well beyond the boundaries of mortality’s cage and inside those fortunate beings and endless others; there be gods in particle winds blown bits that once contained individual cauldrons of carbon life forms expired and expiring and constantly beginning anew begun as another being begins and ends and changes directions through the universes of time.

We are literally engines of creation, and we are completely the rearrangement of everything! Life-games-creator-writer-composer-poet-painter-scientist-lover, life always changes creator-creator always shifts display and those tremulous rhythms of re-arrangements are ‘the sometimes that we might notice or care to share, decode or recode pour-out or in or with-out theories’ have no need of proofing; are both the lullaby and the deepest desire. ‘Words’ are free states of perpetual sound and meanings existing within us as we often speak ‘a song of us’ twin-twined those ‘I’ complete without those ever-treacherous singsong distant lights once past and now and when to be…

‘Where tranquility under the moon and under the stars in lunar ways to rhythm, sleeps and dream-side slides.’

Again, conceptions-reception! We shift-reappear/Disappear. Dust-to-dust and forever beginning and ending and beginning again. We are layered spirits filled or fooled or scribbled-upon as recycled salt and as common figures fade-up-then-out or decomposed deeply fade-from-recall and remembered and forgotten and fondly refilled or exactly remembered or entirely dismembered. And! Items rust away with at least iron and over-time as went thoughts and creations in bronze-colored brass we shift into art-speak and other ways to ‘vanish-into-out-of-sight’.

We are engines of creation, and we are completely the rearrangement of everything!

We shift and drift as night takes another slanted sparkling sun away and our moon dances ‘cross that line where sky meets sea and walks beyond fall of endless suns as endless moons appear in threes before another night sky fills those spaces of light with salted mist and futures-to-brighten and another-to-follow sleep to begin or end another day. Sleep is a great escape as dreams come and go and yet they are and seek lights, places, times and impress or relieve in order to continue proffered dances toward the spans of tranquility under the moon and under the stars in lunar ways to rhythm, sleeps and dream-side slides…Perchance some spin ‘against that ‘no cross’— ‘no masks ’— ‘no faces’  and spins and again becomes the ‘yes-cross’ and stillness, stillness by voices silenced.

One body of many spirits; song-side, sound-touched, touch-side with love’s rhythm. No faces just places and sweet moments left alone to try once more to sleep-dance and slumber and much more. Just feel as vapor escapes heated ashes created and memories noted—as forgotten fades almost instantly…This is tonight’s dying, dawning-moving into a continuing slumber-dream-spin-only-fantasy-place shifters deceive as mind touch and body sleep corrected and completed.

‘Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win we must be us.’

And! Beautiful you are…

 

 

A Change Within Our Hearts…

Accelerating toward the swell, pushing out with speed, and propelling beyond the confines of gravity, racing towards the vast expanse of the gate-less stars above. Twirling through the wonders of Earth’s edges and the beauty of Eden, could it be that we are descendants of Martians? Perhaps they were the original travelers, journeying with Noah and an armada of starships or an Ark known as the Mothership, carrying the genetic material of accidents, visions, hopes, and fears to a new world where adaptation is a necessity. Are we the creative beings of rhythm and song that they hoped for? Is this the truth, or merely a religion of men? Challenge the Bible writers to prove otherwise!

Humans are beings that some may argue do not belong in the natural world; however, we do. Life is eternal, and humans are just a part of the greater ecosystem of living creatures. While we may have self-awareness, all beings have a sense of being in their own way. Each animal is perfect in its own way, without making mistakes. Being alive is not about judgment or selfishness, but about being part of a greater whole. Whether we walk, crawl, fly, or swim, we are all part of the same life force. Remember, all forms of life are eternal spirits, whether created by accident, whim, or imagination. It’s good to be a spirited being, don’t you think?

In the arras of actuality, love transcends the restrictions of normalcy. It is a celestial symphony, a divine touch, sparking a flicker of authenticity that defies religious dogma. No injunctions and no moral deceptions can outshine its incandescent fervor. We, the collective human experience, are the embodiment of power, not the few who seek to wield it for control. When fear threatens to consume, passion awakens a call. As equilibrium falters, we gather around the hearth fire, our steps guided by the rhythm of out tribal unity. From the radiant flames, we venture into the unyielding darkness, embracing the transformative power of change.

Amidst realms of strange fictions, a dire prophecy emerges, as celestial beings descend from the heavens, engulfing the world in fiery torment that will eradicate all but a pitiful few. Pause thought for ‘maybe’ this cosmic prophecy must come from human fabrication. Our history is a testament to our own destructive nature. From time immemorial, we have reveled in warfare and inflicted immeasurable suffering upon ourselves.

Hate, like a corrosive acid, consumes both the perpetrator and the victim.

So, for a brighter tomorrow, let us embrace a fresh perspective. Instead of dwelling on prophecies of doom, let us focus on a future forged on Compassion and Cooperation and Love!

And! Beautiful you are…

 

 

Mysterious Grins And Sight…

‘Naked Eye’

it’s not a choice i tried to make
it’s not a thought i couldn’t take
something told me it was time
to give you yours and leave me mine
my vision started to be clear
i watched the sunlight coming near
i knew the day i knew the night
i knew i could regain my sight
and it feels alright
and it feels alright
with my naked eye
i saw all the falling rain
coming down on me
with my naked eye
i saw all if i said it all
i could see

last night i came into your home
to break some ice and throw some stones
i asked if we could be alone
i had some troubles of my own
knew i had to say goodbye
to all the old things held inside
if i let the moment fly
i knew they’d all be magnified. 

and it feels alright
and it feels alright. by Luscious Jackson

Acknowledge the profound impact of scarcity, lack, and emptiness in our lives. The sound of a loved one’s voice can touch us in ways words cannot express. In moments of silence amidst chaos, we discover unity in transcending dualities. As eternal beings without clear beginnings or ends, we hold a formless balance like the elements of nature. Whether reflecting on the present or past, history is influenced by those who manipulate outcomes for their own satisfaction.

We are tuned in to the awakening sounds and melodies that enchant our minds and hearts. A deep intuition, beyond logic, guides us with gentle care. Memories trickle through our thoughts like raindrops, sparking profound spiritual journeys like powerful tidal waves. We are encouraged to release our thoughts freely, allowing natural order to shift and expand with limitless perspectives and the intricate wisdom of a universal language.

In the vast expanse of space, where worlds twirl and stars twinkle, the bending of light creates swirling patterns that captivate the imagination. With flashes of light cutting through the sky, the dance of life begins anew, fueled by the rhythm of drumbeats and the unity of hearts. In this collective strength, individuality is embraced, allowing for a sea of possibilities to unfold. And as robots carry out their programmed tasks, they too experience the beauty and sorrow of existence while moving through the cosmos like dancers beneath the right night sky.

We seek understanding in the enigmatic smiles of da Vinci, the happiness of loved ones, shared ideas, and emotions. Our inclinations fluctuate between embracing or rejecting gatherings by recognizing excellence in small details and natural beauty. Imagination surpasses boundaries, honoring life’s wonders and offering comfort and love, forming a harmonious unity beyond time. In this bond, our spirits are forever connected in a love unmatched. And you, beautiful and powerful, are a vital part of it all.

Could these fundamental elements be key in understanding Sporadic Simple Groups? Is liberation a reflection of timeless Robots or will Androids eventually dominate? Perhaps the departed do not return because earthly existence no longer holds their interest, evolving through various structures and forms while emitting warmth. Our sensitivity to sounds and music captivates our thoughts, leading us through memories and spiritual explorations. Embracing our thoughts allows for a deeper appreciation of natural phenomena and the possibilities presented by theories.

And! Beautiful you are…

 

 

River Things And Whimsy…

Are we ‘things’ removed from nature? By this removal, do we become no more than an abstract of potential products’ gain and loss? We are, however, information. That information can be changes of whimsy or chance? And! As thread widens, those center bubbles initiate centering-self and as coding develops bubble self; once rarefied, can mature from a troubled singularity into social unknown starts to traverse zones of, yes-to-no and no-to-yes.

Why do routines and understanding collapse the possibility of peaceable processes? Inspirations rely on just how to reach and where you are as flare striae before haze stinks and eyes burn. Tears and fears and by the warps of notions, peace ceases just prior to small recollections developing into nice content and bright smiles.

“The diverse landscapes that line the Mississippi River have been influenced by its current for about 80 million years, originating from Lake Itasca, Minnesota and ending at the Gulf of Mexico. As the Mississippi River flows through different regions, it showcases a variety of geographical features. Beginning as a narrow and shallow river in Minnesota, it gradually widens and deepens as it continues its southward journey. In places like St. Louis, Missouri, the river reaches its broadest and deepest points. Moving into the southern states, such as Louisiana, the river transforms into estuaries and deltas, creating a complex network of smaller channels and tributaries as it nears its final destination in the Gulf of Mexico. This diverse geography sustains a wide range of ecosystems, which in turn support a diverse array of plant and animal species.”

Whimsy_1: “Living on the Moon offers several potential advantages, such as enabling scientific investigations, exploiting resources, and acting as a vital step towards venturing into the depths of space. Due to its proximity to Earth when compared to other celestial bodies, the Moon stands out as a favorable choice for conducting space research and creating technologies that may later facilitate missions to Mars and beyond.”

Whimsy_2: “Adapt to low gravity: The Moon has only about one-sixth the gravity of Earth. Long-term exposure to low gravity environments can lead to various physiological changes in organisms. Adapt to low gravity… Our Moon has only about one-sixth the gravity of Earth. Long-term exposure to low gravity environments can lead to various physiological changes in organisms. Astronauts in space show muscle atrophy, bone loss, changes in cardiovascular function, and alterations in gene expression. If organisms were to live on the Moon for extended durations, they may undergo similar adaptations.” Adapt and Live!

We are the confirmation of far-flung people. Demigods could have decided to create women and men in countless locations about Sirius and Mars and Earth and back again? Our rulers and our dominated and our voices and our religions have rewritten our starting points in so many places and in so many ‘might have been’ accidents that our truth and fiction has blurred the start of lost and the loss of start.  And! Still the rest is eternally approaching.

The rhythm of Zero and One is not the rhyme of  “Ghosts in the Machines’…Empathy is the only variable machines fail to match—or— Understand…

And! Beautiful you are…

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Type O Negative – My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend

 

 

Spirits Walk And Spirits Talk…

—In your sounds of music—in your works of art-touch and your words of rhythm and rhyme; I taste and feel the strength of your presence—Past and Today and into the Future and ‘wow’ light does exist…Everyone! Thanks for sharing!

When eternal spirits visit body magic, please protect the ‘ghosts in these machines.’ Open arms and rejoice in this welcoming of life, body embraced touched senses to ground and as sky flight races across sky’s grand lengths remember there are no gates of heaven. Body form, blood and love and hand-to-hand and hip-to-hip and to and from the Mother-Ship…

Find no balance to bible-speak or the ramblings of government kings or the priests of wealth and babble for they are the attempted ‘evil’ of control and failure. Eternal Spirit touches Eternal Spirits. Simple and refined and fair in logical truth and requiring no ‘men-of-middle-claims’ or endless fancy killings or…

Presidents, Premiers, Dictators, Popes, Imams, Chieftains, Generals-of-Death, Politicians-of-Control and Preacher Kings, when you fly by as simple sky birds without metal form and blame; we may just for an instant, look up into the sky and smile. Then we will continue the protection of little ones and our spinning world. Is not the purpose of us to help the small ones grow into the large ones?

When the call of heart gives up eternal spirits never end. Eternal Spirit never waits to gain permission and access to the Universe. Life is unstoppable and everlasting. No Judgment awaits, no future calls for horror, no memories of past or present or future physical constructions are not required or necessary. Gods created spirit-sparks and spirits together to dwell in the whenever time of wherever places for whatever reasons.

Call spirit-dance! The naming of name-times quantify mysteries of understanding heart-touch inside flesh-times when body-survival purposes daily pursuits or interests same as food to stomach and sleeping in those arms-of safety. Mother holds baby close and Father embraces in his arms; hope and love and protection. She and he together once more family-dance the form of strength social and fabricated continuum.

So! Visiting Spirits stop and animate walking, flying, swimming and crawling flesh. No tests and no required reasons. True Gods create no wars on earth or in the above places of the wherever or ever been. True Gods do not allow horror or death or strife or pain or happiness or grief or destruction. The ‘Gods’ do not judge the fallibility or fragility of flesh and whimsy. Why? Poverty and Greed and Control and Governments and Religions equal the Terror/Horror of this immediate now and this immediate place.

Life is Eternal Spirit and we are these spirits. One or many across a star field of many star-filled nights and days. Stars do not dim in the light-of-dawning bright. Eyes often see more than eyes discover and understanding may stop at birth or continue until stopped heart begins Spirit-walks again across a Spirited-Sky, beyond and below and maybe again on a ‘whirly twirly’ world somewhere in another time or place or race. Nothing matters except Love and Life and Peace?

And! Beautiful you are…

Walker Places—Walker Spaces…

Light Fall and Darkness touches street and covered brick-crack and moonless crackles. Colloid collisions to scented secrets and motions without notions. We are the Queens and Kings of these streets. This ‘Sity’ is our City.

              The Walker is a silhouette pushed low beneath Grand Moon rising and carved carefully ‘cross sky too close to be real and too real to be proximity’s cost, close to-shapes-to-shift-shape and nearer to buildings tossed across landfall along sea-line to skyline. Tide comes in, evening time and changes along season’s alteration same as sunrises and sunsets and shadows play beneath twin moon season with splashes of textured cloud color or star twinkles too distant to notice or too close not to catch eye when noticed in brain as spirit touches at the same time.

The Walker glides across a jumble-tumble of brushed footholds fashioned by rainwater visible; as digging, once moved dirt above rock faces and dragged these weighted ones from place to necessary place for buildings built or buildings removed-restructured-replaced or obliterated. Needed things at needed times where locations were homes and buildings-controlled landside. And! Little killer medications be, only notions of Lizard Kingdoms where the notions of you ‘peel’ums’ accessible and needed from the glory of car-trunks.

She is a Walker Warrior and claims the Bridge above the ruins of ‘City.’ Below the places of spaces, once a great tangle of yards and rails carried the price of commerce commercially to and away and beyond her bridge and dirty sea ships sailed toward one another. They bounced the line; black shadows, slowly creeping beneath an injured sky. No wind! Masts no sails. Crude! Not fueled cold furnaces and boilers empty drums with warm air. She now adjusts eyes and turns and follows silent ships passing one another. They ride the line with no wake. They do not disturb the oiled sea or change silt-less shoals beyond an invisible channel. She watches and waits for their return.

She forgets to breathe. Fog horns moan and moan again just within cones of hearing an evening rare without fog or mist. Held inside, air rushes into throat and through her nose and mouth. Sea odor and her eyes tear. Bridge time is fine and darkness safe. She searches sea. She swears the line has moved closer to shore. And! Those ships are gone.

            We shift into objects of alternative daylights with the accepted expectations of extraordinary flashes of original thought and lights of magnificently creative creations through perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and congested repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea-or-coffee-or me-or-you-or-us or…In the becoming of an impression immortally important and into legacy’s realm repeated and recalled and retweeted we ‘amen’ to both; the previously consummated and the just about to transpire!

Ghost clouds block moonlight as they race clouds across the early morning sky tucked somewhere between dawn and night. And! What is the color of souls? In these dreams there be gods in this place where now only spaces remain. So! Come to Cloud early in transition time and seek flash-ride to spiral and skip into framing time.

These Memorial Gardens are filled and overflowing and encompass many miles. Commons frame these gardens. Statues cover these parks. Here are sacred places and areas and spaces and graces where families gather and depart.

Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win—we must be us!

And! Beautiful you are….