The Hermit Chronicles: Hounds

 “In this world of memories, there’s no need for strangers.” – Watsuki Nobuhiro
  “What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined – 
to strengthen each other – to be at one with each other 
in silent unspeakable memories.” – George Eliot
g0dless-shrine

I hear their cries of excited pursuit as they push their noses high in the air, hoping to sail on the scent of people long gone, caught on the thistles along the paths. Memories, they are the hounds that play along my side as I travel, howling in the night when loneliness stalks me and creeps its way into my tarpaulin refuge. They quietly dig at the unseen footsteps of my past loves when my bottle is near empty and the flames of company have faded to only the dull warm glow of afterthought. I love it when, in the mottled light of sunrise breaking through my shelter of branches, my faithful hounds nudge me with the wet nose of many mornings past. Those mornings when waking to fish my dreams from life’s rivers flowing gently past, I found that elusive “granddaddy”, and pulled it from the muddied water with a rush of victory and pleasure. My camp is filled with many of those that got away. This where my humble abode now sits, along those paw marked muddy banks, that disappear in the fog of today, ghosts of Then floating through Now. I see your quirky look as you wonder at my friends. You have friends like me, though they complain you don’t spend enough time with them, your fires of denial burning bright enough to chase them far away. Relax here in the warmth, lets let our friends mingle, they know how to make smiles and frowns dance with youthful vigor, and just the watching of it will make us tired enough to pass into the night with sweet sleep.

 

Thinking

“I think and think and think, I‘ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.” – Jonathan Safran Foer
Weheartit
Starting small, a little fire, a gentlebeginning

Fuel consumed by circumstance

Flames are bright, I think to much.


Pull the sand, a gentle river, contained by nurture

Releasing it runs, events of chance

Rapids form rolling hills, I think to much


Words spoken, few arrows, swiftly flying away

Wounds bleed from peaceful intentions

Broken shafts are faults, I think to much


Drops floating, small crowds, in heated drafts gather

Billowed followings, a dark horizon

Deluge free falling fast, I think to much

So Now I Float – Releasing the struggle of now

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring 
I swam, twisting about in this tumbling whirlpool of dead leaves and rotten wood, for days of nights and nights of days. With a mighty crash my world changed, as the breaking of one old tree led to a deafening splash in the darkened corner of my misty forest. Flying through the air, touching other less lively individuals, seeing sky, then earth, then sky, then earth again as I spiraled through quiet autumns air; I deftly floated, having lost the weight of my captivity with the ferocity of my extrication. The place of my landing was not as habit forming like my prior life, it being tumultuous and ever changing. My fellow flotsam rushed by with blurring speed, leaving me chasing them in the disappearing wakes. The journey is mine now, no other soul to see, with haste the pace brings the wonder about what will be, to what is now, and can never be changed. Taking caution by the hand, binding him with cords of excited decision, I tossed him aside. Only the rushing river and the changing seasons accompany me. Soon, I will find what I’m looking for, I’m just so tired of swimming, so now I float.

So Now I Float – Releasing the struggle of now

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring 
I swam, twisting about in this tumbling whirlpool of dead leaves and rotten wood, for days of nights and nights of days. With a mighty crash my world changed, as the breaking of one old tree led to a deafening splash in the darkened corner of my misty forest. Flying through the air, touching other less lively individuals, seeing sky, then earth, then sky, then earth again as I spiraled through quiet autumns air; I deftly floated, having lost the weight of my captivity with the ferocity of my extrication. The place of my landing was not as habit forming like my prior life, it being tumultuous and ever changing. My fellow flotsam rushed by with blurring speed, leaving me chasing them in the disappearing wakes. The journey is mine now, no other soul to see, with haste the pace brings the wonder about what will be, to what is now, and can never be changed. Taking caution by the hand, binding him with cords of excited decision, I tossed him aside. Only the rushing river and the changing seasons accompany me. Soon, I will find what I’m looking for, I’m just so tired of swimming, so now I float.

Cascades – Metaphors of a new start

 “Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. – Margaret Atwood, The Penelopiad

Pour down rushing cascades

Filling the voids in hungry glades

Creation born in the splashing enclave
Swimming in the abundant rains

Pictured for me in the grand scheme
An image of strength for my soul’s need

A river flowing from a source so high
Allowing fresh life, relieving my deep sigh

Frolic in peace, the swirling water alive
I swim with ease, living I no longer cry