the Wandering Millionaire.. 5

Any moment you can wake up in prison or prosperity, in a dream or on steady ground.  You me and the Lord of Commons have some structures set in place, and others we choose.
Do you want to be famous? You can sacrifice everything that may seem valuable and find your most potent gift, chase it to the cliff and jump. Or, lay down your life, pour it into your children

to grow a new generation of balanced beautiful people.
What matters? Conversation, connecting values or evading the voice within for the sake of a possible profile that live up a mountain, alone.
Is there a compass that spins your heart toward popularity, power, or people?
How cool to have such sensitive awareness to the plan that would benefit both yourself and the world about you.
Music, pastels, guidance, solicitude, and a sunny countenance are beautiful gifts in a world that seems to be all about running solo.
It starts in the centre, the midlands, the place within your most hidden and honest room.
I love birdcalls, leaf-fall, owls, bears, lions, spiders, peacocks and hippopotami, and my dog.
I can clothe myself in the mountains, untangle in the ocean. I may have more deeper, richer friends than any Politician, and still miss the target.
Clarity.
The shine that allows us to hear our own beat, touch the pulse that will lead us home, and settle us in a moment where we wont need friends, fun, voice or the pinnacle.
It's so close to our peace, choose not to miss it.

Clear but not always bright...4

" When you set out on a journey and night covers the road, you don't conclude the road has vanished. And how else could we discover the stars? "
There is a path set for us but it's not always visible, obvious or cozy. Paradoxes and loss of clarity trickle restlessness into our heart and veils our vision. The possibility of having lost the road leaves us with the threat of being stranded, without signs or a navigator.
But each of us do have our own path, and it remains beautiful in fine and inclement weather, if we have owned the path, if we have listened not only with our eyes but also with our feet. Feel the pebbles, recognize the trail and keep the directions close to your heart.As you walk, tread with beautiful feet, that speak that sing to those who follow.
There is nobody who will be forgotten, only those who choose to forget.
It's okay to rest at the roadside when weary. It's brilliant to stop on the bridges and listen to the babbling creeks and rivers. Even better, take a break and play Pooh-sticks for a while, tease the time.
Unwise words, feeble trust and deliberate turns off the road turn the bright into blight, and the quester into a question.
Leave your curiosity in your pocket for the day when a new path is offered, until then trust the breath that brought the darkness and remember the reason you asked for directions.                                                                    

building fences with no offence 3

Every time I speak to connect, to unveil, to exchange my moments with those of another's, I run the risk of bringing pain, revealing other wounds that had been guarded. As much as it would be great to assume that I could be all harmonious and helpful, I can't. Even with those close to me, I never really understand the reasons for their heart sounds.
I will hurt people.
All the time, with no intention. Maybe a memory wanted to stay buckled down in a dark room, and a simple comment of mine pressed the sensor.
But I can desire to be somebody who doesn't harm. I can try to settle and soothe the damage I have caused,
if I have other eyes that see the pain, ears that hear the crying voices before I reject and run.
If I sit close enough to a heart that feels and remembers the past of all I reach out to.  If I remember to listen before I interrupt.        

Storytelling that feeds the heart. 2

All day we listen to others tell the plans, griefs, and happiness of their day. Unless you disappear to a place where you are alone, you will hear the reflections of somebody's day. And even in that quiet place, you may not hear another's tale but you will still be the audience to your own dreams, fears, frustrations and disappointments.

Some days it just doesn't seem as if you are capable of anything useful; and others will underline this, pushing your hopes away from the stepping stones you were looking for.
But there is a way to find yourself reflected as a beautiful contribution to the planet.
There is a safe place at the knee of a storyteller who will do you no harm, and bring you back to your feet.
There is a hearth that gives warmth, change and healing.
The only requirement is that you seek out the storyteller, and sit still long enough to listen.

Rules of the road, 1

   Most people will arrive a place on their path, where there are no obvious directions. Once you've outgrown the need for parents, the only restraints are rules that you choose. The local and federal rules give advice, but they don't spend each day reminding you to pick up socks and do the dishes. 
You decide whether you want to follow fashion, peers, and trends. You can choose to be an eternal luddite. Nobody can judge you on that.
Your heart spills dreams over your daily needs, but who can determine what really fills the happy factor?
Is it the option of pursuing blamelessness? 
Are you safer yielding to advice that doesn't appeal to you?
Is there a place where rules and relationship merge, and therefore build a home for the heart?                                               

first signs of daylight!

I thought that the difficult part was dreaming up a story and sorting it into a manuscript. Apparently not; the fun part comes with the detail of cover designs, and technical stuff I hadn't heard of.
After re-reading the edits and problems with my cover tragically bleeding, I then had to learn a new language. Publishers possibly become bored with having to explain baby steps to novices, but my head is doing somersaults trying to understand dimensions and jargon.
But, here we go...