The prompt: write about Rainbows.
Rainbows are magical lights in the sky that fade away before you know it.
Dust is forever.
Dust has body, it has a story ,it has history.
Dust comforts and blankets ruin and decay, landing on it gently so as not to disturb it and not waking it from it’s forever dream filled sleep.
Rainbows are pretty and after giving you a few minutes of pleasure they take their prettiness away and leave you standing there in a wet field or sidewalk in front of a doorway where someone peed or did drugs a minute or two before you got there and you turn from the ugliness to the sky and cry: ” Look at that Rainbow! How magical, how beautiful, my soul has been touched.”
Dust is always with us, it follows us, it waits to claim us-you can touch it, if you want to.
I prefer the company of dust to the company of something that you adore for showing up some of the time to say, ” Look at me, look at me, aren’t I pretty?”
I shot this on accident, but it was so cool I kept it and I’m no sure where it is on my blog but people keep downloading it.
I wonder why?
Back in the late 1960’s when I was little we lived just up the street from Greenlake in Seattle, Washington.
My Dad’s family used to love to tell stories about Greenlake- and at the age of 5 even I knew most of them were tall tales, but they were fun so I never said- ” No, really?”
Like there was a train at the bottom of the lake and it was down there so deep that they couldn’t get the bodies out and sometimes a hand or a foot or a part of the train would float up and if you saw anything like that on the shore don’t touch it because the story says everyone on the train died from some disease and NOBODY KNEW WHAT IT WAS but it was the reason the train crashed into the lake.
Oh and there was one about boat but nobody died on it.
What happened was everyone saw it appear during this wild thunder and lightening storm and it sat out there all night and in the morning it was gone but lo and behold there barrels full of whiskey were on the shore.
I may have missed chunks of that story because it sounds more like wishful thinking on the part of my family more then anything else. Besides at the time I didn’t know what whiskey was.
And then there was the one about the time Greenlake froze over and you could actually walk out onto it.
I actually called baloney on that story.
Barrels of whiskey dumped on shore by a ghost ship, I could understand. A train full of rabid or plague infested passengers who forced the train off the tracks into the lake- sure, I could see it
But I could not imagine Greenlake frozen over and that was that- until that is years later I saw pictures of it on the internet.
You know what this means, right?
I have to rethink those other stories too.
DAILY ADDICTIONS: LAKE
She was broken,
we were broken
she meant nothing to me at all
in the end
he said sadly through a cloud of smoke
to his hot Mama, the Goddess
his true love
on the night of his final betrayal.
And they lived happily ever after
until she came back
from the dead and tracked the dirt they buried her in
Trains of Thought Journal Exercise: Deeply Listen to an Upaguru
During the wind storms
that make the trees dance and the oceans and rivers roar
in the cemeteries I’ve worked in
when lightening rips the sky apart
machete in hand
she who tore
looks over me and walks with me
on my uncertain, dark and adventurous path.
It’s not customary to list the shortcomings, legal issues or less then savory personality traits of the recently deceased when referencing their lives in print- I mean it would be pretty funny to let an ex spouse or a disinherited child write the obituaries after slamming back a few celebratory margaritas but that is
simply not how it’s done.
So when you are on social media, have a little class for a day or two after someone passes.
With a little common sense and decency you too can master the finer points of