Everything you want is at hand, is right in front of your nose, is found here, lost there, in a circle not a square, where rhyme and time and sublime all align.

            You are the romancer in the hay, the placid seas on a calm day, so why not live with a bankroll in your pocket, a jet plane parked down the street, a sly eye on the slippery side of wonder, a poet who really wrote something inspiring, a juggler in the act of a 1,000 snake charmers, before the cobra was tamed on some no name street in the pathways where the rice patties sprout on the outskirts of Calcutta.

            Do a dance, take a chance, see to the end of the road and back up and run through the cull de sacs, through George’s back yard, past all the blooming Dalia’s, and into the next day, because it is there, because you care, because the shit hit the fan and you decided to turn off the fan, put it in reverse, reclaim your dignity and destiny, all with the wave of a wand, all within a nanosecond because it is the right thing to do, because you have the right thinking and right actions and the seven fold path that is running like a 57’ Chevy in your veins, on the straight and wild roads of pure open Canyon land highways.

            Live today, because, well it is here, and there is nowhere else to go, and you can and will and shall and must and get to have it all, become it all, squeal right out of the parking lot in a Corvette, with a set of  new tires as you aspire, aspire—aspire.

            Tap dance.  Whistle.  Be blisteringly blissful.  “For if you forget to play you have lost your way.”  Find your way.  Stay put in the present moment, for all else is illusion on the ideology of new paradigms that spin out of control.

            yOu are the cool dude.  The man of the hour, the lady in pink, the child with a smile, the last of your kind, the mensch’s running from menace.

            Everything you profess in your head begins to progress.
The other day  I was driving down the highway, the sunrise jumped out, the moon blanked an entire part of the southern sky and I was riddled with soft puffy snow, so I kept driving, past Raton, took a left a Albuquerque, ended up somehow near Carlsbad Caverns and counted the upside down bats hanging from a thread  near Roswell.  It was an alien-like experience.

            You can do it all, have it all, and be it all, just feel it all.  Be so alive they bury you in the sky.  Be so audacious you are on the government’s hit list.  Be so filled with awe, story and glory that you create an ideology of bliss, of elation in relation to cosmic filtering, the universal appeal, the awe Oz  show, behind the curtain of what is perceived, along the pathways to enlightenment.

            Be all you can be by seeing all you can see so that your bewitching hour is an alchemist’s basement dream, where lead is gold, where love is to behold, where you are in the race to get a glimpse of the tailcoats of God.

            Elation is the name of the game, so play with the stars, play your way to success, and invent more, believe more, and drive from Carlsbad like a bat out of hell, in a Tesla, soaking up rays, running on lightning, becoming the dream you have been missing.