Look around you, do you feel the dismay? Look around you, do you feel the hooray? Like a rainbow, there is a wish and there is a treasure. Between the two, there is you, a you upon a rainbow’s hue.
It is not the red, the orange, the yellow, the green, the blue, the violet, or the white. It is not black, or any color that preceeds white. The variations matter not. The band that holds them all together, is it the bird, or the feather? If it is the bird, what song might be sung to teach this? Is it a song or songs? If it is songs, which measure of notes strikes a cord within our instrument? For even a bird sings songs from a composers pen. What inspires such a simple creature to know melodies unknown?
Does a bird read music from a sheet? Does a bird only mimic a beat? Does a bird in its folley know its own jolly? Study we do its genus and species, but do we see not and its feather we mock. It’s a bird, it’s a plane, no it’s not. Knot not, who’s there?
A pretzle twisted in a knot, it folds into itself. Unfold it, it is a line. The pretzle bites we take until it is gone. What next? Another pretzle? Maybe we go to a donut shop, then is it the donut or the donut hole? Another donut maybe? Another shop? What about the culinary art? Is it the art or the product?
Answers we seek and answers we find, and thus it is good. Yet we find a moment that may have bad looking us in the face. So we seek again and the cycle continues. The bad and the good, the colors we know and the colors we don’t know. We look for meaning for all. Sometimes we run away, sometimes we sit knowing there is nowhere to go.
An Earth, its people, and life upon it. We all sit with no where to go. That is the common thread and divided we stand. We all search for answers and eventually we get. But where do we stop and wonder what have we met? No where to go but up, down, left, or right.
Half of the day our eyes are met with light, the other half darkness. We look into each and see what is before us. Draw eyes upon a sock and you have a puppet, a hand inside does make it move. What does the sock puppet see? Does it know the hand within thee? And if the sock could talk to the hand what would it know? Would they both create a different show?
For a sock and a hand both have a creator, their presence is proof of a light for all. A light for all, like a lighthouse upon a distant shore unknown. A sock can be turned inside out, it is there that inner Earth is found. That Earth one can leave and venture beyond, even to the creator’s farm. A light for all was given to each, a stream to ride without failings reach. Take a step backwards and fall into the abyss, its water will take you, there is no amiss.
Follow light’s source, it becomes just one beam, in reverse is where all can be seen. A bubble blown has at its source water, soap, and a bottle to hold. Pour out the bottle and look what you see, a gleem of light shining back at thee. If seen from the sun or from the sheen of water, don’t you see that you are the bottle? And if you go inside you surely will find, a light in a bottle, that truth is divine.
Zoltan Blue 