Remember me, I used to be a rebel,
soar the azure skies,
and climb the high tides
I have crossed the seven seas,
and the thirteen rivers.

Remember me, I used to live for new smells,
tread on fresh soils.
and play the fancy electrophones
I have searched the world,
and scourged myself.

Now I live for the old spices,
and the graying dog.
the boundaries have dissolved,
and I am ready for communion.

I throw the stick into the water. Moose, the dog, bolts past, making ripples.
I like to call them Moose ripples.

He brings it back.
I throw it again.
He brings it back.
I throw it yet again.

He does not tire.

All I can do is try-
keep up with him.

The eternal game continues-
each time with a different Moose ripple
in the space-time continuum.

They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
That is true of expectations. Not of repetition.

The eternal game continues-
every time a different Moose ripple.

I do not know why.

All I can leave you with is this – 
I do not need to know why to understand it. I do not need to understand to feel it.
Above all, it does not need to mean anything to feel it.

Far too often, meaningful work, or the illusion of it, gets in the way of living.

I have barely started to live.

“Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” – Rumi

All I need to do is show up by the lake with a good stick.

I shall make the right image.
I shall invent the most useless words that you will understand.
And they will mean nothing.