“Stream of Consciousness” is a Year Old:

An American Taoist in Blogstream

 

A year ago today, I found the Blogstream website.

 

When I first began searching for a blog site, I wasn’t really even sure what I would do with it if I decided to start a blog. I was impressed with Blogstream because of the interaction between writers here, and so “Stream of Consciousness” was born.

 

Poetry was my original intent with it, but I soon began sharing little bits of my life and thoughts concerning my own personal views of the world based on my understanding of the Taoist philosophy. Soon, I met other bloggers who asked questions about certain elements of Taoism and began sharing what I knew about those things as well. Along the way, I have come across several writers with whom I have formed what I would call genuine acquaintances, something that I never expected to happen at all.

 

There have been stones dropped in the stream along the way that have made gigantic waves that were difficult to navigate. Some of these stones have been thrown at people who had found safe harbor here at my little “Hovel”, some are still being thrown. However, this “Hovel” has remained a place of peace, and so shall it ever be.

 

For anyone who has ever visited and/or commented on my posts, I would like to thank you all for keeping it civil and maintaining a sense of peace here. This has become something more than just a place for me to self indulgently post poetry and fish for compliments. I have found out along the way that people can be very appreciative when someone goes out of their way to spread peaceful thoughts to as many as possible, and quite possibly will go and spread some peaceful words to someone else out of that appreciation. If that happens only once in a blue moon, it is worth it to me to be a vehicle for peace. Much like those bloggers here who scour the internet day after day to find something humorous so we can all have a good laugh everyday, the focus of my “Stream of Consciousness” has come to be dropping little seeds of peace in the stream from time to time.

 

I have come to hold the opinion that peace is the product of a cumulative action. It is not something that people just suddenly have. It takes time and effort to build up that peace within. It is a very personal thing, and requires the person seeking it to have a passionate desire to have it. Peace is not just an ideal that we should grasp on to tightly and rail against anyone who rejects it; the very nature of peace dictates that it be the product of a sort of “slow burn” within the seeker’s psyche. In order for us to ever fully grasp the notion of peace “outside” of us, we must first cultivate that peace within. One very beneficial way for us to cultivate that peace is to be reminded on a regular basis the benefits others have received from the cultivation of “inner peace” (I am loathe to use that term, but it is an accurate one).

 

“Grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change;

The courage to change the things I can;

And the wisdom to know the difference…”

from the “Serenity Prayer”

 

I have not set out to change the world through my blog, but I do find solace in knowing that my little reminders of peace actually do reach some people (quite often, they serve as beneficial reminders to myself) and I am happy to do my part to cultivate peace wherever I may. It is my sincerest wish that anyone who happens across my blog will carry away some little seed with them. Even if that seed takes many years to germinate, it will do so eventually, and if that is the only mark I ever make on the world I can think of no better mark to leave.

 

peace, wayf

 

 

Ten things I am thankful for.

 

1.)I am thankful to Mrs. W for her undying love and affection and her ability to tolerate all of my eccentricities.

 

2.)I am thankful to every teacher I have ever had, including the ones I never actually met.

 

3.)I am thankful to my parents for giving me life, and doing the very best they could to provide for me, even in the face of terrible circumstances.

 

4.)I am thankful to Jesse and Skeeter for being constant reminders of the innocence inherent in the natural world.

 

5.)I am thankful for the ability to make music. It is my way of communicating with the Universe.

 

6.)I am thankful to anyone who has ever read my blog and seriously tried to make sense of the sometimes incoherent ramblings that occur here. From the bottom of my heart, I have received a great deal of encouragement from many people here concerning my writing and it means a lot.

 

7.)I am thankful for diversity. It gives us all a chance to see things from a different perspective.

 

8.)I am thankful for having made the acquaintance of my friend, “The Bluesman”, and the subsequent friendship that has blossomed from that.

 

9.)I am thankful for trees.

 

10.)I am thankful that in a world that more often than not seems cold and cruel, we still have the concepts of love, understanding, friendship, and peace.

 

Have a great Thanksgiving!

 

peace, wayf

 

A cool, morning breeze washes over my world weary form as I step out into the golden dawn and face the new day.

 

The pillows of white clouds that are intermittently clustered in the firmament are the only remnants of the night’s slumber.

 

Above, the sapphire sky issues a hearty “Good Morning”.

 

The green hills and stately trees spring to life as the waking birds begin to sing sweet odes to nature’s wonder; their melodies fill my somnolent soul with a new vigor, and I breathe the fresh air of a new day into my lungs.

 

The cheerfully bubbling stream that lies hidden just beyond a bluff adds to the avian chorus, with music sweeter than any orchestra has ever made.

 

My feet step almost unconsciously toward the knoll ahead of me, and I climb to the top in order to see the clear and inviting water as it courses over the stones of the creek bed.

 

I sit on the hillside and sip warm coffee as I watch the stream’s soothing action; passively brutal as it ever so slowly obliterates the rocks that attempt to impede it.

 

For one brief, infinitesimal moment, my mind is clear of judgment and is focused only on this moment; this little infinity.

 

These moments never cease, they change only by our perceptions of them.

 

Each instant brings about life and subsequent death.

 

Each second of every day, Yin and Yang come full circle, creating and destroying.

 

Everywhere I stand, each place I go, I am located at the center of it all.

 

Within and without, these infinities continue without change.

 

Like the little stream that is not impeded by the great rocks in its path, these moments will not be hindered.

 

 

 

I’ll keep you close to me,

                                      Your hand in mine

  You’ll be the reason

                                 I’ll write the rhyme

So come, walk with me, my love, my light

We’ll find our way through the darkest night

I’ll be your voice, you’ll be my sight

                      This love will last beyond our time

 

 

peace, wayf

 

 

The blank screen stands before me, glaring defiantly as if to say “You know you can’t write anything. Your mind is as empty as a vacuum.” Try as I might, I can not crack the screen’s insolence; it knows of what it speaks.

 

There are thoughts there, to be sure, but they are as nebulous and ephemeral as phantoms; shying away from the light as if they were vampires fearing the dawn.

 

Random and inconsequential, they race through my mind and are gone before I can even make a conscious assertion that they were ever there; my fingers wait poised above the keyboard for something, anything, to type out.

 

The thought that I can’t think of anything to write frightens me.

 

“What if I can never write another word?”

 

Oh, the sadness that that thought conjures!

 

A life without the written word, an existence without spinning poetic phrases or waxing philosophic on some mundane topic would be no existence at all. Not to enjoy the clicking of the keys and the pleasure of seeing something as transient as a thought being cemented into form by the cohesion of written language. What a disappointment that would be.

 

Then, it hits me. It is not that I can no longer write, but that I have allowed my mind to trick itself into thinking that it can not write. That for whatever reasons, it has just ran completely out of coherent ideas.

 

The human psyche is, indeed, a perplexing thing.

 

So, the blank page begins to slowly fill up with thoughts laid out in the spur of the moment. Its impudence slowly dissolves with each passing phrase, each clicking keyboard stroke.

 

And I ultimately break the page’s insubordinate will.

 

peace, wayf