Wednesday, August 27, 2014


There is a place for misfits and outcasts, the freaks and the broken toys - 
loners, strangers, wanderers, vagabonds, drifters in the wastes...

One of a kind thieves to their own fates - the aces of society; 
in each of their kind, the kindred one of a kind.

Miserable, suffering, solitary. Glad for mountain fastness. Glad for ocean vastness.
Glad for forest and plain. Happy for their pain. Their riddle and their rain.

Happy for sky, sun, and star. Quicksilver moonlight, the gentle quiet of nights.
Renewing constantly each day...

The swagman, the vagrant, the aboriginal man;
the convict, the prisoner ships, the captain of the seas;
the soldier, the sailor, the flyer - the bearer of Dreamtime dreams,
a singer in a song of 40,000 years...

Dodging fated destiny, tempting it all away, trading old for new.

Dancing with the danger, Waltzing Matilda away.

Pathfinders, seekers, shifters shifting away. Lost but not lost.
Across the disappearing vastness, upon the desert dunes of thought and time...

Immigrants and exiles to their own dreams.

Lost but not lost. A wanderer of soul: In a journey, in the spirit, dreaming...

Desert travelers on the dunes. In a place with no roads, no runes.
These constantly shifting desert dunes...

Nothing is solid unless seen from within. Nothing is seen unless the mind begins...

Among the many dreams, in a multitude of fleeting scenes,
the lay of the land and sky begins...

For the heart is a guide. Leading from afar.
In a night without stars, in a wilderness so far...

In a constantly shifting spirit landscape of thought and time,
the mind of the heart is the thinking that knows!

In the timeless. In the alone.

Love is what leads the seeker home.