This was the question I was posing. This was the one. Just beating senselessly.

Sitting on that stool

overlooking the ocean. The moon glimmered. Reflecting the light on its own curriculum.

The way I see it was like this:

Which way you going man? Trying to find your soul? Trying to sellout, give in to some western super
imposition. Cower under the holy pagodas and stupas or go looking for the the most mysterious of
all? What was the way? Diversions, attractions, allusions. The dust on the road. Walking through
suburbia. How can I explain to you the things of my own heart? What does my heart want to say?
Why write? What is the process to the mysterious?

Look behind the door, its not always easy but it can be done. Just like science fiction novels that you
plan to write. Back here were discussing the human condition. What is the soul. What does it mean?
The inter galactic cosmos? How amazing to be alive, what does this mean? So many questions.

Look backwards, look forwards. On rivers of stars. By the dawn of a new tomorrow. Transfixed.
Gateways of a never never. On lands to never weather. On storms of delighful fright. Look around and
feel the wonder. Look back feel pain of muscles. The sounds of birds, the sight of seven. In this life I
try to be an artist. I want to understand the role of the artist. What is your purpose. What vibe do
you feel. Healing and creativity. A wellspring of hope. Joyful. What is the purpose of being a
musician,. Its the connection toa form, an aspect of divinity, its a homage to something in the hearts
of hearts. Who can open the gates of the heart? Who has crossed the barrier? Who has the time?
Who knows the way out of this samsaric world. Theworld of tangles and glitter. A world of service
stations and temples. Temples of love from times far gone. Shrouded in the mist of time but living ina
confluent pattern with the world. The history of the world is the history of life. The life of us. What is
the worth of our lives? What is the worth. Does it matter? What matters?

When you stop yourself. When you halt your self. When you feel sorry and ashamed of your life.
When you speak but you respond like a beaten fool. You dont congratulate. Oh dear, external life is
not how I imagined or expected. Do we protect ourselves form ourselves by not wanting to be critical
If I critique m life there arte many things I could say but what is the benefit? Are we ever perfect. This
is the said truth. To dream you must be taken by a dream. The dream must dream. This feeling we
have about ourselves. Isolation, the relationship and feelings you have towards yourselves are not
everyday things we talk about. It makes you wonder. Is it true do I form an idea about myself, an idea
some would say not true, but what of the beauties of personality. The exquisite uniqueness to
ourselves. Our voice, our mannerisms. How can you reform that? The parts that make life. In my
dreams I would escape. I see myself travelling, playing music, exploring etc. but what of this hear.
What of the tapping of the board, the people, the bus. The strangers you meet and become friends
with, Hyde park. Playing gigs. Coversations with your friends. All the jams. All the music, the guitars,
the alcohol. The loves, the girls. The music, Australia big and large. Wizards. Reefer. Fremantle.

Look, its just plain true. You got to create man, share your talents. You could have an interesting
adventure. A musical odyssey. Because whats life but an adventure. Then it gets exciting again, you
can sense the uncharted horizons. Gateways. Open vistas. Dream on. Dream small, dream big, dream
to sink ships. Dream to get rich. Dream to get what you forgot. Dream and sleep and sleep. Long the
peace of deep slumber. Not before long another and another. The world brings you back. Shares
memories, dreams and reflections. Under hear the troubled moon. Trying to be a stubborn fool. With
the warm howl. The licking on the shins. Can you see how it began like that? Moons ago, ages ago,
time ago. The rhythm of that. I think I could feel it. Perhaps you can remember. The full moons of a
yester year in the current year. A future of forgiving, a nirvanic meritiousness. Its just all so
confusing. What your meant to do. Here I am sitting in Western Australia, 2017. I want to play music
and think of love.

How can the life flourish?