After a few drinks, some eats, I reflect on the stress and satisfaction of a tiring day of writing; I wonder why I do it. It’s difficult to imagine the intelligence, maturity, capacity for learning, and spiritual level of awareness in the average Americans mind. ( I hear the wind blowing outside and pause to open a bedroom window, to let the pleasure of feeling the wind touch me in it’s effort to calm me.) Then I think of lying on the bed, and hoping for a quick fall to sleep, where dreams come to take me on a mysterious adventure or encounter.

I also think of the desires of my youth, to be this, that or the other, a success as the world goes, and realize I would not exchange what I have come to be, for all of those selfish, vanity filled dreams of my youth. I now know why I’m here, though controversy surrounds me. I long for pre sleep to give way to the shallow slow deep breathing of Holy sleep. Frankie The Earthman.

My cosmic mind wants to travel.


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