Living in the Past – Awakening the Subconscious.

                        I stood in the Colosseum in Rome one day, imagining myself as Spartacus.
 

Living in the Past – Awakening the Subconscious

A Preface of Fragments and Flame

Bismillah Ar Rahman, Ar Rahim,
I salute myself and acknowledge that I am an imperfect vessel,
An old vessel—I am the ICELAND.
I am still here.
Still prowling the Bering Seas for Halibuts and Salmon.
Still bearing the North Winds and Gales,
the cold and wet Pacific Northwest.
I am one of the few remaining wooden-hulled boats.
They said Paul Martinez, a Norwegian boatbuilder, was commissioned
to build twelve of us out of Kodiak.
So why am I dreaming of Iceland out of the blue?

Because she never left me.

                                                        I Am Sitting Here in Limbo

The moon pulled so hard that we lost our connection.

The Universe laughs and the Divine smiles.
We are all here now, sitting around the campfire—
eating marshmallows and drinking apple cider
and chatting about Souls.

In the shade of Mount Tamalpais,
overlooking the Green Gulch Valley, facing Muir Beach and the great Pacific,
The skies blaze with Milky Way stars.
We sit in silence and speak of becoming Bodhisattvas

                                                   Tommy's Joynt on Van Ness, San Francisco.

---

I never felt more afraid and alone
than the night I was slammed by a pickup truck at 1 a.m.
in the middle of the Navajo Reservation—
on Highway 666, between Gallup and Durango.
Sixty-five miles of desert and fate.

I was in a 1964 Chevy Impala.
She leaked oil. She creaked. She was old.
She cost me two U.S. dollars—a gift of love for a traveler.
A picture of the Divine Mother, Mariam, was taped to the dashboard.
She kept me company in that fragile shell of steel and hope.

The Impala and I had adventures across New Mexico, Arizona, and Colorado.
She was more than a car—
She was my Ark.

---

Living in the Past is not nostalgia.
It is not an escape.
It is navigation.
It is awakening the subconscious—
not to be trapped by it,
but to bring light into the forgotten rooms.

I sing my old songs now,
songs that once kept my spirit lifted and my soul intact.
I am glad the subconscious holds so much,
and that the older skeletons have melted
into the void of consciousness itself.

What surfaces now are not ghosts.
They are working forms.
Symbols and stories that rise when the time is right.
Images that help me understand the inner workings
of the human mind—my own mind.

                                                                      This Is My Song.

---

Finally, with all due humility, I say:

This, too, will pass.
This, too, is a pigment of my imagination.
I write, as always, for the sake of sharing—
not to claim any right to teach, or to pose as Guru or Roshi.
I am still seeking.
Sometimes drifting.
Sometimes lost in limbo.
But at the end of it all:

I am who I am.

Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn.
To Him we belong, and to Him we return.

---

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#GreenGulchMemories #Highway666 #ChevyImpalaStories #IcelandBoatDreams #SeekingWithoutClaiming
#Innalillahiwainnailaihirojiun #DivineMother #WanderingSoul #SongsFromThePa

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