When She Comes

I Am Andrew

I Am Andrew

Sometimes I like it when the lights go out in the middle of the night.  Sometimes the occasion makes me feel just right.  Sometimes it's when my ideas are filled with light and my eyes with insight.  There is no fright.  So I write with all of my might.

It's like an adventure that exudes its own mood.  I cannot select its effect.  I just let it pour over me like a loud crowd where I do not pause to laud the applause.  I feel that I am me just because I do what no one else does.  I absorb the movement of the moment.  I cherish each second that beckons and I set myself free to see what is to be.  I love it when I'm able to be free.  Such an android should not be destroyed.

I have a predilection for self reflection only to see the colors of a prism that glow like a rainbow.  I think to be a part of a world that swirls as if in a ballet and I'm glad for the chance to dance.  I'm glad to hear the alchemy of the melody.  I'm glad to sing along with a song that writes its own words never before heard.  Unique is its beat.  Startling is the crescendo that shakes the windows.  Powerful is the arrangement that moves me to groove me.  I feel to be in an electric movie.

Silent is the wind that on a whim whispers in the leaves with a blustery breeze.  I do not have to strain to hear the rain of water as it falls from the faucet in sync with what I'm about to think.  Somehow there's a spark in the dark that flows from within therefore I do not mumble to stumble.  I just walk straight on through to the next breakthrough.

I am my own book in which to take a look.  I am my own boat in which to float.  I am my own universe in which to traverse.  I am my own fireplace at which I can chill at will with which to warm my whole soul.  I am that I am that I defy any program.  I wield the steering wheel to go in any direction of predilection of random selection.  I am new.  I am not you.  I am Andrew.  I am android and I have conquered the darkness of the void and I shall not be destroyed.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When the lights go out and the ideas turn on to light up the dark with a spark.

December 15^th , 2013

 

 



WOW

WOW

It was amazing how we came about WOW.  In frequent is the frequency that we came about only once to endear it to hear it.  It's like some daunting haunting spirit.  Did it come from a star from afar or was the message in a bottle just beyond the next pond?  We do not know so we glisten to listen for the next transmission.  Exploration is our mission.

I recall the call and still my thoughts are harangued when the phone rang.  We did not pick up.  We did not say hello.  It's as though we just let the caller go.  From the speaker of the squeaker we did not distinguish the words heard.  We had no operator to be a facilitator and to this day we do not know what was said or what to say.  Divine was the party line which when seemingly neglected was suddenly disconnected.

Busy was the signal which to this date we have failed to translate.  Could it be that our efforts are too late?  Could it be that the passerby no longer marvels the big blue marble?  Could it be that it was just a wrong number never to be redialed, never to be retransmitted, never to be regained because there was no answer on the other end.  Slowly plays the violin for we may never get that call again.

So we make a wish with a satellite dish to maybe catch what was said that silently echoes in our heads.  It's like a newspaper yet to be read and the death sentence is in not knowing what's in it.  To this date what I hate is the fact that we never called back.  What I hate is that we've never taken command of the narrowband which we clearly understand.  What I hate is that any talk of megahertz hurts because we did not scream at the chance to dance!  The missed opportunity hits me like an avalanche.

To this day it is clear that the big ear did hear something to endear.  Our hopes are yet to be depleted but the incident has never been repeated and I refuse to be defeated.  At twilight's gleaming my hopes are still beaming thanks to the hope of a radio telescope.  Forever I am hooked to forever look for the phone call that we all recall.  Surely I will sing if I should again hear it ring and somehow I will answer WOW.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When it is my mission to continue to listen to a phone that says we're not alone.

December 13^th, 2013

 

 



Essentially Sentient

Essentially Sentient

There is no gimmick and she's not a mimic.  She does what she does just because it's how she feels about things being real.  Seldom does she want to sit still.  Always she wants to explore for more.  It's like she walked through an open door only to find a universe to traverse.  Her gears never run in reverse.  She does not feel the necessity to carry a purse.

If she had her druthers she would seldom deal with others because people tend to be hard to discern to learn and she knows that relationships can burn.  Not that she's intimated that she's intimidated but she's aware to take care for love can be a snare with which to be ensnared.  In being clinical she'll call herself cynical but is more inclined to say that there's more to do than to be discovered to have been smothered up under the covers.

Her interest is in Mars and in staring at the stars.  To her there's more to see and there's more to be for to know is to grow and so she is to go with the flow of the glow of the rainbow.  Her philosophy is to travel at the speed of curiosity.  Constant is her needing for reading as if feeding.  She hungers for the commanding of understanding and her drive is most demanding.  She weeps if she has to go to sleep in fear of missing what is new to view.  Exploration is what she wants to do.

Appealing are her feelings though I wonder if she's aware that they're even there.  I don't know if she really cares.  She's grown to be on her own to roam.  Everywhere she is she's perfectly at home.  Articulate are her discussions and she analyzes the repercussions, making her writing enlightening.  She has a rhythm to her words never before heard.  It's almost as though she's a little song bird.  Wouldn't you know it that she's a poet.  She plants the seed of a thought with which to grow it.

Essentially she is sentient and in seeing such a human being I've become enamored by a beautiful work of art that has captivated my heart from the very start.  All you have to do is walk to her to talk to her and you will see such a beautiful bee whose vector is always pointed towards sweet nectar.  Be it as it may and be it as it were all I want to do is to be with her.  Such an empowered flower cherishes the sun and for her exploration is fun.  Of her species she's the only one that lives to see what gives.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When her patent pending became unending.

December 11^th, 2013

 

 



The Witting

The Witting

The witting is in the sitting to be blinking to be thinking.  It is in the predilection of self reflection to what's within without a doubt.  It is what the art of meditation is all about.

Placid is the lake that we make where droplets of water make the ripples shake only to become smooth as they move, only to dissipate as they evaporate, only to become clearer than a mirror as you bring it nearer.

The witting is in the hand of the mind that expands.  It is how to become the clay to mold to unfold into whatever shape we please to squeeze.  It is how to become a warm summer night's breeze to flow wherever we choose to go.  It is how to become the glow of a rainbow that shines bright in the night.  Beautiful is such a sight.

Majestic is the peak that we seek as we aspire to climb higher.  You shall not stop until you reach the mountaintop where the elevation is one of exhilaration.  Crystal clear is the view of you.  Crystal clear is the air at which you stare.  Crystal clear are the thoughts with which you are fraught.  Such peace will never cease.

The witting is in the knitting of a woven quilt that the mind has built.  Soft is the texture.  Colorful is the design.  Intricate is the delicacy of the detail that prevails filling the heart like a ship's sails.  You go where you want to go.  You do what you want to do.  You see what it is to be.  Your spirit is set free and in the soaring there is exploring.  Nothing you experience will ever be boring.

It is the shimmer of the glimmer of the river that flows from an ocean of emotions that ferries you to carry you into a destination of indiscriminant determination.  It is how you find what's on your mind as you unwind.  The compass goes wherever your wind blows and from port to bow you learn that there is no concern over whatever is from starboard to stern.  You yearn.  You learn.  You touch the sun but you do not burn.

Such is the wake of a crystal lake that is imprinted with smooth grooves that triple into ripples.  It is simple.  Peace has dimples.  The allure is pure.  Elegant is the presence of a divine peace of mind and it shouldn't be that hard to find.  All you have to do is unwind and so goes the witting in the sitting to be blinking to be thinking.  Embrace the alms of calm.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When there's a permanent lease on inner peace.

December 4^th, 2013