FootprintsintheWind.com

The world is not a problem
Our people nothing to be solved
An agglomeration, a mish-mash, a chop suey
Is just what we need to invent medleys
& symphonies & galaxies & strange newnesses
The world is but possibilities
Our peoples power to be loosed

:- Doug.

Open space creates high performing systems out of an agglomeration of warty people.

:- Doug.

After this life is over I want to spend the first hundred years watching leaves fall from trees in autumn—maple, sycamore, oak, tulip, apple, see them floating down, ride on each leaf as it slides and scoots, dives and floats up on whispers.

The the next hundred years as a cloud, forming, re-forming, shape changing, now cumulus, now cirrus, once in a while stratus, teaming with bacteria and life, now and again nimbus shouting, booming, dark with flashes to wash the earth, feed the plants, & bring people together in hugs.

:- Doug.

Can people meeting
Open to oceans?

Can they say
Impossible things?

:- Doug.

This is major: death might be something to look forward to, not a graduation to another level, but what? Becoming large as G*d! Becoming vistas, panoramas, oceans, universes, black holes, worm holes in the universe to other universes, galaxies, fecund fields, fierce flowers, playgrounds, more, more, touching, heard.

Becoming love!

:- Doug.