Passing of Morning’s Dew

Passing of Morning’s Dew

Foul and Wretched Stench of Life’s sweetest Memories

Image taken by Author. At 17,453 feet above sea level, my thoughts wander and sing

Like a ton of bricks — smacked upside the head — little understanding of how another’s perceptual thought of self-centered reality humbly walked their talk. Accusations fly — entering atmospheric pressures from outer realms of far most galaxies — three possibilities for processing claim.

Head mind captures thought — spinning its web — carrying voices into canyons echoing songs. Here we remain — singing darkened disparity without clarity of knowing all there was.

Heart singing — transmuting energetic reality — giving birth to yet another new galaxy — painting another picture in the canvas of life — fleeting thoughts carried winds. Pooling ardor — tumultuous cyclonic winds — burning wildfire-like presence, are waiting to transform.

Deeper into cosmic inner realms — digesting collective belief — waiting for the passing of another sun’s foul stench passing through another town — sweet memories of who we were, rejoicing on where we sit. Rooted in ancient tongue — darkened sludge sticking a thousand voices chattering about.

The first two verses teasing realities clear — left with bug splatter on the hooded ride to nowhere in particular — car washing of excessive spattering thought externally received — processing commences one way or another — twisted turns, tunnels exiting tune.

Darkened thought enters
bringing terror and fear


Change of movement as such
distraction self-fleeting way


Happy for a second
a cyclical roller coaster of sort

Sitting quietly instead
allowing thoughts
comfortable passing

Be still

Listen, heart calls thy name
canvas empty
awaiting special touch

Paint thine heart true
filling Canvas’ void


Flowing naturally as it was
what was
now is
It is so.

~Ani Po

Ray Charles speaking words of wisdom, singing to our hearts in time of darkened energies — there will be an answer — Let it Be.

This piece is a continuation of my last piece, Fleeting Thoughts, processing energies hold and awareness of such that I sit with, sing-along or allow it to pass through deeper realms.

Our ability to process the world around us either gets passed through the head mind, hearts processor clear, or a deep-rooted passing of energies — leaving a foul but sweet memory of who we are.

Would love to hear what comes to mind when reading this piece. 

Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and, more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

Fleeting Thoughts

Fleeting thoughts

Allowing everything to blow away like morning wind

Image taken by author atop the island of Amantani

Man of few words, says the observer telling tales — inspiring others to see what not ought to stranglehold — taking us straight to the bottom of the sea. Visionary, he declared, judged by a jury and populous of unbeknownst words flowing without any gathered thought.

Trapped temporarily in black and white painted realities, a lifetime of climbing — Mt. Everest base camp is not high enough for reaching soul. Nearer and nearer, goals persistent draw to summits calling winds — of change inner and outer perceptual understanding’s golden stamp.

Chapters shorter, fusing various collective storylines — canvas breathing into an epic tale of nothingness and everything in between. Observer, observing the observer, becoming the observed — vast universal insufflation — filling lungs — the breath of life spilling words into one.

Nature’s nectar singing — roots digging deeper into the sand of time — no longer running out but gathering inwardly songs reverberation carried tunes. Pointed fingers — mirrored reflecting childhood bringing the observer inward yet again.

Single breath — pooling energies in solar plexus’ transmuting — gathered collective belief — releasing all there ever was and what may be — returning to emptiness — the vastness of thought ranging infinitely. Breathing out wounded souls — songs remaining battlefields, bloodstained kisses of naysayers and bell curves where others remain.

Johnny hour stomp’s, mistranslated Bron-Y-Aur clapping along to limited and country lanes, calling my name. Centered on self — higher purpose presenting — no longer messing around with those brick walls — singing a songbird’s song calling your name.

Infinite gratitude for lessons touch — passing through heavy pulls — releasing another ancient song of trickster’s playful disguise. Toe-tapping, the body, actively moving through another town shadowed by the ecliptic moon.

Attentive ear — man of few words, fleeting and passing winds escaping thee.

~Ani Po

Man of few words is recently heard from a friend describing me — what used to be a chatterbox of stories and being the center of attention. I smile, reflecting on the recent events, often described as collective thought, with accusations still flying my way — raising my voice far from it, just another finger-pointing at my re-evaluating inner knowing of who I am and where I ought to be. Right here, as always present in being.

Loop pedal activated for the first time in a while, Bron-Y-Aur stomp taking me into a world of knowing and unknowing. Regurgitating words or smiling — breathing life itself — creating a new galaxy of thought.

Telling my story or walking my talk — self-guided meditation in every step — a man of few words.

Image of Golden Eagle flying overheard by author

Here is a video of my loop pedal calling my name. I share this song, as the Mofo Bros have asked me to stomp and clap along.

Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and, more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash