7.30.2026

Celestial Seduction: meteor showers vs the waning gibbous moon...

  

3:50 am


Deep into the Bewitching Hour, the air is crisp and cool outside. I set up my watchtower to view the Delta Aquariids meteor showers. The moon threatens to invade my space, though. Tonight, an unwanted intruder, perhaps it is ready to hold a silent silver conversation with me, but I don’t need its counsel tonight. I want darkness to caress the clear sky for sustained viewing. I need the void.

The first flash came shooting across! Success! I am smitten.

The cold air presses against my skin like silk sheets. The moon, ever a possessive voyeur in this moment demanding to be looked at, creeps into my celestial theater, but passing clouds rise up to the occasion to devour it. I am appreciative, so I intend to be rewarded with more white-hot needles piercing the night sky.

The showers do not come consistently, so I am patient to witness the cosmic debris meeting eARTh in a violent embrace. As each meteor scrapes against the nighttime canvas, it leaves a glowing stream of friction in its wake. Delightful.

Each streak feels like an electric touch that leaves my skin tingling as the glow dissipates. Perhaps it’s also the cold air tightening my flesh as I watch. Tonight, I am the voyeur, waiting in the shadows, seeking to witness a celestial seduction, to witness unfiltered wildness of the open sky.

The moon is winning the battle, though. She dictates that the clouds pass by without cloaking her brilliance. So now I re-focus to observe this act of defiance. I consider that the moon has exacted her revenge on my refusal to acknowledge her. Under her direction, the clouds march across the sky, impairing my view of everything but her.

I try to sweet-talk her into acquiescing. I divulge my secrets to her from the day, coaxing her to part the clouds. Her unspoken response is positive; the sky becoming clear once more. She is appreciative of my silent confessions from the day and shows her gratitude. We both know she is a force to be reckoned with, and so am I. We share our intimate pact together.

Another flash briefly shoots through the sky (an hour after the first)!

5 am and the show is over for tonight’s event. I’ll be better prepared for tomorrow night’s show…Unfortunately the meteor showers coincide the moon’s fullness.  

7.28.2026

7 Gardens To Tend To

 

 


 (NOTE: I started writing this in Morocco and finished it here in Portugal. It's interesting (to me anyway)) to see how my tone switches between countries.)

 

7 Gardens To Tend To

 

(Muladhara)

 

Firmly rooted, my root chakra

What carries me through this long strange trip

Of life

Nurtured on nectar,

I tend to My Garden

I am rewarded with a bountiful grounding

 

(Svadhisthana)

 

My sacral chakra, a hot mess of tangled vines

Born and raised on a steady diet

Of sensuality

Of sexuality

 

On a feeding schedule of desire tended

By stardust

By sunburst

By moonlight

 

A fine line of symmetry and overindulgence, this secret garden

Visited with urgent frequency

Fed to gluttony

 

For I cannot control all the beautiful weeds

That wish to plant themselves

Amongst my velvety vines

I push them out at my whim

Starve them until they wither

And die

 

Craving this garden to flourish

During moonlit walks

In the Bewitching Hour

When all my white flowers release their nocturnal essences

Disperse as they are taken by the wind          (Stevie Nicks reference)

 

A continuation of chakras, penned in Portugal:

 

(Manipura Chakra)

 

My solar plexus, a fiery landscape

Seeks coolness to pacify temperament

To fuel personal power

 

To digest

the vastness of the ocean

I swallow the horizon

To digest

the expanse of the mountains

the Serra do Carvalho collapse into my belly

transmuting the elements

I am becoming the alchemist of all my desires

 

(Anahata)

 

Sanctuary emerging

Rising from ashes of transformation

Chest expanding from a swallowed horizon

Emerging to unconditional love

Pillars of emotional strength

From the weight of collapsed mountains

 

Receiving, not consuming

Abundance of heart

As vast as the ocean

As anchoring as the mountains

 

(Vishuddha)

 

I ready myself to speak to the world

A saudade of expression birthing

Truths of my long strange odyssey emerging from my mouth

Every word a blue azulejo

Forms a mosaic

My story of existence

 

I learn to sing my own fado

Unapologetically

Someone, anyone, no one chooses to listen

My speech directed to the ocean, to the mountains, to the sun

Especially to the moon

During the Bewitching Hour

That is privy to my desires

 

My throat is parched

For this chakra is still wild

Untethered

Pieces of the mosaic yet to be discovered to completeness

 

(Ajna)

 

Just as the Farol da Barra searches

Searching for completeness requires inner wisdom

The blueprint of the long strange odyssey,

Etched into my forehead, wisdom

 

I am my own cartographer that I seek

I map the terrain of my soul

Every horizon swallowed

Every mountain collapsed

I am the lighthouse

 



(Sahasrara)

 

Have I reached the apex?

No

I, cartographer, will step off the edge of the vellum

Map burning

Seeking out the light-ness

All will be released into nothingness

 

The lighthouse will shine

Silent sounds of the roar of the ocean

Silent sounds of the static of the mountains

Sovereign

 

Seven gardens will dissipate into the vast unknown

7.27.2026

Intervals of Grace

This evening's apocalyptic sunset

 

 

In the Bewitching Hour, 2:37 am

Something woke me up. I stepped out onto the lanai to ask the waxing gibbous moon why. The moon is red, yet it is not a red moon. The haunting beauty of a smoke-dyed crimson moon is a heavy sight. Local fires in the surrounding area make for beautiful sunsets and moon rises, unfortunately. The air holds a quiet contradiction.

 

But the moon isn’t giving up her secrets in this Hour. I’m content to just gaze into the void and feel the comfort of the cool air surround me after a sun-baked day. The Farol da Barra in the distance rotates, its light flashing across the horizon in steady rhythm. It too searches.

 

I’m watching a silent conversation between two beacons of light. I ponder that in such a seemingly heavy world the only response is to sit still and observe with graciousness. So, this has me thinking; one beacon warns of fires spread out across Portugal, and the other beacon guides mariners safely home.

 

No questions are answered, only a luminous reminder that grace exists in quiet intervals of a burning world.

 

7.25.2026

Affairs of the cosmos; an intimate theft

   

Affairs of the cosmos; an intimate theft

Dedicated to the upcoming solar eclipse on 12 August, 2026

 

Furnace of gold is he

The moon, she

Shadowy silhouettes

They gaze at each other

They are still so far

Away

Trajectories never permitted to touch

Except for this single stolen hour

 

Her luminous body slowly pressing against his blinding heat

A celestial embrace

A collision of desire

Late-afternoon of delight-

Full vibrant resinous amber hues

Alchemy of sharing secrets in the darkness

eARTh shivers

two celestial deities lose themselves in one another

 

suspended above the sea,

their union peaks

mortals look closely

she is a halo of pure white fire

a lifetime of waiting releases

sun and moon alchemize into unified twilight

 

cosmic law, though, dictates

their union cannot last

all mankind should heave a collective grateful sigh of relief

she makes the first move

her dark form sliding away

from his golden warmth

 

a broken embrace

a horizon bruises

crushed violets and crimson rose petals scatter

across the skyline

the sun, alone, sinks into the Atlantic

sulking

aching

the touch of his fleeting lover

he carries within his rays

 

the moon?

Again, she slips between eARTh and her lover

Only to move on

To separate again        `

 

She

A phantom receding into the void

He

Will burn through a thousand lonely dawns

Seeking out her silhouette on the tide

Until they again find their rhythm

 

Another cycle of stolen theft...

 

NOTE: if you’re going to watch the event, make sure you have your ISO 12312-2 certified solar eclipse glasses to protect your eyes. if you're in Portugal, you can get a pair here:

 

https://clubdavisao.pt/campanha/eclipse2026

 

 

7.23.2026

Separation—

  

Separation—

 

Circumstance builds the wall

without consent,

a cold monument built by fate.

Is time punishing, or is it not?

The past? The now? It grows

each day remaining separated.

 

I endeavor to cloak the wall with night-blooming jasmine

so I can smell a distant shadow

deep into the Bewitching Hour,

when the wall doesn’t seem so imposing,

when communication flows without restraint,

when unbound lust blossoms, wafting beyond confinement,

lost in a ghostly embrace

behind the wall.

7.22.2026

Louredo and the Mondego River Runs Through It

 




Pre-run dip in the Mondego River


One of my favorite secret spots

My run today from Louredo to Penacova along the Mondego riverfront trail 


Back in Portugal and back to my go-to favorite places along the Mondego River. Following the river from Louredo as it carves a path through the landscape, I felt like I was (slowly) moving through a living canvas. The river was so calm— to the point of drowsy— such as I was (thank you for that, Solo_Ojo). 

Getting closer to Penacova, the valley became narrower and steeper. The scent of eucalyptus permeated the air while the hot summer sun baked me. The sound of cicadas was my background music.

This past spring I biked some of this route, but running it made it seem like a fresh experience.  Once I spotted the white houses clinging to the side of the valley walls, I knew Penacova, up above, was within reach, so I turned around and trotted (yes, a very slow cadence...) back to Louredo.

 After a slow drive back north a bit, I finished off the day at Barra in Garfanha da Nazare for sunset. Today was just the type of day that I didn't even know I needed. 





7.18.2026

ReallyDirtyPoetry.Series:17.July.2026

 I'm resurrecting my 'Really Dirty Poetry' series from twenty years ago. Inspired by my archaeological work in the field, I would write poetry out on various job sites— either while monitoring large machinery, doing data recovery, or during down-time moments of surveying and mapping. So, yes, it was a dirty, dirty job, and I documented it the best I could. 

Fast-forward 20 years, I'm revisiting these older works and updating the series to include for my dirty, dirty time cycling and running here in the mid-Atlas Mountains. 

 

 ReallyDirtyPoetrySeries:17.July.2026

 


  

She ran and ran and ran until she broke.

The semester clung like dust to salt-slick skin,
driven out by her Hoka One Ones that bite the mud.
A heavy heave, a spiritual vomit from within,
painting trail grime against her rushing blood.

 

Dry mid-Atlas sun baked the barren waste,

Dust coated her swallowing throat,
coughing up deadlines, meetings, lesson plans…gasping for the heat.
Shedding every lecture, every grade until there is no more—
just the filthy, beautiful rhythm of the trail.

 

Left stripped naked before her own wild heart,

Nothing left to carry, nowhere left to fail.

7.10.2026

The Rolling Stones: Foreign Tongues album; my review


Foreign Tongues: 

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRqbVy5wTt3c

 

Rocking into the midnight hour, staring up at the ceiling or out into the darkness of the moonless night, vices in check, I just listened to every song on the album. Now, I'm ready to go through it again and give commentary.

 

I've followed the Stones all my life. I know what I like. I know what I like with my whiskey. I know what I like in a man. I know what I like with the Stones.  Rarely do I falter...

My first listening, excluding the songs I've already heard countless times before the album's release today (In the Stars, Rough & Twisted, &, more recently, Jealous Lover), I had already detected elements of their 'Emotional Rescue' era — 1980 to be exact. 

In 1980, I was just finishing my 'wonder years' in southern California and in high school. Life revolved around the beach, mostly. It was a time of experimentation into seeing who I would eventually become and from which influences that resonated. 

 So, here we go:

 

Rough & Twisted

This single has been out for a few months now. Blues inspired, Stones are at their best. It's fucking smooth, and it puts me in the mood to just groove while lying on my bed staring into space just soaking up the atmosphere. Lights are dimmed while everything else remains turned on.

In the Stars

Epic Stones. This single was also released months ago, and I still can't get enough of it. I know this song so intimately for this chapter of my life that I can safely say, Yes, I fucking do 'want to dance til the roof caves in'. After all, it's in the stars, baby. It's akin to a life anthem; relaxation, enjoyment, freedom. Sign me up- permanently. 

Jealous Lover

Beast of Burden vibes here. But, I hate the song, lyrics. I, unfortunately, first listened to this track watching the video on YouTube, and I'll never be able to dis-associate the video from the song. The video was just garbage, IMHO. 

Mr. Charm

A fast recovery from the distaste of 'Jealous Lover', 'Mr. Charm' returns to rock & roll I expect from the Stones. 

Divine Intervention

"Respectable' (Some Girls album) vibes for sure. Blues-y Stones swagger. 

Ringing Hollow

Country honky-tonk goodness. Jagger is falling out of love with America in this song. I understand its complexity. Get beyond the political message and just lay back on your bed and listen to it with pure intentions. 

Never Want to Lose You

Banging dance groove. Lyrics...are just alright. 

Hit Me in the Head

Punk-y stones. Charlie Watts on drums (RIP). 1972 guitar riffs. Lots of adrenaline 

You Know I'm No Good

Amy Winehouse tribute. I'm feeling gritty dirty blues and the harmonica... 

Some Of Us

Keith Richards vocals. Deeply emotional and just a sweet ballad. Richard's voice... makes way for a reflective mood. Lying on my bed in the dark, my eyes closed, this felt monumental. Reflections on the passage of time; this IS the Stones. Yes, Keith, 'some of us are on our knees.' The song infects you. This hit deep for me.

Covered In You

 Sleazy-blues with a contemporary flair. I'm getting 'miss you' vibes and it's S E X Y as hell. Pure Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main Street eras. A fucking banger of an ear-gasm for me. I could play this on repeat in the right circumstances with the right person.

Side Effects

Meh. A little too 'angst-y' of a song is my first (and second) impression. This is the song I would get up from my bed to go pour myself another glass of wine.

Back In Your Life

Another beautiful ballad. Stones ballads are not appreciated enough. Classic Jagger. Fucking adore this track. I want this in my life; 'is this how our story will end'. Put on repeat — under the right circumstances. I get high off listening to this track. It just hits differently, reflectively. I mean, I ADORE this track. The boys are pouring their hearts out here.

Beautiful Delilah

The album's closing track, Chuck Berry and rhythm and blues. Full circle Stones. Bravo.  

 

It's nearly the Bewitching Hour, and I am fully satiated.  As Bonnie Raitt and Johnny Lee Hooker said, "I'm in the Mood...".