Venus, Mars, Yoga, Peter Murphy and a baseball bat

More than two years removed from my last post, I find myself in a post-blogger world, where the allure of posting your own thoughts to the universe has almost come into question as to it's worthiness in our technologically forced culture of change.

Venus and Mars were disappointingly absent from my early evening Tennessee view of the sky tonight, yet I was able to climb the stairs and avoid turning on the artificial light of my archaic Sanyo television for the second evening in a row.

Some stretching, weight-lifting, tonglen exercise and a few swings of the bat were wonderful precursors to an evening conversation with the the most treasured person in my life, my daughter.

As Peter Murphy segues into Bono's bleeding opening from, "War", I believe I will revel in the wonderful reality, or non-reality of groundlessness; the condition that we all find ourselves in, no matter how we embrace, decipher or translate it.

Eliza Snow is curiously looking at the area where the speakers are playing, and moving her head as the violin in "Sunday Bloody Sunday" eerily weaves it's way beyond The Edge's bgv's.

Enjoy your evening universe, for more is to come.