Last updated: 3 days ago
IG: @ryanheflinmusic
Web: www.ryanheflin.com
wandering poet, mystic, lover, wolf untamed.
the lovers, the dreamers, and me:
for those who find themselves longing for poetry amidst the prosaic, ever passionately seeking the creative and weird choices hidden amidst the loud banter and banal behavior of the collective repetition
who find the original, the playful, the improvisational stepping stones scattered inside the predictable slog of mundane life; those that cannot live [truly] any other way.
rare ones who refuse to settle for roboticism; dissatisfied and restless with the illusion of being bound to mass produced, assembly-line, groupthink script and track,
who starve and live for real, profound, heart-to-heart, weird, wild, jazz-conversations with friends and strangers alike
those bravely vulnerable enough to show their weird first.
those children who, though they have taken many trips around the sun, never lost their wonder for existence.
who know that it’s all right here, right in front of our faces, and always has been. And for those moments, however rare, when we awaken from spell of amnesia, and remember the bliss-ness of is-ness.
for the children and inner children, the seekers and the mystics, the sassy beloved Muse and the Grand Mystery, for our sacred, paradise planet, for the passionate, the romantic, the artist, the poet, and those overwhelmed by the beauty and absurdity of everythingness. For Lila. Where does the wonder go?
Web: www.ryanheflin.com
wandering poet, mystic, lover, wolf untamed.
the lovers, the dreamers, and me:
for those who find themselves longing for poetry amidst the prosaic, ever passionately seeking the creative and weird choices hidden amidst the loud banter and banal behavior of the collective repetition
who find the original, the playful, the improvisational stepping stones scattered inside the predictable slog of mundane life; those that cannot live [truly] any other way.
rare ones who refuse to settle for roboticism; dissatisfied and restless with the illusion of being bound to mass produced, assembly-line, groupthink script and track,
who starve and live for real, profound, heart-to-heart, weird, wild, jazz-conversations with friends and strangers alike
those bravely vulnerable enough to show their weird first.
those children who, though they have taken many trips around the sun, never lost their wonder for existence.
who know that it’s all right here, right in front of our faces, and always has been. And for those moments, however rare, when we awaken from spell of amnesia, and remember the bliss-ness of is-ness.
for the children and inner children, the seekers and the mystics, the sassy beloved Muse and the Grand Mystery, for our sacred, paradise planet, for the passionate, the romantic, the artist, the poet, and those overwhelmed by the beauty and absurdity of everythingness. For Lila. Where does the wonder go?
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