Sleeping in a cloud

It’s wet and cold.
It moves and yet doesn’t move.
Some see ghosts,for of course,here in the mist they sometimes can be seen
The giant cortex of the planet thick and thin floating across continents.
If you get up with Tiges, Graeme C and Trevor P and point your torch into the ether
You will see
Myriad energy particles sweeping, otherwise invisible, across the plain.
Electrical synapses suddenly visible and miraculous
It is a blessing to sleep within such energy it holds planets and time together
It makes the old young
Thoughts and dreams are held here
In the neurons floating by.
The art is in letting go the washing which never dries and building a warming fire that burns slowly, hickory eucalyptus hard wood mix, so that the swirl can engulf you long after the world wakes up.
Some people move away because they fight the cold and cannot feel the energy of old man fog.
Who are these strange people who live under the White Sea until noon?
But the real question is what part of the cortex settles most days on the kangaroo river?
How does it connect platypus to the thalamus and why?
Platypus move from rivers to the stars through the fog
Lifting invisibly upwards
Only the very old white hairs see them
Where do the spiralling neurons begin and end?
All I know is in these mysteries is all that is good, all dreams that are worth having, all nightmare contrasts and warnings worth taking heed from and here too is Jimmy's royal telephone.
Mistletoe and lichen antennas keep messages for birds - holders of knowledge - cryptochromatic mappers of the earths magnetic lines.
Cloud energy must be the subtle counter weight to all the crazy corruption. Clouds and earthly fog, revivers, pure and good, heavenly.
If there is no fog we are all dead.

For djiliwarr who always knows..