Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Song from a String

Floating up through the clouds
A melancholy look down
A tear drops through clouds
A single drop of rain

Stars breathe light
Beaming delight
Nostalgic memories
Smile, geese fly north.

Laughs of troubles
Once towering
humorous now, old
Picture show, black-white.

Seemed a world with
so many shades
Of colors;
But they were only grays;
Colored paints now,
erupt through every crack.

Tickling leaves whispering in the breeze
Melodies whistling through cotton dabbed skies.
Your hair floating through my eyes
While taste drifts over your lips.

Birds, flight painting
Fireworks in the sky
Song kisses my cheek
While grass caresses your
Lithe form in my arms.

Lazy river, leaves floating
Drawn, pulled, drifting
By dawn rising

Winter in Vitebsk

Over Vitebsk, Painting by Marc Chagall

Crunchy cold snow
Chilly Cobble stoned streets
Crackling crusted shingles

Spring leaves grown
Spread their green
Softly fell, now gone

Steel flavored air
Silent sliced arias
Slithering breeze awaits

Sparkling window crystals
Sun glistening clouded
Summer openings closed

Turrets towering towards sky
Tourmaline trees tempted by stars
Twisted twigs turning beside them-selves

Lone man floats silently
Lazily loosing sheaf
Lists, tethered by staff

Long last look
Willingly loam
Loving light, lifting


By Mary Lee Gowland
From “The Guest of Tyn-y-Coed Cae”

Is there one more unformed vision
within these time worn walls?
It is difficult to distinguish
as of course it always is
the wish from the myth
when our senses are seasoned
by sorcery and wrong decisions.

I wonder if the number of foolish fumbles
decrease as we stumble through the years
or if slumping in our slumbers
brings us closer to the ground
til we slide through life
like so many slippery sounds
on wet cement.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

A Tree on a Rock

Quotes from Alice Walker

“No person is your friend who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow.”

I try to teach my heart not to want things it can't have”

“In nature, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect. Trees can be contorted, bent in weird ways, and they're still beautiful.”

I found these quotes while searching for something else. I now forget what it was I was searching for. Perhaps the search was only a decoy to draw me to what I needed to find today.

There are some days it bothers me that what brings intense joy into moments of my life are so insignificant to the rest of humanity. I was on a hike the other day and saw this tree near the top of a rocky mountain top, which had grown up out of a crack in a rock face. The tree was old, short, knurled and distorted from trying to grow out rock at this high elevation.

It had grown, in spite of all the obstacles and was beautiful; so much a wonder, more so than all the others, I saw that day. If I had not gone so far off the trail and hiked up the mountain, I would never have seen it. I knew then why I feel such a closeness when in the mountains or on the shore.

It seems the trees and nature, in their/her silence, speak more to my soul than those who should be close to me. I think it would have been better to have been a tree than a human. Trees never have to listen to how wrong they are for being a tree, even in the worst of places.

Like that tree, I will never be other than who I am or stop reaching for the stars with each breath, even when everything around me says “you shouldn’t be here.”

Saturday, June 9, 2007

A Single Desire

Awakeness is inherent
In all things and all beings
All the time

This awakeness relates to every moment
From innocence
From absolute honesty
From a state where you feel
Absolutely authentic

Only from this state
Do you realize
That you never really wanted
Whatever you thought you wanted.

You realize
That behind all your desires
Was a single desire:
To experience each moment
From your true nature.

- Adyashanti

Sunday, June 3, 2007

A Cosmic Journey

What magnificent wonders exist in the universe?

As we journey through life,
take the time to see them
Touch them,
Listen to them,
Smell them,
Taste and hold them.

With all the majestic marvels that can be seen,
with all our senses;
What greater wonders lie within the heart and soul
which beholds them…?

Saturday, June 2, 2007

Happy Pebble

Happiness for me,
is sitting on a rock,
poking through melting snow.

Just a pebble,
Basking in untainted light
Fanned by a mountain breeze

Eyes rolling over clouds below,
Floating around peaks
Lost in the distance behind.

Soaring on a mountain top
While ocean waves role up,
sand tickling,
between my toes.

Fragrance of the sea
Melting cares lost floating,
In once swirling thoughts.

That is happiness;
At once,
One with lofty peaks
eternal sea.

Poems and a Quote

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

 - W. B. Yeats

Lost in a Forest…

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.

Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind

as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

 - Pablo Neruda

There is not one big cosmic meaning for all,
there is only the meaning we each give to our life,
an individual meaning, an individual plot,
like an individual novel, a book for each person.

 - Anais Nin