Sunshine Days and Foggy Nights

by James Kavanaugh

I was born to catch dragons in the their dens
And pick flowers
To tell tales and laugh away the morning
To drift and dream like a lazy stream
And walk barefoot across sunshine days.

I was born to find goblins in their caves
And chase moon light
To see shadows and seek hidden rivers
To hear the rain fall on dry leaves
And chat a bit with death across foggy nights.

I was born to rub my hands in dirt
And walk green hills
To plant corn and make bread
To build a house strong against the wind
And to live free across sunshine days.

I was born to watch owls in dark forests
And hear coyotes cry
To feel trees tremble and the grass sleep
To taste cold air and smell the damp earth
And watch ghostly shapes disappear across foggy nights.

I was born to love a woman wrapped in sunshine
And dressed in fog
To make a pact on high hill
Ratified centuries ago by the sun
To walk together through sunshine days and foggy nights.

Christmas Cheer

Ting, ting-a-ling
bells are a ringing
Stores are a bringing
all are a singing…

Singing of goodness
and joy so full
this marvelous time of the year.

Oh Christmas season
floods are senses
dowses our sense
of right
good
and just.

Cheer and compassion
salivate on queue
like dogs to
Pavlov’s ringing bell
just before the
frenzied feast.

Christ’s birthday clowns
ringing bells
blackened pots in hand
feeding the homeless
and hungry
forgotten all –
just moments
before.

We rush to sales
thrown in our eyes
grappling to regain
our sight
with gifts to buy
cards to send
tokens of our
deepest abiding love –
the sacrifice
nailed to the floor
by a horde of
stampeding feet.

Celebrate this joy
buy, buy, buy
just one more
gift is all it will
take to bail out
our callused hearts
from the cold dark
cells we lock
them in.

Where will be the bell ringers
on New Years day;
Will they ring as they stagger
through hangovers from
the previous night’s
fun and frolic?

Will they ring as a
New Year begins
while the homeless crawl
through their vomit
like every other fucking day –
waking from attempts to drown
the pain and torments
the days and nights before?

Oh magical Christmas
holiday season.
What a wondrous time
of the year.
Time to buy back our souls
our hearts
those we love
or pretend care for
with packages
gifts
and little change
in an
asinine
clown’s pot.

The Machine

Are we a machine trying to be human?
Or are we the human a machine is trying to be?

Cycles

Sitting here contemplating
cycles of time
of life
and
death.

We are born immortal
grow older, watch
those close to us
who gave birth to us
die and pass away.

Each day a part of
our immortality slips away
leaving a less certain mortal
behind as night closes
the day.

I watch a self
hang up the phone
as the words
soak into my chest
and settle
twisted
deep inside
my gut.

Mom has passed away
my sister said
she went peacefully
in her sleep

I don’t remember
what was said
after that.

A sleepless night
a different world
lit as the earth
fell beneath
a sun.

The philosopher
strangely quiet
no words of insight
no wisdom
just a hole
bleeding tears
from a half
beating heart

It was best
we said;
unable to speak
to eat
nourishment injected
insipid and tasteless
through a plastic
tube.

Lou Gehrig’s
does that you know
it eats you bit by bit
till nothing is left
nothing but,
your mind
your thoughts
Your screams to
a failing body which is
no longer yours.

It was best we say
but, it doesn’t feel
that way.

Sweet Serendipity

By Paul Davis

Sweet serendipity
Continue to shine on me
Open my eyes to see
Make me all you want me to be
Cause me to trip over my treasure
Discover my destiny
Live authentically
Practice spontaneity
Get rid of hesitancy
Live boldly
Engage the day exuberantly
Manifest my full potential passionately
Never being limited by my current reality
But living from within victoriously
Via my faith and inner reality
Sweet serendipity
When my efforts are done
And the distance I’ve fully run
Let it be said of me
In love and life I won
Take me from tragedy
To triumph
From a mess
To a deliverable message
From stumbling block
To stepping stone
From seeming setbacks
To immeasurable successes
From pain
Into power
From anxiety
Into creativity
From hurt
Into healing
From offense
Into feeling
From disaster
Into dynamic recovery
Countless destiny discoveries
Dream fulfillment
Causing all in the world
To hear it
Sweet serendipity shine on me
Make my life
What it ought to be!

Crystal Bubble

Watching, I saw
a splendiferous world
of majestic mountains
crystal streams and emerald forests
all whispering their invitation
inviting me in

Scrambling to reach out
to touch a panther lily
devour the scent of pines
and drink my fill
of a cool flowing
crystalline stream
rushing
down a eroded
waterslide carved
into ancient stone
falling to a tranquil lake
in wait

Only I tripped and
fell over my still-born
inner child lying
a congealed motionless
mass at my feet

Only movement
of the corpse
a horideous horridus
slithering within the
putrefying flesh –
a stench on the edge
of vomiting

Yet, I see everything as if
it were all put together
in one masterpiece
painted to capture that
precise entire moment for
all of history

As soon as I crawl into
that very same moment
it and I are suddenly in
two different worlds

There it is –
everything we think
everything we do already
there waiting for us
to step through

There we are
sitting inside
this crystal bubble
of now waiting
for it shatter
becoming
then and
with freedom to reach
beyond the now

In the moment
we the unruly
are incessantly
fighting for control
to posses it
as if it were
ours alone
and not
us who belong
to it

That is us
it is who we
think our selves to be
It is I,
it is you,
it is them
who think it
belongs to me

So I sit
sit and watch
as worlds
as magical and full of life
as any I have seen
explode into existence
before my eyes
and are unrolled
before my feet

I sit and bounce
about as if
there was no reality
other than this game of life
a game we create
whose rules
we define
and
choose

Choose for this game
with every play
who wins or loses –
only caveat
it I who is each player
not them

It is I who Can
only win
it is I who Can
only loose

It is then that
I know that
I am
not I
so with we
me
and them

We all just paint
in serious colors
as if any of it
really mattered
–
even the seriousness
has no matter

It is a game
like we all played
as kids
a game we play
for fun
for pretend
as if it were
all that was real

Is this so outspoken?
To laugh at reality
at you and me
and them
to make jest of
life’s living and it’s death
to profane the sacred
and make sacred the profane?

Is not the making of
the playing of
the being in the game
the game?

Is there not pretentiousness
in pretending reality is
really real
as if real has any meaning
other than what we give it
to be?

Paint authentic reality
with dazzling water colors
on a rainy day
and perhaps after the storm
your canvas will be clear
clear to paint a new
and more magnificent
authenticity

Paint in the rain
write words
in the shifting windblown
sands of the Sahara
for therein
lies their
permanence

Sit in the
crystal bubble of
sand melted
by heat of
this moment

There is the wasteland
there in the lush green
forest of our being

One Day the Sun

One Day the sun admitted,
I am just a shadow.
I wish I could show you
the infinite incandescence
that has cast
my brilliant image!
I wish I could show you,
when you are lonely
or in darkness
the Astonishing Light
of your own being!

- HAFIZ....

Who is the shadow in the dark corner of darkness?

This darkest of souls
assassinates wonder
with reason
slaughters awe
with logic
defecates on
mystery's magic
and claims
it is light
truth
and right.

An evil not
to be found
across the room
the city
county
or world.

It far
more insidious
and certainly
much more intimate
than that.

It's voice I hear -
ego raging
with reason and logic
echoing in
my fog filled mind
as I wake.

Beginning each day
I gazing upon its face
there starring back
from an expressionless mirror.

There can be found
no other person
being
or thing
to be more feared
or more devastating
than that which I find
lurking within.

If there are demons
with which to do battle
let it first be with those
inside who masquerade
as me.

Because in truth
there are none
in this
or any world
I could find
who would do
more harm

Dark Rush

There are souls whose origin
is from the dark,
empty corners
of darkness it’s self.

Coming into this world
walking
breathing
sitting next to you
in your place of work
on a park bench
even your places
of worship.

These dark shadows
from darkness
like black holes
suck life
light
and purpose
from any living
being
which comes
close to them -
while you
sit transfixed
mesmerized
by their words
thoughts
and their caresses
of your being.

They come into
this world
memory
of who
and
what they are
all lost
erased
as if it never was.

Were you
to see one of these dark ones
there would be nothing
strange or unusual -
for all your senses
your perceptions
and intuitions
would tell you
they are as
any of you
loving
kind and
caring
wishing only
for your well being.

If you had eyes
to see into their
soul
you would
see the dark
parasitic spirit
poised ready
to seize your
most precious life
wrenching it
your grasp.

Even with this sight
to see -
they, like a two headed
snake, would fill you
with fascination
and curiosity -
enticing you always
to watch
to come closer -
but seeing,
you would stop
never letting them close
never inviting
them into your bed.

ah but,
only if you
had the sight
you would be saved
from the fate
which surely now
awaits you.

And for these dark souls
their greatest rush
and joy in life is
death.

Death is the greatest rush in life
for only then
do they go back to
the darkness from
whence they came -
back to the darkness
to finally be home
to finally find their
belonging.

Sunrise on a Cloudy Day

I sat watching fire spread across the sky, as the sun began its trek across a sky swarming; filled with white, gray and nearly black tumultuous clouds bursting into a kaleidoscopic dance of iridescent flames. I sat and watched, silently remembering so many prayerful wishes, hoping to share just one of these precious moments with another. Yet, no matter with whom I found myself or how many times I sat with them watching the display unfold, I always felt so isolated and alone.

Today, I sat and watched the sunrise, and I knew perhaps for the first time, this is a very personal and private moment; an intimate touching and comingling between the essence of my being and the divine. I knew that I was not, nor ever was alone, the divine feminine was always there sitting close beside me, I in her embrace, sharing in all the awe and wonder of this eternal moment poking holes in time.

Beauty

... Beauty is nothing but
the beginning of terror, that we are still able to bear,
and we revere it so, because it calmly disdains
to destroy us.

- Rainer Maria Rilke from the Duino Elegies

Discerning Nows

I find myself firmly
planted between
what was and what I am
grappling feverishly with
all I believe lies
in what will be.

Panic stricken thoughts
desperate attempts to flee
Langoliers
gobbling up
devouring
remnants of a once
living world.

While Rose’s spring
fragrance rots consumed
as fiery sunsets
become frozen gray
and frosted grass
cuts like glass shards
under naked feet

Today’s dawn
unfolds revealing
Van Gough’s
Starry Night
so stark and real

But, we all came as children
riding the crest of time
future laying
down before us
past falling away
behind

Yes, they came as children
golden shore calling
opportunistic waves washing over
with each attempted
grasp

An endless Swim upstream
to find the sea
blinded by desire
paralyzed with fear
lost in illusion of need

Hope my parched desert
which will never taste
the rain
scorched, burnt
nothing left to bloom

All but delusions
mist filled forests
cloaking
cool mountain streams
flowered meadows
lush after warm
spring rain

Birds sing
melodious
sonnets
caressing my heart
with unconditional love

Crest of life
of time
forever
the only
place I have
ever been

Ever now
no then nor when
nor loss
nor win

I ride this the
wave of now
cross eternities brow

CPU and a Rose

“Suddenly I am seeing inside one of the homes of the common people. Everything is simple. Everything has its place. There is a sense of order to everything. I am able to discern, by watching the people, that they perceive their homes to be “alive.” The wood beams, the stone walls, and the hearth seem to hold consciousness or presence for them. For these people everything is alive; the entire island is alive, every blade of grass, every pebble, every drop of drew. The island is a conscious, sentient being. Whatever this presence is seems to dwell at the heart, at the very center of their lives as a people. I find myself feeling a deep longing to know such a sense of profound connection, relatedness, order, and harmony. This quality is strangely familiar to me but foreign to the reality of my life as I know it. I realize I have been yearning for this feeling my whole life.”

(from “The Spiral of Memory and Belonging” by Frank MacEowen)



Sometimes I run across something I read which speaks of a place or time familiar and yet foreign at once, such as the above paragraph in Frank MacEowen’s book. I can only imagine what it must have felt like to actually experience this vision directly. The impact of just reading it was a moving experience on its own. I know and have known this yearning he speaks of for as long as I can remember and had found it so hard to articulate.
I have always felt the world (and everything in it) to be alive and otherworldly, while simultaneously feeling what my senses and reason said it was. I felt these all to be true, even though they were all in strong contradiction to each other. The aliveness extends from nature with her forests, plants, streams and stones to buildings, machines and computers.
While many may feel a spiritual connection to nature, I wonder how many also feel the same type of connection to their computers, furniture or tools? When I am creating software applications, it is not just about logically organizing computer code, it is also about feeling the code in the language I am programming in, while at the same time seeing and feeling the vision of the final application. It takes on a life of its own, drawing me into its dance. I rarely if ever know where or how it will go; it just happens and grows on its own. Like planting a seed, which take in the nourishment it needs and becomes the life form it was destined to be.
Computers, technology even our modes of transportation are far from simple. Where is the simplicity in the CPU of my laptop? Where is the simplicity under the hood of my car? Have you really looked in the engine compartment of a newer model car and seen all the myriad of hoses and wires?
I can even ask where is the simplicity in the biology of a rose bush? The millions of cells with their Nuclei, vacuoles, chloroplasts, mitochondria and many more categorized parts; each with its own language of expression and volumes of scientific studies to define what it is. With our specialized sciences with names such as Proteomics, Metabolomics, Microbiology and Genetics, just to name a few; we have seemly limitless categorizations with which to understand and enhance our interaction with other life forms.
Perhaps the simplicity is not in the things themselves but, is instead in my or our relationship to them and how many of these relationships there are. There are simply too many things, so much so that one rarely has the time to interact or appreciate any of them. We live in a time of extreme consumerism, where something as simple and timeless as pot to cook in is no longer just a matter of going to get the pot but, may even seem to require a major research project to review the hundreds or maybe even thousands of different types and brands of pots to find the one, best pot. This is not counting all the specialized utensils and accessories we are being told we need to cook with that one best pot. Then there is always the question of is there going to be a better one next year which will require, of course, the replacement of our one best pot and ALL the best pot accessories.
The problem is perhaps not the choices themselves but, the belief that we MUST make them, because our own self worth and reason for existence is dependent upon the choices we make for our STUFF. That to continue to have a meaningful life we need to constantly be juggling our stuff to create the meaning.
We have become buried under hundreds or thousands of things, rather than having meaningful relationships to a few selected living beings, like friends that we work with. These beings could extremely complex either internally or by way of our interaction with them but, our relationship is one of friendship, reverence and connectedness.

So what is your relationship to your pot, your car or computer? What is your relationship to our forests, community and the earth its self? Are even your friends just another addition to your stuff?

I know in my case I need some serious dumpsters for my life cleaning.

Flowers and a Flute

Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda

by Shel Silverstein

All the Woulda-Coulda-Shouldas
Layin' in the sun
Talkin' 'bout the things
They woulda-Coulda-Shoulda done...
But those Woulda-Coulda-Shouldas
All ran away and hid --
From one little did.

Wisdom of Zarathud

"Grasshopper always Wrong in argument with chicken. - Book of Chan"

Before he became a hermit, Zarathud was a young Priest, and took great delight in making fools of his opponents in front of his followers.

One day Zarathud took his students to a pleasant pasture and there he confronted The Sacred Chao while She was contentedly grazing.

"Tell me, you dumb beast," demanded the Priest in his commanding voice, "Why don't you do something worthwhile. What is your Purpose in Life, anyway?"

Munching the tasty grass, The Sacred Chao replied "MU."[1]

Upon hearing this, absolutely nobody was enlightened. Primarily because nobody could understand Chinese.

[edit] Notes
? "MU" is the Chinese Ideogram for NO-THING.

Friend

A Hidden Place
Each of us has a hidden place
Somewhere deep within ourselves; a place where we go to get away,
To think things through, to be alone, to be ourselves.
This unique place, where we confront our deepest feelings,
Becomes a storehouse of all our hopes, all our needs, all our dreams,
And even our unspoken fears.
It encompasses the essence of who we are and what we want to be.
But now and then, whether by chance or design,
Someone discovers a way into that place we thought was ours alone.
And we allow that person to see, to feel and to share all the reason,
all the uncertainty and all the emotion we've stored up there.
That person adds new perspective to our hidden realm,
Then quietly settles down in his own corner of our special place,
Where a bit of who they are will stay forever.
And we call that person a

FRIEND

~author unknown~

What kind of a Flower are You?

I am a Snapdragon What Flower Are You?

"Mischief is your middle name, but your first is friend. You are quite the prankster that loves to make other people laugh."

Love

Love is granting another the space to be the way they are and the way they aren't.

Werner Erhard

Random Dung

Sitting here in this tepid room
trying to type, asking
where are all those
damn monkeys
when you need them?
104 keys, or more
and I don’t know
which to press first.

My muse, is she lost
or just hiding, watching
enjoying the antics and struggle.

I am sure by this my muse
must be sooo amused.

Ah the apes
give them only the letter keys.
Well also the comma and period.
Oh, and a space bar or two.

Would monkeys create
best on Qwerty
or Dvorak
Preferring one key
or it’s location to another?

Lighting sage smudge
smoke rising, dispersing
Langoliers eating away at a mindscape
of fading inspiration.

An open invitation inviting
the muses in.

Randomness,
even random number tables
are edited.

Order in our minds
found even in disorder
and chaos.

Nine muses
I want only ONE
one petit
gorgeous
lascivious
muse
coming up behind
her erect nipples grazing my shoulder
as her breathe whispers
inspiration
into my ear.

Typing in Google’s ear
“randomness”
ACCESS DENIED!
it screams, access denied.
Random acts of unkindness!
I think, even my oracle
has deserted me.

An infinite number of monkeys
typing away and out of the billions of billions of billions
Come a few words to titillate the erogenous zones
of the mind and soul.

All lost, buried under infinite piles of
monkey dung.

A few of the nine
Calliope, muse of epic poetry
Erato, of love poetry
or Polyhymnia, sacred poetry;
Ah but, today it must be
Melponene,
the muse of tragedy
who has visited my keyboard.
For the keys have wretchedly failed
to be moved by even thoughts
of hoards of defecating primates
pounding and pounding upon them.

So, wrapped in a moonless sky
of serenading stars
I take pause
exhaling passions void
as the cedars move in to
sit quietly beside me
waiting for the night’s Goddess
and her affectionate glow
to rise eagerly
over the conifer clad hills
joining us, sky clad as she is
in timeless reverie.

My Father’s God Beneath the Waves

by Jathan Gurr

Last night, among the blue dawning night,
I felt the tide coming in.
I left the warm, white-sheeted bed
and barefoot, went down to the sea.
At the water’s edge I stood,
with cold water washing my feet.
I felt watched and watching.
The moon made shapes on the dark rippling waves,
and I imagined I saw in them
the face of my father, and his father,
and out to the horizon, all the fathers before me,
who mingled their blood with the sea
and who drank salt tears,
and danced when no one was looking.
And I whispered to the god beneath the waves,
“Make me something else,…and still man.”

Turning Around Inside Myself

I don’t want to be here. I seem to remember another place. A place where what I said was understood and I could say anything I thought or felt and it was always understood as deeply as it was experienced. I remember a place where I heard what was said and it never hurt or angered me. There was no you and me, only us; we all knew each other there, deeply and completely. There were no hidden cracks and dark corners we couldn’t share. It was all a fantastic playground for us to explore and frolic in.

Some how this place is different; what I think is, never is or was. My thoughts hack away at themselves, till there is nothing recognizable anymore. My feelings always twisted and shredded remnants of what they felt themselves to be; the true, lost in chaos.

I am turning around inside myself; inside my thoughts and feelings; pulling away from them as I begin to break free and escape from my hardened cocoon; layers of thoughts and emotions, held pasted together with sweat and tears; a cocoon which has held me captive for as long as I can remember.

I can feel my wings unfurl, damp from the tears of endless sleepless nights; wings with uncertain shudders unfolding, reaching ever so slowly, hesitantly to cup tiny bits of sky. I can feel it, the butterfly, ever so faintly, fluttering inside, all the while a mirrored world still reflects the worm I felt myself to be.

A mirrored world whose mirrors are only the polished shell of, my soon to burst cocoon. I feel the wings of the butterfly; opening, butterfly wings with the strength of an eagle as it prepares to fly beyond the sky.

Slipping Away

I am falling inside myself
everything slipping away

Stars and trees
against the night sky
slipping through my eyes


Can’t hang on
crumbling grip
hands no longer mine


Everything falling up and away

Curling up into
what remains
curing into
oblivion.

Sucked into the void
awaiting rebirth

Nothing

To become nothing is to BE
To be anything is to fail
To say anything is to be misunderstood
To hear anything is to misunderstand
To do anything is to undo everything

Striving always to find
something
someplace
someone
Anything
Once found is empty

Emptiness filled
with nothing
consumed the everything
I thought I saw

A voice I heard
was nothing
there was no one there
it was nothing speaking
silence to no one
from nowhere
never ending
without beginning
no words
no voice
no song singing
nothing chiming
like silent bells
and singing lips
in a graveyard
on a moonless winters night

Nothingness
in her lightlessness
darklessness
caressed me without arms
without lips
or hips
eyes empty
empty sockets of nothingness
gazing into the urn of my soul

A sweet song sung
without music
or sound
even the silence
was swallowed

The deafening silence
was swallowed
in nothingness
and nothing remained

NOTHING of nothing
remained…

Touched by a Ghost

A video created by Chi_Shanay

Touched By A Ghost







There are those, whose only love and soulmate are not in or of this world. Who wander this world searching for those rarest of moments when they can feel their touch.

the dream of being

by Jack Haas

It would be despairing if you existed only as a character in another person’s dream, for the other would certainly want to be awakened. And yet to awaken them; would amount to your own dissolution. So you would not awaken them; you would rather exist in a dream than not exist at all. But what if this dream is a nightmare of your self? That is: would you keep them sleeping, if the dreamer dreaming your being…was you?

We dreamt that we were dreaming, and then that we were dreaming that we were dreaming, and then that the dreamer was not the dreamer but the dream. In the end there was no dreamer, only the dream of a dreamer; a dream dreaming a dreamer. We do not dream, we are dreamt. The Dream dreams the dreamer, then the dreamer dreams, and so on. The dream dreams the dreamer, the dreamer does not dream the dream.


Dream on dreamer.
You are but a dream-catcher.
And you are caught.

Chasing Wings

A bird flying after its wings
I in search of me
as sunbeams float
leisurely earthward

Light darkens
ethereal voices of endless stars
filling heaven’s unfathomable vastness
with deafening silence singing


Last Antiarchi flies alone
amongst dampen clouds
as a Tabby swims
beneath undulating icy waves
near a distant polar shore


Two from an indivisible one
somethingness
spontaneously
from nothingness

Reason a ghost
a past epiphany’s
shadow
tries to rule on crumbling sand

Time trembles
as it’s last grain
falls away

One breath
a pause and
an exhale’s smile

Return

My wish for you
is a homecoming in this life.
A coming in out of the cold;
a drying off the icy rain’s touch.
In the holy reliquary
of childhood memory
may you find there the unshakable truth
of your preciousness.
May you remember the cool and padded graces
of your wet feet against stone.
In the middle of a long night,
a single burning light
serving as your peace,
may you fold back the pocket
holding you slights,
your jilted times,
your feelings of betrayal,
and discover small diamonds there,
created from crushed coal
of your hates and rage.
May you taste resurrection
without the need of dying for it.

- From Building Fences in High Winds: Poems of Longing, Frank MacEowen.

Namaste!

Life is a gift?

(A moment of doubt)

Life is a gift
wonderful miracle given
flower unfolding in spring.

Sunlight after
a storm
skies clear
air clean, fresh
so easy to fly.

Why did I
trample it in the mud?

I can't get it off
the slime won't come off.

Can't breathe the muddy water
just can't breathe any more
sun is gone
spring, summer gone
fall fading fast
only winter remains.

Will spring follow winter?

I think not this time,
not this time.

Too much lost
too many wrongs.

Too many
just too, too many…


__


I wanted to play the music
singing in my soul
music that everyone would feel.

But I only wrote words
empty, meaningless words
devoid of feeling
impossible to understand.

Life is a gift
what have I done to mine,
oh, what have I done to mine?

No, I think life is a curse
a curse given to some
I have taken mine
embraced it
and it has taken me.

Taken me whole
swallowed me
digested me
and all that remains
is shit.

Dark moments come and engulf joy, grinding it into oblivion. This is one of those, fleeting but, none-the-less a moment; one with deceptive and yet seemly veracious insight

Some People

~by Flavia Weedn~

Some people come into our lives
and leave footprints on our hearts
and we are never ever the same.

Some people come into our lives
and quickly go... Some stay for awhile
and embrace our silent dreams.

They help us become aware
of the delicate winds of hope...
and we discover within every human spirit
there are wings yearning to fly.

They help our hearts to see that
the only stairway to the stars
is woven with dreams...
and we find ourselves
unafraid to reach high.

They celebrate the true essence
of who we are...
and have faith in all
that we may become.

Some people awaken us
to new and deeper realizations...
for we gain insight
from the passing whisper of their wisdom

Throughout our lives we are sent
precious souls...
meant to share our journey
however brief or lasting their stay
they remind us why we are here.

To learn... to teach... to nurture... to love

Some people come into our lives
to cast a steady light
upon our path and guide our every step
their shining belief in us
helps us to believe in ourselves.

Some people come into our
lives to teach us about love...
The love that rests within ourselves.

Let us reach out to others
and feel the bliss of giving
for love is far richer in action
that it ever is in words.

Some people come into our lives
and they move our souls to sing
and make our spirits dance.

They help us to see that everything on earth
is part of the incredibility of life...
and that it is always there
for us to take of its joy.

Some people come into our lives
and leave footprints on our hearts
and we are never ever the same.

God's Eyes

“Look at the animals roaming the forest: God’s spirit dwells within them. Look at the birds flying across the sky: God’s spirit dwells within them. Look at the tiny insects crawling in the grass: God’s spirit dwells within them. Look at the fish in the river and sea: God’s spirit dwells within them. There is no creature on earth in whom God is absent. Travel across the ocean to the most distant land, and you will God’s spirit in the creatures there. Climb up the highest mountain, and you will find God’s spirit among the creatures who live at the summit. When God pronounced his creation was good, it was not only that his hand had fashioned every creature; it was that his breath had brought every creature to life. Look too at the great trees of the forest: look at the wildflowers and the grass in the fields; look even at your crops. God’s spirit is present with all plants as well. The presence of God’s spirit in all living things is what makes them beautiful; and if we look with God’s eyes, nothing on earth is ugly.”

- Pelagius




Look also in the mirror, deep within your eyes, it is God’s spirit shining there.

The Rock

Opening Stanza from Choruses from "The Rock"
by T S Eliot

The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven,
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.

O perpetual revolution of configured stars,

O perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,

O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying

The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to GOD.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from GOD and nearer to the Dust.

Poetry

"Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves."

-- T.S. Eliot

I AM A LITTLE CHURCH

- by E.E Cummings

i am a little church (no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
—i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth’s own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains

i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
—i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)

Shadow Dancing

Shadows dancing with light
as sun sings away the night.
Light seeks dark
and darkness light

Who leads
this phantasmagoric
dance of shadow and light?

Whirling round and round
Swirling, twirling
twisting, turning
helical rushing
rapidly spiraling
faster
ever faster
into
one
singularity

black-white blurs
to blue
to red
exploding rainbows
consume the sky
in iridescent
glow


Darkness gazes enthralled
into the eyes of light,
mirrored by light’s captivated
twinkling stare
into darkness

There, paper thin
between
it is only I
who divides
them to
TWO

Pathways

by Chi_Shanay

Don't go back to sleep

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.

- Jalal-UD-DIN Rumi

Shadows

Darkness everywhere surrounds

Seemingly
no crack nor crevice not filled
no thought not cloaked
no feeling not skewered
by it’s ever insidious presence

Shadows and darkness,
the canvases on which we paint
our masterpiece
with brushes of light shining
from spirit and soul

A wondrous painting
with the wings of eagles
soaring amongst the heavens
filled with countless dazzling stars

So much more the painter
than the painting

Up and through what worlds
do we ascend transmuting
darkness always into light?

Beliefs, Cravings and self

We are a mystery and a wonder beyond all imagining. That which we crave and which engulfs our presence and souls are but, decorations we hang on our selves. Our beliefs faint glimmerings of who we are; bubbling up from our deepest self only to eventually float to the surface as knowings, then to burst as others deeper in our soul begin their ascent.

Then again perhaps, I am just so full of shit that my mind is just undergoing massive synaptic misfirings as my brain cells take their last gasp before oblivion. LOL

Twenty Five Books

I read a Blog with a challenge, to create a list of 25 books that describe your personality (or personalities, since many parts of who I am seem to be in a state of confliction). The list shouldn't necessarily be of your favorite books (although they may apply), but rather a list of books that, if read in their entirety, would describe the essence of your personality(s) and worldview. Here is my first cut at my 25. I’ve included a brief explanation or comments on my choices. I challenge you to do the same.

Poetry:

1. The Dream of Being by Jack Haas. - Many of these speak something from inside that I couldn’t put into words.

2. Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath - Because there is often a darkness which seems to engulf me for a time before I am catapulted into the light again only to fall back into the abyss and the whole cycle repeats. Quietly of course, inside my private world.

3. Collected Poems by Robert Graves - So many of these are songs from my own soul.

4. Swallowed by Darkness by Anna M Williams - Same a # 2. I know the darkness well and often call it home.

5. My Secret is SILENCE, Poetry and sayings by Adyashanti - Yes, there is also peace, silence and bliss; in the quietness of the moment.


Fiction:

1. The Fountain by Darren Aronofsky - Some experiences seem to transcend time and I understand much of the main character through my own experiences.

2. The More Than Complete Hitchhiker’s Guide by Douglas Adams - Absurd yes but, so are many of my own thoughts, comments and sense of humor. LOL

3. Don Quixote by Miguel De Cervantes - Is this my life’s story? It often feels that way but, I can be no other that who I dream myself to be.

4. The Bridge Across Forever by Richard Bach - Still searching, perhaps I am just in the wrong world. LOL

5. Seth Speaks by Jane Roberts - Opened up an understanding of the multidimensionality of who I am from reading the whole series.


Non-Fiction:

1. The Outsider by Colin Wilson - Because I am and have always known myself to be an outsider.

2. The Way of Wonder by Jack Haas - Wonder is the magic that is life and joy, everything else is illusion.

3. The Selected Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson - “Standing on the bare ground, - my head bathed by the blithe air, & uplifted into infinite space, - all mean egotism vanishes. I became a Transparent Eyeball!” I still remember these words from 8th grade English and even to this day I still sometimes know what it is to become a transparent eyeball.

4. The Nature Writings of Henry David Thoreau - In nature is the only place I feel even remotely at home.

5. Oration on the Dignity of Man by Giovanni Pico Della Mirandola - Even as losers our dignity as divine beings can never be taken away. We grow stronger with our losses than from our winning.

6. Radical Ecstasy by Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy - Because ecstasy is often found on the fringes, never in the vanilla world, at least for me. LOL

7. Kindling the Celtic Spirit by Mara Freeman - Because my soul and spirit have deep Celtic roots and this kindles my spirit.

8. The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle - There is nothing else but now.

9. All and Everything, a trilogy by G. I. Gurdjieff - Gurdjieff’s 4th way resonated deeply with my being.

10. When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron - Because they too often do and they just are what they are, we make the meaning and the stories of them that fill our memories and often masquerade as now.

11. Total Freedom by J. Krishnamurti - Question everything, even your own questions and intentions. When you finally run your minds batteries run down, then you see.

12. The Mist-Filled Path by Frank MacEowen - Again my Celtic spiritual roots. This one is subtitled “Celtic Wisdom for Exiles, Wanderers, and Seekers” and yes I am.

13. Henry Miller on Writing, selections by Thomas H. Moore - Be who you are and give finger to anyone who feels you aren’t what they feel you should be.

14. The Book, On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are by Alan Watts - A taboo which always gets in the way of life’s purpose. Knowing it is there, is the first step.

15. The Wisdom of Insecurity by Alan Watts - Like listening to the silence behind the noise, there is wisdom and joy with being with what is, this moment.

I Will Not Whisper

by Adyashanti from the book "my secret Is SILENCE"

I want to speak to you about love
about how you deny yourself
its slightest entry
about how much you truely fear
Love's silent embrace.

I want to talk to you
about what you will not
allow yourself to see--
about that beauty inside
that you turn your face from.

Yes, I want to talk to you.
You who have somehow
found a way to hide
within a sliver of darkness
cast upon the pure light of Being.

I want to talk to you.
I will not whisper.

You can live in the sliver of darkness forever
and tell yourself lies.
You can blame yourself.
You can blame others.
You can blame God and beyond.
And still that Love that you are will wait
until you can tell yourself
the lie of denial no more.

And at that very moment
you will see
just how silent Love's embrace can be.
And in that silence
the truth will ring clear.
Love demands everything:
all of your illusions
excuses and fears.

I want to speak to you about Love.
I want to talk to you about
what you will not allow
yourself to be.

I want to talk to you.
I will not whisper.

What I Am Searching For

I have been thinking about what it is I am and have been searching for. I have come to realize, at least this moment, that it is not a thing or an answerable answer. It is a search for the question I am hunting for and it is the question and NOT answers.

I seek to know that original questioning thought in the mind of God which gave birth to the world-universe, perhaps even to countless worlds. Just that one thought that flashed through his-her mind at its conception and before its birth. That single question that gave birth to all questions and all existence.

That is all I want.

After all it is questions which give life and answers which take it away.


But, then perhaps that is just my curse to see it that way.

Flown With the Wind

Art and words by Vladimir Kush

The powerful breath of wind brings us freedom
from the heavy burden of the past, we experience
a dream-like sensation of flying to the new horizons.
But a swarm of people sailing into uncertainty
against the crimson sky background is also
a bright metaphor of the dramatic nature of our life.
You guess right - the name of the painting is a paraphrase
of the great novel "Gone with the Wind" in which
not only people are gone forever
but the entire civilization of the Old South.
But we nonetheless believe that the diaspora of courageous
aeronauts will fall on the rich soil and germinate
giving rise to the new civilizations.

Fruit Cake

Reasons, Feelings and Choices

Some time, if each of us is lucky or perhaps unlucky as it may sometimes seem, we will meet someone we feel we have known for many, maybe even hundreds of lifetimes. Someone we would walk thousands of lifetimes with through, famine, floods, wastelands, desolation or even cut out our own heart and willingly hand to them, if they needed it; without a moment’s hesitation.

What does one do when they read or hear someone’s words and something is said that is beyond the words? Where each word becomes like a tiny window, each opening up a larger opening into a world that for the first time feels like home.

I gazed into her eyes and nothing else mattered. I felt complete and whole; a huge chasm in my heart, which has bled and ached for lifetimes, was filled and healed.

I finally knew what love meant. All those tear jerker movies, which always seemed so stupid, suddenly wrung my heart, bringing tears to MY eyes; eyes which only days before had only shown a snicker or condescending smirk.

I said this is the one, my soul mate, my perfect match, the perfect woman. All the minds, mannerisms, face, hair, height, eyes, laugh, everything pieced together from the best of all I have ever, found attractive in a woman and more. The choice was so simple; nothing needed to be thought or discussed. But, it was not simple; it was not obvious and it was, most certainly NOT clear cut. I stood before a mirror a royal prince and saw gazing back at me a decaying leper, whose declaration of love to my princess, would only defile the very ground upon which she stood.

Reality the final judge had opened my eyes to truth; reason the victorious prosecutor has pled his case so very well. Unfortunately, my only defense, I could muster, for this case, rest with her testimony; one which was never successfully summoned. Calls, emails, requests for dinner, lunch or a short coffee, all met with silence or no shows. Yes the testimony of silence spoke volumes to the judge and the prosecutor who listened but, fell on deaf ears with the defense and defendant.

They say only a fool is his own defense attorney. And in a case such as this, only a fool would even bring such a case to court. A sound mind would never be swayed by such absurd folly. But the heart is the worst of fools, foolishly in love and utterly devoid of reason.

But therein lays the magic and the wonder, which makes life worth every infinitesimal drop of pain, misery and emptiness it seems to contain. It is the foolish heart which instantly smashes reason utterly with one glance into another’s eye; smashes it before even the first reasoning synapse has begun to fire its retort. It is that foolish eruption from the depths of the soul which sends it flying through the ends of time and space. It is lifetimes of love and wholeness because it transcends all time, all space, all lifetimes, all existence, to be just this ONE eternal moment, without end. It is THIS moment which holds and contains all of life and meaning.

But it is far more than this; it is EVERY moment which contains ALL of life, all of love, all the joy, all of the ONE eternal moments at its core. If only we listen to the silent music playing behind all the noise of reason’s firing synapses, shouts and rants.

We do make choices, judgments and decisions each and everyday. We think we live a life formed, shaped and caused by all of them. But, the truth is, no matter how much our internal critics, judges and reasoners tell us of our failures, foolishness and mistakes; each moment of now, has no past, no future and most importantly, no present. It is timeless, causeless and reasonless; never to be repeated again, in or out of space or time.

It is not about what was found or lost. It is not about finding completeness or wholeness. Those special moments when it all seems to come together, fulfilling our dreams and deepest desires are just a sampling of what is to be found in each moment of our lives.

Does that mean that this woman was just another moment which has come, gone and drifted into the past? No she IS a wonderfully special woman, perhaps the most special woman I may ever know; moving me in ways I never thought possible, even this moment. Those feelings and moments are always there; they were, will be and are eternal and timeless.

However, each moment holds its own timeless gifts, wonders and special specialness. Going into and being with each moment allows us to seize with extreme gusto each and every gift it contains. Our internal judges, critics and reasonings, may TRY to pass judgments and verdicts on our hearts actions but, they have no power or authority to do so, unless WE, the final arbitrators, chose to give it to them.

There is choice, our choice. Choose freedom, choose joy, choose to be in all that is, the now, this timeless moment. For me, I choose now this moment, I choose freedom and am eternally free.

Renewal

By Julie Elstner

Recognizing this downward spiral, I relax and prepare for the
turbulence and buffeting of the

Endless descent, or so it seems, to my lowest point when
blackness is complete.

Now reaching the familiar abyss, I joyfully take my next
upward step toward the pinpoint light, savoring

Each versant rung as I climb the ladder out of the darkness.

Wayfarer that I am, that we all are, I pause for a
moment in the cycle and allow myself to be

Anointed, cleansed, and refreshed with my tears of
defeat and victory.

Laugh with me at life’s sumptuous vicissitudes and
join me on the ride to renewal.

I Wash My Hands

I wash my hands of those who imagine chattering to be
knowledge, silence to be ignorance, and affection to be art.

- Kahlil Gibran

Enya - Less Than a Pearl

Enya - Less Than A Pearl lyrics

English Translation

Out of the night has come the day
Out of the night, our small earth.

Our words drift away.
Our words journey
To find those who will listen.

We call into the distance...
We call into the distance...
We call into the distance...
We call into the distance...

Less than a pearl in the sea of stars,
We are a lost island in the shadows.

It may be our words become lost.
It may be our words find nothing, find no-one.

We call into the distance...
We call into the distance...

A thought

"A cow will always give you milk but, don't expect it to back up to you with its own bucket while you sit."

- Angelo Pizelo

Mystical Vibrations

For some, home is not in this world nor the next but, in another world altogether. Music such as this gives me wings to fly home.

Shine!

Celtic Ghost

Other works by Chi_Shanay
http://s200.photobucket.com/albums/aa231/chi_shanay/Poems/

Speaking Truth?

Speak what you think today in hard words and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said today.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Self-Reliance", 1841
US essayist & poet (1803 - 1882)




Saying what is true for us on a personal level is one thing, especially if it is only a proclamation to ourselves as the only listener. Speaking to others can become much more complicated and convoluted.

Are we speaking one heart or soul to another; or simply as one distant person to another? Is our intent simply to state our (or our egos) point of view, instigating a mental and/or emotional jousting match, each trying to bloody the other mentally and emotionally?

If the intent is to be understood and we have the insight and desire to understand the other, would we not speak differently to each one we speak with? We each have our own perspectives and meaning to words, ideas and experiences. If we truly speak to someone in this way (with understanding), it may indeed appear, to one standing outside the conversation, that you are totally in contradiction to a previous conversation.

I am reminded of another quote by Steven Covey from Seven Habits, “Seek first to understand, then to be understood.” (This by-the-way is habit 5, Principles of Empathic Communication.) This is a golden guide to all dealings with others whether words are exchanged or not.

So unless what is about to be said is just trivial tripe, the intent with which we formulate our words should be with understanding of the other person(s) and speaking from this space of perception.

Each person we encounter is so unique, that each conversation on any subject should be just as unique. However the amount of engagement and presence for this level of conversation can be taxing, however, would be otherwise if we are truly present to the moment? After all, is not joy to found in those moments when we are completely and totally in them?


Some thoughts…


Maktub

Patience

"We cannot learn real patience and tolerance from a guru or a friend. They can be practiced only when we come in contact with someone who creates unpleasant experiences. According to Shantideva, enemies are really good for us as we can learn a lot from them and build our inner strength."

- Dalai Lama

The Mad Ones

"..and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after the ones who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes, 'Awww'..."

-- Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Relationships, Soulmates and ?

I read an article that a friend sent out by Julie Redstone (see the link below), which reminded me some of my own internal storms.

http://www.worldblessings.com/soul-relationships.html



I have been wrestling with some related thoughts and ideas that have been plaguing me for a long time; I have been scratching down notes (which I have lost) for some time trying put down and make sense out of some thoughts on relationships, soulmates and those who have flew through my life leaving a huge impact on who I became. Mostly it is the confusion and frustration has to do with people who come into my life for whom I feel a deep connection with, especially those of the opposite sex.

There seems to be this view, that society holds, that the only deep connection one can have with the opposite sex is sexual or that of a lover (with exception of family of course). I know that if I were to tell a woman I felt deeply connected to her, or words to that effect, it would only be interpreted as (and really sounds like) a come-on and an invitation to bed. I am sure any man would react similarly with hearing something from a woman. So I find myself instinctively running from such thoughts and relationships, keeping those who I would be close to, at a far distance for fear of crossing this line into severe inappropriateness.

The problem with these perceptions and beliefs of the society we live in, is that they become engrained in all of us, seemly infecting our very essence with those beliefs; we become engrained with all of these expectations and values; raising strong feelings of guilt and/or wrong doing whenever we fail to live up to these expectations and/or cross one of those lines in how we "Should" feel connected to one another.

Perhaps I simply have no moral values but, I do believe that, aside from those who come into our lives to challenge us and who provide lessons and learning’s which are often extremely painful and crushing, there are also those who enter our lives and are so connected to us in positive and loving ways that they rival the relationship between lovers in intensity; while at the same time not being lovers. It is through these very special relationships that we grow, transform and metamorphose into who it is we are meant to be, albeit far more than we ever dreamt possible.

Unfortunately there does not seem to be words in our language to describe this kind of relationship. There are friends but, this is far more than friendship; then there are lovers, which this kind of relationship, also is not. Perhaps maybe it is on a non-physical level but, then are we not all lovers in a spiritual sense in our oneness? Even the word Soulmate does not have a meaning which communicates this relationship properly, at least not in its popularly understood sense.

There seems to be this taboo area of relationships which we (at let I) find extremely hard to talk about or discuss; part of it seems to be, that we(I) simply don't have adequate words in the language to talk about it. Of course we don't have the words because we most often won't even admit to ourselves that these feelings and connectedness exists or if we do, that these feelings are so wrong that the only choice we have is to be silent and passively let the guilt eats us from within.

I once heard it stated that intimacy really is/means "Into-me-see", which should the norm not something we reserve for just one other on the planet. If we all could see deeply into each other, without judgment or painting them with ourselves, would the seeds of war and hate not cease to exist? Would we not come to realize just how unique we all are and out of that uniqueness, see how alike and one we are?

Then again perhaps I only have some serious deep psychological problems that need professional help before I am let loose unescorted. However, so far I have evaded the white coated ones and will continue to plague others of you on this planet with my insanity. LOL

On a Sunny Day

Scented breeze brushes
spring flower whispers
past my ear.

Warm sun caresses
kissing my cheek
as a new day rises.

Peacefully against a cedar
veins opened wide
all that remains pours
into loving soil.

Nature, Earth, Gaia
she can take even
my rotting corpse
and blossom.

How much more could
be done with
one which lives.

The Mirror of Nature

Music by Narsilion

Cracks

When life is empty and lonely;
the illusive perfect lover never found.
When expectations out race experiences,
and your wants far exceed haves.
When each new day is one more filled
with aches, lost hopes and unfulfilled dreams.

Remember; imperfection IS perfection.

“There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”

- from Anthem by Leonard Cohen

Shades of the Heart

- Copyright©2008 ~Chi_Shanay

Awakening Love

Forgotten Shadows of Two Fourteen

Tears of Laughter - Diary of Dreams





Lyrics by Diary of Dreams

I would be crying tears of laughter
If I could see me smile again

I still reach for the stars, but all I touch is my horizon
I still believe my eyes, but all I see is my blindness
I still reach for the stars, but all I touch is my horizon
I still believe my ears, but all I hear is lasting silence

Like a disciple of a witness
I judge upon my sacred eye
Still found the origin
In what's left of me inside

Can I call this my burden
Or is this just my dream to fly ?

Weaker, weaker every day
I forgot my urge to fly away

And is my life as bare as it is ?
Cold and lonely enough ?
Have you achieved what you were longing for ?
Sad enough this cannot be undone

I drop my eyes and shiver as I see
The reflection in the mirror of me

Have you given up, my friend ?
Forgiveness be mine

Remembered are the arrows of cupid

But never the razor blades
of those consumed
in the darkness.

Eternity is Forever

Heaven offers nothing I desire
Hell no horrors worse
than those within

Walking
between worlds
home
in the silent,
serene void

Peace
freedom
meaning
a chance
perhaps just
a chance…

From the Mist

by David Hoyt Johnson

She came to me from the mist.
Ah crystalline shroud that hovers ever so delicately,
caressing the most soil
while vaporous waifs are drawn,
tentacle like, towards nights
brilliant orb.

Silent orb that draws the waters
to soil's refuge,
she was as one with the moons mysteries,
timeless fascination upon mans
ignorant eyes.

Cobalt eyes that drew me towards her
hesitant not I gaze unto the radiance
drawn as if from some deep well
where clear, cool, spring water awaited
the touch of my lips.

Her lips met mine for a brief eternity.
forces of tender passion too strong
to relay with the phonetic utterance of tongue,
whirlwinds of colored emotion
sheath us.

To us the stars become as whitened stones upon the stream
and our hearts dance to the flute,
sweet, lilting, notes brush lightly through
her golden hair like a
whispered voice.

Her voice heard in a silent souls embrace,
"My timeless love you will know passion
as other men know sight. And you will
give yourself to love without doubt,
foolishly brave."

"And brave love your companion will also be despair.
For only those who know despairs bitter taste
can savor the succulent fruit of the vine.
And time will shed the pain like some
reptilian scales."

"As scales of the balance you shall be given
equal measure, but none in moderation.
For a poet cannot moderate life's ebbs and flows,
do the waves cease their rush to the shore
in fear of the crash upon
the stones?"

Polished stones she offered to me as she drifted back.
Quartz, Sapphire, Jade, Onyx I then held,
warmly glowing upon my calloused hand.
Runic symbols scared the brilliance of each
Celtic knot.

"Forget not this gentle embrace for I leave you never.
Live not in the joys of things no longer, instead,
shine light upon the darkness of things to be.
And taste each sweet breath that is given
in your souls dance."

She dances upon the cresting waves, this muse of mine,
who kissed my soul so very long ago.
And some tranquil nights when darkness rest
I hear again her voice
in our souls embrace...

If God is a DJ

From the Song by Pink

If God is a DJ;
Life is a dance floor;
Love is a rhythm,
and you are the music

Snowflake

I am an amazing,
unique snowflake.
Alone I am nothing.
Together all of us can
shut down
the largest of cities.

Change is the Prelude to Growth

OM

Voices of Failure

Don’t let that which I failed at
be the sum of who I am

Your judgments always
so final and convincing.

A voice booming confident
commenting on every
whisper and thought.

All my successes
won only by mistake
or a clerical error.

Opportunities seen wonderful
and effortlessly within my grasp
revealed my your words
as meant for someone else,
impossible for me
to touch.

Who are you?
But, the creaks and groans
of some antiquated machine
long since destined
to a scrap yard.

Who is it you think
You are?
You! – Those voices
screaming from the
dark corners of
my mind.

End of Life Forever

If we are the only life
in the universe,
if we do destroy ourselves
and all life on earth;
does it really matter
if there is
no one
to remember?

If we are not the only life
in the universe
and there are millions
or billions
of other worlds with
conscious life forms;
does it still
really matter if we
or any of us
destroy ourselves?

What makes us so special
as to make our significance
any more than a single
Muon flung randomly
through
the cold emptiness
of space?

I think it matters not
after we are gone,
if we existed at all
but now,
in this moment –

it is Everything

it is
All that matters.

No matter how
worthless
and insignificant
we feel
ourselves to be.

It is each of us
in this timeless moment,
eternal,
without past, future
or remembered present;
it is this moment
which contains
all the joy love
and ecstasy
that is or
ever will be.

If only we pause,
open our eyes
hearts and
souls to be
with now.

Lingering in Oblivion

Last forgotten memory
still lingers in an icy fog,
waiting
screaming
in isolation.

Summer’s joys frosty and
frozen as the final tick
of time is silenced.

The comic story devoid
of funny humor,
sits poised awaiting
the punch line

Pursuits of a lifetime
fabulous and frivolous
who’s purpose crumbles away
from under them.

Oblivion’s fugitive
lost in fast forward as
memories blend into
taffy.

Wondering
as consciousness fades –

if some karmic debts
can ever be paid.

Black Hole Falling

Sucked in the center of myself
falling away from now

Light blindingly dark
compassion only a mask
of selfishness

Heart with half a beat
consumes all
as it falls
in upon it’s self

Sitting in an acid rain
a lone pauper
in world of prince’s
and princesses

Event horizon long since past
time, space and meaning
swallowed by the dark singularity

Always falling
in upon it’s self

Thoughts, reason, logic
cannibalize themselves
lost by time's decay.

Past without a present
future long since
devoured

Falling, forever falling
into darkness

The Silk Road

Theme from Silk Road - Kitaro

What ever we my find
journeying along
our own silk road
within it, is
a sublime beauty.

If not by its presence
then in the silhouette
of its absence.

If only we look and
listen to the silence
between our thoughts.

A Song of Joys

by Walt Whitman

O to make the most jubilant song!
Full of music--full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments--full of grain and trees.
O for the voices of animals--O for the swiftness and balance of fishes!
O for the dropping of raindrops in a song!
O for the sunshine and motion of waves in a song!

O the joy of my spirit--it is uncaged--it darts like lightning!
It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time,
I will have thousands of globes and all time.

O the engineer's joys! to go with a locomotive!
To hear the hiss of steam, the merry shriek, the steam-whistle, the
laughing locomotive!
To push with resistless way and speed off in the distance.

O the gleesome saunter over fields and hillsides!
The leaves and flowers of the commonest weeds, the moist fresh
stillness of the woods,
The exquisite smell of the earth at daybreak, and all through the forenoon.

O the horseman's and horsewoman's joys!
The saddle, the gallop, the pressure upon the seat, the cool
gurgling by the ears and hair.

O the fireman's joys!
I hear the alarm at dead of night,
I hear bells, shouts! I pass the crowd, I run!
The sight of the flames maddens me with pleasure.

O the joy of the strong-brawn'd fighter, towering in the arena in
perfect condition, conscious of power, thirsting to meet his opponent.

O the joy of that vast elemental sympathy which only the human soul is
capable of generating and emitting in steady and limitless floods.

O the mother's joys!
The watching, the endurance, the precious love, the anguish, the
patiently yielded life.

O the of increase, growth, recuperation,
The joy of soothing and pacifying, the joy of concord and harmony.

O to go back to the place where I was born,
To hear the birds sing once more,
To ramble about the house and barn and over the fields once more,
And through the orchard and along the old lanes once more.

O to have been brought up on bays, lagoons, creeks, or along the coast,
To continue and be employ'd there all my life,
The briny and damp smell, the shore, the salt weeds exposed at low water,
The work of fishermen, the work of the eel-fisher and clam-fisher;
I come with my clam-rake and spade, I come with my eel-spear,
Is the tide out? I Join the group of clam-diggers on the flats,
I laugh and work with them, I joke at my work like a mettlesome young man;
In winter I take my eel-basket and eel-spear and travel out on foot
on the ice--I have a small axe to cut holes in the ice,
Behold me well-clothed going gayly or returning in the afternoon,
my brood of tough boys accompanying me,
My brood of grown and part-grown boys, who love to be with no
one else so well as they love to be with me,
By day to work with me, and by night to sleep with me.

Another time in warm weather out in a boat, to lift the lobster-pots
where they are sunk with heavy stones, (I know the buoys,)
O the sweetness of the Fifth-month morning upon the water as I row
just before sunrise toward the buoys,
I pull the wicker pots up slantingly, the dark green lobsters are
desperate with their claws as I take them out, I insert
wooden pegs in the 'oints of their pincers,

I go to all the places one after another, and then row back to the shore,
There in a huge kettle of boiling water the lobsters shall be boil'd
till their color becomes scarlet.

Another time mackerel-taking,
Voracious, mad for the hook, near the surface, they seem to fill the
water for miles;
Another time fishing for rock-fish in Chesapeake bay, I one of the
brown-faced crew;
Another time trailing for blue-fish off Paumanok, I stand with braced body,
My left foot is on the gunwale, my right arm throws far out the
coils of slender rope,
In sight around me the quick veering and darting of fifty skiffs, my
companions.

O boating on the rivers,
The voyage down the St. Lawrence, the superb scenery, the steamers,
The ships sailing, the Thousand Islands, the occasional timber-raft
and the raftsmen with long-reaching sweep-oars,
The little huts on the rafts, and the stream of smoke when they cook
supper at evening.

(O something pernicious and dread!
Something far away from a puny and pious life!
Something unproved! something in a trance!
Something escaped from the anchorage and driving free.)

O to work in mines, or forging iron,
Foundry casting, the foundry itself, the rude high roof, the ample
and shadow'd space,
The furnace, the hot liquid pour'd out and running.

O to resume the joys of the soldier!
To feel the presence of a brave commanding officer--to feel his sympathy!
To behold his calmness--to be warm'd in the rays of his smile!
To go to battle--to hear the bugles play and the drums beat!
To hear the crash of artillery--to see the glittering of the bayonets
and musket-barrels in the sun!

To see men fall and die and not complain!
To taste the savage taste of blood--to be so devilish!
To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy.

O the whaleman's joys! O I cruise my old cruise again!
I feel the ship's motion under me, I feel the Atlantic breezes fanning me,
I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head, There--she blows!
Again I spring up the rigging to look with the rest--we descend,
wild with excitement,
I leap in the lower'd boat, we row toward our prey where he lies,
We approach stealthy and silent, I see the mountainous mass,
lethargic, basking,
I see the harpooneer standing up, I see the weapon dart from his
vigorous arm;
O swift again far out in the ocean the wounded whale, settling,
running to windward, tows me,
Again I see him rise to breathe, we row close again,
I see a lance driven through his side, press'd deep, turn'd in the wound,
Again we back off, I see him settle again, the life is leaving him fast,
As he rises he spouts blood, I see him swim in circles narrower and
narrower, swiftly cutting the water--I see him die,
He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle, and then
falls flat and still in the bloody foam.

O the old manhood of me, my noblest joy of all!
My children and grand-children, my white hair and beard,
My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long stretch of my life.

O ripen'd joy of womanhood! O happiness at last!
I am more than eighty years of age, I am the most venerable mother,
How clear is my mind--how all people draw nigh to me!
What attractions are these beyond any before? what bloom more
than the bloom of youth?
What beauty is this that descends upon me and rises out of me?

O the orator's joys!
To inflate the chest, to roll the thunder of the voice out from the
ribs and throat,
To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with yourself,
To lead America--to quell America with a great tongue.

O the joy of my soul leaning pois'd on itself, receiving identity through
materials and loving them, observing characters and absorbing them,
My soul vibrated back to me from them, from sight, hearing, touch,
reason, articulation, comparison, memory, and the like,
The real life of my senses and flesh transcending my senses and flesh,
My body done with materials, my sight done with my material eyes,
Proved to me this day beyond cavil that it is not my material eyes
which finally see,
Nor my material body which finally loves, walks, laughs, shouts,
embraces, procreates.

O the farmer's joys!
Ohioan's, Illinoisian's, Wisconsinese', Kanadian's, Iowan's,
Kansian's, Missourian's, Oregonese' joys!
To rise at peep of day and pass forth nimbly to work,
To plough land in the fall for winter-sown crops,
To plough land in the spring for maize,
To train orchards, to graft the trees, to gather apples in the fall.

O to bathe in the swimming-bath, or in a good place along shore,
To splash the water! to walk ankle-deep, or race naked along the shore.

O to realize space!
The plenteousness of all, that there are no bounds,
To emerge and be of the sky, of the sun and moon and flying
clouds, as one with them.

O the joy a manly self-hood!
To be servile to none, to defer to none, not to any tyrant known or unknown,
To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic,
To look with calm gaze or with a flashing eye,
To speak with a full and sonorous voice out of a broad chest,
To confront with your personality all the other personalities of the earth.

Knowist thou the excellent joys of youth?
Joys of the dear companions and of the merry word and laughing face?
Joy of the glad light-beaming day, joy of the wide-breath'd games?
Joy of sweet music, joy of the lighted ball-room and the dancers?
Joy of the plenteous dinner, strong carouse and drinking?

Yet O my soul supreme!
Knowist thou the joys of pensive thought?
Joys of the free and lonesome heart, the tender, gloomy heart?
Joys of the solitary walk, the spirit bow'd yet proud, the suffering
and the struggle?
The agonistic throes, the ecstasies, joys of the solemn musings day
or night?
Joys of the thought of Death, the great spheres Time and Space?
Prophetic joys of better, loftier love's ideals, the divine wife,
the sweet, eternal, perfect comrade?
Joys all thine own undying one, joys worthy thee O soul.

O while I live to be the ruler of life, not a slave,
To meet life as a powerful conqueror,
No fumes, no ennui, no more complaints or scornful criticisms,
To these proud laws of the air, the water and the ground, proving
my interior soul impregnable,
And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me.

For not life's joys alone I sing, repeating--the joy of death!
The beautiful touch of Death, soothing and benumbing a few moments,
for reasons,
Myself discharging my excrementitious body to be burn'd, or render'd
to powder, or buried,
My real body doubtless left to me for other spheres,
My voided body nothing more to me, returning to the purifications,
further offices, eternal uses of the earth.

O to attract by more than attraction!
How it is I know not--yet behold! the something which obeys none
of the rest,
It is offensive, never defensive--yet how magnetic it draws.

O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted!
To be entirely alone with them, to find how much one can stand!
To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face!
To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns with
perfect nonchalance!
To be indeed a God!

O to sail to sea in a ship!
To leave this steady unendurable land,
To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and the
houses,
To leave you O you solid motionless land, and entering a ship,
To sail and sail and sail!

O to have life henceforth a poem of new joys!
To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on!
To be a sailor of the world bound for all ports,
A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun and air,)
A swift and swelling ship full of rich words, full of joys.