14 Tuesday Oct 2025
When it comes to surrender,
better drink three hot cups of faith
following dawn.
Watch the light grow and, as your belly softens
in warmth, your eyes will braid upward,
adrift with the steam.
This life isn’t up to you,
not really, but the soporific of control sells.
Sit in your pillowed chair, stare out your version of
the sash window
and know, Mystery weaves us.
Our work is to listen for its music
and step into the slipstream,
longing and beauty our tiny rudder
within that flowing power.
18 Thursday Sep 2025
Confusion tumbles out of us,
violence and shame, ever pointing–
over there, over there.
Look in the mirror, friend, we each must
consider our part, the veins of ugliness within,
ignored, denied, pushed away.
Wounds need care,
sunlight and tenderness.
Otherwise, they fester.
None goes unhurt, none walks without darkness
to be held.
Point not that way, and that,
drop the pointer all together.
We are a we, and in it together to reweave
an old, old decaying story into blessing and art,
connection, nourishment and song.
What beauty brings us here now?
What Beauty to be bestowed back to Life?
Ask the ancestors,
they know,
ask the ancestors for help–
healing takes everyone, form and formless alike.
Let the new story begin..
it breaks through already
in the most delightful, unexpected ways.
26 Saturday Apr 2025
The Mountain meets the clouds,
the Mountain stands on the other side
of the world.
Moving your feet, left
then right,
muscles flex, breath rushes in
then out..
you are fire,
heart pumping,
you are water,
blood rivering through,
you are air,
lungs bellowing,
you are earth,
bones holding, levering, building.
Shoes crease, then crack,
soon tear,
body aches,
mind strains.
You can journey to the Mountain
on two feet, on all fours, on belly
with hands clawing along.
You can also sit–
the depths required, the same–
whatever territory that needs be traversed
travels with you,
rests with you,
sleeps within you,
requires the all of you.
Awake.
The Mountain is close at hand.
04 Friday Apr 2025
How tangled we are
in the journey back to God,
the ever-winding, no two ways the same,
trial and error, washing the mirrors
of our own perceptions, struggles and joys of it.
But your way and my way, they quiver the web,
shimmer the web of which all
is part.
My awakening is your awakening
and back again,
waves of the One ocean
mothering every being, each singular thing,
into itself
again.
Nature recognizing its true nature,
life falling into love
with Life.
Here we are,
discovering what never
wasn’t there.
How funny.
12 Wednesday Mar 2025
Time is a not-knowing.
Life flow.
Infinite creative arising;
Step in
to where you can’t not be.
Awareness will return you there.
Here we are, within continent-birthing
and crumbling upheaval–
crashing edges, sudden limits, tighter twists,
unleashings,
every corner a blind turn.
So where do we go?
No place but here. This moment.
And when the lead line of anxiety
rockets out past our knowing,
we nod kindly, gather it home–
to breath, scent, pulse, wind, ground–
gently pulling back our reach,
that which takes us out past ourselves,
tipping us
away
from what is true.
Be loyal to this,
this,
this.
It is All.
02 Thursday Jan 2025
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≈ Comments Off on Mettle
Withstand the Void.
Please.
Be upon your own two small feet,
at the edge,
darkness cloud-forming,
ledge a tipping perch.
Night ocean crashes on rock straight below,
the rhythmic waters moon-guided, rich and dangerous.
Call forth in echoless open and
wait,
the wind will snap and take it up.
Let the Void offer
all your fears, inadequacies, foolishness,
rage, grief, shame and sorrows.
Be with them.
Sense their intolerable
movements in your one body–
these are the monsters
you are to marry.
In union, living through and beyond
your exiled, an invitation
to what Beauty is yours deeply,
the gift to be offered back.
Leave no aspect behind–
you are here to love the denied.
Blood needs circulate.
Bones need grow. Air must enter.
Bring the outcasts and castaways under
warmth of your grand cloak.
Allow them refuge of your beating heart.
Welcome the unwanted,
a feast-filled table is set to feed everything
in dawn of this new year.
03 Friday Feb 2023
Tyranny over self,
Tyranny over body,
Tyranny over the Land.
Carve mountainsides, slash prairies, pollute valleys, hate,
hate and control, cellulite, humps, wrinkles, and jiggles.
Hide and hate, turn upon the landscape inner,
the landscape outer–
one and the same.
Within this domination resides
everlasting distraction from the rhythmic pulsing
of our own heart’s rivers.
In service to the status quo.
As Earth’s waters are Life,
our blood is Life.
Break the shaming silence–the waterways know
to indulge their curves, bumps, and depths
singing praises through movement,
of tree roots, reflected sky, grating rocks
and wriggling fish.
We have only so long to celebrate and dance
our one beloved Body:
Skip the contempt useful to maintaining outdated ways.
Jump straight into dark waters full
of more Beauty than any one lifetime can hold.
28 Friday Oct 2022
What, then, is born
of disconnection that bleaches the Soul,
fragments Spirit and sends it flying
never to land,
to land in place where it may feed and be fed,
stoke the tender embers of Beauty herself?
What have we traded to get
things?
Things.
Paper money and all the rest, what is it
but nothing,
nothing, especially
when we make it everything and carve ourselves
and one another up
for more of it?
Call back,
Call back,
Call back yourself.
Call back every shard and ripple,
each precious drop, and voluminous chunk.
None but people bringing themselves back toward wholeness
can right this ship we share.
Please, let us remember,
let us remember all
to bring ourselves
Home again.
29 Friday Oct 2021
What’s it like to live the lives of the ghosts that inhabit you?
You know it well.
Ask the parts with poison in a syringe
ready to inject each time you step off their worn,
possessing and ever hungry killing path.
They seek–you know this, even without words–all light,
your light,
and they search with senses unimaginable,
like magnetism, or gravity, the tender flame
at the heart of you. And feed.
The very heart of you, the Spirit of you,
the stuff they, while living, could not tend in themselves;
the marrow of their being they nurtured with death ways.
When can the exorcism begin? How can you reclaim
your own Self,
that beauty and gift of which no one else is replica?
That’s in you,
still.
Reach for Her with every ribbon of strength
you thought you’d lost.
You are here, now, with feet on this sweet Earth,
not lost, no, only wrestling
with the ghosts your family left for you to battle.
Some warriors do not carry sword or shield,
yet they walk the battlefield alone, year after year,
collecting back the bones of those who were truly lost,
giving them, finally,
Burial.
29 Friday Oct 2021
A day arrives
during night dreaming
when you come to retrieve a child, an infant
in button-up full-blue onesie,
from a house expecting you
and, upon entry, you recognize the woman
whose house it is. She rises from a room sized table,
oblong, solid, warm and wooden. An enormous shined egg.
Around its edges sit monks, scholars, drummers–
elders all. It feels better than anything you’ve felt
in ages.
She not only welcomes you, while rising,
but asks you to stay.
Come join us.
She says that. . Come. Join us.
Somewhere, slung between infancy and elderhood, you stand,
at times barely, and then holy invitation is spoken,
warmly.
Keep hollowing out the space,
hallowing the place,
where the invitation can finally cross from sleep
into waking.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 