11202022

it's a new morning. the sky is grey and patchy with clouds. it rained again last night. and today. more of the same.

i love the rain. i love the storm of it. i love driving in the rain. big drops of vaporized cloud hitting my windshield like gravity-drawn moths. the slow glide to the bottom of my windshield. the gentle pooling of rain on the asphalt ground, turning it from dirty grey to shimmering charcoal. the inebriated sway of giant oaks... so emerald green... all moving in rhythm. 

everything is more enhanced. more focused. like when you position the lens of a camera between your thumb and middle finger and twist, gently, to one side. everything goes from blurry to sharp. and you awaken!

i have always reflected on why people become more mindful of their driving when it rains. i don't imagine it's because they're trying to stay safe, but because they're trying to take it all in. 

all the beauty of the world... drenched in the bounty of water.

11142020

what?

how?

shallow.

hollow.

shall i deepen the questions with body?

shall i soften them with emotion?

why should i?

i am tempted, not compelled.

this.

is truth.

this.

is intimate realization.

this.

is hopeful.

this.

is healing.

this.

is beyond.

10262020

come, now

sit with me for a spell

together, let us watch

the storm gather

let us wait 

for the clouds to arrive

crystalline and cold

with melancholy

let us become grounded

in this wet earth

bathing in the deluge

of fat raindrops

vanquishing old obsessions

and

illuminating new shelters

who else can ever

know this moment

as we know it?

who else will swim

in the mercurial ocean

of this .: and other :. memory

always seemingly

within our grasp

never quite

tangible?

09292019

after the dream.

i must hear the silence and not shy from its messages to my heart. 

my heart must slow down and listen to the silence. embody the images.

my heart. must.

slow down, my heart

slow down

there is a secret longing inside you

i know. i know

within the quiet murmur of morning. i sit. 

seeking to decipher something. 

to clear a path. to find a doorway. 

to make meaning of the images.

i hear you speaking to me

but you must slow down, now

slow down, my heart

you must

no. i am not lost in the dream. i am waiting.

i am listening to the sound of your voice gliding in the air.

i am waiting for the silence. 

my eyes closed. my spirit open to receive.

06012019

oceans hold history.

chronicles.

stories. narratives. accounts.

of the mind. 

of the flesh.

of blood.

of spirit.

this is how the unknown is known.

given attunement and curiosity.

given consciousness and presence.

given roots. given ground.

given foundation.

life is awareness of self
and of other.

we are all social creatures.
with-ness is existence.

05172019

this, now:

i hear you approaching

from a distance. my body

and mind don't need

this distraction.

but.

the voice of communion

enters my body and

makes my flesh

twinkle.

you touch me with 

your serenity.

my throat fills with things

that don't need to be said.

come. let's sit together

on this firm earth

and feel the sturdy fence

rubbing against our shoulder blades.

let's tighten our fists until they hurt. though,

who's hanging on to anything?

i'm not. are you?

ha!

we all have secrets.

i have secrets.

you have secrets, too.

this little sanctuary is my secret.

and this little gateway is my redemption.

04192019

treasure. treasure.

what shall i do

with this extreme of serenity?

i glide, convinced

there is something for me, and

convinced i no longer need to seek it.

i turn my hands open.

my shoulders.

my eyes.

my body moves. 

motion.

groundedness.

anchor.

drift.

i arrive.

02152019

light.

flight.

no weight on my shoulders.

no burden to hold me down.

01182019

how do we begin to have these conversations?
and, how many times must we stumble upon our own words?
i shut my eyes, a feeble effort to shut a memory down.
but, memories often refuse to play nice.

this memory will not let me be.
it moves. like a vagrant light
across a dark field.

i want to tell it, once more, to go away.
i want to tell it to freeze. cease. die.
i want to tell it things, but my tongue
won't find the words.

i wonder, in awe, at this fumbling
moment that makes me question. 
probe. criticize. rage. scream.

                g
           n
      i
s

.
     .     
           .
                 .

but.
i apologize.

smear me with your whispers, then, memory.
etch your images upon my face.

there is a sleeping river at the edge of this woods.
it waits to reconstruct the mystery of you.

i, too, wait.

taking up as much time and space 
as time and space will allow,
i leave everything... 
everyone... hanging.

nothing else matters.
nothing, dear, but you.

soon. 
we, too, will be memory.

11232018

we lie down on the ground

whispering about what rises within us

and what the earth carries

while the sky lingers and waits

re-enchanting itself

weaving a madrigal of awakening

washing away the indecision

painting us with intention

11092018

share with me your thoughts. tell me. do you think i'm too serious? yes. i am. i already know this. but saying it is owning it: i am too serious. 

i hear my voice inside my head. i speak the words out loud: i am too serious.

my inner child bristles: i am too serious?

i say the words. i own the words: i am too serious.

i am not words. 

i am not narrative. i am not story.

i am not a hesitant reenactment of faulty memories.

i am not a unidimensional state.

i am playful. i am child. i am infant.

this, too, i own.

*

this truth brings tears.

won't you extend me a tissue? a hand? a shoulder?

won't you measure my need on a scale? won't you sum it up into a simple number? won't you qualify it? quantify it? multiple choice? yes or no? true or false? likert scale? won't you break it down so you can see all the parts?

won't you penetrate its deepest spirit?

this tunnel.
this passage.
this corridor.

is endless.

but.

i have.

a mallet
for every curve of concrete.

a key 
for every door.

11042018

i am moving / moving / constantly / unpredictably / where am i going next?

life presents itself to me / in all of its wonder 

and / i explore my world

like an infant / in awe

like an ancient / in reverence

10272018

intuition.

incubation.

discernment.

movement.

10192018

yes. 
i know. 
this is truth.

it exists in silent presence.
in a quiet corner.
inconspicuous.

i ask.
it shines.

world.

universe.

infinity.

06242018

it is dawn—

a cool, sweet morning.

a gentle breeze laps at my cheeks.

i close my eyes and draw my breath

and sigh... exhaling slowly.

i lift my pen and write,

listening to the grass

and the dew

and the beauty held within

the tranquil horizon.

i am awake

and alive and

unwilling to escape

from the flow of life.

06162018

somewhere inside me
there is an oasis
for every dream

every scream
and every laugh
that emerges from

my deepest wells
visceral and untamed

here is where
i am most centered

most authentic and
vivified

the sky is filled 
with quiet light and 
bellowing blaze and

somewhere in between

there is a refuge
within which

the wholeness of me
is restored

06102018

once again,
life is in motion.

and i am bedazzled.
rushed.
worn.

this morning,

i pause 
beside my kitchen window
to witness and be witnessed.

life breaks through
every fragile boundary.

all the walls
are torn down.

i don't give an inch
to distraction.

i remain still.

i listen.

05222018

now.

again.

i inhabit

this body.

i feed on silence.

i entrust myself

to my own tranquility.

03122018

she said,

i want to spread the word

about what happened.

i want the truth

to be known.

i said,

we can use words to create

magic or to create calamity.

speak judiciously.

be mindful what you say.

02252018

the confluence of sky and sea...

... the inimitable expression of reverence.