Spring Fires

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The clouds in the east

are only a false promise of rain today,

but the jasmine has begun to bloom outside my door,

and above, the intense pale green

of emerging leaves graces the tree.

There is a hint of grass smoke

from the spring fires burning in the hills,

and an unseen wren is singing a sweet song,

“Where is love, where is love – surely not far away”,

waiting for the drought to end.

 

5/19/17

Small Storm

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A small storm rages in the dead of night

Not tearing at the limbs of trees in the darkness

Not raging in the swirling sky above

But within these compound walls

Of stone and skin

In a windowless room

Unseen Un-named uncategorized

An unknown tumult

In a wordless dream

In an unbound stream

I wrap my spindly arms about these howling winds

And bow deep into the spiral eye to see

The quiet peace The invisible heart

In the loving protection of your outstretched fingers

In your open hand

Before the sun has risen.

 

5/28/17

Everything Changes

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The reason we exist is to change.

That’s reason anything exists,

because it’s impossible to stay the same,

no matter how hard we try,

everything eventually changes.

I look into the darkness

and I see no end.

Sometimes quick, sometimes so slowly

the turning is barely perceptible.

Ribbons of light, each of us,

as one or separate, it’s all the same.

Ever changing, ever changing,

that is what we do.

That is what we will always do.

We are each in charge.

We are change.

It’s o.k.

Tormenta Tropical

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Whip and slash.

Dribble and swoosh..

The storm washes.

cleanses, erases,

Purifies,

Opens the sky to new possibilities.

Each little death,

Carries us to the next moment.

Each moment could be the last.

A tree is down.

Power lines tense and sag.

Grass swirls. and matts.

Leaves glisten and shake and swirl away.

On the beach,

Each new wave defeats the last,

As always,

Doing.

To be is to do.

To do is to be.

Waving.

Sitting inside, waiting,

Breathing,

Heart beating

with each new gust.

I storm, motionlessly

From the center of all that is,

with each new birth………

as

Rivulets run down windows

Walls tremble in the wind,

In the consuming darkness,

the rain continues to fall………..

Soon,

It will be over.

9/5/16

What We Don’t Know

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We don’t know much of what there is to know.

It’s only our egos that tell us that we do,

prideful tricksters that they are……What silly asses!

In reality, in the now,

we barely know what we need to survive in this world,.

how to be, how to relate to others, the universe,

how to love,

how to tie our own shoelaces,

and sometimes, not even that.

Much of what we think we know,

what we have learned to be true in the past,

is now false,

now only useless trivia.

Yesterday’s truths may no longer apply today.

Don’t cling to belief.

Don’t cling to knowledge.

It’s all temporary, just stuff.

Don’t get hung up on it.

Clinging only leads to stagnation.

The past is gone, never to return.

We know nearly nothing.

Get comfortable with this fact.

Have courage.

Make peace with it.

Become an empty vessel.

Allow it.

Allow for change.

Allow for the new.

Allow for the flow.

Allow for wonder.

Stay open.

Only then, can we know what we don’t know..

9/2/16

Morning Tableau Vivant

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Light flickers across the dirty tablecloth

filtered through water and leaves suspended in air moving

as the sun rises from behind the mountains of the east.

Romeo and I sit behind the window,

awakening slowly to the beat and the heat

of chachalaca wings drumming from tree to bush,

recently up from the depths,

cackling earth-mother-in-law songs,

tales of the brood,

that twine in the vapor of freshly poured coffee,

as yet, too hot to sip.

The summer grasses tingle in the crystalline breeze outside,

becoming rapidly overwhelmed by the day’s spread,

oblivious to all our thoughts and regrets of the past,

all our intentions and worries for the future.

A dove coos from somewhere distant.

A gecko flits across the aperture and catches a tired moth.

Romeo, lays in my lap, eyes reflecting mine,

and touches my lips with a flick of his little dog tongue,

proclaiming love to be more important than anything

and always just enough,

dissipating all those ancient dreams

left in the darkness

crumbling beneath the feet of the dawn,

leaving only what is

waiting on the step outside the door

of the next breath.

8/23/16

Windmill Falling

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I flail wildly at the air

like a man falling from the sky

with a thousand arms,

with a thousand hands grasping,

wanting, wanting

to see,

what I cannot see,

to hear,

what I cannot hear,

to smell,

what I cannot smell,

to taste,

what I cannot taste,

to touch,

what I cannot touch,

to have,

what I cannot have,

to know

what I cannot know,

to be,

who I cannot be,

where I cannot be,

wanting what is not,

falling,

like a windmill with arms and legs,

spinning, spinning,

ever out of control,

like a cyclone, a maelstrom,

or a child in the midst of a tantrum

wanting everything

and receiving nothing,

until at last,

in the calm of my exhaustion,

my despair,

my utter hopelessness,

when all my tears have been spent,

nothing remains,

but to return

to the eye of my eye,

the I of my I,

that most feared,

honest and secret place

where all that I am,

and all that I need,

resides,

my sweet home……

this moment.

8/3/16