Everything Changes


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.

Now That You Are Free


For my friend, Weldon McFadden

Now that you are free

and the distance between stars

has become less than a hair’s breadth

and all of time

has been reduced to a single eternal instance.

Now that you have acquired

the ability to whisper

into the dreams and imaginations

of all those who have shared your life.

I hear the echos of your laughter

traversing the universe,

as all your fears, your burdens,

your limitations and your sufferings

are transmuted into mirth and joy

upon your return to the heart of all creation.

Thank you for the blessing you have been,

for the many gifts of love you have given us

that have lifted the hearts of all who knew you

and brought smiles to our days.

Guide us now, dear friend,

Now that you are able,

that we might follow you

into that sweet place

of abandon and utter delight again..

Now that you are free.


Windmill Falling


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,


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,


my sweet home……

this moment.


Black Feather


A black feather of a vulture

dances in the breeze

A door cracks slightly open.

Romeo barks up into the trees.

Motmot perches on a garden post and cocks his head

waiting for an answer to a question never asked.

The black feather, tied to the blue awning of the sky

twists and twirls and jumps,

but will not escape its bonds today.

I step under it and await my turn.



Witness the Day


Chachalakas cackling like noisy gossips

in a forest of thorns

while white wing doves admonish

in the deep richness of morning light and shadow

passing over grasses covering the hillside drying

in the end of a perfect cycle,

heavy with grain,

waiting for the rains,

where mice, no longer plaguing my pantry

scurried hungrily in the cover of night

in the dim light of distant stars,

but lay sleeping this very moment

in secret urgency,

while I, awake, sip coffee simultaneously

listening and watching in silence

and seeing nothing moving,

have nothing important to say,

wanting only to witness the day

while scratching sky and scuffing dirt

with lizards along the road.



Wandering Souls


There are souls

travelling aimlessly

on the paths of wanderers.

Without possession or guile,

at one with the elements,

they slide from one to the other,

Becoming this and then that.

Invisible in this wilderness of eyes,

they watch in disbelief

as they stumble unseeing

amidst the refuge.

How long they have denied themselves

the love they sought.

How far they have come to escape it.

Broken, they lie along the path

shorn of all volition.

I wonder how long they must wait

before they can heal

and rise up again

from those trash filled urns

to search the roads of their desire

for the doors of their emergence

once more in every grain of sand.

Now the bus is full again

and I shall not be deceived.

sitting there across the aisle,

I see you rub your weary feet

before you deviate and depart

when the next stop arrives.

How else can we be released

from this circuitous route we ride?


El Aguacate, Jal, Mx




who are my compass, my spirit,

who guides me through this amazement

even without my knowing,

Who leads me to drink the sweet water

that flows so freely from your breast.

Who nourishes me with the flesh of your being.

Who widens my eyes

that I might glimpse you

in all of the faces that pass before me,

in all the stars in the heavens above,

in the beauty of a sunset over the sea,

or a majestic mountain shrouded in mist,

in a single blade of grass,

or a flower blooming against all odds

in the midst of desolation,

or in the tears of a child

in need of your embrace

as I have also needed,

now through me.

You of so many names,

who has given me the breath of life,

that I might return it to you

and abide in your heart,

in your love,

and recognize you in my own.


Russell Rosander

4/7/16  El Aguacate, Jal, Mx