Hell bent to break

the holding and the folding

of these worn and weathered hands.

A forlorn feeling settles in like

a grey cloud casting its darkness.

And in this moment

the land that I love


the land that I live on

turns from a friend

to a foreigner.

An enemy. An alien.

An ending.

And it is here that I always seem to turn on myself-

and I create from my oneness,


to point my shame at.

It is here that I make the same mistake

again and again.

And it is here that this land

drowns in a downpour

of my own pain.

Hated and self-created

by myself, for myself, to myself.

Off in the distance I can hear a voice

that lingers like the lilting forests of my childhood.

I hear it clearer

as I close my eyes.

I am the storm

and the stillness.

I am the rain

and the cleansing.

I am the forgetting

and the remembering.

I am the beginning 

and the unending.


Shade Tree

Under the shade of a tree I sit.

Suspended between its shadows

and this perpetual organic life.

All around me a world is dancing.

A red carpet seat has been set out

for all of us to see.

The infinite cosmic unraveling

is always happening.

In each of us there exists

a part and a place

between all things.

Between them,

and beyond them too.

An exit and an entrance.

An opportunity.

A new beginning.

Right now, I am covered and cooled

by a welcoming tree

giving its shadow away

to me for free.

And here I can see the sun

and how it gives us too what we need

just like this shade tree with its singing leaves.

The infinite cosmic unraveling

is always happening

and it is always offering an opportunity

to see the balance that inhabits everything

and the harmony that hums below it all

like a soft, steady bass drum.

Like a heartbeat.

Play on

and on

and on.

The infinite cosmic unraveling

is always happening.


What if the words we create

have everything to do with what we see

and how we experience this life?

What if the ways we have learned to love

have the ability to shape and shift

our own sense of reality?

What if our minds are just an operating system

left asleep or on some sort of autopilot,

awaiting for an awakening of an endless amount of senses?

What if we have the ability

to be everything beyond the limitations

we create?

What if our barriers are invisible,

our dreams boundless,

our spirits blinding in brightness?

What if this space is a place of vastness,

filled up with the crystallized stardust of our past

and the untold blackness of the future?

What if it is all available to us?

It is no wonder that we often smother ourselves

in stories and shames.

It is this responsibility, this gift,

that can be as much a burden

as a beauty.

It has everything to do

with how we choose to

move to the music

that makes up our lives.

Through a small space between the blinds

sunlight seeps in this room for rent.

Blinding in its excitement

and open with opportunity

my spirit is flooded

with a feeling of freedom.

These lines between the wood

move with a life given to them by the wind.

Elements are working in unison here,

a harmony,

a music not heard

but instead seen.

And I sit here

lucky in love and in life,

able to see and feel

within a single moment

that there is life within life.

It is all so endless.

Laughter rises quickly from my belly.


The mathematics of this magical experience

are forever for us to create

and reshape.

A structureless form

waiting and wanting always

to dance with the love

that rests in your lone, loving heart.



In the passing parade

a girl smiles.

I stop and take a

moment to marvel.

On center she waves,

beaming her love light.

A soul unafraid

in an otherwise scared

passing parade.

Look Out

Look out for the cold eyed companions.

These dead-headed grey wolves with patches of white,

howling with their prayers of wisdom.

Dull words picked up out of another goddamn book

trying to cleverly disguise art

as anything other than some kind of self-indulgent fantasy.

Look out for the twisted truth tweakers

led on by their own reaching

and delusions and dreams.

These bastards are hard at work.

And they consume and consume and consume.

And on and on and on.

Look out

when you’re looking in the mirror –

it only takes one person to choose to

work on the world

instead of

working on themselves

to turn it all to shit.

Time to stretch, stretch time.

To realign. Redefine.

Lay down. Fall flat on your face.

Now you see the space

a rain can create.

A place of openness

like a field of flowers your fingers can feel.

Sometimes the peddles glow

but sometimes you don’t even

open your eyes to notice

because it feels so good.

You feel so good –

to be alive.

It feels so good

to be alive.