There you are..
Seeming true
Yet we ask
Where are we
Stepping most softly
Into innerspace..
There locations
Shift and slide
And don't pinpoint..
So a revision:
Whenever you are
You are everywhere…

A research ship
In Antarctic ice
Beyond rescue
Awaiting a melt..
This one nadir
Of earth's winter..
In other latitudes
Cold fronts bring
Chill winter winds..
In these days
Our memories serve
With faith intent
Of quick departures
From cold depths
From the dark
Springtime rising…

This is our
reset to clear
the clutter..
A new start now
from blank..
But a blank
With heaving
possibilities..
Then we allow
a flow
in freedom
to blemish
the blank..
quite simple
then complex..
Remembering
for sure that
reset switch…

Glaucoma had
Covered the earth
And their eyes
This shadowed matrix..
A Road remained
And a Map
And a Fire within..
They knew now of
A pendulum swing
A vacuum crunch
This black hole..
They had awakened
In their dream..

And with lucidity
Did they recognize
No catastrophe this
Evil was expressed in
This shadowed matrix
Yet born in Light..
Light also issued:
The Road and Map
Each other Entire
Brook trout carrying
A Code of life
Declarations of good
The Mystery..

Thus Our surprise
No catastrophe sudden..
Grounded in life is
This shadowed matrix..
We might awaken
Knowing at last
Good guys are alive
With hidden Light..
The child found
As each of us must
Love never dies
And in so knowing
Each is the One…

Often in discomfort
We meet divergence..
An awe-ful choice
We imagine then
Choice is comfort..
Patience is pushing
Let's get on..
Tho' standing between
Becoming the tension
Our choices pulsate
As the heart..
Yet choose we must
Bringing the shadow
This our creation
Creation our choice
Now we dance
With the shadow…

If we visualize
All realities
Here and extended
Shaped as torus..
Consult with google
Many examples:
Human body
The earth
Upper self
Cell and atom
All are cycling
In torus form..
While form remains
Evolution moves:
Spirit to creation
Creation to spirit..
Evolution=Pulsation

Life seems as
To be aware..
Of the dangers
Of the joys..
Yet we ask
Is there more..
Dreams there are
Happenings strange..
And sometimes we
Ask this question
Quickly dismissed:
Is waking day
Really a dream..
After all this
One question remains
Is Awareness
Before all this
Waiting our waking…

So often engaged
With our attending
All of those
Editorials
And commentaries
And sermons..
Of which often
Side-track and delay
That awakening
Transformation
Quiet watching
Of this Now
Which is passing…

Everything out there
Is ready made to
Speak of relations..
But the world
Has been pulled
Over our eyes..
With in-sight
Say the sages
We might peel
The wool away
And Eye
A new world
Of relations…

These are told
And they become
Who we are..
Often entangling
Or imprisoning..
What if we
Bring them all
Into our fireplace
And allow the
Rising fire
To re-create..
Stories become
New freedom
unfolding…

Pavement at sundown
wears snowmelt sand..
Quiet and empty
until one vehicle
tires and sand
their special crunch
cut a crevice
in Quiet space..
Then in passing
fading in distance
Quiet once more
swallowed the crunch
healed the crevice…

These celebrating weeks
Offer the settings
For an overcast
A dark concealing
Of the season's light..

Busyness and buying
Small concerns compound
Webs of chaos attach
As a virus
To the season's light..

Fortunate is she
While boxed and bound
Finds that moment
Unexpected quiet glimpse
Of the season's light..

Perhaps this footnote:
A paradoxical gratitude
For that chaos
Her viral entryway
To the season's light…

Our remembering today
Of that day and days..
Slaying and blood
Drenched absorbed media..
Loss was personal
Tears were deep
Shared with many..
Shadow appearance on
A national soul..
Yet the shadow
Briefly edged unity
For many enduring
On that day…

cold front near
evergreens sense chill
waving in dark..
imagining
becoming
one evergreen
those branches
needles..
bracing
for chill…

A community gathering
with a calm surface
erupted of a sudden
to an external
stimulation..
a visiting speaker
uncovered it seemed
sharp hidden dualities..
these dualities flared
left brains fired
and a fragile dialogue
was disturbed..
Also fragile were
searches for identity
self searching for Self
awakening on hold..
A microcosm of life
in our time…?

My daughter he said
is a born again..
What in its depth
does this phrase
oft repeated mean..?
A crucial first
question seems to be:
Is the utterance coming
from a place of
self-awareness
with energy exchange..
An alignment with
perennial experience..
Another routing:
a belief formulation
of external birth
which  awaits arrival
of new bearings..
Where are you
dear daughter in
sprouting new life…?

This signpost may point
to the place where joy resides..
A knife edge
found at daybreak and sunset
with oppositional guides as
not earth and not sky
a superposition science says..
An intention with poise
may find this sacred edge
with exhilaration and healing..
There arguments are stilled
a place of oneness marked
with a glint of light…

Writing those words
of poetry
we are advised
to surround them
with silence..
We acknowledge then
that no word
performs alone
but with silence
surrounding
our words reach
for more…

Named from those
many yesterdays..
A teacher or friend
ancient or recent
near or far away..
A passage we read
way back then..
Tender advice in
a time of hurt..
A homeless man's
most grateful eye..
A science truth
grasped just now..
All remembered
this day..
The many words
spoken or not
built our vessels
to catch new light..
Creating each
unique identity…

serving as candyman
this spooky evening
an evening of Treat..
but the Trick
where is it hiding..?
it must be there
in those masks
or those sacks
because the Trick
is the spice
the shadows
leaves crunching
the flashlights
this magic night...!

Ancient Natives
of Earth
and others in-lighted
have found linkage
Earth and Sky..
Imagine then know
Earth a new form
of the Sky..
A simple relation
remembered
enriched their days..
A Truth
available always
to penetrate
our longing...*

*polarityinplay

A faithful reminder
we have
each and every
morning..
A new chance to
recall the real order
of things..
From this source
breaking the horizon
we now see emerging
from darkness
the new shaping
of our day..
With our reminder
using the scales
universe to atom
we know then
of a sacred pattern
repeating..

A river's lines and patterns
We meet at dawn
Prior to our day's directions..
We claim precious freedom
Our own course we plot
These crossings and confronts..
With faithful imagination
Now we must meld
In new dimension to find
Our birthing direction...

forced concessions
to the State..
this constriction
of content
unleashed his
creativity..
for us then:
our facing of
constriction
we might grasp
as preferred seed..
confident now
of new expression
surprise release..
until constricted
unexpected...

Sergei Prokofiev (1897-1953)
Romeo and Juliet

Bending and kneeling
with discomfort
pinning and marking..
coaxing a key from a
recalcitrant machine..
a later discovery
the key was malformed..
An elderly Chinese couple
communicating with gestures
simple throaty sounds
These representatives of
other older world..
An island of survival
in our ocean of plenty..
An afternoon snapshot
only surface impressions
and mystery of work
and years...

a Singularity
    we imagine
       in the Center
            of her trunk..
                one black hole
                     burns slow
                          steady and bright
                              though still dark..
                                    creating curves
                                         rings of sapwood
                                                 and of bark..
                                                       new warmth
                                                          ­  each morning
                                                         ­        gift of Sol..
                                                           ­          new branching
                                                       ­                    keeps vision
                                                          ­                       fires aglow...

There are many
and it seems
few which intersect..
Those which meet
soon dismissed and
enter the mist..
A new duality
my story and yours..
What if there is
only One Story
those in mist
are still joined..
In that mist
The Odyssey and
Cold Mountain
are found joined..
In our reading
from that mist
we retrieve..
Enlarging our story
changing our Name...

Prayer
must have a
Feeling Shape..
An artist suggests
our inner shaping..
The dark struggles
of our dimension
in imagination
find a Location..
This lower darkness
We inhale to
Light..
Our own Black Hole
becomes now White..

This White dimension
has no location
time or space..
Just a feeling
of Oneness
an absorbing grace..
But return we must
to our Location
which we find
has changed  face..
One prayer cycle
is now complete
but the cycle
is breathed
again and
again...

This morning
in bright sun
filling a page
in the warmth..
Now with entries
were these joined
under the sun..?
Cat on hunt
slow grasshopper's
narrow escape..
A friends pain
with feeling prayer
finding sun's light
already there..
A silly exchange
emails on net
all from a typo
a humored mistake..
Too hot now
this autumn sun
but the gifts
have already come...

The evidence is
There for all..
Water crystals
Response to words..
Deformed and spoiled
Awaiting new words..
Imprinted
A mirror image
Our selves displayed
What connects us..

These recordings of
Incarnation..
Who we are
In this our reality..
Maps and measures
Our route to
Return...

Each summer
we celebrate
that which many
celebrate all year..
Yet there remains
that longing
a painful wish
for a friendship
more intimate..
A wish so often
in these days
lies unsatisfied..
Friendship finds
a joining of souls
one then not two
out of which
each does flow..
Independence as
flow we might
all days celebrate...

Tell no one else, only the wise
For the crowd will sneer at one
I wish to praise what is fully alive,
What longs to flame toward death.

When the calm enfolds the love-nights
That created you, where you have created
A feeling from the Unknown steals over you
While the tranquil candle burns.

You remain no longer caught
In the peneumbral gloom
You are stirred and new, you desire
To soar to higher creativity.

No distance makes you ambivalent.
You come on wings, enchanted
In such hunger for light, you
Become the butterfly burnt to nothing.

So long as you have not lived this:
To die is to become new,
You remain a gloomy guest
On the dark earth.

We find inspiration
In another's poem..
That expression
Another owns..
But the inspiration
And our words
Which flow
Are ours alone...