A-walking in a cobbled street,
I breathe the brittle winter air,
the crunch of frost beneath my feet.
The early hour’s sunbeams flare.
Arising in the ice-blue sky
three stone church towers stand and wait.
Their spires point to the most high
as morning sunlight splashes paint
across their well-worn windswept face.
These turrets of a sacred keep
stand silent witness, each stone traced
by time’s sharp fingers etching deep:
I hear each crack and crevice sing
a murmured prayer for us to stand
and listen to the brass bells ring
over sunlit frosted land.

meeting you was serendipity
it's practical to move on
live my life
focus on the task at hand
yet my soul yearns for you
and you embody me
like you and I are the same being

a search has come to an end
our souls rejoice
while the bodies sleep in cold beds
I do not understand the loss
of you (or me), dear stranger

So I simply write about
how my soul yearns for you
and how painful it must be
for you to not know the language
of our souls (of love)

In every leaf upon the tree, In every wave upon the sea, In every star that lights the night, In every dawn’s first gentle light.

A thread unseen, yet ever there, A bond that all of life must share, In every breath, in every heart, An endless whole of which we’re part.

From mountains tall to valleys low, From rivers fast to winds that blow, Each soul, each spirit, every being, In nature’s web,
a vast unseeing.

The whispers of the ancient breeze, The secrets of the deepest seas, The songs that every creature sings, All speak of ties, of boundless rings.

In life’s grand dance, a tapestry, Woven with threads of unity, In joy, in sorrow, loss, or gain, We find we’re one, in sun and rain.

So feel the beat of nature’s drum, And know that you and I are one, In this grand scheme, this endless quest, We find our peace, our common rest.

'selfless gratitude' -
not something one inherits;
a skill one acquires.

In the days when we first chipped stone
and carved from earth long lines of chalk,
we set in place rock circles honed
to hear the nature spirits talk.

The hurried sun wheeled all around
these massive stones we made to stand,
casting shadows on this fertile ground
that tell us when to sow this land.

Then came the age of bronze first wrought.
We built our temples where oracles spoke
foretelling how our world was caught
in snares and schemes of gods provoked.

But tin and copper fell to iron;
A new temple grew upon Zion’s hill,
as gods to just one god would turn —
iron presaged dark satanic mills.

Another grain in the hourglass fell:
the sharpened skill of work in steel.
Our churches rose with tales to tell
which called us to in sackcloth kneel.

We wedded iron with coke and steam
to summon power, rip from earth
all we ever craved: a false dream
of boundless bounty, endless worth.

From one old god to a new model,
religious in the cult of me,
prepackaged for our blind apostles,
Mammon’s black seed sowed eagerly.

This seed turned slick with silicon
from which grew fiberoptic veins
injected with an ****** balm:
A new cult idol it became.

Today the circle’s stones are laid
in server nets that span the globe,
with oracle influencers well paid
to infantilize our frontal lobe.

Bright magic mirrors in our hands
with retina screen technology:
Tech prophets lead to this promised land
of unkept promises to fill false needs.

The circle’s silicon steles stand:
new dark satanic mills for today.
A mock Jerusalem holy land,
bare desert where chalk lines once lay.

In this waste I find an old stone axe
of flint and oak and red deer’s thread.
Its polished head still bears the cracks
from when we first on this path were led.

The Divine.

The Mysterious.

The Coincidences.

The Synchronicities.

Our intuition has a mind of its own,
sending goosebumps from head to toe.

They're all cause and effect
Ying and Yang
Hot and Cold
Happy and Sad

That's not to say everything has a meaning.
Yet, somehow, we never fail to put meaning in everything.

Looking inward, exclaiming, what if the pain was that driving force that helped survive us...
All while looking at it straight in eyes?

Some will do anything to look away from pain.
Yet...there seems to be an alignment in the way wandering off road makes all of those feelings become so apparent—

Perhaps pain...
That daunting shadow, serves as the driving force propelling us forward,
motivating us to confront it with
u n s h a k a b l e   w i l l.

Some beg in disparity to God—
What can be called "A leap of faith"

When one says "God"
What is the meaning by god?
Why can't we reach his Mother?

Uttering the word "God," we are met with a myriad of interpretations.
What does it TRULY mean to grasp the essence of the divine?

Is god is that very paper that many have written the Bible on?

Could it be that the Divine is inside all whom breathes the air?

In Egypt "Ptah" was the creator of God.
Meaning "Chief Controller of Craftsmen"
A Divine blacksmith - creating reality, itself.

Creation is Divine.
Creation is God.
You are creation.

The courage and pure brevity- walking through life finding the will to believe -
Despite it A L L, the universal force that goes beyond time and place is...
L O V E.

Where "Understanding" becomes a platform for all.

As I explore life, I'm enlightened by how love, connection, and community are always present.

It's ok to stop
It's ok to slow down
I say this as I speed through my sentences
We are victims of endless pursuit
Racing to get things done only to find out that new things need doing
It doesn't end and if it doesn't end then it's infinite and if it's infinite
What's the rush?

So much to do with so little time
We fear of our finite existence
But with all this speed we lose meaning
And without meaning, why do it in the first place?

We want it now but we aren't there
And when we get what we want it isn't enough
There is always more, always something else
Another task or another priority
Another need or another want
It never ends
And if it doesn't end then its infinite
So if it's infinite
Why rush?

In sleet and rain of Edinburgh
a cathedral rises from the deeps.
The salt of sea and old coal blur
veil her face in grey-cast sheets.

On her western pediment
within tympanum carved of stone
sits Christ triumphant and in judgement
where he calls us all to atone.

I stand before him, my head bowed
as I contemplate our shared guilt,
with mea culpas weighing on my brow
for the follies fallen man has built.

And so we’re burning Eden down
with flaming swords that we still wield
as once vast forests shrink and brown
and fallow lie once verdant fields.

Where trees once stood, smokestacks rear
their heads belching fumes up high
and in the deeps, the oceansphere’s
no more a garden for octopi.

For in this our earthly commonweal
that was a gift that’s given free
we prove that purgatory’s real
because we ourselves have made it be.

A whisper came from the carved face
to walk into this stony womb
where colored light and incense trace
a path to overcome the gloom:

Forgiveness for our many faults
comes when we change our ways.
There in this temple’s holy vault
I vow to fight Eden’s decay.

In Edinburgh I found Eden
in a vision of what can be.
For we are by no means beaten
and we can do it, you and me.

A starless swart of night
has draped its murky veil
above my temple mount —
but the house of holies’
lifting light lingers on.

Its window eye shines bright
to lead upon the trail
that guides me to a fount —
its waters cool and ease
until new break of dawn.