Material

incarnate flesh

subatomic consciousness

illusory solidity

neural pathways

creating thought

infinite wind

cresting waves 

The Author

With each passing moment
we are writing word after word
sentence after sentence
and page after page
into the book of our lives

Small actions
Big thoughts
Hopes
Aspirations
Failures
Pure and
impure thoughts
Kindness and
cruelty
That which
builds and
diminishes

All thoughts and actions
accruing into a story
we are aware of

Hoping for change
we must write it
we must live it

Do not let the pages
cut the skin of your fingers

Bleed when necessary
Create always
Create all ways

An Honest Man

I must be honest and humble before myself
and this creation to admit I must stop and
let myself live with vice and excess tempered
I wish to lead a life of contemplation and
open thought but I cannot do so when I
purposely cloud my mind and judgement
I am human I am fallible I am weak I am
searching for the strength of will I feel I am
lacking right now I am not who I wish to be
Yet I know that self is within It is possible
to be what I know I can I must cease this
pattern which recurs I cannot run away from
myself This truth will follow I must gaze
into the mirror and accept the present in order
to create the future This body This spirit
are yearning for more Give more Be the
source of light you have been meant to be
all this time This self acceptance will be
difficult Follow through How many times
How many mornings have similar thoughts
come through you What has been learned
Break the wheel of habit but learn to lean
on and ask for help Let light be your guide

Never Underestimate 
the Invisible War.

This Gift

Consciousness is such a strange gift
to have bestowed upon us

It often goes by unnoticed for many years

The day comes
                         and it always does
that we become aware of it

To be alive and to be
                                  aware
of this world

to know life and to know the finite
reality of the present

                                 acceptance

Beautiful
                As beautiful as any sight
in our natural world

I'm Talking to You

When will you be honest with yourself?
You can lie to yourself
You can believe the lie
But the truth will always be seeded within.
Strip away the ordinary thoughts
That cloud your mind-
Your fears and insecurities
Needn't always be drowning your heart.
Your bad habits are only keeping you
From a higher sense of self.
Take up the mantle of work
And labor for what you desire.
Sweat under the sun,
Put your feet to the track and run.
Do not be complacent with your
Words and actions.
Become angered and willing
To create that which you wish to see.
The days are falling behind you
And you cannot see how many
Remain ahead.
Be honest.
I can hear myself.
I can hear that voice
Ringing clear
Like a church bell on
Sunday morning.

Present tensions
Past life memories
Future tense relief

In Search Of

My happiness is a fleeting thing content
to land on my shoulder from time to time.

I do not shoo it away as it rests upon me.
It sits and looks this way and that.

Often I wonder what it can see that I cannot.
When it takes flight I watch it into the distance

and wonder where it goes, what it sees.
Sitting, waiting, I cannot let idleness overcome me.

There is time yet to put on shoes
to walk beneathe the sun,

to wander under moonlight.

Incarnation

Begin and end-

Simple enough to say.


End and begin-

Being and beginning


How many lives

are we destined for

on this world?


If I were not human

I would wish to be

a young sapling

growing steadily

in the ground.


I would relish the sun

and caresses of the wind.


I would drink thirstily

from my roots and

grow until I could

provide shade

beneathe my branches.


Music reaches my ears

as my hand rests upon my chin.

I think of something and

then nothing at all.

For Now

I woke up and realized
everything is not as it should be.

I asked myself "When have things
been as they should?"

Perhaps the warm pancakes
at the diner a city over,

but that doesn't really count.

Everything could be
as it is meant to be, though,

our hearts may feel otherwise.

Rip me to shreds

Blood and flesh

Nothing left

Being Your Own God

Prayer

I pray
but I do not pray
to the God of Abraham,
to the God of Christ,
to the God of Mohammed.

    I do not pray to Gaia,
    I do not pray to Buddha,
    I do not pray to Vishnu.
But I do pray.

I pray so that my thoughts
can find their way into the world.
I pray so that my intentions
can be known.
I pray so that I feel a measure
of comfort and relief.

I pray in private.
I pray silently.
I pray when no one
would imagine me doing so.
I pray as I walk
before I break into a run.

I pray to keep those I love
in good fortune.
I pray for strength.
I pray so I may make
the right choices
and learn from my missteps.

I pray so my tears can find their way,
I pray so I may smile when I am happy.

I pray for you, though, you may have
never asked me to do so.

I pray because I have no faith,
I pray because my faith envelopes
the whole of the world.

I pray so I can enable creation
and be at peace when
the world is rearranged.

I pray before I drive,
I pray to be more whole.

I pray because I do not have to.
I pray because I wish to do so.

I pray because I wish to give thanks.

I pray because I continue to be.

The Agenda

I must live so fully that it will be
unnecessary for me to be a ghost
haunting the living world.
I wish to spend my afterlife traveling
the realms of spirits and gods
without restraint or hesitation
to experience that which
my living flesh has been denied.
I will live as an eternal explorer
for all time after my mortal time
has expired like a carton of milk.
My remains will be nothing more
than a decaying curiosity
that has ceased to be of any use.
My spirit will be neither gas
nor mineral, ephemeral and eternal.
I will close my eyes and feel
the infinite fibers tether my being
and illuminate my vision
into a truly cosmic scale
as infinity weaves herself
into me and I into her,
and become as I have
always been meant to be.

Tenant of the Attic

My mind rattles in it's cage
and I grow alarmed

We get along beautifully
most days but

from time to time
it begins to worry

so I begin to worry
I tell it to

hold on
that this will pass

It always does
no matter what it is

Worries of one kind or
another always hang around

like the misfit in the back
corner of a classroom

Mind-
promise me

we'll always make up
after a fight

and forgive each other
for our shortcomings

Im/possible

I am impossible
but was made possible
by two people
who saw fit 
to bring me here.

I am impossible
but continue to be
on a daily basis
until impossibility
gives to inevitability.

I am impossible
but statistically speaking
I was bound to happen
because even the faintest
possibility is possible.

I am impossible
but I sometimes forget
how I defy the odds-
then I remember
and continue

to be possible.

A Day Like This

I cannot will my mind to nothingness
on a day
such as this-

sitting at my desk
the ambient sounds
of birds in trees
while a plane
flies overhead.

I cannot decipher the language
being chirped
because it is not for me to know.

Stillness cannot be bought
only attained
in measured doses
with much effort.

Even then
there is no guarantee
of finding that elusive
state of being.

My mind fills with thoughts
of worry and
needs to be filled.

Unease is an easy thing to find.

My worries are temporary
stops that are given too much weight.

If I could speak to you directly
I do not know what words I would have
for you.

              Do you have words for me?

If either of us have any questions
let us raise our hands now
and call on each other in the order
our hands went up.

On Being

Be present in the present.

The Past and Future Lives of Ghosts

Am I ready to go back?
I ask myself this question from time to time
as I remember
the pains of my bodies as I aged,
as woman and man,
as baby, child, and adolescent.
My heart and mind suffered
the changing times,
the constancy of our fallibility.
To be freed of corporeal restraints,
such joy! My lives have become
a continuous film with moments
of intermission as I drift
in the bliss of renewal.
There is a bit of sadness as
short-sighted perspectives rule,
it will not always be so,
though it may seem that way.
I cannot wait for my moment
to return, to feel the touch of a world
ready to be changed once more.

I, the Vessel

My soul is a shiftless creature
tanning its skin on my lawn.

It dreams of cloud kingdoms
and the succession of royalty-

wonders what name it would take
 if it ascended to power.

My soul comes home
when I have gone to bed.

It doesn't say much
when it comes home late.

It likes to leave early in the morning
before I have gotten out of bed.

I have told it to look for a job
but it scoffs at the idea.

A Soul? With a job?
Such a ludicrous thought.

We love each other
but can often be at odds.

When I walk through the forest,
light streaking between branches,

we marvel at our fortune,
the privilege of being.