Sun hidden
subdued clouded
rays on this
June day..
Scaling of light
we respond
our internal scales
mirroring..
downcast some are
What matters though
are relational things
darkened contrasts..
A Wakened
relational spirit
may bring reward:
yesterday Sun...

of our poem..
intent is first
then a clearing
a sweeping for
quiet space..
now the paradox:
quiet is marked
made darker
finding room
for the verses
to come..
quiet returns
voiding yet joining..
female and male
twilight and dawn
and our poem
is conceived...

More than a mystery of nature
these severe compressions show us
the extremes of the seeming separate self
of the ego triumphant..
Not separate though but as we
embedded in consciousness whole..
The black hole waiting for evaporation
and  new awakening
as a wave in the ocean
as we in our longing
find Real composition...

Named iterations..branches from Roots..
our sensing IS iteration..this truth lies
in the similarities we find and find again..
The similarity of branches speaks of Root
and indeed are joyfully Root joined..
So for similarity..now for difference
the creation also iterates as difference..
branching everything new..beauty
and energy..independent and free..
Displays of colors..yet a forgetting brings
  up-rootedness casting life shadows..
Awaiting finally a Root awakening...!

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…

Pray she insists
with eyes wide open
open to perceive
the world as it seems..
The suffering and joy
out there
reflecting what we are
within.. an apparent
separate self in
resplendent display
cannot hide and with
compassion and grace
transforms in a moment
self becomes Self...

Life lived in content
without noticing that which
contains the content..
So..it has always been..
Yet..many teachings lament
that our un-noticing
brings our suffering..
And..makes mysterious
our own name..
We seem anchored
in content with its
enjoyment and pain..
What can we notice
in the white border
of this page...?

there are words
beyond understanding
and those
closeby with meaning..
then there are others
standing between..
these enable our lives
invite searches
promise possibilities
of everywhere finding
a connecting light..

these connections are
overlooked often
found on borders
on our paths
unassuming..
but when gone
all disappears..
simplest perhaps
a connecting 'and'
a lighted circuit
showing anew
both this and that...

Astoundingly
In our time
Observation
Is really creation..
That which seems
Found out there
Reflects as mirror
The creation
Of one observing..
This whole matrix
Imagine enwrapping
And filling
Each and all..
Our work
This evening
To awaken
To the mirror's
Fearful message...

Scientists with
peering satellite deep
finds startling news..
If Genesis to us
means Big Bang
just that once
we need pause
and prepare..
satellite finds Cycles
circular patterns
movement sublime
a Story before:
chaos to order to
chaos once more..
Now a vision
Genesis beginnings
in timeless eons
in time's seasons
beauty not ceasing...

Time distorts
the reality of things..
One direction it claims
a forward path
as the only path..
But then perceiving
with eternal sense
time is illusion when
standing alone..
A new sense
reveals time's twin
brings symmetry with
new found peace..
Reality reveals as
layer upon layer
canvas upon canvas
awaiting the last
brushstroke to
perceive the All...

his glassworks
of enflaming color
do not display as
central balance..
vertical symmetry
reserved for more
sturdy times..
we might ask
is truth best told
as slant
Emily so in-formed..
the creation we muse
is always slant
slant color shading light..
for without color
beauty fades...

we watch a stream
encountering its banks
or the progress of
mowing of grass..
and feel the interacting
one side and its other
the stream with the bank
the bank with the stream
mowing and grass
separations joining
until watching tires
bows and dissolves
to Awareness
which Knows only
itself...

golden setting sun
converging telephone wires
point to golden end
and gathering darkness
unnoticed small bird
high on pole
a sole witness
tech and nature
pointing...

Self-ie

Photos in reverse with

Appearances of self..

Breaking the silence of

A blank lens..and

With our writing

Breaking the silence of

A blank page..

Haste might be projected

Or anger or concern

Seeming what we are..

Yet..Silence stands

Appearing as selfie

Awaiting recognition...

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…

doors of perception
when cleansed will reveal
our true nature..
this is the sage advice
of a statured voice..

the cleansing
clears away beliefs
which have imprisoned
for so very long..
beliefs of locations
and of timespans
which have locked
the doors of access to
our infinite blue sky..

freedom awaits
as in hasty fashion
we release the hold
of stifling beliefs
and sink into the blue..
then from the viewpoint
of an infinite self
we understand that
the doors were never
closed...

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...

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…

both of them
joined
these we are
Both very good..
we build houses
write letters
extend the race
and many other
miraculous moves
These joined thrive..
Yet we learn
ego is both
power and less
always in need
of a good Eye..
And we learn
of self-less light
a present grace
in that Eye..

Center of all our experience..this we know..but
looms a question..when time appears in its solitude..
lone standing..independence declared..it also echoes of
separation..suffering..of a brevity with loneliness tinged..
and hope departing..we ask and wait for something
unknown..clocks persist ticking on and on..gloom directs
sitting on a storied park bench..then lo an inkling..time is
not found in this experience while sitting..mind rebels
at this most outrageous inkling and shouts fraud..but
the inkling is a message with eternal dressing..and
a primordial center our experience Now claims...

as writing poetry..
of surprise
of beauty
of pattern
of symmetry
of unity..
these may be
the true Joy...

CharlesC*

*"I wouldn't bother to start a poem if I already knew the ending.
The pen is not just a recording device; it can also be an
instrument of discovery."

—Billy Collins

See Spot Run..
This icon of our education
yes..of youth..but continuing..
The question might be asked:
Was our education ever other
than variations of Spot running..?
Sophistication arrived but
the strong belief of separation:
Spot..and ****..and Jane
remains.. seemingly implanted
unquestioned and permanently
in what we call our world..
Through the years
some have found discomfort
a hole at the center of
Spot's adventures..
A vague unsettling
blossoming on some days
to sharp fragmentary pain..
In our many searchings
for restoration and  fulfillment
might we in some momentary
clarity..see Spot not running
but dissolving into
the light of day...

A vital connection
remains at ready..
We have cleared the brush
before
once or more
but brambles return
clouding our vision
erecting prison bars..
So press the button
for clarity's return
for exile relieved
for grace revealed..

toward real Life..
Observe the rising of
thoughts and perceptions..
Don't allow these
to claim your identity..
Be the observer
which you always are
removed from objects
and clever subtleties..
Experience the freedom
when you take that step..
You are ready now to:
think and not think
perceive and not perceive
act and not act...

in the Rye
where much is
phony..
All the externals
those shells
postures and lies..
The darkness
covered life force..
Dialogue suffers
the desire lost
to honor difference
then to discover
common elevation..
Phony inside
knows phony outside
as with good..
Perspective reigns
Shades inside
shade outside..
This is pain
perhaps birthpain
a new adam
with new
composition...

rain falling this morning..
walking away in the rain
a hemingway ending..
the rain encloses walking
seeming quiet resignation..
love found but now lost
the mind stretches
finding elementary comfort
in sheets of dark wetness
the rain..
yet is the rain hiding
the closeness of Love..
and is the mind sensing
but not understanding
this closeness in rain...

considering those
seasonal messages:
words are presented
formed to tell
a long-ago-story of
divine dissatisfaction
with creation's shadows..
a unique birth ensues
purposing correction and
eventual salvation..
belief in this tale
grounded a religion
which has left many
temporarily filled..yet
searching for more..
others step back
and know anew
the possibility of
experiencing their own
joyful presence
through a reminder
by a story..now
filled with grace...

she uses this
formula
her silent retreats..
sitting seems upper
writing lower..
walking connects
feet to earth
spine to sky
finding movement..
hand and pen
in motion
word flow
reflecting...

In this place which
is not a place..
Our Awareness is aware
of itself..
With the inhale
sense the oneness
this transparent
high vibratory glow..
No objects attending
just Awareness aware
of itself.
Then the exhale
returns the object world
transformed in Now..
We project those objects
and find them immersed
in our lingering glow
with exclamation:
delicious..!
beautiful..!

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...

A quick storm it was
followed by these
inadequate words..
Thunder and bits of hail
splashes on roof and roadway..
Then soon enough
birds chirping celebrated
a welcome sunlight return..
Remembering the cast shadows
temporary covering of light
an appearance of separation..
Perhaps the birds recognized:
there was no absence
only this short
burst of sunlight...

These words spark memories
of history classes and teachers
words which allude to
ego and separation
in our collective lifetime..
Those many events:
British offensive acts
Stamps and Tea
Intolerable!
Lexington and Concord
Bunker Hill
Jefferson's Declaration..
These are all vibrations
living now in our
momentary Awareness..
Another Eden experience
expressing colorful duality..
Rebellion and Independence
shining when known
as Awareness alone...!

is our home place..
we need to know
this place is
not a place
it is the still
before and during
and after the storm..
the storm then stands
but does not know
its winds and furies
are really made of
our Abidance in
the still...

Happy New Year...!!

He Is Just So Weird she said
young women after greetings exchanged
this comment not intended for my hearing..
A voiced contribution to world conversations
taking place in that moment..
A voice it seems from a separate self
reaching for common experience
on a level where difference reigns..
Then another encounter
he said Who Cares? his response to
an inaccurate greeting of Good Morning
as our watches recorded PM..
Thus chronos time took a rap
in a culture where chronos reigns..
We might wonder at the messages of
many other conversations occurring Now
on Thanksgiving paths...

Happy Thanksgiving to all...!

a flow
of many forks
one river source
end in beginning
beginning in end
wholeness transcends..
the river much more
with similar forks
reflecting the source..
this river story
perhaps it's location
unclear:  out there
or in here..?
if no answer
a True Story...

The immersion we feel
Stillness seems so rare..
Meditation leads us to
Those places of nature
Wind and birds setting
Such are deemed pleasant..
Returning then to
The traffic
The leaf blowers..
Might we then
Realize all ripples
as Noise
Looking for the
Common disturbance
of Stillness...?