a perfect
superstorm
it is called..
rare hurricane
tides and arctic cold..
converging
constrictions to life..
anger  and blame
coloring
bitter divisions of
political discourse..
meeting 2012 expectations
some say..
environmental neglect
say others..
are these dark layers
superficial
life on edge
masking new birth...?

separating and falling
these autumn days
colors and death
returning
to blackness
and new burst
of creation

names aplenty
we wear believing
they are more than
labels in time..
these are attachments
to our embodied "I"
which become our
identity in this
moment and the next..
a vast multiplicity
of names we claim
dawn til dark til dawn..
suffering reigns until
our real "I"
the limitless one
stands and reveals
Itself...

When in a lifetime
nights lengthen and
the world with us
seems more insistent..
Bad news mixes with good
as it seems now
and as we notice
ever before in memory..
I write these words
after hearing at lunchtime
her new intent
to simply let go..
Perhaps to experience
a real Self abiding
unblemished and shining
carrying the message of
happiness and peace...

it seems to
boil down to
this simplicity:
life is a cluster of
appearances and that
in which appearances
appear..
the larger question
seems to be
whether a question
ever arises as to
these appearances:
do they stand alone
or in what medium
do they appear..
Recognizing
the cluster..is this our
Only purpose...?

For our children..
our creations
need an empty space
that they alone might grow..
our light then
must be withdrawn
Yet also remain..
this paradox of light
and of Life...

Vitality
A breath of air
in one cycle
inhale cleans
as exhale soils..
rising and falling
oxygen creates..
An alchemical shift:
Air to light
Light and color
now fulfill  our
breathing anew..
Imagining
the branching light
filling lungs
reaching each cell
bathing a Self
in healing light...

Listening

Shapes but does not
Add or subtract from
Our Self..
Allowing the shaping
Is listening..which is lost
When expectation overrules...

landing softly
on every-thing
solid or thought
soon lifting off
winging as wave
touching higher
dimension..
glimpsing now
a new home
in Wholeness…

returning
to the place..
to remembered beds
and nourishing breakfasts..
home of
our growing years..
this one nestled
in imponderable
Animas mountains..
these reflections
of an autumn retreat
now daily receding
into November bleak..

a white bench
vantage by streamside
afforded absorption of
the stream's flickering lights..
and later reflected
by a ridgeline full moon
decorating the dining..
life friends together
celebration and renewal
of many good years..

a white bench
also gathered reflections
from distant heights
where nighttime chills
painted evergreen and aspen
setting lanterns aglow..
the glow casting shadows
on the valley's red cliffs
those red markers of our
formative days..

a white bench
now gathered the sounds..
an old train's
whistled announcements
evening and morning..
a reminder of time
enclosed in this
valley of stillness
which we were favored
knowing once more..

a white bench
gathered the guests
from distances afar..
their life glows
and shadows
in conversations revealed..
overlaying past
with present..
end and beginning..
Logwood
we returned...

movie and screen
we use this metaphor
to immediately grasp
the love and grace
in which we all
experience our
lives and being..
and more:
we recognize
we are made of
the infinite substance
shining as the screen
here and now
to immediately grasp...

her warning unheeded
he strayed and departed..
she built a life
cycles with helmet
opening to strangers
love and light..
her daughters' paths
one home attached
the other on border..
union with splits
this prodigal fractal
creation's repeatings...

a foreboding
photograph
startles to memory
our war's beginning..
this named entanglement
darkened and dampened
the frivolity
the expected brevity
of our war with ourselves..
a blood soaked becoming
of machinery and death..

the foreground a
cannon on wheels
replicated in the distance
and we assume
again and again..
these engines of conflict
dominate a distant
'tho insistent background..
the sun's
fiery reflection on
an expectant treeline..
coupled with sky
turbulent and echoing
the cannon's
forthright entrance
with purpose unmasked..

this our battle of
separation for reunion
a Manassas pattern
oft repeated through
all of these
our rebirthing years..
flanking and horses
surprise encircling
a wall of stone..
agony and sorrow
the fever of war..
all to reframe
then to restate
our collective.. sacred
I Am...

The new year
Invites our focus
on mystery time..
Our awareness of
that line of moments
from our deep past
to future unknown..
Daunting it seems
this endless march..
Until we encounter:
This moment which
hides and holds
wind and fire
line and march
Entire…

as in
the white margins here
framing this page
these are reminders
that the words and images
do not appear alone..
embedded they are
in that which is
not color or form..
these margins go
unnoticed
until they are noticed
bringing an unexpected
bit of Joy...!

Mary sleeps soundly
and a dream arises..
Mary resides in Denver
dreams she is Martha
walking on Tejon Street
in Colorado Springs..
Mary's infinite Mind
her deep sleep
seems now split
into the mind of Martha
and Martha's seeing of
Acacia Park and stores
restaurants and streets..
Mary's sleep veiled
her infinite Being
to become Martha
enjoying the sights
in Colorado Springs..
But Martha's joys
turn out to be
fleeting as she
finds a parking ticket
dashing her pleasures..
And she soon wishes
to find again
the happiness she
seemed so recently
to know..
Martha's experience
like our own
is to discover
sooner or later
the truth surprise:
Mary is Martha