there’s a sycamore in the morning light
one side is all pale yellow white
the opposite fades from slate blue
to envy green
roots to tip a perfect gradient
blue to green as the reflections shift
from sky to leaves
and the leaves
the leaves are caught up in it all

so willing to spill
their truths
their unreciprocated stories soar
echoing aimless into the
empty air

The world tips
Tilts
Then unwinds

I gaze
But recognize nothing

Wading impenetrable waters of
Inkless impressions

We watched moments float by like snowy cotton in the spring
Quietly passing sweetly sifting through the winds of time to settle on the floors of our souls
On that soul floor we began to ***** structures--
Buildings of belief and behavior and style and security
Only to watch them shake then tumble
from hurricanes and tsunamis of life and circumstance
I think many of us struggled alone for a while against the weather of time,
afraid to expose how little we knew


But Eventually we began to speak to one another
We began to poke little timid invitations to conversations and relationships
and we began to discover
That everyone's structures were tumbling in different ways

We came to know each other
in the shared vulnerability of the unknown

Those were the days when
instead of tirelessly piling on bricks we knew would fall
We gathered around a bonfire on that lovely soul floor
and we found community and connection
And we left what was heavy behind

Grounded in our view of the fiery stars above us
and the coolness of the earth below
We danced together through uncontrollable laughter
And we let our eyes drift out of focus
to see the beauty in the shape of things
As night drew on we huddled close against the fear and cold
of the coming season unknown
And then at dawn we watched the sun rise with meditative minds
And when it rained we donned bare feet
and splashed the puddles
and then we tangled our fingertips in the rainbows and
Tasted the droplets on our tongues and sleeves

Through this time we learned to question the very ground beneath our feet
And the air in which we breath
We began to learn how to surrender the moments
to the ever shifting winds of time
We asked hard questions
Ones we didn't know the answers to
And still don't
And maybe never will

These are more than experiences and memories
They are our identity now
They watered the soul ground on which
Instead of building structures again we began to plant gardens

I go into this next season with my soul garden
in which each of you planted a seed
Thank you. endlessly.

I yearn to exist in a space where the stars all but blaze
Where “stars” aren’t celebrities their plaster faces plastered
on magazine covers lining the shopping aisles
But where they bask in the night sky unpolluted
And exist radiantly

Where the culture ceases to revolve around
the newest latest fashion or video
And instead revolves around the ripening of figs
And the blooming of chrysanthemums
And the migrations of the swallows
Where we look like awestruck children
to those unpolluted stars above us
and this great earth around us
to tell the time and pass the seasons,
Living then in harmony with the revolution of the very soil and air
from which our life flows
It’s easy to forget

I crave an environment
that does not depend upon phone screens
Where my peers and myself do not walk through life
in an addicted daze
Unaware of the haze that descends as an effect
of such technological dependence
We are walking around with our eyes unconsciously searching
for the stimulus that society constantly feeds us
We are tripping over ourselves just trying to keep up
These electronic signals flashing upon thin panels of glass
And This is what we call Living

The dopamine flooding our brains
when that text vibration brings our popularity to attention
Capturing our attention holding it captive
We are prisoners of our own purchases
Stepping into voluntary chains
Producing our wrists for shackles
Rusting our humanity away enchained
in a web of unsocial media and notifications
We neglect to make space for our own existence
Disconnecting from our own physical experience
We don't even feel our fingers typing and swiping
Hoarding gluttonous over likes and comments and click bait headlines
Consumed by our own consummation  
We never have any silence

I yearn to exist in a space where our eyes like stars all but blaze
Awake with acute awareness of the present moment
Where we break shackles and push comfort zones
Basking in the raw beauty of an exuberant life we are conscious to experience
I yearn to exist together as radiant as the stars in the vastest galaxy

I want to believe
Maybe
Can I persuade you
Perhaps
Someday

a better blue Sky will hold our love

"Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darueber muss man schweigen."

Young, we understand
the world, but not ourselves.
Old, we understand
ourselves, but not the world.
Between falls the mysterious
and baffling substance
of our lives. Confusion
marks any real life
of consciousness.
Certainty is the lie
we believe in to smooth
the transition. Death
is the period that punctuates
the end of our sentence,
when we finally know
what we really know
in silence.