First, I shall slip into sleep,
dark and deep.
Then, morning will rouse me
to life, with it's breezy,
cool breath,
the gossamer, peaceful sun-light
and your golden, eternal beauty.

Eclipse of solar source,
Shadow on the sun.
Change from shine to
Dark doesn't frighten me;
I look at the world to realize
Those are part of the same one.

There are those who pray to the moon!
Does one pray to the moon as
an orbiting rock held in place by gravity,
or does one pray to the light reflected by it?
Or, to the gravitational pull the moon exerts
on the ocean or on our hearts?
That is, does prayer of this kind happen
when the night is moonless, black, and lonely,
or not?
I would guess not.
But the question persists:
what is it that imbues the moon
with its quasi-divine qualities?
Is it merely the faith of the Seeker,
the Nightwalker, or the Primalist?
Or is it that the moon is,
essentially, a mirror
of our own light,
our own darkness,
our own loneliness and
our own divinity?
Certainly, it summons us,
on a deep, soul level,
such as it draws up water
from many fathoms bellow.
And so, it goes...

In all of this,
the questions linger,
the darkness abides,
the mystery takes hold.

The schism obscures
The sound of your voice
And our song.
Epochs of existence
Extend out and back
To a time
Before the fall.

But no vast expanse
Of distance can
Dim the light of your memory;
A sweet, shining tribute
To how we laughed and played!
Vivid images of your smile,
Your dance, your sweat, and
Your joy flicker within!

Still, an ocean of earth lies
Between this
And then and
That and when
I was with you,
In the same close space;
Us together,
Ecstatic!
Friends.

Those days of youth have
Never left my mind;
They purify my soul like a
Sacrament.
Your touch as an angel,
Once lost in my past,
But now found,
As if by accident.

You and your painful past –
You and your renewed future,
Slightly unsure of who I am…  
Let me remind you!  

Let me show you our history
In pictures of words --
And the silence between
That speaks louder --
Where you will find
My heart, wet
With the tears of my
Bitter years.    

Let me tell you again
Who I am,
Who you were,
And why we said goodbye.
But I don’t really know why, then.  
I saw you there,
As if by accident,
And I don’t know why,
Now.  

But somehow
We still understand
And believe in that
Time and that place.

Yet there is sad separation
That drowns our embrace,
Pulled apart by currents
Of life
And time,
And the distance between,
Dimming the sound of our voice…

But not our song!  
  
Still we sing,
Still we dance,
Still we play,
And still I see
Your bright smile,
In this same close space,
Within.  

I'll never leave this,
Our close space,
Where we are together,

Always friends.

Life is conceived from the marriage of love and light,
Life shines from before and behind the eyes.
It always is, was, and will always be,
It is created but is also endless, eternally.
We take part in the flow, flown, fleeting
River of time, of experience,
Of wandering and wondering why.
Wisdom turns to emotion and to confusion, to
Desperation -- our troubled trek trails by.
But never shall we forget
The essence of what makes us human:
Love. Light. Creation. Delight. Imagination;
All that which is ageless, generatively potent,
Desperately seeking, and passionately reaching
For the final expression of hope.

"Let it be red,
let it be ripe,
let it wield ruin..."

"Lick and taste the desire...for vengeance"

"The fire within, from the dragon's cradle,
lies and gives heat and pure breath, as spirit, wild.."

"Orb burned black,
Tender center attacked,
Pure blood refract,
See through pain
To the crack."

"Queeny damsel feigning need imperiled,
She whimpers sweetly, like a pixie's herald.
I spring to service, with comedic tripping,
All the while, behind that mask, her ruse is dripping."

She stands
In an empty field, facing east,
Her solitary shadow growing long.

Around her is this peaceful place, silent;
Only wind against her face,
Drifting across The plains.

Then a chill brushes past her cheek…

She feels
This presence in her spine and
She stiffens.  

It is just a current of the season,
Mingled with the late sun on her shoulder;
But the warmth and the cold sometimes conflict.  

…..The chill reminds her of his absence….  

This place is quiet, only a whisper.  

She hears
The pulse of her blood quicken,
Its course inside her thickens.  

The atmosphere shifts,
Eyes widen, as she faces the horizon.  
She is set like flint before a restless world.

Her wide blue eyes water, her heart
Pounding in strained desire.  

This steady, steeled daughter of America
Longs to cast a strong line of her love,
To the rock of her life,

Across the storming sea, so far away…
To that place of horrified warriors:
Shrieking shrapnel shreds obliterated oblivion.
The air trembles as the shock wave rips the ether,
Violently rent asunder.  
Littered remains rotting in the midst of the fury;
Good men reduced to the ragged riot of raw fear.
Gaunt, ravenous Death commands the field of battle as the machines of War rumble on, so far away….

She struggles
To join her failing courage with his
Torch-tested bravery – and to go the
Distance.  

If she could pull him out of that turbulent tide, cast him her line.
To rescue him from the gaping grasp of Danger.  
To see him home from his struggle, soothing his scars,
Calming the calamity in his ears and to steady his heart.

To make them whole again,
Together in this peaceful place.

But now the gears of history are churning
More human fodder between its wheels,
Withering wreckage in its wake.  
So many lost in that foreign land, all
Split apart at the atoms.

All fallen Adams.  Paradise lost…  
And yet, still (and silently) found, for these
Fallen defenders. As they depart,
Leaving this lost and hopeless place…

Drifting towards a distant field of
Sun-kissed wheat, now fields of lush
Green harmony in bird song,
Bees buzzing, and mild breezes.
Fertile plains stretching and
Flowing hills rolling into the azure distance
Of never ending creation,
All mingled in light,
unspoiled by the conflict of the world
Left behind.  

For there is no conflict, now,
In these currents of the season –
Between the warmth and the cold...
Brushing past her tear-dappled cheek.

Realize
that the world is old
and you are new.
But your soul is older still,
and the mysteries
you will fathom are, finally, few.
But, be present and listen...
for the air around you
carries a sacred truth,
and you will see the clues.
Go forth with eyes alert
and become one with
the wild blue.
As you wander,
as you courageously
reach,
you will discover
what is true.

I.: “A strange terrain…”  

From the deep
And desiccated
Heart
Of an immensity, daunting…
Clutched by sheer solitude
And a silence haunting,
She awakes.
In the incommensurable
Night of her desert chimera,
She peers out, trembling, into
The black void of this
Trackless Sahara.

She embarks on a desperate journey
In a soundless surround.
Within a palace of nowhere
She stumbles on, bereaved,
By crippling confusion bound.
Above, a waxen moon stares
Suspended in a luminous stance.
Below, she travels that cavernous
Wilderness, lingering in a troubled
Trance.

Searching stars, of countless cluster,
Cast a beguiling play of light.
Lurking shadows and
Lunar-glow wash,
Shape-shifting,
A ghostly white.
The diamond powder glitter,
Spread out before her dashed
And bloodied feet, make her eyes
Shimmer in false hope;
This mirage of caprice
Is complete.

Her desert is a dark season
Of the soul;
She is tormented by
A scorpion’s brood of doubt
And fear’s locust-curse control.
The blistering sun of self-contempt,
With poisoned, burning breath,
Blows sands of insecurity,
Amidst a landscape
Littered with death.
A strange terrain where
Gaunt relics
Jut out like shards
Of broken clay;
Where lowering spirits
Whisper and tempt,
While heaven’s angels delay.

In this turbulent place,
Where all fall short of grace,
Her demons she must face.

II.: “A deathly fate…”

Almost petrified from dread,
Locked in a battle within,
She hears the roar of her accusers,
The devils screaming out her sins.
Before the scorching, scraping,
Acidic assault of Hell, she senses
The slippery ***** of escape.
A specter calls to her,
With sweet and
Sultry tones,
Urging a deathly fate.

This is the final,
Baleful temptation:
The impulse to give up
And give in.
To turn her faith over to the
Fury of these fiends of
Dark desolation.
The decision weighs like a millstone,
To accept the judgment of the ******.
And, as through parched fingers,
To let her soul sift
Like burning sand.
To allow them to destroy that one,
Most precious gift --
That unalloyed beauty,
That jewel resplendent --
Her Life, the wind that
Gives her wings lift.

III.: “She fights back…”

Stripped bare and exposed to
Danger -- this vortex of distress
And focused anger -- her soul’s
Crimson sap rises to the surface,
Quickened and engaged for
Priceless purchase.
Then, a voice from inside comes as
An insurgency!
It screams desperately
And shouts with urgency!  
It tells of a mission that is not yet finished;
A calling that is not complete
And bruised fortitude to replenish.
In the presence of a
Demonic challenge,
She dedicates herself to honesty and
To undimmed belief
In her God-given quality!
She makes a firm pledge
To an unflinching embrace
Of what is.

She fights back with wits and instincts.
She does not wilt from the risks but
Rears up, steeled and retributive!

All at once, the trance is broken, and the
Sadness is shattered.
Her spirit vibrates with
Power and the devils are scattered!
She now has the courage to diagnose
What is guile and what verity.
She calls forth the medicine of the
Artist’s ardor, a guide through the
Dark night to crystal clarity.  
She will embrace life through art,
In all its pleasures and
All its tribulations!
The creator’s brush and palette will
Reveal the sinews of her subject’s
Aspirations.

In this way, her scars will heal.

IV.:  “This torrent of fertile flame…”

Her painter’s cunning is born of
Her heart’s passion and
Her body’s absolution.
With the naked canvass
Before her, she enters
Into a ferment of transfixed
Delirium,
Expectant and open to the
Daemon of inspiration.

The visions come and they roil,
As a litany of colors form her bible.
Mysterious music summons her toil
As she sways to rhythms tribal.
And lights!
And shadows…
And glancing,
Ghostly figures
Come into view.
Her ecstasy foments
In unbridled explorations
Of contour,
Layered chaos,
With juxtaposed
Shape and hue.
In that precarious moment of creativity,
She is spiked between two poles.
Shedding sparks in raw conductivity,
She loosens her grip on the controls.
Her muse liquefies
Into a river of
Scalding fecundity and
Kinetic energy, thick with
Spiritual potency!  

This torrent of fertile flame
Consumes the past, the deception,
The self-denial and the shame.
All the murky dross of doubt is purged
Until purity is all that remains.…

Pure presence,
Pure focus;
A quiet core of calm
Within the storm, surrounded by
The hurling, unruly universe.  

Finally, she arrives at a place
Out of time and space,
Beyond her desert of pain.
She is self-aware and ready
To look ahead,
Unafraid.

Look up into cool, soft water-green
leafen shapes.
Earthen grays and browns,
that with boughs reach out and surround.
These lofty arms, hands and
wooden fingers drape
the sky as a mild, wild canopy enclosure.
They impart a misty ambiance,
all silent and palpable,
offering a living stave for the avian
creatures to create their songs upon.
The forest primeval, our ancient home.
Enter and feel your core awaken,
hear your soul whisper
long forgotten secrets,
sense your skin drinking
in the moist air like a parched traveler
arising from a desert of bone and rock.
Your intuition tells the truth:
The Mother welcomes you.

Lift the rose
of your passion
into the night sky!
Within you,
her heat,
texture,
and fragrance grows.
Above you,
Heaven awaits!
Eternity is an endless
garden of such desire.
See the lights
and wonder!

The season’s haughty train
Trails behind, decadent,
Pretending.
Unrelenting trials
Have gone by and
Are now most mercifully
Ending.
The jaundiced jewel fixed
At noon's height had
Shown its light too glaring,
Its blinding core
Creating warmth too wearing.
That languorous season,
An oppressive array,
Which over-weights our shape;
We were low and bowing but
With no trace of fealty, no
Chance of escape.

Long
Have these searing hours
Draped us in a sweaty quilt.
Time like a heavy cloak,
Days like the burden of guilt.
Summer’s scorn spit out as
Stabbing taunts and a
Savage lash of indictment.
We were exposed to its unblinking,
Unforgiving regard,
Its cruel cast
Driving all to mad
Incitement.

Now, slowly…
How silently,
So kindly,
The atmosphere shifts,
Swirling the lightness
Of graceful leaves,
Blending into a lifting wave
With soft whispers of a new day.
The night clears to hear our
Secluded prayers, spoken in shade.
Sleep drifts ghostly,
Our drunken slumber, in
Chambers blackened.
But the sober morning
Welcomes us calmly,
Quietly, like a forgiving friend.

Suddenly, a gracious change brings
The soul’s cool rebirth!
The dome above us
Deepens its complexion, from
Raging red to azure mirth;
The choking white smoke,
A miasma of grim gas,
Melts away and
Yields to cheering
Hearth fires!
Sparks stirring ambient hopes
Of familial bonds.
Familiar sensations fill
The empty places with
The forgotten mists of home!

A fleeting presence draws near,
Extending an invitation to a peace
That is eternal, and
Offered forever freely:
Dreams and revelations awaken --
Recalled as a mother’s love,
Or a child’s laughter, pealing!  
This refreshing phase brings
Enchantment in thoughts of home;
The source of all our growing,
With often vexed comings and goings.
A place I left so long ago,
So far out of the
Reach of my heart, still roaming.

Sage, solemn autumn,
That itinerant interval,
Arrives
As a pilgrim, bearing simple treasures;
Tokens to trade from our past
We feared were sure sorely lost –
Nevermore to be embraced.

With this goodly turn of fate,
Many precious things
Are gladly recovered,
Given with warm hands, lifted
Up in a seasonal thanks.
With autumn spirits
Wafting up,
Swirling around our hearts,
Eternal,
To the chilled, open sky.

In the corner of my room
stands a desk,
a humble desk beside the window.
Upon the desk lies a tome,
open and inviting, that
leads me on a path I will continue.
At the lonely hours of the night,
I cross the threshold to strange
and seminal worlds,
illum'd by simple candle light.

In truth, the tome casts its own glow:
it gives me its glimmering gems of wisdom,
its waning Moonstones of inspiration
and the precious treasures
of knowledge that emerge from the
shadow!

My soul seeks these pearls of
grand vision; I seek to
enrich my view
of our whirling, protective sphere,
to unearth the subtle shades
and hidden layers of
Her verdant frontier.

From my solitary desk,
windows of crafted prose and
elaborate description open to
a world rich in
wondrous experience!
These pages are portals
of the exploration the mind, the
discovery of the heart, and a
spirit of enduring resilience.

From the pristine pages of
my beloved books rise
mountaintop vistas on
our multifaceted world,
our diverse history
and our creative power.

And the light flows to me and around
my lonely room.

"My passion,
The purest flame,
It burns on untamed…."

           All these years have passed as I look to see
           Why my soul still carries forth this inner fire.
           The question I need to answer may be
           All that my life stands for, to know I am not a liar.

"A light in the dark; it refines my heart,          
Searing the dross, of so much lost, away…."

           It started in the eyes of a child, the essential self within.
           How my heart grew with desire, in the delight of a friend.
           The impulse to embrace another, to hear her laughter sing
           Has been a guiding star in heaven, all I want my life to bring.

"But the heated steel leaves traces of harms past…"

          My hope to please her led me to a fateful day
          When my world of desire was shattered.
          In broken pieces my heart lay and
          All my hopes no longer mattered.
          She turned on me with anger and I recoiled in shame.
          So exposed was I in that terrible moment
          And everyone could see my pain.    

"Memories marked by scars and burns…"

         The scar of that day I bear with me and it won’t recede.
         My search goes on to find a way out of a jail, I must be freed.  
         Will this moment ever be reversed,
         As polar extremes can realign?
         Or will my heart forever morn the shadow of her shine.

"….As each precious and painful one takes its turn
In the fires of my passion."

The night plunges around me
like heavy water.
Cold and dark solitude overwhelms
my world, as a withering undertow
that won't let go.
But I still can see
the bright brilliance
in the air, far on high, where you live.
And I see you untethered,
dancing and flitting
among the jewels of heaven!
Your play, wonder and levity
attract me and I take hope.
I aspire to ascend above
the callous quagmire of despair,
the torrent of our tragic world,
to see your charming face!
The stars shine in your eyes and
your luminous heart
shows me the way!
With you I can rise above this
shadowy grave
to become a soul
of iridescent splendor!

I was indifferent
to the hot winds of May
As I busily made my way
Toward a higher ground;
To a quiet place where
I would stoke a slow burn --
A place to rejuvenate
In motion;
To find release and
Refine…
To beckon my strength
Return.

And there, in the midst of my striving,
I heard her draw near.

My attention arrested, enthralled;
The moment nigh with grace profound.
From that familiar hum and thump of Life:

Now…

I might be blinded by my faith in
Things unseen…
I may be short-sighted in my
Ever-present need,
But I swear I saw you smile at me
And your look lingered
Illicitly.

Her golden face, her glance, her grace,
Her stride reached inside of me.
My breath was caught dead, my mind
Rapt in expectation of a spirit that seems
Ancient. I received her gift with urgent longing.

Oh, what a moment to be touched from within!
Time stood frozen, suspended on the point of a needle,
And all things were held in the grip of a gaze,
Seized by her angelic brilliance.

Now…

I am undone by the
Sign and wonder
Of this woman.
How her form and fire
Captivates and beguiles,
Bewitched in desire.
Raptured in sheer mesmeric
Separation
From that quiet place of self.

And I was taken away on a hot wind in May.
She lit a slow burn that rises.

A glance, a gaze and a gift
Surprises.

Her smile…

Seek your inner-power;
focus your mind.
Immerse yourself in the sublime
quiet that hides in the moment.
Align your breathing
with your heart’s beating.
Settle the motion of thought
into the center, your core,
the seat of your soul.
Let time drift...
let go of each phenomenon that may
impinge upon the journey within —
you will become only
your breath and
the beat and
the quiet murmur
of your heart’s longing...

You must come to realize,
One day in your life,
That when your heart expires
Your soul will end its strife.
You cannot go on in her absence,
You have constant need of her heat.
So, to live your life in full, learn that
Your heart, alone, will make you complete.

There are two gates to Heaven.
One is through the gate
of your own death.
The second is your own heart.
Death is for you
alone.
Your heart, however, is for the world
entire.
The question is
will you open that gate,
while you live?

It is when you decide to leave the shoreline behind and set out upon the waves and the wild deep...that is the moment when your spark shines and your path ascends. From this start, the spirit seeks her destiny. So, find the path less taken; travel amidst your fears and take heart; see with eyes wider and soul wilder...the mountain peak looms, there! Be the fire fed by its lofty air.

Light to light,
Lantern-lit sight,
Whispering secrets and taking delight!

A humble home hides a girl,
In a forest-enclosed world,
But all within has a mirthy glow,
As murky gloom descends below.

She brims, in her silent room,
With sparkling glee,
For no mere shadows
Can dim her sweet fancy.
For see: she has Elven friends aplenty!
And she has fairy fire!
"It is not time for sleep!" says she,
For unbounded wonder is her desire.

The fay guests weave enticing tales
Of mythical adventure,
While she sprinkles them with queries.
Their voices twirl like incense fume,
Weaving spectral theories.

For hours on end, all through the night,
She coaxes a high reverie,
Until at last she drifts asleep,
As moon beams caress her, heavenly.

What does she seek there in the dark?
Something whispers to her from that shadowy ark!
Murmurings as gossamer thread spin their tale.
She rises from her bed, as if coaxed by nightingale.
The mystery and the moonlight weave a dream
she cannot seem to flee.
The ponderous old chest disturbed her sleep,
so, she kindles candle flame to illuminate the key.
Outside her window, the moaning wind blows.
The ancient house utters unsettling creaks
and mournful groans!
All her courage is summoned for a search in
the pitch-black room.
Will her discovery bode well or prefigure the tomb?
The dimly cast light, the howling wind, the
enigmatic gossamer voice within...

Sometimes,
it is art that reminds us of ecstatic love.
Indeed, sometimes art is found
in each other, and in ourselves:
in the way we laugh, how we heal,
how we create joy and
prove our tenacious courage.
Sometimes, it is we who transmit
the beauty into the world.
Be the beauty you seek -
Make art of your inner light --
And you will find love's embrace.

Invisible and silent.
All from nothing.
A "being" that dwarfs a giant
but is never aging.
Original essence,
primordial mind,
but eternally absent, one
we can never find.
For we cannot see nor can we hear
that which we believe
is objectively clear --
the timeless mystery,
the source and summation
of all that is.
Indeed,
why do we call this “no thing”
by the name of “God”?
From the fathomless
silence, why must we
seek a disembodied sound?
We imagine it "up there"
but it is nowhere
to be found.
Still, we cling to it,
like frightened children,
for we are afraid to be alone;
we are afraid to lose ourselves,
our reason to be, and for
all our sins we must atone.
Alas, even though it is
invisible and silent
it still drives us on,
almost to sheer madness
and beyond.
But in the deepening darkness,
what sound do we hear?
What else is there,
when the chips are down,
but our
blood and
our breath
to battle the fear?
In our bitter doubt,
will we ever find the courage?
At the end of the day,
should we follow,
desperate and scared,
or should we lead?
If God is not there,
how then is it revealed?
If God is quiet, how
will the story be told?
The answer is
with us.
We must speak, act and be bold!
When there is blind indifference
where a vision of justice should be,
we must raise our eyes and see!
When there is a hopeless hand
reaching out for salvation,
we must grasp the moment,
to rise above our station!
When there is a lapse
in the light we must
become the shine lost.
So we must do that which needs to be done:
Love, listen, cry, feel, fight, lift, hold, give, and serve,
whatever the cost.
Why do we seek the dead among the living?
Why do we bow to nothing
when we should stand for something?
God is not there...
But we are here!
We are God in the world!
This is the only God there is.
Truly, we must do this or
God within us will depart.
If we do not, God will dissolve
from our heart.
If this last faith fails then
God, our light, will die.
And there will be nothing left,
save the silence...not you
nor I.

I live in a world of rapidly diminishing returns,
Seeing the days grown short.
Looking out to the horizon,
A shadow rises against the backdrop.

Pulling my coat against the chill,
I shudder as my weary eyes water.
Another day grinding
To a halt, times of laughter
For which I cannot barter.

I walk a lonely path, my feet echoing
Foot falls on the firmament.
I drag the load-stone of a troubled past
Made permanent.
I struggle to keep up, to push forward
The leaden weight of existence.
All around me is dead air,
A dull roar,
And my quiet, hard acceptance.

My life in the blackened breach,
With hope just out of reach,
And all my defenses engaged.
Sculpting the weight, and act to create
A monolith of defiance,
On this mortal stage.

But the elements scorn and
Reject my weakened will.
I've become averse to the sound
Of my own heart.
When will it be still?

In my desperation, my restless mind drifts:

I feel like I am lost in a forest of petrified bereaved.
The face of sorrow chiseled on everything God has conceived.
Branching up with life ended long ago.
Of those rooted to the ground, the posture of exaltation is
Twisted and gnarled, stunted and calcified.
All here are defeated,
All denied.
These vanquished stand upon an ashen earth,
At the foot of a heaving mountain of fire.
It dominates the landscape, thundering and quaking,
Churning with molten mire.
The power beheld is hollowed and hellish,
A betrayer of my heart's desire.
Devoid of fertility, it sends its toxic waste
Spewing toward the lurid sun,
Its fume chokes my parched throat;
On my knees, I feel my life is run.
The mountain is a false god, lying.
It receives my agonized worship,
From a soul whose prayer is dying...

I want to wander astray,
To leave this wreckage and flee;
Slipping through the wire, undetected.
I would spend a day
Far away from the war flags
And scorched battlements --
And the smell of death,
Deflected.

If only I could face down
The demonic mountain of fire
With a renewed heart of passion!
To recreate the charred landscape
In the image of my life
Reawakened.

I must try
To utter a new song
Of exaltation,
From a love that is triumphant!
A sound soaring up toward
The warming sun,
A new day expectant!

The sculpted monolith will finally
Be raised, completed...
A graven icon of my spirit, undefeated.

Who needs a Bible?
Who needs a building?
"Some day son, all this will be yours!"
Wait, strike that. It already is!
Just, don't forget it and don't ignore,
how this is all yours;
this is your earth, as long as you can
accept the gift bestowed.
So, be thou meek,
seek thou peace,
praise your joy,
lift your everlasting soul!
This is ours to love and care for.
Do you really need any more?

You are soft, secret, sufficient, and secure.
You are silent now but inside gather words --
Your soul is bubbling, fizzing, foaming and
Swirling with words:
Thoughts, songs, prayers, poems, shouts, and
Affirmations constantly churn!
From all this riot, rhyme and reflection,
Comes deep understanding --
You know what is good, what is true.
You know how to speak to the heavens and
To your own heart. Alas, what really
Separates the two?
All this beauty, strength, and poise centered
In the quiet of your serene shrine.
You are warm, you are loving, you are funny,
You are fine!
Be yourself and tell us your truth,
For your silence barely conceals what your beauty
Offers freely as proof.

We are part earth,
part ethereal,
Spirit and blood infused.
Particles, points and waves
Entwine
and collide,
with energy imbued.
We are realized in
the sum and singularity
Of all that is.
There is no separation
between
The colossus
and the microscopic.
All of us are just variations
of an eternal theme.
We are material expressions of
a spiritual dream.
The dream of love,
the cause of hope,
the heart of God.

"Sometimes, late at night, sleep comes not to the weary.
Some rooms will not stay silent.
Some houses stalk their inhabitants with ghastly intent…"
**************
My travels in Eastern Europe had brought me to a strange place, located in the dominion of Romania. I sojourned to a destination about 13 miles to the North of the city of Timisoara, where I found the sprawling expanse of an ancient castle, once used by Stephen the Great of Moldavia (1457 – 1504). It was literary pursuits that lead me to such out-of-the-way stops, as I conducted my research. By day, this gilded station offered many fascinating discoveries: a grand library filled with treasured tomes of old; an enchanting, if moribund, Ball Room where opulence once found its true expression and extravagant masquerades took place; I saw mesmerizing chandeliers and an impressive sitting room, within the Great Hall, which was home to a majestic hearth.
On the day of which the events recounted here unfolded, the hearth was enlivened by a roaring fire the caretakers built for the guests. The blazing timbers provided much needed warmth on that sodden, wispy, late-autumn day. I admired the armory and the regal Coats-of-Arms. I skulked with trepidation within the bleak and forbidding dungeons. As I explored the many rooms and passageways, it occurred to me that this was a space mysteriously ensouled with medieval history and told of a former glory, long since passed. I felt caught up in the enigmatic atmosphere as I gave in to rhapsodic ruminations of what life must have been like, in those distant times. Yet, I also encountered something more…something which disturbed my revelry, by degrees, as the day progressed.
As I opened my imagination to a divining altered by the antiquarian surroundings, I began to detect a more malevolent, yet unseen, presence. Illusive whispers wafted toward me from a distance; my trammeled vision seemed to perceive phantasmal shapes with the similitude of persons, lurking. There appeared unexpected movement, but when I looked there was nothing. It was as if the shadows in the rooms and hall ways were reaching out to me, almost clawing at my clothes. Something otherworldly was trying to convey to me that I was not alone, even as I conducted a solitary route. The startling sensations seized my lucid mind in fits; a wrinkle in reality reared up but quickly dissipated, causing me to question my reason. Had I heard someone speaking? Was someone crouching yonder, just beyond my field of sight? What made my skin crawl and the hairs stand? It was these transient but peculiar incidents that I carried with me into the evening.
The night had come, with full moon looming high. After a delicious meal, I took my evening Brandy with a book, in the reading room. I read of the history of the castle which expounded upon both the marvelous and the disturbing of its 800-year existence. The Medieval world in Romania was indeed a ****** time (i.e., in wars against the Ottoman Empire) and the castle dungeon "apparatus" were utilized to dark effect, over the centuries. I had felt a very “close” and unnerving atmosphere in that part of the castle; a palpable sadness hung in the air...and I felt there was also a latent anger that lingered. I could only imagine the tortures that were carried out there. I turned in about 10:30, with the day’s events, the rigors of my travels and the thoughts of history preoccupying my thoughts. After a while of restlessness, I drifted off, as a boat upon a mild bucolic lake. The peace, however, would be violently upended. At the late hour of 3:00am, I awoke with a start and sat up, sharply, in my bed. The cause of my upset was this: I thought I heard a voice in my room where no other voice should have been! Worse still, this voice seemed cloaked in villainy; it was harsh, guttural and brutish. It cackled and threatened from the black corners! In my panicked state, I believed that someone or something sinister was watching me! I struggled to discover a source, as I blinked furiously, looking this way and that! My sight was, in turns, elucidated and bewitched by the ethereal countenance of a moonlight-enticed obscurity. For a time, I felt utterly enslaved by the oppressive persuasion of this sudden horror, as I trembled in the semi-darkness of my esoteric enclosure. “Who is there?!” I called, into a deadening silence. My ears filled with the sound of my heart beating and belabored breathing. During those enthralled minutes, I became aware of the various occasional creaks, groans and pops that tend to emanate from old buildings in the quiet hours of nightfall. There was a drone of wind gusts outside, as well, that impinged upon my hearing. When, after a quarter of an hour had lapsed, I heard no further nefarious sounds, I began to calm myself. I decided that I may have been dreaming or mistaken a natural sound from the old castle for something unexplainable. I laid my head back down but kept a weather ear out for any odd disturbance. My restfulness began to flow, slowly, back to my soul. My heart steadied, my breathing became measured and drawn out, I thought of more pleasant things… Quiet returned to my mind. Sleep cajoled and invited me back to a relaxed state of suspended consciousness. Deeper I slipped into the lake of these languid hours…
That is when the unexplainable returned: the naked horror of the moment! The twisted evil of that VOICE in my ears! A savage FACE next to my burning skull! Boney, hairy claws on my gasping throat! A reviled breath most acidic and repellant forced its way into my fleeting, aghast sentience! I recoiled from that side of the bed and leaped away, towards the door, in the dark. I crashed to the cold floor as sweat poured from my shrieking face. I clamored upwards, clutching the handle, swinging the door open, and I stumbled out into the hall way! The scream of undiluted shock echoed through the ancient building.

All the sound I heard was white. All the light I saw was red. All the world I knew was black fear!

See. See her relax, comfortable in her own skin. See the soft flesh, sheets, lights, and shadows. See her lover in reflection and their intimacy in refraction: feel their world of togetherness; their bond is now and in every future moment, no matter where they are as individuals. The bond that will never fade. Love perpetual, touch of desire, shared spirit, shared space, a room for their oneness, with comfort, with silence, with all human warmth the world has within it.

Blend your colors,
Splash your spirit!
Strike postures
Of passion,
Step a dance, pyrrhic.

You are water, you are
Light, you will ponder,
You will fight!

Shout loudly,
Whisper softly;
Pray with intention,
Sing in melody.

Live the art of your soul,
Give part of your inner gold!
Then you will surely be celebrated
When your story is told!

Whirring engine churning and intense,
attacking and attracting, darting, roaming,
soaring and buzzing flower-flyer!
She brings stings and brilliant things,
a pirouetting pirate in creation's dance!
She stores a golden sweetness
in a web of dripping delight!
Bee brings both a savor succulent and
the stinging pain of her penetrating poison.  
But without this rose-and-thorns creature,
without this death-and-resurrection bee-ing,
We do not taste the joy of nature's nectar!
Oh, exquisite Bee, make my heart your hive!
I pray your splendid industry to penetrate
me, under the skin, to infuse my sanguine veins
with your honey-suckle life!

Morning flower, mild light,
misted and
diffuse scents drift
as kites.
Dew kissed and cool,
pale air through a
cloudy pool,
over our small patch
of earth.
The brushing grass gives
us a place to grow,
to search for
the heavens, like the rose.

You are so beautiful,
you are
nature's gift.
You are my sun,
beaming and raining
blankets of warmth,
but you also bring the mist.
The bond between us
will always endure storms
and sense shadow ghosts of
miasmic forms.
Sometimes thunder booms
and looms in the
distance while the space
between us sizzles with
white radiance.

But we plunge strong roots
and emerge from the
nurturing ground of love;
our love that will not pass
away but will
always spin and swim
in the vastness of space.
Our love
will always return
to the sun,
the warmth,
the life and spring well
of creation.

We will always grow here --
we will rise and die and rise
again --
on our little
patch of heaven.

Good morning. I am watching "La La Land" with my coffee. The film is compelling, have you seen it? Great stuff. But, no, as the film suggests, we can't let Jazz die. It's like the bees. We cannot survive a planet with no bees. That's a deal-breaker, full stop. Same with Jazz. Jazz music falls under the category of "That which our living blood cannot do without", you know? Yes, we need the meaner things of life, stuff like clothes and money ("meaner" indeed), but Jazz...that music is like the musical equivalent of great literature. Great books, great Jazz, great nights where you don't want to go to sleep, great...great world. So, let's keep that going, folks. Also, what ever happened to "Boy Meets Girl"? It seems like Girl Meets Girl and Boy Meets Boy are doing ok, but what about...you know, or maybe it's just MY Boy Meets Girl. Yup, probably that. Anyway, great movie. Great coffee too.

Emerging resurrected,
Imago-perfected
from cocooned metamorphosis.
As this change is affected,
her wings will
brilliant blossom to life!
This new soul so vulnerable,
as her wings provide
camouflage,
mimicry,
and illusivity.
If she survives,
an air-light and current-carried
creature she becomes;
wings gossamer and grand,
mariposa colors patterned and
painted pretty
by an artful faery,
imperceptible.
These slight,
feathery wing-flutters lift
it in playful hops over
her floral friends,
touching silently
in secret symbiosis with
the sweetest gifts.
The tiny currents created from such
winging forms waves of their own.
Ripples spreading out
and colliding with dandelion
seeds, silken rose pedals
and the hair on my arm.
This magnificent creature
of frailty and beauty sublime!
Could there be a more perfect
picture of divine design?

Poison ingested,
defenses engaged,
struggle to survive,
turmoil in its wake.
After all that,
I refuse to be among
the walking dead.
I will rise again.

"Good night."
I need to find the darkness...and silence...
and the vacuum of inertia.
Because if I don't,
I won't be able to sleep.
Indeed, then...
all that space,
all that distance,
all that emptiness
will consume me.
And I shall never shine
again.

The hallowed halls
are
structure,
art craft,
spiritual labor,
architectural mastery
and an arena for our inner lights.

This place exists to paint
a transcendent
vision upon the sky!
The forged canopy
of our devout industry
provides a contrived enclosure,
a fixed canvas, and
a sacred keep,
dedicated to the numinous
desires of the human heart.

And our prayers go up
with our song...
the mystic
echo-drone of eternity
reverberates around the pilgrims.
The anguished utterance
of the soul
seems to stick to our bones.
But the sound still
ascends,
flying free from the cage,
within the house of the Lord.

Our ethereal longing is as pure incense,
fragrant, sweet and heady,
before the King's heavenly
presence, all around us.