The Fragile Human Way
This is a Central Place
This is a Park of Strangers
This is a Gathering of Fragmented Ego
Seeking to express The Inexpressible
Seeking to know the Unknowable
Seeking to merge with Rivers That Flow
in a Purposeful Direction
This is the Breath given to Life
Given for Packaging, Content & Purpose
Given for Celebration, Communication, Knowledge
Given for the Attention that gives back to Itself
For the furthering of the Infinite Golden Cycle
of Knowing, of Fulfillment, of Joy
This is the Garden of Senior Flowers
a Resting Place in the Timeless Sun
a Watering Hole of Sparkling Luminous Song
Where life renews itself under the Watchful Hand
of the Amazing Avid Gardener
Separating Thorn from Fragile Sprout
The Pulling of Weeds so Love can Breathe
Attention to Details of the Tiniest Need
This is the Central Place
An evening of Life-long Celebration
The gathering of Fragmented Eyes
to form a Single Vision:
We all Find our Way
We all Taste the River of Love
We all Know the Golden Spark of Infinite Day
While we Dance, Romance, and Chance
The Fragile Human Way
The Heart with No Name
Dear Baby,
I am the Harpoon Hunter
I am the Whale that got away
I am Good Friday waiting for Bad Monday
so my Mediocre Memories of how-to-play
Get lost in the picnic frenzy of “Workahol” – the Drink of Everyday Man.
I am the Opening Door
that closes only for you
Only for the Light that sees right through
Only for Rose-colored Spectacles that Paint my world Blue
I am the Academic Scholar
that fell below his White Collar
and slid down the Shiny Breasts of Mother Maya
into the Belly Button of Nature’s Lost Fire
I am the Only One who knows My Way Home
so I journey there Alone
while dialing on my Telephone
The Crystal Number of your Name keeps coming up
(is it still the same?)
And before I fall into Melodies of Silence Insane
and become a victim of Love’s Purple Flame
There’s only One Thing that I Remain …
Yours Truly:
The Heart with no Name
The House of Breath
The House of Breath
We go out and play
we save our tear-drops for a Rainy Day
We Play
We visit Others – our Cousins, our Brothers, our Lovers, our Mothers
We live on their Doorsteps; we Stray
We save our Dances for a Sunny Day
The House of Breath
Chance, Circumstance – finds me at your door
(have I been here before?)
You seem so familiar – the Curl of your Hair
Your hot summers’ Air
Your Roaming Fingertips of Despair
I linger and Lurk: you must think me some kind of Jerk
This House of Breath
This house of Living Life and Dying Death
This House I left behind, the only thing ‘mine’
This House of Colors, Fullness, Feeling Filled, Softness, Stillness, Willing to be Thrilled
This House calls me home at the End of the Day
This House of Breath is the only Place
My heart wants to Stay.
Lost Feather ~ Crystal Silence
I was a Lost Feather,
a Man Without Cause.
Looking for Identity, Reason, Homeland, Season.
There is a Journey somewhere:
a Calling, a Knowing, a Home-coming.
A Crystallizing in Silence.
Life proceeds along “attractively”,
for most that we know. They have a car,
and a house, and a small piece of snow.
They are “busy”, these birds are busy.
These people are never seen talking to
a flower on a street-corner, or looking
into the Divine Eyes of a a baby
in a supermarket crowd.
They have points and merit-awards
and plots reserved in the cemetery,
“right by Mom & Dad”, and they have
sugar on their corn-flakes and Organic
Pet-Food for their Geriatric Cats.
I have never been “busy”.
I have avoided and deconstructed
the word, “busy”. I don’t listen to
busy signals or go to business meetings.
We are busy avoiding ourselves,
being distracted into the world of nothingness
that we think is “somethingness”.
We are the collectors of trash – the material
garbage of the world; we are the undisputed
kings of mountains of Nothingness, which we
endlessly worship as “somethingness”.
We are Lost Feathers in a Big Storm.
We are Lost Feathers clinging to Dust
that we think is “somethingness”.
We are headed towards the Hot Fire
that burns Lost Feathers
and all their Precious Dust
into ashes of an
infinitesimally fine nature.
The Big Storm and the Hot Fire
dance & play every day.
They love the sound of Feathers
going, “snap, crackle, & pop”.
This is the Opera of Life & Death.
And everything in between.
This is the Sky of Blue,
the Swing of Breath,
the Color of the Canyon Green.
The Crystal Song of Silence,
and the Moments In Between.
The Hand That Feeds Us All
Fitting in
something small
inside the Hand
that feeds us All
around the Garden
hidden stones harden
forming a Secret Wall
fountains of Flowers
forsaking the Hours
Span the Distance
between You and Eye
The knowing in-between pillars of uncertainty
pulses with rhythm of life sustained beyond
the arbitrary kingdoms of despair, loss, mortality, passage
In the Desert
a silent flower blooms,
a prayer in Quiet Rooms
a Star in the sky where Midnight Looms
Fitting in something Small,
inside the Hand
that Feeds us All …
You & I
I & You
We see Me Through
We build Skies of Blue
I & Me & You
You & Me
We see what we See
We Be, We Three
I & You & Me
You, Me & I
We Journey Thru the sky
We Try & Die & Fly
You & Me & I
I & You & Me & Us
Journey along on this Magic Bus
Don’t make much of a Nasty Fuss
I & You & Me & Us
You and I
Continue to Cry
Tears of Joy in One Eye
You & I
You & I
