How Can We Change

The great experiment of capitalism has borne witness to many spectacular events, capabilities, and “achievements”; a scale of mass change without precedent.

Lost Until Found

What is it that calls to you, that calls to you from within your being?  What demands your attention so fiercely that you go to all lengths to avoid it?  What speaks so softly, so swiftly to your soul that just listening brings you to your edge and your eyes begin to weep?  This is where you should put your days efforts.  This is your soulcraft!

An Antidote for the Burdened Heart

Nature has;  Her very Essence is the antidote for that sort of dull burden that accompanies the mind when it is preoccupied with the artificial in its attempt to resist the mundane.                 Tintern Abbey Though absent long, These forms of beauty have not been to me, As is…

Extraordinary Clarity

I came to know my father better in his death than I had in life.  Sad though I am  His Voice still now like the fog wrapped around the pine at the side of the house.  His body a constant spring of mouse trap pains -no more His love of life bigger than this world…

The Open Window

The Open Window I see curtains blow over the bed; A white silky marionette stage.  In through the window my dreams danced And I followed them to this place  Where breeze and composure join at the hip And imagination beams back to the sun. 

In Flow 

An exploration and reflection on presence, suffering, and states of attachment; through the lenses of words and photograph.

An End A Beginning- A Beginning an End

Thirty-one years ago today I took up the practice of sobriety. A road that continually empties and refills from Grace. All of which seems to work best when I interfere the least.

Hiding and Seeking

The stranger within my body A binding tether to the complication That is the burden of pursued happiness  Contrived knitting; a self inflicted design When the truth is simple; The way out is through  And Joy unleashed percolates   Like yellow shadowed rain drops  On the pond encircled by steady daffodils.   

Early Spring?

 The wind knocks the white dogwood petals to the ground The way an old-school nun would rap the knuckles of a small school-boy The blooms a month early – frosted pre-dawn light This moment neither feeds narrative nor puts it asunder.  No Blame is held up as sacrament at Any or All.  There is just…