(“Corpus Callosum”, 2017, original encaustic)
Reverse Osmosis of Life
It’s a two way street
The way reality exists
Divided into truth on one side
And illusion’s delusions the other,
And yet the most fascinating aspect
Is the membrane that exists between the two
A membrane of I don’t know what,
But which I’m sure the ancients had a name for,
Which divides, insulates and yet connects
And filters through cosmic osmosis
The personal and transpersonal,
Or you could say the mortal and immortal.
Sometimes I can feel the membrane at work
Seeing it even just beyond the limits of my mind’s eye
Knowing what it’s doing
As it transpires
Because I am in fact on both sides simultaneously
At least to some degree.
Everything after all is an extension
And expression of Life,
You, me, us,
In whatever forms it finds us
From refined and subtle to coarse and gross.
The other night I dreamt of being a bridge
Not a figurative one, but literally
An object with girders and cross members
Able to span a stream or gully.
It didn’t surprise me, just intrigue me
That the creative nature of the Mind
Is what it is
And in fact, is all there is.
(8/18/25)
Categories:
callosum, life, perspective, spiritual,
Form: Narrative
(“Corpus Callosum", 2018, original encaustic)
Right Brain, Left Brain
Two halves of a whole
Complimentary opposites
Passive/active, imaginal/verbal
Figurative/literal, depressive/manic
Outside and within time
A master and his emissary
Inside us all.
Yet each of us have our own balance
Our own comfort zones
And range of tolerance.
Like a finger print
Within our brain
Leaving its subtle mark
On everything we think, say and do.
Viva the difference!
I say
While my right brain
Just watches, impassively
As thought bubbles form, drift and fade away
To an ambient soundtrack
Of invisible spheres…
(3/7/25)
Categories:
callosum, humanity, life, mystery, perspective,
Form: Narrative
("Corpus Callosum", 2018, original encaustic)
Left Brain Right Brain
The two halves of our brain
exist like opposites in our world
but as wholes within our heads.
Sometimes it seems the left -
the side of words and logic and manageable things -
disregards that there is even an other,
a side that is in fact the master
that all perceptions filter through,
a gate keeper ever watching without judgment,
a side that knows
but doesn’t say
speaking instead in gesture, music and image,
that only hint at the truth,
that takes us down
the rabbit hole
to realms unknown
yet all our own
where sequences build
and break and form
kaleidoscopic worlds are born
where wind can talk
and Sun does sing
and logic becomes a playful thing
that turns to noodles
we sell at roadside stands
eat with cop sticks
that dance to marching bands
and feed to snakes
as they hum the rhyme
of ancient mariners
now lost in time…
(first published in my second book, LITTLE PINE, 2016)
Categories:
callosum, fantasy, psychological, surreal,
Form: Free verse