There is a heartbeat under my heartbeat,
the one that was already going
before I had a body to carry it in.
I have called it wrong names.
Anxiety, when it was only aliveness.
Loneliness, when it was only spaciousness
with no one to explain itself to.
It never needed permission.
It didn't wait for me to become someone
before it started shining,
the way a window doesn't wait
for the house to be finished
to let in light.
I have spent so long trying to be smaller,
easier to hold,
and this whole time
there was something in me
that was already free
of every wall I built to contain it.
If I am honest, on my most tired night,
what I want isn't answers.
It's this, to feel that I am not separate
from the thing that made the stars
and also made the way light
moves through a glass of water at 2 a.m.
I don't think delight has to be earned.
I think it's underneath me
the way the ground is underneath me,
holding me up whether I notice it or not.
I did not arrive from nowhere.
Something is still arriving through me,
right now, as this breath, this pulse,
this quiet, stubborn light
that was never asking my permission to exist.
In dreams the interface between known
And unknown
Is as clear and simple as turning a card.
What was previously unknown
Becomes revealed,
The dream simply a series of such moments,
As the unconscious unfolds each moment.
Waking life is different,
More ambiguous as if consciousness
Is just the tip of a mountain above a sea of clouds,
So much unknown, but yet accepted as such,
A background sustaining what is
Merely personal and fleeting,
Our place in the world,
Our steps on the path we travel,
But all too often with uncertainty,
Certainly without the clarity of a dream
Unfolding with each ripe symbolic moment.
And then in life death comes,
The ultimate unknown
Revealed at last
Personal and fleeting, or
Universal and eternal…
Revealed but perhaps never grasped.
Such is the difference in dreams
And waking life,
Although both are clearly determined,
The unknown becomes the known,
And known the unknown,
In completely different way.
(8/31/26)
An event planner from birth,
he becomes annoyed to notice
what had been short-range planning
is now long-range
hoping to renew
anthropocentric intelligent investment
What sentience may his cells,
molecules,
atoms have that remains?
Now free to transverse
transform
transparent with non-other
neighbors
Looking for unconditional love
compassion
enlightenment
cooperative empowerment
With synergetic
energetic
united,
but not uniformed,
neighbors
Rematriated,
reformed
from patriarchal caste position
preservation
compulsion
Recreating a less anthropocentric view,
panentheism becomes as humanely obvious
as sacred ethos wealth
embracing organic eros health
Renewing virtues
of green ecological climates
planning a robust EarthMother democracy.
One night, I awoke remembering
the end of a dream like a movie trailer
Between shrouds of murky clouds unfolding
I saw the ancient wooden face carved on a totem
Perhaps an anonymous spokesman at death’s door
Perhaps my projection, just my reflection
or a phantom, a disturbing conundrum, I dare not say
I felt a withering mortality at my core
Yet, it contained all my living tree rings within
my years of stories, husky or thin
This shaman totem mask began to slowly speak
At first its mystical verse was somewhat oblique
Then in rich, tranquil tones, in humane inflexions
the face spoke, redolent and subliminal in my thoughts
Breathing deeply, I intuited what I was taught
Some seek refuge in still flower gardens
in stationary reflective pools of quiescence
in glistening golden altars to numina
But these material places are ever-changing
Illumination is the great revelation rearranging
of the consciousness animating all things
The busy dials of day start to fade,
As quiet heals the choices we’ve made.
We breathe ourselves into a stillness deep,
Where our heavy thoughts are now asleep.
The universe rings out a hidden chord,
A tapestry where silent truths are poured.
Through layers of the world we rarely see,
There lives a vast and shining mystery.
A person stands, a welcoming doorway,
To catch a whisper from far, far away.
Two distant spheres of life will meet,
And elusive currents turn discrete.
Great concepts turn to language and to art,
As ancient magic speaks to every heart.
Our fragile hands and voices meet the call,
To bring a healing comfort to all.
Yet if this doorway spans the stars above,
Or winds through human thoughts of hope and love,
The truth behind the magic stays concealed—
To doubt or to believe, your choice is sealed.
When the world is devoid of dharma, He begins from within us.
His Will arises to inspire us to do more of what is just.
When I am lost, His blessings guide me to do what I must.
I looked at my dog and felt nothing but envy.
Gumdrop nose between beaty eyes.
You feel no pain, no sorrow.
You pee on the carpet and get fed from a blue bowl.
Your cousin died and you
did not even know.
Blissful is the world when the power of deep contemplation
does not exist.
A rotten mitt and one tooth hanging on yet
Your tale waggles on.
Every dog I’ve ever known
Is an individual.
So does that mean they have a soul?
I think so.
Which means they are equal to us
As soul beings
With soul intents, and soul paths.
Now that I think of it,
I think many dogs have more soul
Than most humans.
(7/6/26)
Closing eyes listening to my surroundings
With words in the mind that can't come out
A feeling of danger sinking under water
Grasping with an intent to.follow the words
Help, please help I need someone close
The feeling of free flowing fall, or just an abyss
Deep rooted in our chest craves the moment
The relief of one consciousness driven down
The ora of ones pain becomes all
The worst of all it becomes that experience
Shake, shaking deep within tugging the soul
Pain rivals through and through instinctively
Opening the door to a new life and goal
But when you open your eyes
Your pulled back to reality and begin
Begin to do what Humanity is suppose to do
BREATH!
IN DAILY AWARENESS OF GOD
Do not be ashamed
Of the who and whose you are:
God is mistake-free.
You’re not challenging Him,
You’re being his creation:-
You are not evil.
God does not create evil:
Live the good of you:-
Each day you grow in goodness,
Give God Thanksgiving Praise.
You’re a God servant.
Chosen to labor in love:
Serving those in need.
Reflect Simon of Cyrene:
uplifting all who need you:-
sunlit hues are kaleidoscopic kisses
terrestrial impressions
testing the waterfall’s eminence,
of impetus, of its continuous flow
unbroken by striving survival,
unfiltered obstruction
flowing along its perilous path
thoughts, feelings, & reactions
meandering, sipping Adam’s ale
moods unbridle as they manifest,
ellipses elapse, evaporate
lapping reckoning runestones,
monuments reciting otherworldly
phonetic pebbles babble
of antediluvian intuition
these stones summer bleached
warn satin smooth
at half-light, titanium white glows,
there, as dusky jewels
natural caressed water wooshes
v e
r i
s i
m i
l a r
rustling the leaves—insomniacs,
lift the cyclical immersive mind
rushing, whittling a way
recanting,
chanting murmurs that calm my soul
ALTERED CONSCIOUSNESS
Consciousness is a curious thing.
Is it real or just a scam.
An alien simulation,
or "I think therefore I am."
Does it live unto eternity,
or switch off upon one's death.
The rub is one can't know, or not,
at least while one draws breath.
Where does it go when you're comatose,
or in a vegetative state?
Painful memories get tucked away,
and there's mirages it creates.
Is one more conscious than another,
if so, has one then faltered?
Consciousness can't be quantified
I'm just glad it can be Altered.
In the field of oneness, we alone are,
the quintessence of consciousness aflame,
as the light that lights each and every star,
being the all that is that bears no name,
navigating dream domains as a game.
From the stillness fulcrum we behold all,
dance of polarities heeding God’s call.
I try to avoid them in the crisp morning light,
but I hastily sink into their mud-caked bottoms.
I sink to my knees in their inevitable stratum.
One after another, beyond memory or thought,
swirling pools of consciousness unspoken.
Parallel immersive mythos together and unbroken.
Heavy here, my trudge from pond to pond,
egoless consciousness watches with detachment.
My fledgling demanding acts are persistent.
My emotions are unwitting and hand-crafted.
These ponds of my making create schemas
from hormones and perceptual appraisals.
I plod through stages of deepening awareness.
From weeping to laughter, I feel each nuanced valence.
Though I try to resist them again and again,
these are my schemas, my reckoned inventions.
Like a roaming wolf or a squirrel poised in a tree,
these emotional appraisals are my intentions.
These spontaneously self-organizing feelings
are my defenses, and my epiphanies of universal marvel
as egoless consciousness awaits, unspoken.
("Outside Looking In Merit Badge", 2011, original oil)
Ego is a natural thing for conscious beings;
The sense of self that comes
From simply being conscious.
And being natural
It’s a healthy and desirable thing.
But everything in nature is also subject
To disease and corruption.
Sometimes the challenge of disease and corruption
Makes us stronger and better
Sometimes it makes us weak and broken
Beyond repair.
Egocentricity is extreme focus of the ego
On the ego;
A turning in and away
To protect a fragile self
Which in the wisdom of its insecurity
Knows deep down
All its ways are transparent
And all its days numbered.
One day it will wakeup free of itself
And in that release
Be free of everything and everyone
It has known and loved.
And then, it will rise
And take the challenge of consciousness again.
(6/1/26)
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