I wake up at dawn
but that is not me
I clean my body
but that is not me
I feed myself
but that is not me
I care for the cats
but that is not me
I am full of pain
but that is not me
I am tired and alone
but that is not me
I am never alone
I move thru
this ocean of consciousness
as if I really exist
I am not any less
or more
than anything that is
I am That
I AM
The setting sun
never sets
for on the edge of night
it is always rising anew.
Leave the night to rest
step out from the blue twilight
and into the yellow dawn
a new day is on the rise
you are Light
live in the freshness
of a never-ending dawn.
The butchering of Nature
has begun.
Green blood spattered
limbs flung hither and yon
hoppers leap to safety
among the beheaded dandelions
and hacked violets
violence of apathy to be “civilized”
with manicured lawns
and weeded gardens
welcome flags
and creepy gnomes
guarding the stones
and steps
of hearth and home
and the summer pool.
Summer is a comin’
sing it
dance to it
and raise a cup
of autumn’s wine.
I cannot
see
beyond
the veil
cannot
penetrate
the
firewall
that
separates
our
worlds.
But some
can by nature
and some
do
in
hidden spaces
silent
to most
saints
to some of us
whispered
sharings
more
real than not.
What a
gift.
And who
will discover the Hertz
that
connects?
x
The vacuum of Silence
cracks
and music spills into the
still air
waves of sound
washing upon the shores
of matter
you must have evolved an
ear
or no sound is heard
nor heart moved
nor image remembered
the crack will heal
as the waves are sucked
back thru the breach
into the vacuum of
silence.
Multi-striped ,
photo-printed,
artsy Tees
pink pencils,
blue mixers,
red napkins
purple spotted socks
green mugs
teal towels
so much color
a far cry from black and
white TV
and only white T shirts.
Shut it off…
Shut it out!
The chaos burns
like acidic tears
upon my cheeks.
Shut it off!
But no – I can’t
I need to know
to see
so I can pray
and say
as much as I can
to soothe the burn.
Chaos is ramping up
like a runaway train
or pilotless plane.
But don’t give up the
good.
We’ve already seen it
played in dramas, books
and song
foretelling the end
of this great
civilization
despite the voices of
prophets
despite the warnings of
seers
despite the efforts of
peacemakers
chaos still affronts
all continents
all countries
all tribes
all neighborhoods
all families
all lives.
Can chaos be healed?
(chaos is a natural part
of reality,
but how much violence can
one stomach?)
How about climate change?
drug trafficking?
human trafficking?
healing mental health?
healing selfish minds?
Chaos
like a ball rolling down
its lane
it will meet its end
in a violent explosion
scattering the good
generations have built
to honor human ingenuity
injected in us by God
to purpose our reason for
being.
Men are not created equal
---
Brains filter reality
according to
their organic
programming,
and souls too often
are slaves to their
filters
until they wake up
to the truth ---
you are only senses for
God –
myriad combinations of
DNA
filtering reality in this
grand hologram of wonder
and change.
What a world!
What a world!
Prepare your water
cannons
of kindness and succor.
The wicked witch
stirs in the shadows.
Why? --- for the drama of
it all.
Keep the faith.
agd 4.19.2022
Waiting for Dawn
she takes her time
to reveal the glory
of a new day
the blinding light of Glory
in a New Day
the heart swells with awe
this New Day
bubbling with Joy
slathered in Hope
dripping with ecstatic Light
this New Day
if only you have eyes to see
and ears to hear
and a heart to gather
every shard of the butterfly’s
shattered wings.
He did it --
He showed us The Way
Just follow –
Just do it ---
Change the channel.
agd 4.17.2022 Easter
Be still and know
I AM
There is no other.
I am One
In the heavens above
(and there are many)
and in every atom and quark of matter
I am you
You are me
Love with all your heart
your neighbor and yourself
for you are my purpose for being.
In the silence of the matrix
the world awaits
the courageous traveler
to extract and share newness of being.
and bring heaven to earth
As above, so below.
agd 4.15.2022
Life
is Art –
strokes of paint
scratches of charcoal
knotting
of threads
weaving of words
speaking
the mind
singing
the heart
sounding
the harp
designing
the house
cementing
the tiles
nailing
the boards
planting
the garden
arranging
the home
sewing
the shirt
painting
the nails
tatting
the body
clothing
the form
etc.
---
Art
is Life.
It’s
a cloudless day.
The
road narrows
The
gate opens
The
crowd roars
So
many smiles
The fronds
fly
I’m
giggling
The
mule warms me
in
the cool morning air
I
know what this means
I’ve
seen it played out
There’s
no turning back
It’s
my role in the drama.
I’m
fine, really.
The
joy in their smiles
will
turn bitter
and
history will not be understood
for
generations ---
if
ever at all.
But
it must be done,
I
must play my part,
no
matter how it’s remembered --- by them ---
It
will be enough
to
turn heads and challenge hearts
to
transform generations of history.
So
many will say “I believe”
but
they still don’t get it.
Innocent
blood stains the hands
of
the best “believers.”
But
no matter ---
I
must play my part
and
keep smiling… for them.
Exit
– stage left.
I can write ---
Oh, I
can write…
spending
hours
with
pencil in hand
catching
words
from
the sky of my mind
like
clouds on a breezy summer’s day,
molding
phrases
into
lines of meaning,
painting
with words
frames
of landscapes
remembered
and imagined ---
fashioned
from memories
observed
and remembered
and
imagined.
Oh, I
can write ---
all
day if I want to.
But
why should I?
Is there
such a gap
in
the opus of poesy
that
the world is lacking
my
thoughts?
And
who is listening?
And
if I don’t ---
who
is missing it?
Will
the Tapestry be anything less?
Yet
anything I do,
and
everything you do,
thru
the senses ---
adds
stitches of form and color
to
the Great Tapestry of this Day
God
is weaving,
and woofing,
and warping,
and
stitching,
and
weaving, weaving ---
If
not me --- then who?
If
not you, then someone else
might
grasp that cloud
and
manifest what’s necessary
to be
read and heard
and
added to embellish the Tapestry –
with the
forms, the colors
the
sounds, the music,
the
feelings,
the
joys and pains.
And
in the end
God
will mull over it
and
think ---
Hmm…
not bad.
And
like the sand paintings of Tibet
God’s
breath obliviates all
and a
new Word is spoken
and a
new loom is threaded
to
become a new Tapestry
of another
day in the Life of God.
x
