WHO?

who is it that beats this drum?

if you think it is you then

leave this circle,

you are not ready for truth,

who is it that fills these lungs?

if you think it’s you

you do not sit in this circle,

but trapped within yourself,

that beating drum 

within your chest,

that flute played with your breath…

gifts, all gifts..

the drum, the flute, this breath

now this breath too, 

gifts, all gifts,

 each present moment.

who is it that gives you these gifts? 

if you do not know, 

find out!

IGNITE YOURSELF

Burn up until nothing of you is left

but ash.

From an ancient gnarled oak,

roots deep into ground,

our limbs conspire and contort to reach the sun

and stretching beyond that familiar inviting light

 we speed and swirl past planets, suns and moons, 

flinging them out of our way

 we spiral outward, ever further-

faster then the speed of light.

it’s true!

we are past light

racing into nothing known,

an unseen endless void,

a deep drop into nothingness,

 die into nothingness, 

into silent emptiness.

This is the source of everything!

DO YOU BELIEVE THAT TREES CAN DANCE?

NEVERLAND

Remember when anything was possible?

Sure you do..

You were a kid,

we were all kids then,

Trusting, innocent, believing we could fly..

just before the ether took me to Neverland

where my tonsils were removed,

Tinker Bell was dying from the poison she drank

to save Peters life.

Peter pleaded, 

“If you believe in fairies clap you hands”.

And I clapped and I cried and I clapped some more,

Hoping that everyone everywhere would join in clapping

So Tinker Bell would live. 

And she did. 

Many of us must have clapped

to save Tinker Bell, 

to save innocence, 

to keep free our imaginations,

our hope.

Take just a moment now…

Think back to that time so long ago. 

Do you remember?

Were you clapping then?

Are you clapping still?

Can you imagine a world better than the one 

we have created for ourselves

here and now?

DREAMS ARE MADE OF LIGHT

61816 

DREAMS ARE MADE OF LIGHT

This world scares me.

Had I lived a hundred years ago

I wouldn’t have heard or seen 

Every terrible thing we do to one another

every day, everywhere

in the world. 

Many more good loving things happen every day

In our daily mundane meanderings

but still we don’t feel safe.

It’s like having a scary story told to you 

each night just before you go to bed.

You can’t sleep and when you do, 

it’s fitfully.

Remember when you were young and light

and laid on your back under that 

huge broad leafed tree smelling grass and greenness while

watching the sunlight flicker and spark amongst dancing leaves,

with the great blue cloud white sky above it.

What a dreaming machine!

Still…here and now

and looking back.

It wasn’t all that bad. 

There was a ton of fun when you add all those magic moments together. 

Maybe it is the time to sit still and remember the ancient events

of your life and breathe in deeply that life force that imbues them

with such vivid and pleasant recollection.

EVERYTHING REMAINS THE SAME

what is a ghost
but a memory that won’t be forgotten.
there’s no tellin when one may show up,
nor what sorrow it may bring.

Grief can arrive as a surprise
and take your breath away,
“what was that about?”
we hear our mind say.

after a while it’s hard to tell
what wound your ghost is nursing,
so many old and ancient hurts,
pushed down undone,
turn away and still they stay,

what if these ghosts are angels
sent from your soul
to finish the painful business
of facing the moments
that broke and froze your heart?

Once that love fountain
ceases to flow,
you begin to feel like a ghost yourself.

The breeze,
trees,
the man between your knees,
all seem vacuous,
unsubstantial,
evaporating like steam,
ephemeral as a dream.

We are looking for an anchor
to tether us to the ground,
still searching for a corner stone
that cannot be found.

These ghosts arrive uninvited
and depart as random as they came,
I place my empty feet upon the ground,
as everything remains the same..

May Day 2016