Monday, December 30, 2013

Wherever you go


Wherever you go

There you are..
Seeming true
Yet we ask
Where are we
When stepping softly 
Into innerspace..
There locations
Shift and slide
And don't pinpoint..
So a revision:
Whenever you are
You are everywhere...

March of time


March of time

The new year
Invites our focus 
on mystery time..
Our awareness of
that line of moments
from our deep past 
to future unknown..
Daunting it seems
this endless march..
Until we encounter:
This moment which
hides and holds
wind and fire
line and march
Entire…

happy NEW year..!!

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Sacred geometry


Sacred geometry

Beyond those many
 Religion quarrels
Many are finding
Sacred geometry saves..
Beyond the stories
And pointers to
Right and wrong..
Structures erect
With science boost..
Balance and center
Straight and curve
These reach stillness
Stillness reaches back..
Stories now live
With dancing fire
In-sights are born...

Springtime rising


Springtime rising

A research ship
In Antarctic ice
Beyond rescue
Awaiting a melt..
This one nadir
Of earth's winter..
In other latitudes
Cold fronts bring
Chill winter winds..
In these days
Our memories serve
With faith intent
Of quick departures
From cold depths
From the dark
Springtime rising...

Friday, December 27, 2013

Probe the depths


Probe the depths

from which your
life springs..
This Rilke's advice
To the young poet..
So we probe
Looking for tools
For our reach
To those places..
Those happy times
Seem to float
Uplift without the
Probe we wish..

A downdraft may
More utility gain..
Stumbling mistakes
Clouded passages
Some of which
We still flee..
Yet with intent
Courageous grasp
A sudden surge
Brings us close
To the answers
We are advised
To seek…



My only advice for you is this. Go within yourself and probe the depths from which your life springs, and there at its source you'll find the answer to the question of whether you must write. Accept this answer, just as you hear it, without hesitation. It may be revealed that you are called to be an artist. Then take this lot upon you, and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without asking for any external reward. For the creative artist must be a world for himself, and find everything within himself—and in nature, to which he is devoted.

Paris, February 17, 1903
Letters to a Young Poet

Thursday, December 26, 2013

I don't know anything


I don't know anything

This is our
reset to clear
the clutter..
A new start now
from blank..
But a blank
With heaving
possibilities..
Then we allow
a flow
in freedom
to blemish
the blank..
quite simple
then complex..
Remembering
for sure that
reset switch...

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

this yule night


this yule night

rich and fragrant
earth mother aroused
she and we 
stimulated the light..
a cosmic birth
in eternal manger..
a messenger born
to reassure 
each carries the 
Fire... 


Moedernacht, Modranicht
Night of Mother Earth
birthing Christed humankind
new strain of cosmic worth
Earthened Spirit rich with Darkness
Now Enlightened Dance
Rejoice the Yule, Creations jewel
for Soul's deliverance

(Modranicht by KMae on 
website: Hello Poetry)

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Writing's Secret Way



WRITING’S SECRET WAY:
The Art of Asking for Invisible Help.

Too much writing is an attempt to write down what the strategic and conscious mind thinks it knows already. Real alchemy in poetry or prose occurs at the frontier between what we think we are and what we are about to become; what we believe of the world and what it is about to overwhelm us, often against our will. Good writing is a conversation between seemingly immovable and movable worlds, and is made real by the writer asking beautiful and difficult questions that shape a living, breathing identity that is ripe for surprise and revelation. The writer’s practice is to cultivate a friendship with the unknown, to overhear them selves speaking out of that unknown into the world and to ask for help along the way from those elemental powers encountered on the pilgrim road to discovery.

by David Whyte

this Eve


this Eve

Holds the electric
Of holiday times
Expectations rise
Shadows subside..
Present moments
Put aside time..
A Starbucks trio
Jovial spirits serve..
Long grocery lines
Are singular meetings..
A basket exchange
In windy parking
Named as win-win..
Bright evening tensions
On those differing
Levels and forms..
This darkened time
Awaiting a morn..
But for now
Hold the tension
And the wonder
Of this Eve..
With her beauty
Her constraining
Joy...

Monday, December 23, 2013

Her mission reflection


Her mission reflection

Is her greeting
This Christmastime..
She reminds us
Of our human
Of our Essence
These our Oneness..
Our knowing is
A gift revealed
Which we welcome
In this moment
And in moments
When the gift
Is re-born and
Re-given..
Christmas Blessings
dear Barbara…

for a friend

Ascent



Ascent

Not without descent
We are taught..
The discovery and
Experience is here
In holiday times..
With outward elation
Contrasts are stark
The world struggles
Distant and close..
And with watching
Descent appears and
Waits for Ascent...

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Beyond this Season


Beyond this Season

In this Season
Of joy and anguish
A wish for
Vistas renewed..
Some vertical path
And looking back
Sighting our edge
Where we live..
From the height
Our new Eye
Dissolves the height
Dissolves the edge
What remains now
Is our exhilaration..
This moment's respite
Deserving our gratitude
With our return
To this Season…


Friday, December 20, 2013

Every day



Every day, priests minutely examine the Law
And endlessly chant complicated sutras.
Before doing that, though, they should learn
How to read the love letters sent by the wind and rain,
     the snow and moon. 

Trans. Sonja Arntzen. From Ikkyu and the Crazy Cloud Anthology: A Zen Poet of Medieval Japan.University of Tokyo Press.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

In tension holding


In tension holding

Often in discomfort
We meet divergence..
An awe-ful choice
We imagine then
Choice is comfort..
Patience is pushing
Let's get on..
Tho' standing between
Becoming the tension
Our choices pulsate
As the heart..
Yet choose we must
Bringing the shadow
This our creation
Creation our choice
Now we dance
With the shadow...

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Tingling


Tingling

In quiet moments
Our focus shifts
To this limb
Then to another
Organ to organ
Sense to sense
And on arrival
Each vibrates
Imagined polarities
Dance and chase..
Tingling is local
But let's ask
How can tingling
Become non-local...

Self image


Self image

The question is
Image source..
A job rating
This a direction
Up or down
Or uncertain
Unsettling..
A simple glance
By a stranger
Is momentary
Elation or strife..

My map's contours
Paths and stops
Speak with authority
No error here..
Yet the message
My yearning hears:
These half truths
Claim their merit
Only in knowing
Illusion they are
Standing alone...

Monday, December 16, 2013

Correspondences


Correspondences

A healthy habit
As we're told
A search for
Flowing and fleeting
Correspondences:
Here and there
Now and then..
Simple resemblance
Quiet similarity..
Then a translation
Similarity hastens to
Oneness 
To light within..
From this hilltop
We can scan
For similar lighting
Here and there
Now and then...



Sunday, December 15, 2013

Creating something


Creating something

in progress

Hidden beauty


Hidden beauty

We live now
In visual times
Our helpers are
Those graphic aids:
Top to bottom
Right to left
In to out..
Part in whole
Whole in part
Holograph assists
Wholeness found..
Symmetry here 
Alerts to show
 Symmetry there.. 
These and more
Simple translations
Inner Eye wakens..
So that now
Deception removed
Our world renews
Its hidden beauty
Dis-clothed…






Saturday, December 14, 2013

Evolution=Pulsation



Evolution=Pulsation

If we visualize
All realities
Here and extended
Shaped as torus..
Consult with google
Many examples:
Human body 
The earth
Upper self
Cell and atom
All are cycling
In torus form..
While form remains
Evolution moves:
Spirit to creation
Creation to spirit..
Evolution=Pulsation

Friday, December 13, 2013

Before the storm


Before the storm

In our creative
Pursuits
Waking or dream..
Power is felt
In stringed potential
A dampened pulsing
Immersed in quiet..
A central column
Of sacred geometry
In myriad forms..
It is knowing
Of the spreading
And curvature of
Our new creation..
But for now
There is pause
All is potential
With a distinct
Calming ecstasy
Before the storm...

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Awareness


Awareness

Life seems as
To be aware..
Of the dangers
Of the joys..
Yet we ask
Is there more..
Dreams there are
Happenings strange..
And sometimes we
Ask this question
Quickly dismissed:
Is waking day
Really a dream..
After all this
One question remains
Is Awareness
Before all this
Waiting our waking...

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Ulysses (Tennyson)








Ulysses


It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.


This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.


There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

(Remembering my Durango High School Principal
Lyle Howard, who committed this poem to memory..)

Monday, December 9, 2013

the one


the one

are you the one
he and we are asked..
our replies express
where lately we've been..
in our bordered world
do we see interlacing..
are there open fields
in our imaging..
those fields unseen
seeming to project
each our scenes..
are wounds noticed
seeds of healing
theirs and ours..
a questionnaire
without an answer
to the question...


Sunday, December 8, 2013

Dark weather


 Dark weather

On cloudy days
Let us pursue
Companionship
Conversations
These recognitions
Of unity in
Dark weather..
With these guides
Amid fears of
Primitive stripe
A sun's ray
May suggest
Truth in action
A return…

A Psalm 9 meditation..


Friday, December 6, 2013

Side-tracks


Side-tracks

So often engaged
With our attending
All of those
Editorials 
And commentaries
And sermons..
Of which often
Side-track and delay
That awakening
Transformation
Quiet watching
Of this Now
Which is passing...

Internal ones


Internal ones

With his passing
his jail experience
leaves his Gift..
New focus on
what is inner
what is higher..
He is pointing
to growth paths
and our need
for our own
jail experiences…!

"People tend to measure themselves by external accomplishments, but jail allows a person to focus on internal ones; such as honesty, sincerity, simplicity, humility, generosity and an absence of variety," Mandela says in one of the many quotations displayed at the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg. "You learn to look into yourself."

Thursday, December 5, 2013

The Medium


The Medium

is the Massage
he wrote..
He hinges our
 desperate need 
for introduction
to a new home
in no locality..
Massaging minds
growing our space
technology itself
extends our being..

This hidden realm
surrounds 
each daily grind..
Enter now a
 world wide web
Massaging
 universal expansion
of our space..
Each is becoming
more than before..
Our new home
in no locality…

Prompted by 
Marshall McLuhan's
The Medium is the Massage




Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Simple practice


Simple practice

Is it really
this simple..?
What are those
practices you use
to remember this
vital Awareness..?
Light and its
filtering..
Light and its
colors..
Oppositions 
and flows..
Polarities in Play
in all of
Life..
Reminders
are key...

Practice Over Theory

Meditation 3 of 52

Unless you let the truth of life teach you on its own terms, unless you develop some concrete practices for recognizing and overcoming your dualistic mind, you will remain in the first half of life forever, as most humanity has up to now. In the first half of life, you cannot work with the imperfect, nor can you accept the tragic sense of life, which finally means that you cannot love anything or anyone at any depth. Nothing is going to change in history as long as most people are merely dualistic, either-or thinkers. Such splitting and denying leaves us at the level of mere information.
Whole people see and create wholeness wherever they go; split people see and create splits in everything and everybody. We are meant to see in wholes and no longer just in parts. Yet we get to the whole by falling down into the messy parts—so many times, in fact, that we long and thirst for the wholeness and fullness of all things, including ourselves. I promise you this unified field is the only and lasting meaning of up.  Richard Rohr

The horn player


The horn player

He came reluctantly
And backed away
This strange instrument
The complex fingering
Technical paths obscure
Finally from Pushing
He rested..
Then hearing 
A horn Sound
With direction
And no direction
Filling his space..
Dedication renewed
Complexity dissolved
A Pull now
Of horn's beauty..
Push and Pull
Co-creation
A soul engaged
Playing a horn…


This poem inspired by 
Colorado Springs Philharmonic
featured musician
Michael Yopp..
Story by Nicole M Anthony
December 2, 2013
(find with Google)

Monday, December 2, 2013

I am enough


I am enough

A simple
Declaration..
Yet it contains
Hidden gold..
Freedom lives
In I am..
New dimension
No modifiers
Limits cancelled
For this moment..
Enough stands
Against fences..
 I am
Breaths in
New clarity
Fresh air
From a center
Which is
Everywhere...

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Our Road


Our Road

Glaucoma had
Covered the earth
And their eyes 
This shadowed matrix..
A Road remained
And a Map
And a Fire within..
They knew now of
A pendulum swing
A vacuum crunch
This black hole..
They had awakened
In their dream..

And with lucidity
Did they recognize
No catastrophe this
Evil was expressed in
This shadowed matrix
Yet born in Light..
Light also issued:
The Road and Map
Each other Entire
Brook trout carrying
A Code of life
Declarations of good
The Mystery..

Thus Our surprise
No catastrophe sudden..
Grounded in life is 
This shadowed matrix..
We might awaken
Knowing at last
Good guys are alive
With hidden Light..
The child found
As each of us must
Love never dies
And in so knowing
Each is the One


With gratitude for
Cormac McCarthy's
The Road