Sitting here one glass of wine into my evening, watching the water lap against the granite stone, feeling the easterly breeze tousle my too-long hair, holding a space for a Question of what may be next. Loving the uncertainty of what tomorrow and the next may offer, laughing at the absurdity of my constant searching, […]

four feathers awash in the sea of Conscious mist whispers tickle against sandy particles encased in the lie of mortal industry we are comforted at long last in formless knowing, free from Imperial direction, denied scales of dutiful measure a small moment when the Heavens reveal a glimmering river of Holy oil in which we

Balance heavily over the raging whirlpools of melted snow Littered with flecks of frayed moss cheering Palm sized stones who proceed in haste down the hill Intent on their timely arrival for Sol’s brilliant finale Wonder cautiously before an imposing, sharp Tigerskin boulder motionless Draped in a blue shawl of light and air and gravity

As I sat in meditation this morning, I felt an uncomfortable, familiar nudging. A dissatisfaction. An insufficiency. My thoughts flowed toward the attractive magnet of mind where I deposit the wreckage of goals unmet and visions partially fulfilled. This junkyard of declarations retains a distinctive attraction, you see. It is a private place known to

Toss away your wand and set aside your sword, my friends. Shake off knowledge, and bury dark excretions of your vigilance in the sand. ∞ Remove your metal, your leather, your amulets of gold, my friends. Our helmets now serve as a chalice, filled with sparkling water dancing down through the spout of Infinity. ∞

The Crow knows where each leaf will rest beneath the Moon’s unwavering gaze. The Crow knows why the cricket sings, where the bee keeps sleep, how the bat believes.   The Crow knows where the rivers crack, where the mountains bow, where the sands float free.   The Crow knows where Bear will drown. The

Darkened running pools in the distant shadow elude my seeing. Ice and snow caress the slippery, wet ray of gloomy morning bright. Waiting brushes past brittle buds Waiting flickers across my face Waiting breathes in easy hesitation; a continental meeting of moon and mountain stirs beneath the pale orange fading, far from now and near

Where does the wind go? Where does it begin? One moment the air is still, only a gentle breath kissing the blades of grass. Another moment dried leaves stand at attention then tumble forward, torn brutally from the hard earth into a feverish force. Flower petals tear away. Beings with wings soar above or shelter