The Halt

Slowly I take my steps, careful as I move.
The woods are dark now and I hear nothing familiar.

Crunching leaves and glimpses of stars through the trees
come to be the only hope- and a beacon they are.

Carrying it all- up
and back down, but I am too scared to stop.

No moon can I see, even he has abandoned me.
The drum of my heartbeat and the pulse in my soul are all to rely on.

Coming to a halt, I sleep in the snow.
And I take on the dreams of the ones who have slept there,
hoping that one day I will do it again.

The song I refused

Time moves like a freight train
passing up my town.

But off in the distance-
smoke can be seen, engines can be heard.

The calenders will lie to you,
but the past will come back.

Krishna helped me load my boxcar
but when it came down to it-
I couldn't do it.

The trouble with him is the flute he plays,
puts you in that mood.

I refused it like one refuses chocolate,
or a door-to-door salesman, "no thanks"
then I smile.

Hoping for Hope- Advent, Week 2

"Restore us again, O God of our salvation,"
-Psalm 84:4a

"Hope is a state of mind, not of the world..Hope, in this deep and powerful sense is not the same as joy that things are going well, as willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously headed for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good."
-Vaclav Havel (Czech Republic)

Ocean Solitaire

Are we more than ants running wild in our anthill?
I think,
we are.

We will be.

Advent

"Advent..helps us understand the fullness and value and meaning of the mystery of Christmas. It is not our commemorating the historical event, which occurred some 2,000 years ago in a little village of Judea. Instead, we must understand that our whole life should be an "advent", in a vigilant expectation of Christ's final coming. To prepare our hearts to welcome the Lord who, as we say in the Creed, will come one day to judge the living and the dead, we must learn to recognize His presence in the events of daily life. Advent is then a period of intense training that directs us decisively to the One who has already come, who will come and who continuously comes."
-Pope John Paul II (Poland)

Bare-feet on Back-roads

The field is full of fog at this time of night
and the fresh bales line up like children in school.
Four houses surround it as they stare down on the night
as it becomes so much more.
Dogs whisper my name in the distance
while the little dipper appears again.

Now I become warmer
and the moon is smaller in the windshield.

The fog comes again in the morning.

"All paths lead to nowhere, so it is important to choose a path that has heart."
-Carlos Castaneda

standing in the Indian Ocean

The tide is hidden and waiting to pull.
From afar it is visible, what moves this river.

Ancient waters meet my pale feet
sands of times in my toes
with the salt of history in my mouth.

It is here that I walk-
where the four waters come together
and the people come to worship.

Blue, green waves that break as time remains.
The lepers are still here- asking for my help.

But what can I do, but watch the waves
rise and
fall.

What the sadu says I say,
in not so many chants.

I am here- taking it all.

And still my feet are in the water,
as the children play and splash.

I am here standing tall,
very alone and very surrounded.

Knowing all the while-
it is true.

A Traveler's Shade on my Head

The ancient paths are long forgotten,
they are in need of revival from young souls.

In the dust there may be possibility.
Through the wind I hear a voice, "one must search to find."

Basho must have followed me here like Woody Guthrie followed Dylan,
passing a torch of beauty.

But I thank good Prometheus for sharing,
and revealing to us a fire so bright.

The road is visible now yet hazy like a dream
or a very old memory.

A sign reading, "Get Born" strikes me eye as I pass
"just one pilgrim to another," I hear through the trees.

As my pace picks up I can hear the screams
and see the others emerging from the Cave.

My road has diverged to yours
and the lights are visible to my sleepy eyes.

Sounds and smells of the carnival find me here
and carry far in this summer wind.

At last I arrive with the voices that have called me,
like a lynx searching for its kittens.

To an open field by the sea we arrive, you and I.
"It is finished," I hear in unison.

The fire is here also- with a note attached:


to: the mortals

from: the gods

I have taken the ancient paths.

recent views

1928 never felt so real. Great film, full of plot twists and dramatic imagery. The film was based on the Wineville Chicken Coop Murders in the 1920's outside LA. A true story of a mother's love and fight, a boy's innocence and violence. Watch it.

recent reads

McCarthy's elements in "The Road" make it a favorite. I am making this a annual winter read. Also looking forward to starting the desert trilogy and seeing the film based on the novel.