Disdain For Winter

Crispness cuts

Beneath my clothes

Burning ears and frozen nose

Thoughts transpose from summer mind

To winter’s grip and fold

The cold in my bones

Never abates

The mercury plunge;

Need to alleviate

The short dark days

With some sort of light of my own

The things in life we can’t control:

Getting sick or growing old

The weather and seasons past

Continuous momentum

Seems frozen, fast

The wrong moments lasting forever

This is how perception lies

Wind teared up, watery eyes

Being present, breath,

Nose drips on glove, slid on sleeve

The Tao teaches to go with the flow

Trapped in the cracks of ice-dammed river road

Paddles useless

Walk on water

Ego complex, messianic muse;

Waiting for the Spring

Which never really came this year,

Summer too

Dark, wet drear

Waiting for that time of year

For sun’s warmth upon my aging visage

Of singing birds and magpies call

So my limbs flow freely

Instead of stiff and dry

Thoreau’s Walden, Genesis’ Eden

The places I want to go

Walk along the Oceanside in San Diego or Mexico

A place of warmth, compassion and harmony

To mind the season’s as they come and go

The tuft of sheepdog fur

Massaged by my hand

Sat beneath full foliaged tree

A book, a drink, held in my hand

Blowing blooms of cloud into blue sky, free

And sit in the circle,

An equal part-

Not the begin or middle

The sound of kettle on the hob

Of bodhrans, pipes, guitars and fiddles

Away from the traffic’s roar

And congested streets which I deplore

The society that can be such a whore…

Need to alleviate

The short dark days

With some sort of light of my own

Nature is my source

To fan the spark is desirable,

With the right person of course!

Who will come with me along this way

Endure both bright and dismal day

To find piece in the affray

The heights of passion, lows of dismay?

Winter, welcome, again my terse old friend

Who marks the finality of Summer-Fall’s end

May the weary world rest while fixed

Within your grip

Until Springtime starts it’s hopeful drip

To bloom and blossom back to life

And mark the end of winter’s strife

As crispness cuts

Beneath my clothes

Burning ears and frozen nose

Grateful for every ounce of warmth

That radiate from parka, a smile

And the hope of acceptance.

Fan the spark into a flame; to light my way

And incandescence fill my being

As the universe guides my way

Stiff but yield unto icy current

Until a steady flow restores itself,

Unstuck,

And I begin to move freely once again.

Edmonton, AB, Canada

Thoughts On the Second Anniversary of My Mother’s Death

Thoughts On the Second Anniversary of My Mother’s Death

Two years today

You returned to the source;

Mother, from whence I came

My origins contained

In the crematorium urn; reminder of

Our dusty nature-

How parts of us emit about our world, clinging to all that we encounter;

Always leaving some of our selves.

The sperm and egg that begat my flesh and bone;

The universal spirit slides

Intentions and abundance

This is our life; brief in this case, vase, this form, this vehicle

But long after the dust is sealed by sandy tegument

Or polished, smooth urn rests

Our actions; our only true possession

Carries a legacy;

The DNA/RNA weave, serpent like ouroboros

Rainbows and rain; flowers mashed by manic storms

Slamming seeds into earth;

Violence of the big bang begets the beauty that abounds

In the brevity that is our moment; connecting us all

Immortal.

Edmonton, AB, Canada

Peaceful Journey

Each footfall

Is where you are going

The contradiction of movement and the present

Frames flicker as each moment

Begets the next; perpetual being

Briefly then gone but

Still here, caught from cagey eye corner

The complexity of motion when the present

Remains constant but

Nothing is standing still…. What matter is it whether my sole strikes

Mountain summit? Beginning, ending or middle of the trail?

Here is where we will always be

And Shiva destroys our illusions

Of permanence; “All that remains the same is change”

Om namah Shiviya

To be unsettled; to settle;

Convention’s contradictions

Always moving but always here

The dimensions helix-serpent coil around matter and thought

Wherein there is light

Penetrating dark

To be and not to be and to be again

Breath’s perpetual mating with universe

Until last one is drawn and we disperse;

Shape shift of form

Into new configurations;

No dying, death; all is life in flux

The great illusion we call life;

Often a tormentor, as we view through

Gushing water; rapids on the retina; emotions defining us

When they should be cast into the salient sea of tears

But, when we encounter the clarity of peace

Through pranayama – the breath unites us secure

And we can see that we have both always and never been;

The illusions of our perceptions flirtations with reality

And through the moments we reincarnate an infinite cycle

Within a universe that has created us and all things;

Breathe, be, see the light

That our life-force is; our truest nature;

Free of body and possession –  Spirit fueled

Shalom, salam, shanti, peace

Edmonton, AB, Canada

Breath of Being

Breath of Being

Follow the breath;

Friction of inhale

Through nose lining, warm and chaffing throat

With a gentleness like the river that flows through the valley;

Lungs expand with

Elastic tension, a tepid humidity, rising chest lifting torso

As if a balloonist rises in their craft

Belly inflates like a balloon

Hold and release…release…

In the positive and universal energy-

Exhale, disseminating the stress and shards of self

Back into

Infinite universe

To be re-charged

And join with the whole.

This connects me to you and eradicated space;

Joined as one;

Our minds and energy navigate

The flurry of elements conjoining all things

We are one

Connected by space,

United in breath

Connected through our energy

And our part within the circle’s infinite loop

That which divides us

Is as much an illusion

As all life tends to be;

The projector of our narrative;

The ego-self

That makes many believe

We are the circle’s center

Like the finger inside a ring

Separate from the object, easily removed

But denial begets not truth

And our beliefs are subjective to our journey

And we must realise

The worthlessness of material things

In our self-completion;

Our perspective shifts back to the breath

And that which unites;

The light… the light….

The light within us all

Requires the breath

As we are the fuel, hope sparks our fire

The breath fans the passion for life

And illuminates

To illustrate

The beauty in and of all things.

Follow the breath;

Friction of inhale

Through nose lining, warm and chaffing throat

With a gentleness like the river that flows through the valley;

Lungs expand with

Elastic tension, a tepid humidity, rising chest lifting torso

As if a balloonist rises in their craft

Belly inflates like a balloon

Hold and release…release…

In the positive and universal energy-

Exhale, disseminating the stress and shards of self

Back into

Infinite universe

To be re-charged

And join with the whole.

Edmonton, AB, Canada

Existence

Celebrate the Present; Be Grateful for the moment

I Am Water

I Am Water

Rain drop to river joins,
Routed to the sea
The drop journeys
But stays self-same
One can not be lost
When to the source
We are rejoined
Though our salientness
May alter and our
Temperature may adjust by degrees
Even when solid ice or wafting steam;
Mist or fog
The drop remains itself
The memory of water
Imprinted with silt and varied terrain;
Demonstrates to stone the stronger
Where soft sacrifices the solid, stone
Erode and shaping landscape
But without malice
For the flow and motion is what we are,
Like landscapes ever changing
Forced upon flames to extinguish the furnace of fires flickering energy
Spread into the atmosphere, the universe,
Earth, air and ocean
There within it all
A constant
The self free of rigidity
As even the most
Solid of ice surrenders itself
After holding for a short while
Vapor, condensation, the drop reforms
Falling to the earth,
Flow to the river
And join the sea
This is our unity
The whole that binds is as well
The surging surf or refreshing shower
The nourishment to all living things
I am water
Eternal I shall flow.

Edmonton, AB, Canada

Words

Words are weightless when

Devoid of substance

Yet can crush

With entomological denotation

Conflicting with connotation

Empty without act

The actor’s script

Mundane; a work of fiction

Creates the narrative by which we live and perish

Out of sync with our mortal carriage

The body; a separation of church, spirit and state

Decapitated thoughts that plunder hope while aspiring

To American Dreams

The thought, the spirit and corporeal form

A sinewy mix of chemicals and flesh

Heavy with fluid

Unlike the weightless words;

Weighed down ; chained by inertia, apathy and gravitational forces-

Self-talk platitudes and

Make merry memes and technicolor pills

Knee-scraped off the wagon and scrambling

Back on, ragged, raw, real… if anything can actually be

All is manifest

Not taking the time to deal with the deluge of dust

Made muddy when our sacks release

Etching rivulets down dirt streaked cheeks; that emotional river, salient, sting

Wipe away, wipe away; smearing their channels in hopes of not repeating

But is it the mask I remove; exposed the callow of character; an naked actor,

Is there such a thing as self and an actual I?

Or is it self-immolation and erasing of memory?

Not that we ever really knew to know

These things, highs, lows, ebb and flow

Crushed by weightless words as they wind a noose

Choking the lines, blood flow stops

Brain fades brown

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down

The Ride

These hardened streets, gashed with serrated pot holes

Asperous asphalt

Soon to be softened and slippery

From fresh winter snows

I streak a sliver through the city’s congealed veins

Heart attack, clot, but numb to my own pain

Wash it white, tint-rose so colourful but still

I’m traveling here alone*

Unwanted passenger bleeds my brain

Driving me insane; a taxi I never called

ṻber ṻber alles; bike lane, pushed aside

pedal on, pedal on;

We’ve lost community to a phone

Reaching out, reaching into that empty space, that void in me

The invisible wall maps my ride and counts my steps

Drugged and dragged along by platitudes

But they make no bloody difference

No hope exuded in hollow eyed words,

Eye contact, topped with tar…black pupil-retinal mud makes the darkness blindingly bright

I need to travel off the common path

And not be led where these roads go

The grids with untimely ends and capricious curves…

The need of a flock to follow unneeded, and takes us

To the same places over and over again

What’s the point of life when

You feel dead?

“We find ourselves in the same old mess,

Singing drunken lullabies”

Simply stated, no simple solve

What’s prescribed seems to sicken me more than heal

Nothing is genuine; it’s no

Wonder we are lost to how we feel

I feel weak, I feel small and powerless

Set my compass, but stuck on the determined road

Salt stings the cuts and cracks and road rash

Black tar and asphalt stain my lungs and the acidic rain eats at my soul

The salt water streaming from my eyes;

An ocean, an eternity, but not rain

Briny bites the cuts and cracks and road rash- I do my own stunts

I want to ride my bike with you

Off the main drag, the beaten path that’s beat me down

Or a canoe:

To be flowing through the river’s blood

As it feeds the earth with natural wonder

Feeds my soul, makes me whole

Lessens the impact of my mental load

Erode my jagged edges and smooth me out

Skipping upon the waves like a water walker

Even though I know

The river’s flow will never cease

A tegument of ice may distort our passage-

To inhale your warm breath; exhale and dissipate like smoke into the ether

Of the endless dimensions of universe and soul;

See it blend and absorb into the greater whole

A contradiction to these pending winter winds

Winter is always warmer in a photograph or film

This film that coats my eyes and emotions

I want to spin this into a positive

Propel by my chain, not tethered

Away, the big yellow taxi,

I need you to ride with me.

Soulmates

she comes upon me, a mountain maven,
strong , pulchritudinous-
her shapeliness made of finely hewed granite
hair, a spiritual vision capturing essence of liberating hills
no words can describe her feminine features, ineluctable face - a sun-
effulgent when she laughs, sepia eyes;
eyes which resound her compassionate soul and healing sensibilities,
when my gaze penetrates glassy lens, I observe my own face reflected back.
Soulmate, my sweet Sue.

A Sick Society

It is no measure of good health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.

~ Jiddu Krishnamurti

Krishnamurti’s message says all that really needs to be said. When one reflects on the meaning of these words, we can observe the roots of violence, apathy, lack of fulfillment, despair and a world run by conformity, corporations and media. We need to be the change by being our selves. If all you read, listen to, watch and do is empty of any sort of truly qualitative components or aspects, then how can we ever feel the joy of fulfillment? How can we make this world better if we stew in our apathy? How can we be who and what we are if we complicity wear the masks of conformity assigned to us by society or our employers. I have often felt a pariah on the periphery of society, walking to the beat of my own drum, though I know that, through my rebellions and decisions, much of it is to a more palatable conformity; i.e. punk rock. Much of what I have done has not always followed a conventional path, but mine is a spirit of poetry and adventure, thus I wander as I must and try to adhere to those things which make sense and feel appropriate. I believe my intentions are to always do good. The Buddha said: “Believe nothing, now matter where you have read it or who has said it… unless it agrees with your own reason and common sense.” To not do this is to not think critically. We must inform ourselves and not be fearful of who accepts us. We must accept ourselves. Anything else may please others, but leave us empty and hollow.

Different Paths

Just because my path is different, doesn’t mean I’m lost.

~ unknown

So much of “what’s popular” is tripe. Just look at all the bizarre and daft things people do on YouTube! Just because something is popular does not mean it will make you happy. We nee to live for ourselves - not selfishly- but, rather not to be corralled and herded like sheep just to fit in. “Dance like no one is watching”. How boring and colourless would life be if we all did and liked the same things. Yet we are always seeking approval, often at the expense of ourselves. When our plethora of masks obscure us from ourselves, then we become an empty husk; unfulfilled and likely unhappy. 

Silence

I have the impression that many of us are afraid of silence. We’re always taking in something - text, music, radio, television, or thoughts - to occupy the space. If quiet and space are so important for our happiness, why don’t we make more room for them in our lives?

~ Thich Nhat Hahn

I so often crave and need silence after working all day, but never seem to get enough of it. Some nights, it feels like there are lesions on my brain - as though it is physically cut, scraped and scratched. I realize how tired I truly am and that my body and mind have been pleading for a reprieve from the rigours of my working life. The taxing demands of my occupation take so much, and the past couple of years have been particularly a difficult one beyond the school walls: daughter’s best friend being hit, dragged and killed by a transit bus, helping her to navigate the emotions of her first real dealings with death, aside from the loss of pets. The emotions of separating from my wife after nearly 21 years together was exceptionally exhausting on an emotional level, excruciated through the legal aspects and formulation of our separation agreement. There was the chaos of buying my new home as there was so much tied up with my separation and, while the resources were there, attaining them was rife with struggles and complications. My mother passed away. I am, however, free. I do appreciate the peace afforded by my freedom. I fear boredom as so much time can allow the gremlins to hold my mind hostage as they feed me their doubting and negative thoughts (when I refer to my gremlins, it is based on a book written by Rick Carlson titled How to Tame Your Gremlin, which was recommended to me by my therapist years ago when I was dealing with the worst aspects of my PTSD. No, I do not hear voices.). We must learn to love and care for ourselves.

Wounds

The wound is where the light enters you.

~ Rumi

This quotation by Rumi makes sense as one intentionally focuses on that which is hurting. Healing is becoming stronger - to fortify the body and make it whole again with an increased sense of resilience. Through a wound, the light enters. All that we endure and survive, though sometimes taking us to the breaking point, does make us stronger if we are willing to do the necessary things to make it so. All failure is an opportunity to learn. All hurt is an opportunity to heal. With no black, there can be no white - the yin and yang are necessary to understand opposites and to then determine what it is we shall pressure internally and through our interactions with others. Our wounds force us to dig deep and uncover the ample positives in our lives, obscured by pain. You stub your toe, and all your energy focuses on the pain, oblivious to the rest of your body which may feel fantastic. The light is the goodness rallying around the hurt. We either see the light or we do not. Often, we never take the time to look.

The Wisdom Of Knowing One's Self

Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.

~ Aristotle

Isolating one’s self is difficult with all of the masks which we wear and roles that we play. Is there a single self in all of this, or are we all of these external selves born of that which is within our being? Is the actor the role or is there a governing self from which all these arms attach to as they reach outward? “Of these things I’ve become” is tattooed on my arm as it is part of my story depicted through ink on skin. I believe there is a central core of self, but, as we are shaped by our experiences and genetics, I wonder to what extent it exists independently… energy matter. We often play roles in which we are uncomfortable, and others where we are happy. Is this perhaps the looking glass of our true inherent selves?