Friday, June 23, 2017

Today's Today


Often we forget that today is here.
We pass from day to day not noticing
that it is today.
Never again will it be "today's today". 

Thursday, June 22, 2017

Always Remember


always
remember
who you
really
are.
sit...
... wait
for "instructions."

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Ocean of Faith

Live in Direct Relationship to Reality


Turn away from
books, ideas, and theories. 
Enlightenment can only be realized
by living in direct relationship to reality.
Books, ideas, and theories 
don't go deep enough.

Monday, June 12, 2017

Choose Life



LIFE is the deepest mystery. No one gets to the bottom of life. We live day by day, breath by breath. Philosophy, medicine, biology, and “rocket science” may all give us insights. The unfolding life mystery delights my soul. I love unsolvable, unanswerable questions. All I know is that with each breath we choose life.

Saturday, June 10, 2017

Tuesday, June 06, 2017

Robert Frost - Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.   
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

Sunday, May 28, 2017

Eternity’s Carpet


Time …
always lost
moment to moment
facing past
turning into
no time
hold on,
no way
step into
time
gliding on eternity’s carpet

~americ





Saturday, May 20, 2017

The Cloud - by Shelley


The Cloud

Related Poem Content Details

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 
From the seas and the streams; 
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 
In their noonday dreams. 
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 
The sweet buds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 
As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 
And whiten the green plains under, 
And then again I dissolve it in rain, 
And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, 
And their great pines groan aghast; 
And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 
While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers, 
Lightning my pilot sits; 
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 
It struggles and howls at fits; 
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 
This pilot is guiding me, 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 
In the depths of the purple sea; 
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 
Over the lakes and the plains, 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 
The Spirit he loves remains; 
And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile, 
Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 

The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes, 
And his burning plumes outspread, 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 
When the morning star shines dead; 
As on the jag of a mountain crag, 
Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 
An eagle alit one moment may sit 
In the light of its golden wings. 
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, 
Its ardours of rest and of love, 
And the crimson pall of eve may fall 
From the depth of Heaven above, 
With wings folded I rest, on mine aëry nest, 
As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbèd maiden with white fire laden, 
Whom mortals call the Moon, 
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, 
By the midnight breezes strewn; 
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, 
Which only the angels hear, 
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, 
The stars peep behind her and peer; 
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, 
Like a swarm of golden bees, 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 
Till calm the rivers, lakes, and seas, 
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 
Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone, 
And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl; 
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, 
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 
Over a torrent sea, 
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, 
The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch through which I march 
With hurricane, fire, and snow, 
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair, 
Is the million-coloured bow; 
The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, 
While the moist Earth was laughing below. 

I am the daughter of Earth and Water, 
And the nursling of the Sky; 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; 
I change, but I cannot die. 
For after the rain when with never a stain 
The pavilion of Heaven is bare, 
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams 
Build up the blue dome of air, 
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 
And out of the caverns of rain, 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 
I arise and unbuild it again. 


Thursday, May 11, 2017

Glenn Matson Remembered



I knew Glenn Matson for 40 years. He was my best friend. Recently found this photograph taken at Peet's Coffee near Lake Shore in Oakland, California. We maintained contact everyday by phone; even during his yearly travels across the country from California to his summer home base in Minnesota. He was a man of few words, but deep spirituality. Many people where influenced by him. He passed away last year on January 8th, 2017. He was in his eighty's  Still saying goodbye. 

Monday, April 24, 2017

Life Is A Mystery To Be Lived


Life is a mystery to be lived. 
Day by day, the task is to 
stay awake to this present moment. 
Be quiet inside - and notice 
the "sound of stillness". 
Be at peace.  
Now, now, now ...

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Vast Unknown

Most of life is spent discovering where we are. It’s not easy - parents try to tell us, but we don’t listen. Of course we are is always “here” in this vast universe of details and mystery.

Years pass, our focus changes. When we were a babies, the focus is mother. Later the focus begins to slowly shift to wisdom in preparation for our demise. When young we are building up our life story; when old, letting go. We prepare for the end of the story. Many poor souls continue to hold onto to youth as hair grows gray and muscles weaken. Nature will take us back to the earth. Dust to dust.

Life is mystery presenting the “unknown” to us.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

The Second Coming


The Second Coming
by William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre   
The falcon cannot hear the falconer; 
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; 
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, 
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   
The ceremony of innocence is drowned; 
The best lack all conviction, while the worst   
Are full of passionate intensity. 

Surely some revelation is at hand; 
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.   
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out   
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi 
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,   
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it   
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.   
The darkness drops again; but now I know   
That twenty centuries of stony sleep 
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,   
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? 

Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989)

Friday, March 03, 2017

turning around


turning around the
world so easy babbling
free in time's eternity
moving here and there
singing of places long gone 

Sunday, February 26, 2017

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

The Great Charlie Chaplin

The speech from his movie The Great Dictator hit me like a truck. The relevance is amazing and eerie.
This is the link to watch it!
Click on it and be moved by the words and the music. The passion.

Monday, February 06, 2017

Pulled Over ...



Pulled Over in Short Hills, NJ, 8:00 AM

Related Poem Content Details


It’s the shivering. When rage grows
hot as an army of red ants and forces
the mind to quiet the body, the quakes
emerge, sometimes just the knees,
but, at worst, through the hips, chest, neck
until, like a virus, slipping inside the lungs
and pulse, every ounce of strength tapped
to squeeze words from my taut lips,
his eyes scanning my car’s insides, my eyes,
my license, and as I answer the questions
3, 4, 5 times, my jaw tight as a vice,
his hand massaging the gun butt, I
imagine things I don’t want to
and inside beg this to end
before the shiver catches my
hands, and he sees,
and something happens. 
 
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Sunday, January 29, 2017

First Amendment Broken

A great flame follows a little spark.
 Dante Alighieri


Saturday, January 28, 2017

Be the Love Generation


This song is perfect at this point in our drastically changing lives since it speaks about a new love generation, the legacy we want to leave behind for the children. 

Full Version

This version is the one i like the best because he begins to talk more about spirituality then he was able to on his offical radio edit due to the previous time constraints. 

Keep faith and inspire a new love generation

Friday, January 27, 2017

Standing Rock Native Indian Camp


Native American leaders want the Dakota Access protesters to leave their camp
Native American leaders want the protest camp near Cannon Ball, N.D. 
cleared so a major highway can re-open. Credit: Getty Images

https://insideclimatenews.org/news/23012017/standing-rock-dakota-pipeline-protest-camp

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Rufus Wainwright singing Hallelujah

Live in Concert 2013
Here is the link

I'd heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
Well, it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Well, your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
She tied you to the kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips, she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Well baby, I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Well, maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Lanterns

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Time Crisis



The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

Monday, January 23, 2017

The Second Coming by Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.
    
Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?