It´s a story that
begins like this . . .
Someone picks up
an instrument
and plays a tune
as familiar as it is new.
Someone dances along.
Someone kisses someone.
Someone glows
and turns into it all.

Beautiful
broken shell
of a spiraling
dream I
never even
knew I had
till finding
you here
at low tide
in the setting
sun, thank you
for rolling
and unrolling
this ocean
of healing
between us.

No breeze,
still as can be,
but yellow leaves
fall in the cool,
bright sunlight.

Time keeps finding
new layers of earth
to plant the past in,
new winds to scatter
the ashes of the future.

Meanwhile,
inscrutable eternity
is not going anywhere,
one with the blinding
radiance of the infinite,

where yellow
leaves, thought-free,
forever fall
in the cool,
bright sunlight.

Radiant Beloved,
what are these eyes for?

For seeing the Resplendent Beauty
of God all around you.

Radiant Beloved,
what are these ears for?

For hearing the Divine Music
of God´s Loving Silence.

Radiant Beloved,
what is this nose for?

For inhaling the Fragrance
of the Holy Spirit.

Radiant Beloved,
what are these taste buds for?

For tasting the Wine
of the Eternal One.

Radiant Beloved,
what are these hands for?

For feeling your way
to My Radiant Feet.

Radiant Beloved,
what are these feet for?

For bringing you, step by step,
to your True Self in Union with Me.

Radiant Beloved,
what is this mind for?

For surrendering it
to the Will of the Almighty.

Radiant Beloved,
what is this heart for?

For sacred drumming
to the Rhythm of Love.

Radiant Beloved,
what are these tears for?

For washing your face
in the Ocean of Love.

Radiant Beloved,
what is this soul for?

For melting
in your Beloved´s Embrace.

In the morning ecstasy
of all-out cicada song,
the sunlit and shadowed
greens, browns, and blues
of the woods breathe
Your Name, the One
that undoes all other names.

Thank You, Love Divine,
for remembering me,
even when I forget about You.

Things change with time,
and I wander off, supposing I´m
reflecting Your absence,

not realizing that all along
off is On, that time dissolves
in the Eternal Flow You are.

But then comes the sweet ache of that
Great Song again, the One
You never stop singing to me.

Words fall from the
sky and
gather in pools at
our feet.
We jump in and
splash
around till
dark
and the full moon
calls
us home.

Who are You, God?

Who are you, I?

One fine day,
a young, happy-go-lucky
grasshopper sprang
into the lap of an old Zen monk
sitting in the grass.

"Is that my dewdrop
you´re contemplating?"
the young grasshopper
asks the old monk.

"You can´t fool me,
grasshopper,"
replies the monk.
"I know grasshoppers
can´t talk."

"Who says
I´m a grasshopper?"
says whatever it is.

Turn everything off
and let the light in.
Close your eyes and listen
to the deep, deep song
of life on Earth.

I grow, quickly, strong,
with all the summer
sun and rain,
and I´m happy,
flapping my leaves
like bird wings
in a playful breeze.
But I´ll be glad to give way
to the blade, too,
when the time comes,
to bow to the one
whose pleasure it is
to release me from
this particular form
of myself and send me
hurtling back
to sky, to ether, to the
invisible beyond
I came from.
There I´ll prepare
for what I´ll be
the next time I come
to grow from a seed.

Little rhymes
of the wordless
whisper
in the ripening
ears of corn,
listening so intently
in this green field
of the heart.

O God, dear God, Pure Light,
try as I perversely might
to escape Your grace
in the long, long night,
I keep falling right
into Your sweet embrace.
All I can do, all there is,
You keep telling and showing me,
no matter what,
is to love You truly,
so what can I do, ultimately,
but simply that?

A gust of wind
gives wing to a flock
of sparkles across the lake.

Gratitude
is the key
to the
Ignition,
and it just
needs turning.

Soul of my soul,
Other No Other,
it´s You I hear
in the glowing silence
of this misty pink and golden
early morning lake,
still resting in the still,
green woods of Your
All-and-Ever Being;
You I hear breathing
in the parting at the bow
and the wake at the stern,
in the soft, distant sound
of the waves beyond
the dunes, swelling and
rolling into my imagination
from here in slow motion,
nearly forgetting
to break in the pure fun
of their powerful becoming;
You I hear, O Ancient Silent One,
in the rhythmic bird talk now
from tree to tree
nearby, as a breeze
begins to move this
myriad of leaves,
shadows, and lights between
and the day begins again.