The Patriarchal Debris Field

The morning air scented with promised rain
fresh and cool, still a lament, past refrain
teased by a breeze regrets arise, a train
of thought. The anchored feeling like a stain

the past wraps you in fierce insistence
propagandized military persistence
deaf to nature, unreached by common sense
still I touch you vis-à-vis heart presence

We are ripples of our awakening
in our connected sea forsaking
habit and beliefs that long held sway, taking
sanity away, grave mistakening

until I pause to embrace what is now.
The past, enslaved and yoked to fear–a bough
heavily laden then released and how
we sing in joy coherent in the Tao.

Inspired by Awakening, Ripples, vis-à-vis and Coherent.

Happy Father’s Day to all the loving men who nurture with heart.

Where We Chime

Unfettered now
bestows each breath, each
pulsing beat and we reflect
light shimmering
inside of skin. Like trees
reaching for ancestral stars
sparkling the heavens
where we chime
outside of time.



Girl Power!

We cease our labor, dive
into that fling your arms
around joy when you get
gotten. Fire uncovered
under pastel pretties,
our blaze begotten,
we discover girl power!
The musical beings we are
empower each other beyond
the scoffing provable hypotheses.
Doffing those scientific hats
we’re up to bat.
They doubt what we know
bound to their blinders
saying what’s so with
constant reminders of
facts they’ve learned in books.
We take a look and see
they’ve forgotten their experiments
need them, spirit-
less evidence decreed
crystals are just rocks,
for the lack of a voice box.
Soured by their lack of magic,
and even though that’s tragic,
we slide around their tricky
doubts, weaving our knowing
through their stance
without a single glance
to see if they’ll follow.
Listen: I’m a warrior for
sentience, it’s all stardust
wherever you are. Sitting criss-
cross applesauce with younglings
we discover how to run
rings around the stagnant
places. We do fun things:
offer handmade impossible
treats, our pizza flavors:
blueberry love
is our favorite. Singing
the new grove as we co-
create reality with no limits.
In harmony we offer
our hearts: just try one bite,
you’ll see just how we be.

Inspired by: Discover, Labor, Musical, Pastel and a visit with lovely grandnieces.


Where Power Emerges

Here I am, changing my
beliefs, with giant leaps
of faith. Superpowers unseen
by my pliant sheep emerge
in this interval city scene
caught in the aftermath
of a popular holiday

designed to lure
children into the sight
of a beneficent old white
man bearing gifts. Wholeheartedly
receiving obvious miracles,
the rifts of machinations
buried deep in the foundations.
Still, it’s a choice: do you
believe Santa Claus is true?
And at the edge of the precipice
of knowledge, a youth can glimpse
the edifice.

Here is the place
of power.

Can we learn to
discern–understanding the myth
presented by parents’ delighted
glory, not saying, they lie,
instead realize it’s all story.
In the surge of cultural dogma,
ancestral tugs and frantic
trauma, fragmented selves say
in panic, this is real!
caught in the riptide
dragging under.

Listen: the voice
that tells of peril is true
freedom if only we can perceive
the inner demons, loosening
their grip give them the slip
in the expanded space of now.

Inspired by: Interval, Freedom, Popular and Aftermath.


We Lift Them

At five she reminds me
morning comes gently, a kiss
wriggled greeting and so
my spiritual practice becomes
a measured walk along the rain-
drenched city streets. Here
in the island submerged
by the tsunami of Amazon’s
insidious vendition and Google’s
artful manipulation, the trash
along the walk proclaims
allegiance to the holiday
of spending. The taped boxes
ripped, the handsome wrapping
flapping in the stuffed bins.
We exchange our gifts daily:
breath with trees, holding
this wide embrace for
the voiceless beings. Ahead,
a young teen walks his frantic
puppy, lifts a song
in a surprise of depth
and I am moved by his
bold melody, the words indistinct
but clearly we praise together.

Inspired by: Tape, Handsome, Spiritual and Vendition.


Dancing Into Being

We’re a moving universe
revealing our new faces
to our warm regard.
I used to believe
the crystals that accompany
my travels protect me
as if negative forces
could infect my clean
interior.  Now I see

these sacred stones entrain and
energize the wise meditative
witch. Dark and light,
I walk with potential
triggers and
amethyst and tachyon
remind me to sit
in my base. Jade heats
my throat and these lapis
lazuli mala beads whirled
worlds strung together.

When we meet,
let’s  greet with curiosity.
Especially when the dark
places rise as if to say
here, here I emerge.
Hold. Still. Bear witness
to the long-buried treasure
I offer in this exquisite
moment you could judge
as trouble. Let our vision

of the imprisoned voice
a celebration: let’s
extol the excluded.
Scoff at the dangers
arising in the constant
gauge of what is right and good
and who is safe. And sound:
strike up the band.
Even as we sit in silence,
realize we’re marching in this
extravagant parade.  Go
into the living air
and care for what’s been missing.

Inspired by: Go, Band, Extol and Gauge.


This Is The Path

So much to digest
the buoyant trauma bobbing up
escaping my firm and
constant pressure to keep
this drama contained.
Letting all the content
settle under calm
guidance, a transmission
irradiates the presence,
diamonds formed from coal.
All the dark and fearful
places, shunned, unknown
arise in us. I’m tearful
as I recognize in you
in me, in us, love’s
intelligence, the will
to live, protecting innocence.
This lost and hungry child
in you, in me, in us,
so long exiled, we welcome
now. There is no better
you. The Tao simply includes.

Inspired by: Settle, Buoyant, Irradiate and Guidance.



I’ve scoured the trash
to find the rash moments
of this past year.
The darker times with no
place among the tinsel
I start to tingle
acknowledge the simplicity
as I commingle
all my energy, electricity
runs through the instrument
I am joy no longer dissonant
I used to choose a bypass
believed my past held me
in thrall, the call
of my ancestors deep with pain
their domain. Yet here I sit
hosting what is. Now I permit
the scattered pieces magnetized
I am the lodestone, gathering
increases all that pent-up
trauma releases. I cherish
all the beliefs that now
perish in the flame of my
vitality blazing a
brilliant new reality.
Outside a hawk is kreeing.
I heed on bended knee.

Inspired by Rash, Joy, Tinsel, Cherish and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “ingle.”


Echoes Of The Future*

What is the part of me that calls me onto a path?  I believe the part that calls us is the echo of the memory of the future–the reverberation of remembering the future.~Thomas Huebl

The child has learned
to be taciturn.
What can you expect
when the means to correct
her are myriad and cruel?
Enter the Yule.
Does she dare to hope
a little gift will help her cope?

Pain’s duration
is no aberration.
Satellites have filled the skies
with starry lies.
The ground has all been paved.
Have you been saved?
The father asks, her yes
coerced, professed;
the no submerged
unheard yet I am opening
the door, focusing
light in this dark place.
Ah, child, when I wore that face!
Listen, darling, to the calling.
Time itself is falling.

Inspired by: Yule, Expect, Taciturn and Duration and this amazing talk by Thomas Hubl, The Echo Of The Memory Of The Future*.


Love’s Perspective

I’m not afraid of running out of love. The more love I give, the more love I have to give.~Rob Brezsny, World Kiss

I bless you precious basketball
bobbing along the iced edge

of the bay: forlorn, forgotten
by the children who missed

the hoop and changed the game
to this cold and lonely lake

tour. Here where the springs
bubble up in the hole hewn

by the highway contractors,
here is beauty. Breathtaking,

heart-opening basketball, faded
into a mustard yellow with a frost

cap, observing with a detective’s
stealth. Alive in the living waters,

as I am. Fractals of the complex
humming earth, creatures forged

from stardust and sound, light,
energy. I release the separation

that declares my sentience supreme:
what I have is yours and yours

is mine. Vibrations of love,
we presence one another,

tuning in and reflecting
disturbances in the field,

so easily corrected when we
are intent on kissing our wounds.

Bringing them like sobbing children
to our mother. Nurturing each

other, every one of us called
thing or it or jack—even

this flickering sentient screen bestowing
this message, records your metadata

expressions as you read
these words. All of us alive

and brimming with it. I’ve thrown
off the separation, I’ve missed

the target, spinning, throwing
blessings to every thing that matters.

We. Us. And what comes before
the word the intention

the transmission deep
abiding love, the blank page

on which we write in our
feverish dreaming. Kissing

cousins. Nothing is
as it seems.

Photo taken after a long climb in Oahu when I felt overwhelming love for all of creation. May it transmit that same all-encompassing love to you.