Tell and Show

Tell and show 

and the angels don't 

so we grope 

at the isotope 

in lab coated prayer

looking for the cross 

to our T.

And I don't know 

why the black-eyed Susan

dried and dilute on the sill

makes my cry. 

And you like I 

I like you 

and this the angels know.

And I know not yet why

this matters 

to the secrets we hide 

from our sorrow

we ride with 

in that van without windows

to the desert

of our insurrection. 

Two Chairs

Two chairs


and I sit across from

my younger self

a pint in his hand:

How the hell did you get here?


Slouched at the bar

my older self

swivels around:

Don't even start you little bastard.

Why you still let that boy around you anyway? 

Three boot steps and he's out the door. 


I can't answer either of them.

In the stained glass window

a ship breaks apart in the inlet.


Beneath the tilted barn

a rusted tractor sags

under the weight of its parts.

A wren somewhere in the rafters 

identifies me. Or have I identified it? 

I've never seen this tractor 

or the barn.

And isn't this how memory goes?

The difference between recall

and invention is a narrow 


The alley

is lined of damp brick walls

and oily pot holes.

Sometimes it's a rutted dirt 

road the tractor once drove

toward the field. 



The New Level

If development is a blend of differentiation and integration, then we should recognize and release expired notions and leave once valued yet tired perspectives. 

So, in some way we must separate ourselves from ourselves to allow space for our consciousness to expand and our identity to become more integrated with not just ourself, but selflessly with others. 

In this emergence we are then able to reach toward personal and then social harmony.  

The Filaments

The more I discriminate between what is real from trivial, and what is important from fluff, the more the world seems to open and extend itself.  It hints at its subtle mechanisms of grace, indifference, cog like integration, its separation of unity for unity and its totally paradoxical commands and communions. 

It's ultimately my choice (as it is yours) how to weave the filaments, to envision and create experiences, to firmly engage in them, fluidly accept them, or ignorantly resist them.


Omens don't exist, but timing does.

Who am I to prescribe prescribed notions to this life as if I have an idea to its unfurling?

The message is in the enactment of the uncharted occurrences happening like synapses. Brief, striking, electric and connected. An unfolding, uninhibited expansion and exchange that perpetuates itself.  Save for death where does it end? Even death perpetuates.

There are not any riddles nor secrets, only perception of that which is the construction and deconstruction of our thinking. And the world is built from this, as it is, as it was and built again through our manipulation and alteration.

It's being rewritten again for the first time

and always. 

The room we live in

The only confined space is the limit of our thinking. It's a reluctance to release old notions. It's the insecurity we use to grasp the past that binds us and blinds us. It's the fear of our fear, a spiraling undertow pulling us distant from what we need to see. It's a self sewn straight jacket, a padded room we've built of inbred notions that lead to a choice not to live according to a voice that speaks only in love. 

End this dull slumber. 

Filling the gap

As humans we don’t have the capacity to withhold an absolute understanding of our being due to our wonderful incompleteness. Through reason we may convince ourselves that we have found truth through experiences and our definitions of them. And through reason we will find reason and none. But, this doesn't allow for an absolute understanding. It is only a subscription to the ideas we project. 

Why live an examined life?

An examined life is better, for me. Does the term better mean easier? Not at all. In fact, that is one reason why I find it important. It’s a challenge and a fight. But, with various intrinsic rewards that lead to insight and a more honed identity. To live an examined life I have to ask myself some hard questions. For example, I need to look closely at my views and recognize when they are leading me astray, when they are used out of fear, laziness, or severe ego. 
I feel this way because I have been given consciousness for a purpose. In part that purpose is reason itself and reason enough to live an examined life so that I can generate my worldview through thoughtfulness and reason, belief/spirituality, and gain insight to life as I experience it. I find it is my obligation to live an examined life because this consciousness is an ineffable gift. No, I didn’t ask to be alive and for many years I took life for granted. So, part of my worldview now is doing right by developing my ever evolving worldview and honoring life through examination. 
The alternative for me is not an option. That is, a life of mundane thinking, a resignation to being disinterested because I may not know better, or I may have not considered I could know better or know more. Or that I and all things aren't worth being interested in. Or, living in a bitterly defined apathy that stifles my examination and closes me off from opportunity personal growth and relationships. 


The essence is in the examination.

How do we learn to define our place in the world?

How do I know what I think is accurate? Perhaps my thinking is swayed only by belief-survival and to what degree does rationality influence this thinking/belief-survival system? And if my emotions from past influences are a resource that I use to develop these beliefs and thoughts, how accurate are they presently in determining an unbiased worldview? Of course an unbiased view is impossible.

In essence how do I know my reality is as it should be and not something else?

There are many forces within me: some internally triggered and driven; others driven in from an outer source; ethereal and divine perhaps. These thoughts/forces are like voices in a room of a party. How do I interpret truth- some singularity- from the commotion of perception?

Isn’t there more than this incessant questioning and evaluation to my existence? Or, shall I ask isn’t this questioning enough and why doesn’t it satiate my need to understand my identity and begin to construct a cohesive worldview? But then why should I ask for consistency and cohesiveness when it is an illusion?

Isn’t there more than this yearning and fragmented beckoning toward a home unknown? Or, is it just hollow self-talk in a cellar with seasonal glimpses of light through the pane? A frequency with static. 

Or, is this fantastic undertow the definition of my life as I will know it? And yet I am grateful, or so I've been told that it's good to be; and so I look for that choice and use it from time to time. 

However, what teaches acceptance?