one thousand fingers
gently fold one thousand cranes
our tears are countless.
red sandstone plateaus
coyote stalks through scrub pine
chindi howl assent
in the Norway Spruce
pine cones threaten to descend.
Squirrels sit waiting.
one thousand fingers
gently fold one thousand cranes
our tears are countless.
red sandstone plateaus
coyote stalks through scrub pine
chindi howl assent
in the Norway Spruce
pine cones threaten to descend.
Squirrels sit waiting.
You believe this is how, and where, it begins,
but that is only your conception of it.
You believe the mirror shows your face
each morning, but it is merely polished glass,
and you mind sees what it perceives to be you
in the glass, while the glass is empty.
It has no real beginning, at least not one
that you or I can hope to identify, it has
always been and it will never be, but we
will perceive it to be as it has been,
perceive it to have begun at some point
in time, but time is also a perception, a way
we can try to define our perceptions.
You may well doubt all of this, but know
that doubt is the beginning of understanding,
so you have begun to walk along the way,
which is where you are and have always been,
if you can only conceive of it that way.
From twenty stories up
lightning rends
the fully fogged sky,
a translucent gray curtain
hung from an angry black ceiling.
Nearby buildings
and the streets below fade
into misty oblivion.
Even the approaching dusk
sits back in wonder.
She left this evening,
slid away silently
her goodbyes long ago said.
She was a feather
carried on a gentle breeze,
refusing to land,
until at last
the earth reached up
and reclaimed her,
and she settled gently,
her voyage over, our memories
of her smile, her nod,
her knowing winks,
now fixed for eternity.
When you peer through the glass
are you looking out, or
are you looking in, and how
would you know which is true,
and does it matter.
When you walk through a gate
are you entering or leaving.
If you ask where the gate
is located, you cannot find
where you are going,
for all gates lead nowhere
except where you are,
and if you are not at the gate
you might as well
just look through a window
and ask yourself should you
look in or out of the window
to find the missing gate?
And then there is the abyss
where it all comes crashing
back down on you and there is nothing
and no one, and you grasp
and find only yourself at the bottom
and arise, crawl up and out,
and nothing has changed except
the face of one who saw you fall.
You say words meant to calm
either you or the others, but
they sound hollow, all words
have an emptiness in this moment,
and you know it will pass,
and you know it will not pass
nearly soon enough, and you remember
the moments, once, when you
would think that the abyss
the drug created would last
forever and in that moment
you began the slow return.
Walking on ice is easy, although
you must be careful not to slip
for the fall can be damaging, but
walking on water is impossible
unless you are not you, and he
has returned in your body
which we all find highly unlikely,
although the difference between
you is a simple state of matter.
The question, then, is do you
see any real difference
between the two of you
and if not, he may well smile
as you together disappear
into a thick cloud of steam.
He likes the sitting, at least at first. It does calm him, as it is supposed to, and he knows he needs calm in his life. Even his knees accept the stillness for a while. Soon enough they begin to question the wisdom of this practice. Good for him, maybe, but hell for them, regardless of the position, lotus, seiza, chair. Hurt a bit less, hurt a bit more, but hurt certainly. He can ignore his knees longer and longer each time, but he knows that sooner or later he will give up, when the silence becomes deafening.
Origami cranes
take to the sky, devour clouds
denying winter.
Zebra butterflies
hover, dance on rays of light
never tomorrow
The pond imagines
itself one day a great lake
its shore dreams of spring.
Faith, or is it hope, seems
directly proportional to the need
we have to believe in what
some would call a miracle.
In Hebrew the word for charity
can also be translated justice.
Faith, he says, is hope
with a Godly intervention
for hopes can easily go
unfulfilled, but faith lingers,
and isn’t given up willingly,
for even when hope is gone,
faith in a miracle remains
for those most in need.
No one seeks charity,
everyone seeks justice,
and most hope and
have faith that there is
in the final analysis
no real distinction.