love the moment

i have been looking searching for blue eyes to be lost in i have been searching looking for a smile to fall into and i've been looking long been looking for some arms to wrap up in for a heart to fly into for a kiss to be lost in too and you and then i found you

last night i dreamed of floods and disasters i dreamed of a cousin i've not seen in 25 years i dreamed of threats and conflicts fears and dreads i dreamed of things we pray never come to pass the fragile ice on which we stand the shifting soils or quickened sands i wonder often if the earth is only an illusion and my feet rest only on the black of space in days gone by such thoughts would haunt would darken even the brightest summer day but now i see that such is life not as i would have made it but as it was meant to be all is real and all is not whatever i see is whatever i get i, alone, can choose which face i see like that trick of seeing in the brain twister books is it the ugly hag or the beautiful woman which face is reflected from the waters i see

it is with a certain sorrow that i contemplate this fact i am not the man i hoped to be i had hoped to be strong and true always there when called i had hoped to be the "go to guy" when those i love are in need i had hoped to be wise enough to comfort those facing pain or death to have those words - just rightly timed - that would ease the burden they carry i had hoped so much - had aimed so high whether chutzpah or humility, i cannot say i may be so vain as to have thought myself good but on those days when my weakness shows i accept the truth with grim repose the challenge now is - what to do? is there a reasoned remedy? can i repair, can i recall all those failures most stark? i had hoped the muse would answer me with the comforting response "there is a way to get there yet..." but, alas, no such comfort has come all i know is what i have as meager as it is i offer this in humble hope of redemption of even this

I ask them to take a poem and hold it up to the light like a color slide or press an ear against its hive. I say drop a mouse into a poem and watch him probe his way out, or walk inside the poem's room and feel the walls for a light switch. I want them to waterski across the surface of a poem waving at the author's name on the shore. But all they want to do is tie the poem to a chair with rope and torture a confession out of it. They begin beating it with a hose to find out what it really means.

The highest accomplishment for my day is to reach the state I refer to as "Zen". I started labeling my mood as such when a friend at work, Jennifer, commented on my being the "Zen Master" after my return from a really wonderful beach trip. For me, it is simply a place of great peace, connectedness, and joy. Here's what it really is - compared to what I call it... Zen - A school of Mahayana Buddhism that asserts that enlightenment can be attained through meditation, self-contemplation, and intuition rather than through faith and devotion and that is practiced mainly in China, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam. Also called Zen Buddhism . Word History: It is hard to believe that a word as Asian as Zen is ultimately an Indo-European word. Zen, which has been in English since 1727, is the Japanese pronunciation of Chinese chán, "quietude." Chán Zen emphasizes experiential Prajñā —particularly as realized in the form of meditation known as zazen —in th...

Just when I think that there is no magic, that the bad guy always wins, that there is no Don Quixote. Just at those moments, grace smiles on me - and shows me something like this. Whether by chance or by design, in either case, I find joy. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY If this does not make you cry, you have no soul.

That old song, a hymn from an older time - a time of simple answers and captioned dreams Timetables, answers all predetermined - joy's limitations constrained by bonds not easily broken What author, what troubadour wrote of such peace Did they know of the coming blaspheming of their words Did they know old and foolish men - knowing nothing - would lead other fools in a chorus of blindness? Did they see the darkness in which their tune would be stripped naked of all meaning, barren of any peace

how is it this is not a dream when did time begin when did i become the essence of the being the knowledge of the now the vision of the future clearly seen, but not fully known why is this real how is that a lie who made you my ruler who gave you that crown where are we all going from whence, to whom do we go what roadway is our pathway what map shows me the goal these questions breed and they multiply when one dies, another appears without explanation of their arrival, they stay as long as they are meant to stay a reason, a purpose is not always given no justification provided to me i am expected to take at face value what is - not what should have been people come, people go. love lasts until it does not. you stay until you are called elsewhere. i stay until ready to go. such questions, such answers are puzzling at the outset. unknown is no reason to fear. rejection of proving is wisdom acceptance of is is

i have a peace, now that lies underneath it is patient, and does not insist it does not shout to gain my attention it does not tug my arm to remind me on those days i lose touch i cannot say if the peace is new - or if only my recognition of it but she is comfortable like a friend i've always known her caress is soft on my soul her touch is not heavy i am blessed to have her now she is acquainted with all my counselors my muse, my past, my dreams she quietly links them all together she is effortless in her coordination why she has chose to love me so is a mystery i do not need to know how or why to bask in her soft light and to rest in her warm waters dg

good, bad or indifferent men, women, even countries can be so classified the good and the bad sometimes hard to distinguish but indifference the failure to even care or notice the hungry, the dying world around us damns us all at one time or another to look, to see, to love even the smallest things that is the call seldom answered a noble vocation never paid in US dollars dg 5/24/07

Tao 67: I have Three Treasures, which I hold fast and watch over closely. The first is Mercy. The second is Frugality. The third is Not Daring to be First in the World. Because I am merciful, therefore I can be brave. Because I am frugal, therefore I can be generous. Because I dare not be first, therefore I can be the chief of all vessels. If a man wants to be brave without first being merciful, generous without first being frugal, a leader without first wishing to follow, he is only courting death. Mercy alone can help you win a war. Mercy alone can help you to defend your state. For Heaven will come to the rescue of the merciful, and protect him with its Mercy.

that inner ache familiar and persistent has returned to me with a vengeance that intense knowing, that expanded awareness of living and dying has sensitized my soul to the cost of living today no thing is free and the proverbial piper must be paid for his playing - even if his song is not of my choosing even though i can choose otherwise, why would i? why ignore the lilting song, even though the tune is melancholy and dark why would i ignore the call to dancing in the street, even if the light is only of the moonlit night, and not of the warm and bright tomorrow? dance i must and sing i will - for i know the almost-dead living that comes from stilled feet and silenced voice. i will not return to that castle dungeon - built as it is of cold hard stone - wet and dank and suffocatingly small. no i would rather sing even the saddest song and hum it forever as a Free Man rather than live still and quiet in the prisons of my own soul's fear.

the blushing clouds - animated by the burning, rising sun - remind me of the wonderful beauty, the mysterious rhythm of life. i have no idea as to how it all works. i've not seen the ultimate end of days. but, i am learning that i am not meant to know tomorrow. i am not intended to know later today. all i know is now. all i can see is the beauty that surrounds me. all i must accept is the sometimes absence of beauty that must be endured until - by mercy or grace - the beauty returns and my soul awakens. you might question my use of the word endure. but it is apropos, because as far as beauty is concerned, i seem to lack the assurance of object permanence. like the toddler who cries when the ducky disappears behind mommy's back, the fragility of beauty worries me - so that when the sun hides behind thick dark clouds, i fear she might not return - forever hidden from my grieving eyes. you might say it is infantile or juvenile or simply foolish of me to show such concern ...

i started running again this week. it has gone better than i expected. it may be the primary reason is the place i'm running. it is one of my favorite places. here is something i wrote about it a while back... centennial park i walk in the park, watching children running dogs exploring birds flying, swimming, resting the sun frames the buildings the trees the people talking, joyfully this park is free no admission fee charged but the beauty remembered opened again and again the smells and sounds drunk down again and again this place a refuge for my soul there must be angels, somewhere i see no harps or incense burning, but i could swear God is here disguised, maybe as a Grandma pushing a stroller or maybe, yet hidden deeply in the homeless man sleeping in the sun dg 4/11/07