Service

Originally Posted on November 11, 2014

Something I wrote for Veterans Day today.

I have enlisted in the fight once more,
not like I did before,
not in my nations service, as I did in my youth.
Full of the idealism and the invulnerability of the young.

I am older now, much older, scarred, fat, and slow.
Cunning, wise, and patient.
I serve now in a contingent, which does not destroy or kill;
where the ends never justify ill-means.

A warrior monk who forges weapons from words.
Words which touch the soul.
Not my words, but the words of the most high.
The Creator whose voice gives birth to worlds.

Every mission now is one of rescue,
encouragement for the despairing, comfort for the dying,
My attention and presence for everyone.
Leading by Following.

Belief

I cannot believe this!
This could not happen.
This did not happen.
Did something just happen?

How fragile our minds.
Networks of neurons,
fluctuating electrical potentials
in a soup of common chemicals.

The miracle is that
we even have thoughts.
That fibrous meat can even
think at all.

What is belief,
but half remembered experiences.
Filtered through our
prejudices and fears.

Layers of conclusions,
based on foundations which
are fragile as soap bubbles,
and intangible as a dream.

Our base operating system.
The foundation of our reality.
Of what was, what is,
and what can be.

I cannot believe this!
This could not happen.
This did not happen.
Did something just happen?

Creation

Originally Posted on April 22, 2019

The Void is.
Filled with Potential, pregnant with Possibility.
Aimless, Prescient, Powerful.

Mind beheld the Void cherishing it.
Thoughts sparked in Mind,
a Dream was born.

Screaming in pain and delight,
the ten thousand things were born,
grew, reproduced, prospered, died.

There are many Minds.
Some cherishing the Void,
birthing many Dreams.

The Void is.
Filled with Potential, pregnant with Possibility.
Aimless, Prescient, Powerful.

The Old Country

Originally Posted on April 21, 2017

I have moved to the old country.
The land of my sires: a hard land;
poor in wealth and rich in spirit.
We find God in each other here.

For generations, my fathers delved under ground.
In Devon for tin, in Penn’s wood for coal,
finding only endless toil and death.
I am heir to their pain and strength.

Is my work all that different?
I want to think so.
Yet have I not sold my life, day by day,
working with little delight for mere pay?

Only when I am not on the job,
can I labor on what is significant.
The toys that bring me such joy,
the expression of things not seen.

Striving to find the balance.
My daytime work provides food and shelter.
Moonlighting as mystic, seer, and maker;
reflecting my truths in both realms.

I have moved to the old country.
The land of my sires: a hard land;
poor in wealth and rich in spirit.
We find God in each other here.

Time

Originally Posted on December 23, 2016

I am unstuck in time.
Each moment unique:
momentarily eternal.

What is time?
I am discovering,
some truths of time.

Time can be an illusion.
Consciousness and perception conspiring,
in creating causality.

Time can be a product of our limitations.
We cannot experience everything, all happenings,
all at once.

Instead, we experience time;
stretching those events,
across a lifetime.

I am unstuck in time.
Past is present is future.
My presence is.

Eccentricity

Originally Posted on August 23, 2016

A new thought, sparks in a mind.
Not like a fire, or the sun’s light,
not as any thing, which is only physical.
An idea, an inspiration, an obsession.

She meditates on it.
It is disruptive,
she does not want it.
It cannot be unthought.

It challenges beliefs long held.
She has discovered
a cracked foundation stone,
in her tower of understanding.

Over several months,
she examines it.
Though her variable moods,
she holds it in her heart.

The world reels around her,
as the reality of what was true,
ceases to exist.
Her new Truth is born.

A new tower takes shape,
out of the rubble of the old.
Each Truth examined anew,
as each course is laid.

A new thought, sparks in a mind.
Not like a fire, or the sun’s light,
not as any thing, which is only physical.
An idea, an inspiration, an obsession.

The Mystic

Originally Posted on April 20, 2016

Is there not more?
More that we can see,
more than we can touch.
Unseen, unheard, yet present.

Before we invented history,
we explored the unknowable.
Through ritual, fasting, prayer and pain,
pursuing wisdom through the dreamtime.

Christians and Muslims, Brahmans and Buddhists,
and too many others to name or number.
Influenced all by that nameless presence,
which whispers to our souls.

Perhaps, all arts have this source,
a wellspring deep within our being.
In spiration* with all creation,
we inhale deeply of pure, raw, possibility.

See for yourself.
Close your mouth and eyes.
Quiet the restless mind.
Listen in stillness.

Listen not only with your ears.
Listen with your entire being,
feelings, guts, blood, and bone.
Trust your Self.

Is there not more?
More that we can see,
more than we can touch.
Unseen, unheard, yet present.

* spiration
1 obsolete : the action of breathing as a creative or life-giving function of the Deity
2 obsolete : the action of breathing as a physical function of man and animals