I strike a match,
lighting a beacon,
alone in the dark.

To my small light,
there is no time,
there is no space.

The whole visible
universe illumined,
from my small match.


wisdom.jpegto be chanted

Early morning,
In the darkness,
In the silence,
From the deep void,
A quiet voice.

Murmurs gently,
In the stillness,
In the quiet,
Emptiness speaks,
Can you hear it?

Sharing secrets,
From the empty,
From the formless,
Where All things come,
And All is known.

Wisdom whispers,
From that well spring,
From the abyss,
Listen closely,
As it draws near.

Empty myself,
Sit in darkness,
Wait in stillness,
Become the void,
The voice is mine.


I Believe in Mystery

Originally written for the Saint Hilary’s Episcopal Church – Prospect Heights, IL Newsletter – 2008

I believe in the power of paradox. All the worlds enduring religions have at their core a mystery. This essential mystery is powered by a paradox; something that cannot logically be true, yet must be believed by its members. Whether the belief inspires faith or the faith inspires belief, this tension is a source of energy sustaining a religion as it is transmitted to new believers through time. In the Christian tradition one of our essential mysteries is the nature of God, God in three persons or aspects, distinct yet indivisible, a logical paradox; a mystery.

I am an engineer by training, and have for the past sixteen years worked to maintain computer systems which are consistently and constantly available. In effect, I try to eliminate all the mysteries involved in the configuration of networked computer systems, resolving all the paradoxical, contradictory elements in their configurations so as to make them more reliable. In my work, I am constantly checking and rechecking, looking for paradoxes. These paradoxes act as signposts, showing me what I need to change to make that particular computer or group of computers work better.

I love legends, stories of gods and goddesses, hidden worlds, hero’s and forest spirits like the Green Man, those ideas in our collective myths that contain that paradoxical element of mystery. In this love, I am myself a paradox. I love the paradoxical, but I make my living eliminating paradox and making plain that which is contradictory, and in my art the mystery lives.

My Green Man – Batik – 2006


I am a face in the trees,
Amid the thickest leaves,
I am here and there,
I live everywhere,
I am of myth and lore,
You’ve ne’er seen me before,
But I watch you, see?
Oh, you can’t find me!

Jon Breckon

My Father – 31 Jan 2020

A familiar voice over the phone,
“About two hours?”
“Hello?”, I replied.
“OK, about two hours. I’ll be with you in a minute, Ladies.”
“Hello?”, I replied.
A phone call from my father,
just checked into the nursing home,
ended abruptly without an acknowledgement.

Two days later, my sister told me a story.
A female orderly, threatened by my
angry father, allowed him to make a call.
He needed to get his truck fixed.
A truck he no longer owns.

I recall a similar event.
The control module in his Chevy truck failed.
It was ’87 or ’88, late summer, Akron, Ohio.
I was studying Engineering after my time in the Navy.
Outside the professional offices of our HMO,
I picked him up to buy a new one.
It was the first time he ever let me drive him anywhere.
As his peer, I might finally be his friend.


The way of Enlightenment is Three.
Toleration, Acceptance, Celebration.
By whichever of the infinite paths we travel,
These are the stations upon the way of Truth.

First, we must refrain from violence,
in deed, in word, in thought.
Even as we bear the centuries of hate,
Today, this hour, we do not strike.

This day, we do not incite,
This hour, we do not kill.
Perhaps today, we learn from each other,
We finally learn how to live together.

In living together, even in conflict,
mere forbearance becomes something new.
Not just tolerance of our differences,
our disagreements, our faults and strengths.

In spite of ourselves, can we at last accept
each other in all our complexity and doubt.
Forged by the flames of our
mutual distrust and discord.

Practicing acceptance, the final transformation.
From discord and difference; delight.
From disagreement and conflict; celebration.
From many at odds, many now acting in accord.

Celebrating every difference,
with endless delight in our infinite diversity.
Attaining the potential of all sentience,
Living into our souls’ divine light.

These are the stations upon the way of Truth.
By whatever of the infinite paths we travel,
Toleration, Acceptance, Celebration.
The way of Enlightenment is Three.


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.


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?


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.


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.