Gifts of my Soul

Gifts of my soul
bless yourself upon me.
Through the long, narrow tunnel
I have trenched
I am ready to receive.

You have given your gifts before
and I claimed them
as my own.

My walls are crumbling.
My heart shoots blood
past my thin skin
My breath forms morning dew
The moon enters my eyes
and sees through them.

My aloneness is the world's pain
My empathy, its joy
My indulgences
the wants of all children
My steadfastness
the bricks of existence
shattering.

My soul, I see
it is not me, anyway
so lavish your gifts
and I will gladly share.

Days of Gray

There is a crack
   in my world
where water seeps
   into the core
   of the earth
where the diatribe
   of opposing forces
   lead beyond traces
   of human awareness.

In this global trend
   toward self-destruction
I am torn
   by dying species
   tainted water
   and atmosphere so clogged
   grays haunt my paintings.

Yet magic abounds
   in this universe
   that calls to be saved
by doctors flying
   into war zones to treat
   the newly wounded.

I seek to be
   part of our greater good
our cosmology that rests
   on human-kind
   to push it forward.

Where politics
   and religion fail
there is nothing left
   to pick up the pieces
but us -- individuals --
   fighting for our
   very existence.

So I follow the crack
   into the center
   of the earth
to touch upon
   what is alive
   that cannot be seen
and needs the most
   to be shared.

In Limbo

Stillness watches over me
like a damp cloud
hovering, waiting.
I ignore it
in my whereabouts
rushing from one task
to the next
overshadowing what is here.

The invitation to go underground
is vague.

The dark, moist morning
beckons me
to expand into it —
recoiling is not an option
seeing in the dark, is.

Surrender

Surrendering into night
I watch the undoings of the day
slowly melt into my bed
as if all my goals
have subsided
desires vanished.

I surrender
to the night's wishes
to be clearly in the moment
unhindered, serene
like an elder
who has done his tasks
lived fully in the world
and now
is ready for the edge.

I enter the sleeping dream
with no regrets
so when the sun rises
I do, too
born fresh in the morning
given another chance
to carry my
night of surrender
into the day.

Heart of Mine

Heart of mine
immeasurable joy
Waken my senses
to the world
Hold my hand
and lead me down the path
where flowers bloom
and long sunrises
cast an air of change
upon me.

Expose the patterns
that unravel your being
and bask me in the wonder
of your sights
Take me deeper
into the longings of the earth
and let me feel
the oneness of all.

Heart of mine,
your grace has lured me
into its ways
My mind, tired of its control,
lays down its head
and rests.

Lilies at Dusk

Warm and glowing
lilies at dusk
catch the last rays
of the sun
and reflect them back
toward the seer
who looks with
uncharted eyes.

Depths abound
when no one is watching
when we are not
blinded by our own eyes
when our hearts open
and the witness
holds no limits
nor directs the view.

Tai Chi

Catching the next wave
I breathe in —
letting it inform me,
take my body elsewhere.

Slowly arms raise
never separate
all things connected.

Centered
steady, yet moving
alive.

Standing still is never still.
Adjustments, undoing
breathing out to the forest
in again to my core.

The air moves
making room
for my arms to take its place
flowing gently
with the nuance of form
which allows it all
to sing. 

Night Life

Darkness falls
like a womb encasing me
A blanket of care
from the nurturing sky
amid a symphony
of hidden creatures.

The ground calls me
to touch it, relax on it.

Fear slowly leaves
like earthworms
abandoning the hot sun
in search of
damp warm places.

The mystery above
shares its connections
with thousands of years
of recorded history
Sparkles forming shapes
stretching perception.

Images come alive
as the yin of the night
caresses me
challenging my inherent numbness
and something inside softens
as if for the first time.

Being Night

Sands of wind and time
rush through my face
as if I'm not there.
Only the shallow crawl
of a snail can
withstand the blow.

Others trek through
the desert finding corruption
that sinks down
into the unending grit.

The night air
doesn't sting anymore.
The moon — a nurturing orb —
holds out her hand
and guides me
through the day
into night
into day
as I advance toward
my highest good

no longer following
and, yet,
no longer lost.

Art

This is art.

It is not what you see
on the page in front of you
or on the street corner
advertising itself.
It is not tucked away
in museums
or made to be paid for.

It is here
in the way we live
in the thoughts that arise.
Every time we
get out of our way
and let our soul shine through
this is art.

Every breath that
leaps out of our body
to entangle with the world,
everything that surrounds us,
replenishes us, advances us,
every sunrise, sunset,
moon glow, starburst,
wild fruit, butterfly.
This is art.

We live in luxury
surrounded and are part of
the greatest creation —
this luminous world.
When we see it with clear eyes
and feel it with an unencumbered soul
this is a masterpiece
and we are all players.