Maybe, Just Maybe

What if, for example,

the Earth wants us to learn
what it feels like
to have her grasp of life
squeezed out from under her?
Her blood—the waterways
clogged with plastic and slime,
her lungs—the forests
cut clear without concern,
her life force—the soil
denatured and damaged
with pesticides and mono-cropping,
her micro-systems—animals and fish, birds and bees
endangered or killed.
All her life-giving gifts
and sustainable ways
not being cared for and destroyed.

How would the earth speak to us?
How would she show us she can’t breathe,
that she is dying? How would she talk
so she could be heard?

Maybe, just maybe,
she would show by example.
She would infect our lungs,
squeeze the very breath out of us.
Maybe by way of a virus
that would spread without us knowing,
that would keep people apart,
break economies, immobilize nations,
leave the dying without ceremony,
with no end in sight.
And maybe, just maybe,
she could teach us to work together,
she could help us see
that we are one life
on the brink of destruction,
that we took our greed and carelessness
too far.

And maybe we can wake up
and pool our efforts
and dissolve conflicts and boundaries
for a greater cause —
to save the Earth, to save life,
to save each other.

Maybe, just maybe,
we can listen this time.

I Am Covid-19

Do not underestimate me.

Do not think I am done.
Do not think I come without reason.

How does one stop a runaway culture —
one that has lost touch with itself,
one that doesn’t see beauty
in the natural, the pure;
where bigger is better
and faster outweighs all?

You think I am the hidden monster?
What about 5G?
That will infiltrate your souls —
unobtrusively at first,
but irreparably.
It will fill your young and old
with internal growths,
destroy your DNA,
and create a global microwave effect.

Would that you could learn some lessons
before that monster comes.
Would that you could slow down
and smell the roses.

I plead with you —
help your neighbors, your homeless,
the ones in more need than you.
Honor your doctors, teachers, artists, seers.
Honor the earth, the worms, the bees.
These are your saviors.

I bring you to your knees to wake you up.
How else can you learn
to appreciate what you have,
before you lose it all?
Your towers to the sky, satellites,
yes, they bring you GPS,
but you have lived without that before.
Your ice is melting, your lands are dry,
fires rage.

Stop already.
Go back to your roots.
Seek out those
who know how to lead the way.
Your greed has blinded you.

I am small.
I am your wake-up call.
I am not your invisible monster.

Waiting to be Found

I was found hiding

far from my pen,
far from my paintbrush.
I tried to escape,
to not do my work,
but I was found waiting.
Waiting to begin.

Yesterday the strawberries found me.
They cried, "We need space, sunshine.
Please make my bed."
They grabbed me for hours
as I listened and complied.

Today the rains came
just in time,
as I waited.
The I Ching says,
"Waiting is not mere empty hoping.
It has the inner certainty
of reaching the goal."
The goal of being found.

The peach colored rose
found me on my trail,
unfolding more each day.
The chalk message
on the sidewalk says,
"smile." I do.
Distant cousins call.

Conditions are simple.
There is slowing down.
It is not all a bad thing.

Today's Horizon

Every day I must see

how the horizon
plays with the land —
what colors combine
at that time of day,
what mists cover,
what clouds evoke,
what rains wash away.

What new thoughts
mingle with the wind,
what energy is shared
that takes me
out of my smallness,
my cares.

I am expanded
into the loftiness
of godliness,
of evolution,
the changing world,
man’s grip and loss,
the warming of the seas,
impermanence.

And through it all,
I trust the rhythm
of everyday life,
its cycles,
that the sun still comes on time,
and the moon still visits,
that waves break and rivers flow, 
and that the horizon
will always be there
to play with the land.

Ancient Ruins

There is a place inside

where it all begins—
not at birth, but before.
Before the ancient seas split
before man made fire
before we were man.

A seed, a spark—
we tap into it
and from there we know
we are all the same.

Yes, life has its demands
and challenges and joys.
We are here to feel it,
to experience the truth,
the connections,
the path that brings us home again.

The idea is to live fully,
to suck the very marrow
out of life, taste it all,
so when it’s time
to return to peace,
we know we have danced
the dance of life
and we are ready
to be on our way.

Presence

There is a hunger

for the language of the soul—
a dialogue with the
inner workings of our being—  

that gets overlooked, tossed aside, lost.

This interaction is removed from our culture,
pushed into the background of our lives
as if it doesn't matter, or doesn't exist.

As precious as an endangered species—
the soul is not meant to live
in the margins of our life.
It is what sustains us.
Our loneliness
is our lack of time
alone with the soul,
it is not from
being alone.

Reuniting with Beauty

Morning is here.

I awake to the newness
of the day.
I awake to the adventure
it holds.

Today, like every day,
I have a chance to start over,
to greet the sun,
to smell the flowers,
to bathe in nature
and breathe her in.

Today I smile
with the universe.

Today I accept
the invitation
that beauty brings.

Without Winter

Without winter

how would we know spring?

How would we know the delight

of the first bud of the rose,

or the sighting of a robin

at the break of day?

How would we know 

that we climbed out of the drudge

that winter holds?

That we have been transformed

from our underworld dive?

Without winter in our soul

how would we feel renewed by love,

by the awakening of sleepy cells 

that long ago remained unchanged?

How would we know if we

passed through hell 

to come out healed?

How would we know 

what healing is?

Without the depths of our journey

How would we know we arrived?

Without winter

how would we remember

that not a spring comes by 

without its promise of renewal,

its soft colors,

enchanting breeze,

its welcoming silence, setting the stage

for that first sign of relief?

Beneath the Surface

Beneath the surface

a firefighter reflects,

even cries.

They did it — they didn’t let the fire

spread beyond 101.

They were not going to repeat

what happened two years ago.

They were not going to

let this one kill more people and

burn thousands of homes.

Beneath the surface

even though 77,000 acres burned,

they succeeded.

Beneath the surface

the new CEO of PG&E gets a

2.5 million dollar salary.

What if that money went to

update equipment, poles,

put wires underground?

Beneath the surface we pay our 

electric bill by flashlight.

Beneath the surface

no matter how many households

had their electricity shut off

a single jumper on a tower broke

and set off a spark
that seems to have started it all.

Beneath the surface

I’m exhausted from carrying around 

all my valuables in and out of my car

for four days.

Bad air still hurts my lungs,

I had to cancel my class and now

I’m in bed with a cold.

I blew a fuse last night.

Did they turn our power off again?

No, I still see light in the next room,

but how that thought sent panic

through my body.

Above the surface

we’ll get past this one. 

Friends will help friends

and life will go on.

But beneath the surface

we are living powerless to the wind,

in fear of flames

and always knowing what we will pack

the next time around. 

Thirst

They are all older than me —

the mountains, seas, trees.

They hold the wisdom of the years,

the secrets to survive.

They know not to fret

over small things,

that the world goes on around them

crazy and blind.

They remain steadfast in presence,

all drinking from the same pool —

the one at the center of the universe,

the one offering me a sip.