The Ocean in You; The Ocean in Me
There is something about the Ocean.
For those of you who have lived its Bigness. It breathes full. It contains many landscapes. It births many dreams and consumes many sailors. It is both entity and identity; moving in subtle mists and pounding in terrifying torrents.
We think this thing is “us” … we trust this thing knows us and supports us and favors us. We tiptoe at its shore like skitterish little birds, playing it its arms, knowing that caresses and death are but a thin, red line. Nature is our kitty-cat, but also our cougar, and never at a convenient time.
But, dangers and archetypes aside, the ocean is simply amazing. To be near a body of water where the bigness of the ocean can be appreciated: sniffed in, savored, sipped – like a delightful wine – is indeed a gift.
The elements at play are huge, and remind us of our sweet insignificance. Major elements, in major proportions. The Sky: vast, spacious, open; a blue and pearl dome of cool, infinite and soothing dimensions. The land: shore, sand, rock: sculptures of mortality and magnificence. The immoveable that has been ground to dust. The shifting sand that dances and disappears underfoot. The unyielding high craggy cliffs that groan and crumble every million years with invisible voices to timeless ears.
And the Ocean Itself.
That which is in us, that longs for and craves the solace of the eternal … strives to measure the infinite by the only little rulers we own.
And of these Little Rulers, the Biggest Little Rulers are the perceptions we carry of the Voice of Nature. This Ocean, in its expanse, it’s blue-ness, its unrivaled contrasts of softness and violence, its lullabye sound, its caress on our skin … all this speaks to the deeper longings of us humans. It becomes one of the most powerful facsimiles of the Infinite. It speaks to the Soundless Sound within; the Deepest Depth within, the bravest Sailor in our skin.
We romance that sea, in both our calm and turbulent times.
It is both serpent and sage. The undulating deep and primal power, the soft mirror that shows radiance, compassion, reflection. We, those tiny birds on its shore. We, those delicate Dancers of Dust, on this shifting Stage of Sand. The thing of immediate history, holder of memory, shaper of continents, tosser of tiny boats riding gigantic waves.
And all we can do is look. Breathe. Sigh.
Sit like seagulls on our old logs and wait for our ship to come in.
Bathe in the crashing, the roaring, the cold & foggy mornings, the ancient Egyptian sunsets, the tiny bits of shell and jewels that this monarch spits up on our shoes.
Another day in superb creation.
Another gift that we can open our eyes and see.
The Heart with No Name
Dear Baby,
I am the Harpoon Hunter
I am the Whale that got away
I am Good Friday waiting for Bad Monday
so my Mediocre Memories of how-to-play
Get lost in the picnic frenzy of “Workahol” – the Drink of Everyday Man.
I am the Opening Door
that closes only for you
Only for the Light that sees right through
Only for Rose-colored Spectacles that Paint my world Blue
I am the Academic Scholar
that fell below his White Collar
and slid down the Shiny Breasts of Mother Maya
into the Belly Button of Nature’s Lost Fire
I am the Only One who knows My Way Home
so I journey there Alone
while dialing on my Telephone
The Crystal Number of your Name keeps coming up
(is it still the same?)
And before I fall into Melodies of Silence Insane
and become a victim of Love’s Purple Flame
There’s only One Thing that I Remain …
Yours Truly:
The Heart with no Name
The House of Breath
The House of Breath
We go out and play
we save our tear-drops for a Rainy Day
We Play
We visit Others – our Cousins, our Brothers, our Lovers, our Mothers
We live on their Doorsteps; we Stray
We save our Dances for a Sunny Day
The House of Breath
Chance, Circumstance – finds me at your door
(have I been here before?)
You seem so familiar – the Curl of your Hair
Your hot summers’ Air
Your Roaming Fingertips of Despair
I linger and Lurk: you must think me some kind of Jerk
This House of Breath
This house of Living Life and Dying Death
This House I left behind, the only thing ‘mine’
This House of Colors, Fullness, Feeling Filled, Softness, Stillness, Willing to be Thrilled
This House calls me home at the End of the Day
This House of Breath is the only Place
My heart wants to Stay.
Lost Feather ~ Crystal Silence
I was a Lost Feather,
a Man Without Cause.
Looking for Identity, Reason, Homeland, Season.
There is a Journey somewhere:
a Calling, a Knowing, a Home-coming.
A Crystallizing in Silence.
Life proceeds along “attractively”,
for most that we know. They have a car,
and a house, and a small piece of snow.
They are “busy”, these birds are busy.
These people are never seen talking to
a flower on a street-corner, or looking
into the Divine Eyes of a a baby
in a supermarket crowd.
They have points and merit-awards
and plots reserved in the cemetery,
“right by Mom & Dad”, and they have
sugar on their corn-flakes and Organic
Pet-Food for their Geriatric Cats.
I have never been “busy”.
I have avoided and deconstructed
the word, “busy”. I don’t listen to
busy signals or go to business meetings.
We are busy avoiding ourselves,
being distracted into the world of nothingness
that we think is “somethingness”.
We are the collectors of trash – the material
garbage of the world; we are the undisputed
kings of mountains of Nothingness, which we
endlessly worship as “somethingness”.
We are Lost Feathers in a Big Storm.
We are Lost Feathers clinging to Dust
that we think is “somethingness”.
We are headed towards the Hot Fire
that burns Lost Feathers
and all their Precious Dust
into ashes of an
infinitesimally fine nature.
The Big Storm and the Hot Fire
dance & play every day.
They love the sound of Feathers
going, “snap, crackle, & pop”.
This is the Opera of Life & Death.
And everything in between.
This is the Sky of Blue,
the Swing of Breath,
the Color of the Canyon Green.
The Crystal Song of Silence,
and the Moments In Between.
The Hand That Feeds Us All
Fitting in
something small
inside the Hand
that feeds us All
around the Garden
hidden stones harden
forming a Secret Wall
fountains of Flowers
forsaking the Hours
Span the Distance
between You and Eye
The knowing in-between pillars of uncertainty
pulses with rhythm of life sustained beyond
the arbitrary kingdoms of despair, loss, mortality, passage
In the Desert
a silent flower blooms,
a prayer in Quiet Rooms
a Star in the sky where Midnight Looms
Fitting in something Small,
inside the Hand
that Feeds us All …
One Drum, Many Dances …
tags: Depth, LIFE, Moment Of Now, Sacred Territory
DECLARE.
Declare the sacred space of your Inner Landscape.
UNRAVEL.
Unravel the hidden turning points of Desire.
LUXURIATE.
Luxuriate in the Territory of Peace.
afternoon sun
The Turning of Daylight Hours
Brings about the Best of You in the house
Laundry is Done, Dinner is On
Afternoon Steeps the longer shadows of the Sun.
The Call of the World
tags: bird in a golden cage, comfort zone, voices, world
The World has many voices.
We listen to them all.
We believe many of them.
We are pulled, pushed, nudged, awakened, sedated, seduced, mystified, bewildered and entertained by these voices.
We rarely question.
