you can neither know thyself nor no thyself
could we be the species
that entertains itself
into extinction?
sometimes at night I
(not speaking, but spoken,
not singing, but sung)
wonder at words
bringing the world into being
where in a world out of balance do we find center but in this moment?
at any moment
gone (perhaps)
splat like a fly
in many mirrors,
in many windows,
my reflection…growing older
affable cop on day off
shares tricks of trade
with violators
even the Dalai Lama gets the blues;
he just doesn’t have them for long
“what is” is neither perfect nor imperfect, it simply is
dusk in the valley,
crows gather, flock,
10,000 caws
not two — the interpreter and the interpreted
there is no market for aphorisms
seekers seeking for a life other than their own
peace passing understanding is nothing of this world…and..is this world
peace in living doesn’t look like anything other than what is
whether or not I ever see the moon…the finger pointing is enough
I’m just a guy,
my head turns as she walks by,
I’m just a guy
when it comes to sex and money, most human beings can do most things
you don’t need to be in love for love to be in you
all is discourse, some is song
if I am not this thought
or that thought,
I must be no thought
smiling first befriends the other…and oneself
inside the gift shop
two captive birds
sing for each other
giving tames the wanting beast
forgiving is a primordial act of love
while I live life as a local, I sometimes experience it as a tourist
nothing completely original is ever said; only the moment of utterance is new
when you no longer need to know the time, they give you a watch
always unaware -
how strong the desire for control -
until a moment of letting go
reading the news,
reflecting on my life
(if even for a petty reason)…
gratefulness
all jays
under heaven
squawk
wisdom includes a disposition to be where you are
living alone –
if I don’t talk to myself,
who will?
“what am I?” may be a more fruitful inquiry than “who am I?”
you can only have enough if you can also have uncertainty
there is no end to acceptance or, perhaps better, to accepting
for human well-being, in every sense, love is not an option
there is no path from here to here
thoughts like clouds
break upon the mountain,
pouring rain, chanting birds
the talking primate may, upon reflection, realize s/he is an animal, too
after two day blackout
refrigerator no longer hums,
now roars
alone in the blackout,
everyday living, once again –
fragile
morning walk on the greenbelt –
only the dogs, sniffing,
say hello
this moment
is now
the next one
the many voices inside,
I call them all I,
thus, no one thinks I’m crazy
dog waste underfoot is no less “it” than blossoms in hand
we are fishes in a sea of words just beginning to feel wet
trust and forgiveness are the front and the back of the hand of peace
from emptiness we come,
to emptiness we go,
ho! ho! ho!
reading the obituaries,
I wonder,
what will kill me?
