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?

Archives

COPYRIGHT

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License (Some Rights Reserved)