a fierce inward gaze

Looking back
over the contents
of her memories,
through the passing days,
she fiercely fixed
her eyes,
in an inward gaze,
it was only then
did she realize,
its her future
she’s setting ablaze.

an orange-beige sky

The old shaman
was losing his connection
with the Great Mystery.
His medicine had become weak,
and he felt unworthy.
So he went on a walkabout,
and while stopping to rest,
he fell fast asleep.
Under an orange-beige sky,
he dreamed and questioned,
but there was no reply.

When he awoke,
sitting and looking at him,
was an orange-beige cat,
who climbed up on his head,
and just comfortably sat.

They could both feel
the interplay of their souls,
and having secured their roles,
a spiritual balance came back.

A young soul,
in an old shaman’s body,
befriended an old soul
in a young orange-beige cat,
whose partnership told the unlikely story,
of his magical powers return to glory,
when on his head he wore the cat as a hat.

She didn’t listen

She was told
not to dream,
that it was
a waste of time.
she didn’t listen.

She thought of
how she felt
when she was doing
what gave her greatest joy,
Then she played with
that feeling like it was
a favorite toy.
When,
she closed her eyes,
and made it her prayer,
without any delay,
she found herself there.

a knowing smile

The truth in her eyes
is revealed in a look
that dispels any lies
the truth had mistook.

In her innocent,
knowing smile,
reflects an inner resolve,
that would make
any truth that’s worthwhile,
materially evolve.

In that knowing smile,
lives a playful expectation,
scripted in divine style,
and written within
her human imagination.

a far away look

if I have a
far away
look in my eyes
you can be sure that
I am far away.
It’s no disguise.

No matter
how close to you
I may seem
I am only as close
as I can be
in my waking dream.

utter madness

Lost in the
falsities of needing security,
in a downward spiraling world,
where most
seek others’ approvals
and a sense of importance,
never having control
over resulting discordance
between mind and soul,
and that makes for
the kind of sadness
that is really
a form of utter madness.

The God-seed awakened

She smiled,
when she saw
within the very depths
of her own soul,
that the being,
inside of her,
is meditating her.

The God-seed awakened,
as the meaning of life
rearranged its themes,
old ones are forsaken,
and everything is of a
substance my spirit dreams.
———–
What next,
will capture my fancy
and rouse my imagination?
I know, when I
start getting antsy,
something new,
invites my participation.

Once my
imagination bestows
tones of reality,
and it feels natural,
to wear;
and if I view the world
from there,
and it is from
where I dwell,
then it matters less,
what’s sensed,
as my vision continues
to outwardly swell.

All things are
spiritually called
before they come to pass,
and once imagination’s
script is installed,
everything needed will,
most assuredly amass.

with grasses and flowers

Silently,
I bent down
to be closer,
closer to the ground.
Then I sat in the grass,
amongst the flowers,
focusing on life’s
wonderful mystical powers.

My attention centered
in both heart and mind,
was a valid say,
which inspires
imagination’s motion,
and brought about a day,
both gentle and kind,
with a reddish,
blue-green sky
and salty spray from
the far-away ocean.

The truth took hold
and began to unfold,
in a most natural way.
I’m not running hot or cold,
because my experience today
shows, that awareness
is the potter’s clay,
and feeling ‘natural’ is the mold.

Suddenly,
the grasses and flowers
were talking to me
about their traditions
and experiences
in the great mystery.

And on this
beautifully designed,
sunny afternoon,
I was given a truth,
that my logical mind
could no longer impugn.

It was all so real,
with color, smell,
taste, sound and feel,
that there can be no appeal
by those that are
tradition-bound.
For the truth is,
it’s imagination that,
makes the world go round.

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Nature Boy

He looked
into the pond,
and the pond
looked back, into him.
His mind
could no longer
stay fixed in the
proper and prim.
Walking barefoot
on the mossy grass
and leaves,
across the forrest floor.
Climbing rocks
and from the tops
of the tallest trees,
let out his loud,
wild, animal roar.
His hair was all
tussled and grimy
but he didn’t care,
he has nature’s slimy,
but oh, so, lovely,
tones and rhythms to wear.

When I held a brush for the first time

When I held a brush
for the very first time,
a warm glow in a dizzying rush,
defined my new paradigm.

It was talking to me
in some language that
I spiritually sensed,
and could somehow understand.
Putting thoughts in my head
of people, places and events,
and a feeling
that I had it all planned.

Dipping deep into
colors that seemed endless;
flourishing in a sea of
tint, hue, shade light and tone.
Dancing its drip on a canvas,
my own story was told.
Patterns were revealed
the more I would surrender
and yield,
for as if by magic,
the contents they traced,
emerged from the invisible fabric
hidden within the empty space.

Recognizable forms,
were self-shaping
from some power
I couldn’t see,
although there
was certainly no mistaking
that this power
was coming from me.

Then I scribbled
some words upon a page,
writing in a tongue,
not of mind, but of a heart
that was soulfully engaged
in a song to be sung.

And so it was,
that he rediscovered
what he had known, long ago,
that his art,
was to free his love heard
from within his head,
down to his tippy-toe.