Thursday, October 29, 2009


Jane Hirschfield says,

Three times my life has opened.
Once, into the darkness and rain.
Once, into what the body carries at all times within it and
starts to remember each time it enters the act of love.
Once, to the fire that holds all.
These three were not different.
You will recognize what i am saying or you will not.
But outside my window all day a maple has stepped from
her leaves like a woman in love with winter, dropping
the colored silks.
Neither are we different in what we know.
There is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip
of light stays, like a scrap of unreadable paper left on
the floor, or the one red leaf the snow releases in March.

void

http://www.flickr.com/photos/joteva/4006666671/in/set-72157622574347864/

Tuesday, October 27, 2009


You are stunned, powerless.
You thought you knew
What was going on.
Now you realize you don't have a clue.

You are stopped in your tracks.
Everything within your skin is shaking.
Enter this shaking...

Right here, in the midst of commotion -
Get curious, look around inside with wonder.
All the walls have fallen down.
Unmind your mind!
Go ahead and dissolve.

The One Who Has Always Been,
Who has seen much worse than this,
Is still here.

Excerpt from The Radiance Sutras
© by Lorin Roche, Ph.D. 2008

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Sunday, October 11, 2009

half moon

Casey says, fill up on the big bird and sing the dark gravy blues and a humble pie for the ancestors and holy gratitude i exude thank you for this food and this beautiful human brood Love love love love crazy love give me love...........crazy love Heavenly father, Earthly mother Your blessings I feel in my heart. I AM your infinite child of glory Aho!!!

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

white rib smile

“This is love:

to fly toward a secret sky,

to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.

First to let go of life.

Finally, to take a step without feet.”

Rumi

Monday, October 5, 2009

Enigmas by Pablo Neruda

You've asked me what the lobster is weaving there with
his golden feet?
I reply, the ocean knows this.
You say, what is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent
bell? What is it waiting for?
I tell you it is waiting for time, like you.
You ask me whom the Macrocystis alga hugs in its arms?
Study, study it, at a certain hour, in a certain sea I know.
You question me about the wicked tusk of the narwhal,
and I reply by describing
how the sea unicorn with the harpoon in it dies.
You enquire about the kingfisher's feathers,
which tremble in the pure springs of the southern tides?
Or you've found in the cards a new question touching on
the crystal architecture
of the sea anemone, and you'll deal that to me now?
You want to understand the electric nature of the ocean
spines?
The armored stalactite that breaks as it walks?
The hook of the angler fish, the music stretched out
in the deep places like a thread in the water?

I want to tell you the ocean knows this, that life in its
jewel boxes
is endless as the sand, impossible to count, pure,
and among the blood-colored grapes time has made the
petal
hard and shiny, made the jellyfish full of light
and untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall
from a horn of plenty made of infinite mother-of-pearl.

I am nothing but the empty net which has gone on ahead
of human eyes, dead in those darknesses,
of fingers accustomed to the triangle, longitudes
on the timid globe of an orange.

I walked around as you do, investigating
the endless star,
and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked,
the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.