Category Archives: Healing

Incandescent Nectar

Posted on by

Incandescent Nectar of Life,
conscious of Itself through our senses,
breathing our breath; and which,
with our caring awareness of one another,
breathes Life full with Love.

Here only, forever Now is,
which, breaking with by and by
becomes again the Full Emptiness,
where the billows of ruminating Dust
show in relief the shadow of Time,
and a brief glimpse
through Fate’s curtain
into who we are.

This sums up my mystical take on life. It’s a “glimpse” of where we came from, where we are, and where we’re going.

This poem is also featured on my new Zaadz profile: GarnetDavid. Stop by and say hello. Peace.

The Write Way

Posted on by

I like to play with words, especially bad puns. But I’ve never been good at writing cohesive thoughts. Ideas come fitfully and are often clumped in numb knots, which take patience to unravel, or disappear before I grasp them. Sometimes words or phrases show up unbidden, as if to say, “here I am, where do you want me”.

I begin again with this plea for patience from anyone who reads this. I think I write here to practice writing, to carve an opinion out of words, to whittle away the drivel. But maybe it’s really to find myself, to use a well worn cliche. Constructive feedback of all sorts is welcome. Really, it is. If you think something is too vague, or pointless, let me know. (especially in my poems) I believe focused writing is focused thinking. I want to learn (or find myself) the “write way”.

Green Eyed Lady has indulged me generously with her comments. Thank you, GEL. Your perceptions have helped me dissect some of my entries.

I recently got off an anti-depressant I’ve been on for years. It’s more of a change than I thought. I feel more focused, though less able to sleep through the night. But I feel less creative. That surprised me. Good news is I’m not depressed, just more aware of my feelings. I don’t have much to say right now, but I’m sure that won’t last. My brain is probably still trying to balance after another shift in chemicals. Watch out, here I come.
—
This morning I got my first hate comment, on yesterday’s post, Emptiness. It was a laughable bit of rhetoric, but clearly intended to offend. I was about to delete it, when a response to it came in from Weez. So I dug in and backed her with my own retort. It was fun.
—
Along a different tangent, here is a proposal to claim some of Justice Souter’s land for a hotel. (in response to his decision to allow eminent domain foreclosures on private land in a recent Supreme Court decision)

Summerness: Robin Chorus at Dawn

Posted on by

Night brings out the muse, usually late.

Last night I went to bed early, giving in to deep relaxed fatigue, layered weights dragging me down the more I relaxed. I awoke way too early, 4:30 AM, not happy about sleepus interruptus, while ruminating mind began planning chores. NO, not now! In a rare appearance these days, my old friend spontaneity came to the rescue. “Get up” s’he said. “Go out and listen to the dawn. Follow the Robins dream. Spiral through the shift from night to day.” So, I got up an went out back to sit on the step and feel the dawn.

Sing robins, sing-
Gossip of angels,
lone voices call
across treetops
(lofty reaches)
in jazzy, lilting riffs.
Each outdoes the other-
point, counterpoint
development, refrain, repeat.
(chorus spinning)
Each answers gurgling trills
in telephonic circulation,
answers and calls,
(leave a message)
conversations which
rise in pitch
to feverish conniptions.

Sing, robins, sing-
thrilling chorus,
bid the light appear as
still air chills and flows in whispers.
The page begins to turn
(huge and gentle)
nudging oceans of molecules to dance.
Shadows barely hint as
the garden broaches the dark pitch.
Bones of structure
rise to the surface,
pale ghost forms
of architecture,
soon to be resurrected,
as night acquiesces.

Sing, robins, sing
for me, when I am gone.
Tell me how the book began
how the story will end.
Tell me why I fear to hear
what you can only sing,
a truth I will never understand.
But tell me yet, for perhaps
I can know as you know,
know in the singing.

I hear, I hear and it’s gone.

The Drummer by the Sea

Posted on by

A drummer sits by the sea
        listening to the hollow, holy undulation
of his mother’s clock
breathing against his face, his heart-
beating a different rhythm, a
        syncopation, a duet.
He calls to her and
she answers.
        She answers as he calls; he listens
to his own voice in the waves, her
rhythm,
his heartbeat, their duet…
the drummer hears
a whisper inside his ear,
(He took his inner voice to be
                           Hers.)
"Why," s’he said, "do I feel so lonely?
We haven’t been together in a long time.
Why, in order to be together
must we first be apart?"
S’he listened and heard and relaxed and
came together and came apart: together, apart.
S’he felt the swelling of their breath,
rising, falling, like the waves on the beach,
like the rising and falling of
their body,
the air,
the day,
the night,
and their rhythms;
soothing,
drumming beats,
of the sea, of the waves,
the waves and the foam,
and the crunchy, cool sand
and their feet titillated by it,
on it, off it, on, off.
billions of grains, ancient mountains,
crumbled empires,
fallen spires,
and the timeless sea, giver and taker,
and the dark lurkings underneath,
fear giving breath to joy.

Spirit Fuel

Posted on by

There’s a quiet part of me that doesn’t get to speak up very often. It’s the part that tries to find some spiritual identity, an awareness of the importance of an inner life, balance, centeredness, love, and thinking beyond my own life and problems.

Spirit. I don’t really like names for things so complex and abstract. But what else do you call something as big as our whole inner life? These days many of us are trying to figure out who we are deep down. I thought I’d share some of my thoughts, since I was so bold as to put spirituality in the description of my blog. So who am I deep down?

I’m not religious. I have read a lot about Buddhism and it’s thinking. I was really into Zen for awhile, probably because of its quietly passionate detachment. And more recently I’ve learned about the thinking, spirit and practice of yoga. One of the main yoga texts is the Bhagavad Gita, which is an amazingly universal and powerful spiritual text, and it’s centuries older than Christianity. But I don’t really practice any of these regularly. I like to think I don’t need to lean on any religion or spiritual practice. That I can manage by my own wits. But a little voice, a very quiet one, manages to whisper to me once in awhile, “Please don’t ignore me”.

It’s a voice that exalts in beauty, wonders at rainbows, falls in love, is thankful, really thankful for what I have. It’s the calming voice of a soothing mother, comforting me in times of doubt. It tells me that if I did my best, I can feel good about it. But it also tells me when I could do better. When to forgive myself. When I need to change a behavior, when I need to apologize for something. I guess the conscience could be a spirit of sorts. But so is the wind.

This soft voice is at times much more powerful. When I allow the time to dwell upon it, muse on it, it tells me I am timeless, that all history passes through me, that I am a part of something magnificiently huge. It tells me I am connected, all the time, with and by something I will never understand. That I am safe no matter what happens to me. That my weaknesses are forgiven, that my strengths are gifts, but are not mine to own. I believe there is a scientific explanation for all of the above. A great read about that is “Concilience” by Edward O. Wilson. But the mystery will always remain as to who made the science, who came before the egg or the chicken. In my humble opinion, the more we know, the less we know, and the smaller we get. Humbling.

It tells me that all things, living and otherwise, are mysteriously interwoven, that our planet’s health is crucial, that helping others is not charity, but duty. That compassion is the key. That any power I have is a tool to benefit all. These thoughts are known to be patterns of survival for humans. We all benefit from nourishing our surroundings and ourselves and each other. It worries me that this common sense is lost in all the ideological shouting that seems to go on about religion.

In a nasty and chaotic world, I often feel torn. How do I reconcile so much need in the world with my own self fulfillment? I seek balance: between action and inaction, between self fulfillment and selflessness, between inner and outer life, stress and relaxation. I my case it means flowing toward forgiveness, especially for myself. I often feel I’m not doing enough, for others or the world, but if I get sick over it, the unbalance doesn’t help anyone.

I’m starting to realize that a certain amount of selfishness is not a fault, but fuel to get to the core of our true self. To a place where the fire burns close, where the inner and outer lives feed off each other, rub together, warmed by friction. Personally, I have trouble getting close to the fire. I protect my inner-self, mostly to keep from getting hurt, but it really imprisons me. I only limit myself by keeping my soft self hidden from the outside. Maybe that’s because it’s terrifying to be vulnerable. Does anyone else feel that way?

So if we force ourselves to help others, we are denying that devine friction to fuel our goodness, and we begin to resent those we help. If we cultivate our inner voice and listen to it, we may not find a particularly charitable spirit inside. But through gentle, forgiving honesty with ourselves, we find natural goodness, which hopefully will reach out in some way to benefit others. This can be family, friends, neighbors, strangers, even enemies. That depends on how much you’ve opened your heart. It can’t be faked, really.

I used to feel alone when alone. Now I feel connected, infinite.