Stillness Moves

We were activists.
Then we discovered that mere
activity was not enough.
We needed to touch
the stillness
at action's source,
the silence
in the beginning
of the world...
Now it is time to feel
the rhythm in that stillness,
to hear the wave-nature
of your emptiness.
Let the Word arise
in your quietest breath
so that you may speak
your radically authentic
Let every atom of your
spiraling voidness
move the heart of the world.

Painting by Mahmoud Farschian


Why is America so obsessed
with being "great"?
Nations rise and fall
and are gone in a breath.
No nation is great.
What is great is the green earth
on which a nation rests
by the grace of Gaia.
Stop striving to be exceptional.
Start living each moment
with deeper attention
in the delicate ecology
of the commonplace.
Let's just be morning glories
tangled on an old
wooden fence.


Offer your outrage,
anxiety and fear
as fertilizer
for the Void.
Sow your troubled mind
in dark furrows
of the vacuum.
Mother Silence
will send up flowers.

Off Trail

Off trail
in a cloud
on the holy mountain
I came upon a marmot
saying his prayers.
I left something there
as an offering -
my silence.

~Took this photo yesterday on Mount Tahoma

Something's Not Quite Right'

When the world does not conform
to the story in my head
I get a feeling that
"something's not right."
Why is the story in my head
not down-loading properly?

Why do I sense that the world
needs to be fixed
and I must repair what is "wrong"
by imposing my story
onto the mystery
of the ineluctable?
Yet the world is not a problem.
The problem is
the story in my head.
It's never quite the same
as your story, is it?
And so there is conflict,
there is suffering,
even when our stories are about
salvation, about justice
and equality, about the perfect
marriage, the cleanest
environment, or gaining
Happiness cannot arise
if we slather the world in the thin
veneer of our narration.
Happiness is the dance
of atoms ordered by
dynamic silence
in the heart of now
when we let both story
and teller disperse
like a fine mist
and allow all things
to clarify themselves
the way silt filters falling
through a mountain brook
in liquid transparency.
Now rest in the miracle
that has always
already happened.
Just shut up and see.
A rain cloud vanishes.
There are crystal drops on
blades of grass, each containing
the sun.

Guru Purnima

Your hand brushed my chest,
your name entered my lips,
your breath became my breath.
The ancient emptiness inside
overflowed with your Presence
like a honeycomb with
formless gold.
The well of my ancestors
is a wound at my heart's core.
But what is sweet and sparkling
bubbles up from that darkness.
Trembling and stillness
kiss tonight.
Have the courage to turn
their wedding into a noble dance.
Friend, if you want to spill
the nectar of pure Light like me,
just reflect the Master
whose face you have chosen
for gazing.
Be like the moon.


Every wound opens with a cry of pain.
We hear it. We listen.
Over and over again we hear it.
Every flower opens in quietness,
in the stillness of the moon.
Listen, listen!
Why do we only hear the cries of pain?
Why don't we listen to the voice of flowers?
Don't you know that whenever
a wound opens, somewhere else
a flower is blossoming in silence,
And for every wound,
there are ten thousand flowers?
Don't worry. Don't worry.
Just listen. And then go,
when the moon is full, go outside
and dance!


In another life, I was that
homeless bipolar alcoholic
who wandered into your yoga temple
and started cursing
until he was removed by
the palace guards.
What you didn't realize was that
it meant so much to me.
I learned the tree pose.
I practiced it religiously in my
prison cell for years.
I never forget your gentle voice,
piercing the core of my pain,
planting a golden seed of peace.
That's why I'm here now,
sitting beside you at the feet
of the Teacher.
Suddenly I turn and gaze into your eyes.
Oh yes, dear one, we've met before.
Thank you. I'm sorry. Forgive me.
In the kingdom of love
there's not the slightest difference
between the pure and the impure.

Photo: Sri Sri Ravi Shankar in Seattle tonight.

So Grateful You Are Here

Birds, planets, unborn children
all singing "thank you, so grateful
you are here!"
The rainbow is weeping,
running its colors into one pure light
around your precious body,
a light that whispers, "thank you, thank you!"
Hear what every creature wants
with a single kiss
to sing to you this day:
"I came from your breath!"


The finest particles of your body,
substratum of each atom,
molecule and cell,
are simply waves of love.
To hear this is only a poem.
To taste it is the nectar
of a boundless smile,
liberation from fear, relief
from cynicism and anger.
Something in you expands
and says "Yes" to this.
Something contracts and says "No."
It is the only choice that matters:
Be what is expanding.
Even your tears must laugh and sing.

Summer Moon

It makes me want to dance, remembering the truth -
this petaled ephemera, reflecting radiant stillness
on ripples of voluptuous night.

The summer moon's message is such silent thunder 
between my eyebrows.
I bathe in a beam that lasers my breath down
a string of seven pearls.

It reminds me of my vow: No separation,
no superior, no inferior, no equality.

Every prism'd facet of this jewel
an effulgent rainbow of all the others.
I am you, You are I, both of us unique.

Shyama Sundara, Lord of Beauty
whose countenance is blue as the sky!

Radha, spellbound motionless pure
erotic Dancer in the Christall center
of the Heart!

Millions of miles from the sun,
she overflows with his light.
Now here is the secret of Guru Purnima:
space is awake, distance is illusion.


Be an outlaw like Krishna, an outlaw like Jesus,
an outlaw like the Prophet, but don't rob caravans

unless you're so impeccable you can do it 
in a way that makes the traveler feel unburdened.

Be an outlaw like the Guru,
who replaces every sacred book with silence. 

Go to the meadow beyond the city
where there aren't any stop signs, or even streets,

just the swirl of stars above you, the light
of stillness that guides you to where 

you already are.

Don't pitch a tent for the weekend - stay. 
Let holy leisure be your life's work.

A wild Goddess dances on your belly button.
You feel at home when you get lost.

You follow every commandment 
without even knowing it's there.

This is the sign that you have become
an outlaw!

Book Release: 'Savor Eternity...'

I invite you to enjoy my new book, 'Savor Eternity One Moment At A Time.' which attained #1 New Release in Nature Poetry and #1 New Release in Inspirational Poetry in its first two days of publication. I encourage you to go to the Amazon site and write a review.

A review does not have to be long, or scholarly. just express honest feeling. You need only read a sample of my poems, not the whole book. Yet every review helps in establishing the book on Amazon and the publisher's site. And its good to support small presses. Thank you, friends, and Saint Julian Press!

To offer a review, just scroll down the site to the bottom and click on 'Write A Review.' Here are LINKS for :

Independence Day

On Independence Day I wave the flag
of the present moment.
Something in my chest melts away
the borders of all nations.
I am a citizen of the earth today,
proud to be a child of one human family.
My religion is wonder.
I am searching for a new song,
not about bombs bursting in air,
but about peace, about the land, about peonies
bursting in the silence of my garden.
please hold a space of stillness
in your heart tonight
for the deer who shiver in the green belt,
for sparrows who tremble in blackberry bushes,
for dogs and cats who do not understand
this human thunder,
and for the soldiers of our never-ending war
who shut their windows and hug themselves,
shaking and shaking in the dark.

Artist: Josephine Wall

Before Communion

Before I take communion
I confess
my ancestral malady -
weakness of the will.
I long for a Comforter
to strengthen me
with the Grace of heaven.
Therefor in the evening,
I listen to the thrush.
In the morning,
raindrops on ferns.


The Lover said, 'Darling,
I do not delight in you,
but in my own awareness
of your beauty.'
A fierce soft swan
holding a wild berry.
A golden hill of wheat.
Shakti's dance in the mirror
of consciousness.
The Beloved said, 'Darling,
I do not delight in you,
but in my own awareness
of your beauty.'
The moon iris sailing
through the cloud of your gaze.
A waltzing spider on a pool of stars.
Come dance with me
in the mirror of consciousness!
Thus delighting in the Self,
they danced with each other.
Now tell me, lovers, twirling
in your stillness:
are there One or Two?


Let your inhalation be
the rain-laden breeze
passing over sleeping lovers
landscaped curve to curve.
Let your exhalation be a forest pool
sparkling under ferns
where spiders come to skate
from sky to sky on cool
secret mirrors.
Each breath, after all,
is a pair of wrens
building their nest in the gables
of a cottage where summer guests
will soon arrive.
I pray for your eyes too,
closed yet gazing inward, your
lips moved by their dream.
Why not take a vacation
in your body, every cell
a domed blue climate
with its shining sun?
Hang a sign on your forehead,
'Closed for Renovation,'
and this one, 'Open,’
from your nipples.
You won’t ever stop working, will you?

Yet the motion of your years
might be a trip to the sea
and a quiet journey home,
all breaths being equal.
The dream has no end, no beginning.
After a nap in the afternoon,

you might wake up, and simply watch
the play of waves.

Artist: Diji Scales