He was a man
Imbedded in time,
Receding in history.

He is is a story,
Enriched in the telling,
Growing with generations.

He is Spirit,
Buddha spirit,
Mohammed spirit,
Our spirit.

He is a bridge,
To where we came from,
To where we always were.

The world hugs us
to this ball of rock,
nestled in its skin,
tender and alive.

By what miracle do we lay here,
balanced between earth and sky,
for a lifetime,
for a moment?

Crazy is infinite;
Normal is a thin line.

When those who nurtured us,
fathers of our minds,
mothers of our hearts,
seemed crazy,
each in their own way,
how do,
how should
we follow them?

The line of Normal
is too thin;
Crazy points everywhere.
Somewhere,
beyond fear,
amidst the chaos,
is freedom.

I used to like a lot of things,
And I suppose that I still do,
But to “Like” something on Facebook
Has become my bugaboo.

Most things I like don’t haunt me,
As Facebook “Likes” will do,
Spawning like a million fish,
As more messages accrue.

So please don’t be offended,
Or look at me askew,
If, in my desperation,
I decline to just “Like” you!

It is not fear that stops us from action,
but the avoidance of fear.

When your entertainment ends,
And emptiness seeps in,
Don’t look away.

Let it take your full attention.
It is the drama of the moment,
Played against the nothingness
Of everything.

On the screen of being,
Nothing is assured,
And everything is possible.

Everything is Now,
Only Now.

The past
Is the mind’s story,
Living only in the telling.

The future is each new moment,
Unfolding;
Now,
Then Now,
And Now.

I am the truth that words can’t convey.
I am the space between the words.
I am that I am.

In the peaceful space
between my thoughts
lies the quiet pleasure
of simply being.