Electric Tides

An infinite stillness passes over me.
A current, momentum, propulsion, frenetic.

Dispensing of written histories and ancient mythologies.

An infinite drumming haunts my ears.

A current, momentum, propulsion, frenetic.

Dispensing of rational thought and abstract dreams.

The infinite fall of societies is built upon my chest.

A current, momentum, propulsion, frenetic.

Dispensing of the life source and all things magic. 

Reconciling the pauses in-between.


Meditation on Compassion

A unified breath. A collective sigh.
The human force, a wave of consciousness.
Accessible in the strangest way.
A fight against time. 
Like swimming in the shallows.
Our knees knock against jagged rocks.
Carved out through the ages
Before man took his first breath. 
Before the great awakening.
Two eyes wide. 
A third hidden behind worry lines.
Confusion laps against the shores of the mind.
A quickening. A kindness. As we sail toward understanding.
A world so small it fits inside an oyster shell. 
Laying on the sands of time. 
We bask in enlightenment.

Poems from Nepal

Here are a few of the poems I wrote while in Nepal.


Nepal Day Two

Open my eyes to the mountain side, trees and branches rise

Toward a brightening sky, the day begins. 

I find my drishti upon your face, and feel you smile.

You, clever guise.

You, spirit guide.

You, of the narrow switchbacks, chicken coops and simple things.

A suspension bridge to paradise. 
A passage between my mind and all things eternal. 

Awakened from the inside.

You, ever there to receive me. 


Lama Hotel

Exit the green moss kingdom, where the ground was paved with silver flecks

nature's treasure, she doesn't covet.

Beyond the tunnel of trees, the promise of paradise.

Creature comforts await tired feet. Hot water, fire, rice, chocolate.

The pulse of life, bounds in and out. A revolving door of human comings and goings.

Creaking wood, laughter, guitar chords. 
Followed by a mandatory dance with death

Those who lay still hear the whispers of river nymphs.  

And the slip of the spider's web, as it drops from the ceiling toward dirty human things

muddy shoes and paper bins overflowing with western ways.

We collect our sins and dispense of them. We strive for uncluttered lives.  

Out of sight. Out of mind.

We slip into sleep on a thin web of consciousness.  

Where we follow a trail made of the contents of paper bins; bread crumbs, tissues, discarded things.

The only road from paradise leads though emptiness.

Creature comforts dance in the dark behind us, as we find our way back to the green moss kingdom.