This is the kind of day poems are made of
    The verses all but write themselves:
    The sapphire blue sky, cloudless
    The trees a palette of crimson, flame and gold
    The water sparkling a thousand diamonds
    The autumn sun deliciously warm


    As I stand at the river's edge,
    I am reminded -
    I have never gazed upon these waters before
    And I never shall again
    Though this is a treasured place in my heart
    And I visit often


    There are stories in this river
    This the great gurus knew

    I listen

    And somewhere deep inside
    I hear
    Those waters flow through me
    Mixing with my blood

    My essence


    Wisdom gazes lovingly at me from across the shore

    And to her I bow

    Buddha smiles at me from beneath the gentle current

    And to him I bow

    I bow to the tremor that joins me

    With them

    My words are an inadequate homage

    But in this form it is all I have to offer

    Let it be complete



    Nature’s tranquil beauty
    rooted deeply in the Earth
    radiating peace

    Disconnected youth
    frantically seeking purpose
    unleash violence

    Trees whisper stories
    of plentiful water
    abundance of life

    Screams of society
    declare injustice
    random enraged attacks

    Leaves blanket the forest floor
    soft compost nurtures the source

    Distant humans
    move unconsciously
    paddle fast to stay afloat

    Vibrant colors float on water
    rippling reflections
    joyful energy

    Tormented spirits
    inflict criminal actions
    swelling resistance

    Harmonized critters
    gather a bounty
    with gleeful gratitude

    Savage actions
    reverberate back
    to disjointed souls

    Simple blessings
    transfer the divine
    to our reality


    Stone cold

    Surya warms

    Maya dance

    Resistance binds

    Prana enters

    Resistance burns

    Stillness awakens

    Gurus call

    Scriptures sing

    Courage grows

    Kleshas entrench

    Confrontation ensues

    Battlefield set

    Blood red

    Demons rage

    Face to face

    Demons feast

    Desires shift

    Expectations devoured

    No-Thing remains

    Fear transformed

    Ajna glows

    Divine Beauty

    Crystal forms

    Sacred is all

    Love Is


My teenage daughter asks, "What do you want for your birthday?"
I respond, "A cave!"
She rolls her eyes, laughs and hugs me.

My deep longing for solitude replaced by giggling children, supper on
the stove, making our home a peaceful haven.

I sit to meditate in the middle of the living room - a cat jumps in my

lap, the dog lies down and leans against my thigh.

I sit to meditate in a quiet room upstairs. A child calls for me,

finds me, and tells me they need me. I go.

I sit to meditate. My son comes close and lies on a sleeping bag

nearby, experiencing his own stillness.

Five minutes until the pasta is boiled means five minutes of asana

practice. I turn upside down and sideways right there on the kitchen

floor. A few favorite postures and I am renewed. The timer goes off.

Bedtime. The house is silent. I sit, japa mala in hand, breathing in,

breathing out. The windows are open. The cool summer night air brushes

past my face. I am so grateful.

My body, a container for joy, is completely full.

I've discovered how to love
Wild storms I've emerged above
I've come out , don't hide my pain
Would you like to see me smile again?
I've encircled all of life's bliss
Cleansing my face with the cool, morning mist
I've a beautiful heart to share
Does anybody care to hear?
There's a wildflower in the whistling wind
calling me to let love in.
A whispery breeze in the meadow I hear
Feathers and light around me grown near
I'm growing fond of colors in eyes
Greens and browns of the earth rise to the skies
I'm spinning circles happily dazed
Hummingbird song enlighten my way
I'm high today on the sweet smell of flowers
Picking daisies in the twilight hours
I've a beautiful heart to share
Does anybody care to hear?
There's a wildflower in the whistling wind
calling me to let love in
A whispery breeze in the meadow I hear
Feathers and Light around me appear.


In celebration of grace we watch in wonder
this gift, so wicked and wise.
So many seemingly distinct styles and lives
dissolve so fluidly with blended breath.
Each exhalation an offering
Each inhalation an invocation
so nourishing.
We take long satisfying sips
and it drips past our lips
and through our hearts and hips.
This is the stuff bliss is made of.
This is the reality that we dreamed of.
We can be anything!
If fate is what we make it
why not make it perfect?
This heart a portal to totality.
This being the temple of awakening,
the altar, the devotee, and the deity
above, below, around, and inside us
May the body bow to this sacred geography
and pray that only grace may guide us.

Touch, feel, be

connected to each other.

Souls intertwine

in a dance of divinity.

Pulsations of love

connect us intimately,

Like waves they undulate

against the shores of our humanity.

Together we experience this dream

of ever changing sensation.


Wouldn't We Be Beautiful

Wouldn’t we be beautiful

if we shed no more tears.

No more tears of self pity

for lost loves

unfulfilled dreams

unsatiated desires.
Wouldn’t we be beautiful
if those tears were instead offered to our higher nature:
truth, wisdom, guru, The One that animates all?
Wouldn't we be beautiful?


a plethora of enlightened beings
shooting stars of wisdom
grab the truth
hold on and you soar the distance
globally, conscientiously, hardly at all
swimming in an ocean of bliss
it's all emotions of this and that
it's the dance of wonder
wandering blindly through the darkened hours
teary-eyed and disheartened
yet among the sages who know the truth
one or two
they wait for you in the canyons
seeking you out in your journeys
storm settles, red earth crumbles
the light has always been on
receive the wisdom
know the suffering
always inside you
real and present
the orange glow of the red flame flickers
flawlessly, feverishly, forever
let gravity pull you into the cave
where a plethora of enlightened beings
wake you from your delusions
it can even happen on the ledge
if you go down I'll be right there with you
a soul offering
a shaman's cave


Woven webs of glowing flame
burn slowly through the brow.
Ego turns to ash,
fire becomes wine.
Seeds of sound reverberate in electromagnetic frequencies.
Sacred mantras promise enlightenment.
Liberation is the goal.
There is no goal.
Desire feeds the body.
Sweet nectar drips enticingly taunting the soul.
Blood rushes in rivers of vibration.
Senses threaten union with divinity.
Mind explores parasitic intent.
Analytic thought confuses instinct.
The path turns left.
The path turns right.
Flesh dissolves,
spirit emerges.
Birth, rebirth.
Elusive spirals of truth intersect through time,
undulating waves of love solvent in vast oceans.
Ether expands into cosmic conscious.
Stars explode in boundless space

the universe swells.
Wisps of matter float outward
toward black holes of funneling energy.
Colliding with nothing
Colliding with everything.
Woven webs of glowing flame
burn slowly through the brow.


Trains traveling
crisscrossing this incredible country
like blood through veins,
prana through nadis,
shakti through space.
a spectra in the twilight.
The constant vibration feels unstable
like at any moment the molecular structure
may dissolve,
leaving us all in between time and space.
To experience this body
as a mass of vibrating particles,
insubstantial and impermanent,
arising and passing away,
arising and passing away,
22 zeros after 1 times per second is
the truth that is longed for,
that is feared.
Trains traveling
further and further from my
geographical home.
Closer and closer to
the source of this longing
that just grows in the knowing
that desire is nothing
but aversion and affliction.
Trains traveling
from the embrace of the saint
to infinite silence.
From the friend who plays with skulls
to the abode of the goddess.
From this swami to that guru,
for what? for who?
For everything, and nothing, and you.
Trains traveling
past the wrong side of the tracks.
Blue tarp and tar-paper ghettos
Dirty barefoot kids,
king of the garbage pile,
with limitless smiles wave at
trains traveling.
Sun descends
behind boulder spotted hillock.
The white herons that spot the rice paddies
fade to black.
The noisy rhythm of the tracks
exaggerated by the lack
of visibility.
Exaggerating the instability.
Trains traveling
from darkness toward the light.
This is the express train traveling.
The faster the path
the more ferocious,
and how many lifetimes are left?
From junction to junction
trains traveling
toward the final destination:
Coach S9, berth 33, upper bunk.  


Spiritual awakening creates an unfolding of love so profound

that it spreads like fire to all that are in it's path.

If you stand in this path you too will be consumed by the fire and transformed.

It is inevitable that when we feel the heat of love emanating

from anothers eternal flame we will be drawn toward it.

To embrace the love of this fire is to awaken to our own journey.


The future's possibilities, like the present's are limitless.
The potential's expansiveness is endless.
So deep, so high, so vast.
This plane, the next plane, and the last.
Linear time yields to the spherical.
In that revolution is the realization
that there is nothing that is not a miracle.
To know the inner intimately
is to know the manifest with mirrored familiarity,
is to know the entire spectrum of consciousness
and when to use which tool:
Body, mind, emotion, and sense.
A hero knows what to do when and how.
A saint knows why and when to bow.
There is no pinnacle, goal, and no stagnation,
only plateaus allowing integration.
Infinite planes sing of increasing awakening
experienced, integrated, and shared.
There is no final enlightenment
until everyone and everything is there.


embrace the malleability of time and space.
the buoyancy of breath
carrying us beyond those boundaries,
beneath this brain, above this body,
but not outside of ourselves at all.
Content in paradox,
dichotomy is the way to unity.
Utilizing a diverse quiver of tricks
for one collective focus.
Sights are set and held, steady and soft.
The great lock engaged.
The equality of breath audible and victorious.
calling out for freedom,
for what it means to be free.
The privileged and provided for
yearning for the knowing
that oppressed Buddhist nuns hold in their hearts,
a secret so sacred it sustains the serenity
through intolerance and brutality.
This practice
is practice for more random uncomfortablity.
It is grace in the face of adversity.
It is heat and fluidity.
It is practice for reality,
dedication to faith in eventual clarity.
Harnessing all of our everything
with slow focused ferocity
so that we may be strong enough and brave enough
to guide one another home.
This space was created
so that we may open up to and embrace space
until there is nowhere we feel awkward
or not like ourselves.
At Om
Residing in the clean vibration of consciousness
until there is nowhere we feel discontent
or not like ourselves.