Monday, March 29, 2010


what is Love?

is it that split second of time
when you respond to another human,
with understanding,
when you experience
something of them
so profound that it gives
the opportunity for
soul to touch soul,
like seeing through a window
and being transported
just for that split infinity
only during that moment
is there a ray,
a beam of universal Love
which lifts the heart
and inner self
of the individual,
away from themselves
and into the soul of the other . . .
feeling that Love?
A Love which
is as unpredicted as
an angel's glancing blow
needs to be experienced
only once
to understand
and fold away as a treasured
bit of joy
to keep forever in the drawers
of your heart?!?


The wind blows cold and black
lifting my heart as I tuck my wings away,
and fly with strength delivered by the moving air,
a powerful being, delighting in pulling down
any ancient and tired tree, who is waiting for an excuse
to fly away
and be free. . .
Waters cover the ground . . .
a wetness like a river, glistening in the dark, rivulets running . . .
taking the street grime
to the awaiting sea . . .
as I rise above the ridge
overlooking the shiney metropolis
I hear a familiar bird, hidden in the fastness of a solid tree,
sing his greeting to me . . .
and a creature of the night
scuttles away from my restless feet
and dives into a dark cave under the lifted root
of an old oak . . .
the long train, calls his lonely song, moving against my heels,
pushing me along with the wind . . .
causing me
to fly faster,
and as I enter the brick shelter
for my day
I am wet and slimy like an old mossy tree,
and my roots squish and squeak
as I move over the shiny floor . . .


- The Precious Art of Love -

 So. . . being back in the bosom of my family, after Spring Break; and welcoming

the children, the teachers, the guardians of the little ones.

I had an encounter with my little friend, Destiny, today which warmed my heart,

and made me cry!

She and her little sisters

were going through the breakfast line when I saw them.

I had just helped a tiny creature

unzip and remove her coat,

and was talking to our cook, 
Donna, when there they were . . . 
Destiny and Baily with caps on their heads.

It was a cold and stormy morning, 
so I was not puzzled by the caps, 
but the girls showed me their bright and shiny freshly shaved skulls . . . 
Baily, poor child, had been dripping with lice, 
and Momma made a choice, and so did Destiny. 
Destiny chose to join her sister in the shaved head brigade; 
join her sister in solidarity, and LOVE!  
I gave her a big hug and told her I loved her,  
and with tears in my eyes,  
         tied Baily's shoes    

Just a note about this accidental heart:  Around Valentine's day I decided to go in search of natural hearts occurring around the neighborhood of the school, planning on taking pictures and pasting them on Facebook . . . unfortunately after several days of hunting I was able to find only three . . . all located just outside the school!

Saturday, March 27, 2010


When I had wings I flew with the heartbeat of the world, along the tree-lined forests, through the ocean's spray, over frozen mountains, out into the darkend sky, passing by a silent moon, streaming through a blazing sun, (where I singed my feathers) . . . and on into the far reaches of time and space . .  . . . where I was lost forever . . . but perfectly content!


here is a door to the unknown
i stand before it lost
and uncertain
where do i go from here?
is there a place for me
or thee?
and who is the master
of the key to this place . . .
who writes the rules
which keeps me barred
from entry?
if i wander on my pathways
a little longer
will i find the door
for me?
or thee?
will i make it right somehow
or will my lostness
hinder me forever?

Will i wander around in this
bleak landscape endlessly,
or can i find exoneration
waiting for me at the foot of a tree?
an understanding
an awareness
of Truth?
will it be found on the river banks?
waiting like a life raft
to set me free . . .
like that key
to the door,
the portal
to belief . . .


No Silence

sound lingers
in the air like
lake fog shrouding around
with a dark perfume, a fragrance fingering,
forcing me to hear
what I hear . . .
it drives me like a run
through the grass fields and
on and on to the hills of
starry blue
looking for the silent spaces . . .
drumbeat fighting
against the storm . . .
east sky, a strip of blue
running through
impeachable clouds
and the flutes give me
silver wings
to fly, with blue stars through
grass fields
and i, like yellow bird,
land on a single stem
while wind blows
and rocks me to the melody
drowning out memories
and pain

-The Lonely-

I have all these people around me
wanting to talk at me,
yet I feel more alone than ever . . .

Today -
I found myself reaching for the phone
to call my sister . . .
how crude a slap it was
when I remembered in that split second
that she was long gone . . .

that second
quickly passed,
yet set my heart on a downward spiral
like a jet plane
destined to crash and burn . . .

hurting like a wound
and bleeding like a still cry
in the darkened night;

a thin blade thrust
and then turned
to rise the pain . . .

the only solace
being the other
lonely ones, like
so many,
we talk about our loneliness
as if gloating
over treasure
that only we can see. . .

I send this refrain to a friend,
and I realize this is what I do . . .
speak to my friends in my head
and imagine they want to hear
my sad song . . . left on their doorsteps
like a newspaper . . .
who cares
if the pages are blank
it isn't about us after all . . .
its about us all . . .
together like a gathering storm
we rise like huge clouds above the mountains,
insubstantial at first
but gathering our strengths
we can change
the environment of our lives. . .


In the morning
the fog
spilled through the valley
like creamy milk
drowning the horses
except for their voices
which carried above
and over the cliff
resting on my ears;

and to the tune
 of a bird song
 the mists
 over the lake
with stray
bits of rippling sun
slipping through. . .
and the silted hollow log
at the edge of the muddy waters
sifted the living and the dead while
a lone fish slapped at the silent
spaces in its cold still world,

and at the verge
of two alien domains
  a tiny blue flower
bent its weary head
beneath the droplets of fog.


Friday, March 19, 2010

Connections {or tying up loose ends}

Music . . . spiritual

I could float on the melody
   it has the strength to hold me up . . .
        to lift high my flagging soul
                   . . .when my wings droop                                                                
                             and I can no longer fly . . .
                                             it is there to give
            me lift,
from the depths
of the fathomless black canyons of the ocean floor. . . 
                                                                                                       again I fly

                                                               I could swim in the music. . .
a liquid cloud of
brilliant cerulean . . .                                
waters ripple around me . . .
                      warming my heart    
cradling me
                                                       in the strong arms of the briny waters
and when my heart breaks
                             a sweet kiss to heal
I am loved . . . .                                                   
I could drown in the melody
                                             I would not resist
the pull of that tide . . . .
down, down into the depths I fall                                                     
swirling around as I relax                     
in the azure depths
                                                     - I spread my wings
gently rocking as I descend
                                                                                seeking those like me

I could die in the music                                                                     
amongst the graveyards
                                                            of the deep
the eyes of the sea
               will find me there
                  in the depths
                          of the abyss
and you will find me, too. . .                                                    
        in the fathomless waters of the music . . .
Join me in the spirit of the music
floating in the sea


They hang their faces
close to the ground . . .
pain lingers with sorrow
and lacking the will
there is no smile or joy . . .
their pathways
so convoluted,
tangled and frayed . . .
heart-ache radiates
from them as a blackened
edged cloud
billowing and grasping
around them like a cloak . . .
clinging wetly.

They stand like statues . . .
heads hanging, fear
licking their faces,
flickering like a distant
electric pulsations
bend them into a
weariness, a solitude . . .
destructive to human joy;
reducing human endeavors
to mere survival,
  nothing more.

I see them standing
on the street corners
walking . . .
I see them in the darkness . . .
in the darkness shrouding,
shoulders drooping
weighted, dragging,
I see them sighing . . .
frosted breath
heartbeat waiting
I see pain.

I stop to throw a life-line . . .
a smile,
a prayer,
a look,
the line
dropping . . .
laying on the ground
unnoticed . . .

I walk on. . .


To my friend . . .

you know who you are,
you are the man who wished on a star
in the black of the night
too far away
yet it singed your heart . . .
and burned your eyes . . .
and your dreams fore-told a millennia ago
lost their way as you wandered
lonely and adrift
amongst your own ruins . . .
and your pain
too great for you to bear
is a wound held by another
as a golden key
to be treasured as a memory
for your deep soul.
You . . . surrounded by the cries of the damned
from your lonely plains
refusing the pathways
open to more stable grounds. . .
is there a lostness more profound?
your songs are more than I can bear
I dream for you my friend
I dream and yet I too am singed
by that star and fear
that I am too weak to hold your hand
and guide you toward that stable place.

Together though perhaps
together we will find the way . . .


The little boys
were dancing in the cafeteria
the other day
                                        their faces alight
their silly child's laughter
                                put a reflection in my heart
and I promised to record their art                                     
                   But the music was lacking
                                                         except through
                                                                                                     our inner ears . . .
                          we heard the song
the music of the spheres                                           
we danced
                               to the music
                                                                      of the universe . . .
star dust being part of our beings
                                            but losing the melody's beauty
in the flatness of the movie
                     the advantage was in
                      being there
feeling the vibrations 
of the cosmos                                                         
                          in the air                          
                        of the cafeteria. . . 


Friday, March 12, 2010

Virtual Reality! or Why is Reality Never Enough??

 My tattered copies of Tad Williams' "Otherland" series!

Imagine being in a world in which you can take any guise, any road, any adventure or experience anything you wish, or not wish, continue this for days, weeks even, lose track of who you are, begin to question your very existence.

Imagine this all taking place in a world generated through virtual reality. A place on the Net . . . a place where you are immersed completely; all your senses, all your emotions becoming a part of this existence.  Your real body stored and controlled in sustaining environments while you become your avatar in this virtual world.

Except that, nothing is ever what it seems, and danger is around every corner. Nothing is real, in this world, yet people are dying, in the virtual and in the real worlds. The adventure continues through this cyberpunk tetralogy, Otherland by Tad Williams:     
    * Book 1—City of Golden Shadow (Hardcover 1996, Paperback 1998)
    * Book 2—River of Blue Fire (Hardcover 1998, Paperback 1999)
    * Book 3—Mountain of Black Glass (Hardcover 1999, Paperback 2000)
    * Book 4—Sea of Silver Light (Hardcover 2001, Paperback 2002)
(All links to, except the Tad Williams which leads to his webpages)
I read these books avidly, through. As each volume came out, I re-read the previous ones, finding them intriguing and exciting and involving.

My question, now, is: are we there yet?  We must be . . . almost there. . . so much of my life is spent in this Internet, wearing my wolf avatar, meeting new people and having experiences which are entirely dependent on the availability of electric power. All we lack is the complete sensual immersion into the virtual reality on this network.  We are slowly moving that way, and it will be interesting to see how our social moralities change and how we become a part of this new reality!

The following is a response written by Sylviane, a friend of mine, and sent via email. When I asked her if I could post this, she asked me to fix her English, (her mother tongue is not English) but I felt that her own voice had a great deal of charm and left it the way it was except for a few spelling changes:

Answer to Your Blogspot : march 18
I think our moral obligation about internet and its virtual social networks, should be exercised in the education of the children, especially teenagers and also  towards psychologically fragile people. Those are the ones that risk to loose contact with the physical world and the more they will be searching virtual company the more they will be isolated from the real relationships.
For me the reality for a human being is a mixture of sensations that are wished and unwanted, with its extremes : happiness, ecstasy, sorrow, sadness.. The virtual reality offers only the wished sensations and that is what makes it so attractive.
In the virtual world we can built ourselves a better personality than the real one, we can experience there what is impossible in real life and we live in a world chosen by ourselves.
In the virtual world, or lets say in our imaginary world, we forget our body because we are limited by this host of the soul, and this gives more charm to that world. The body is reality and can hurt.
We all escape from reality through our imagination, that is why we are creative but when that escape is excessive and we neglect the existence of our material condition, we pay the damages. This excess can lead to mental diseases, isolation,total dependence of the virtual world.
Many of us built friendships and loves in this virtual reality, we invent perfect people who correspond to our ideal. This is where we escape from reality and take the risk of losing our face to face real friends.
In fact we refuse the real world, something went wrong in our lives and we run away from that.
I only have one life and I want to live it with my eyes wide open, to sense the reality of all the feelings, good and bad, understand them, accept them. They show me how I have to treat myself and how to find  a way to be happier and thus make others more happy.
This is a choice I made for my life : live with what comes in, or emerges from inside of me and accept it . I hope I will always have all these sensations to guide me. The virtual world is much smoother, clean, non disturbing and if it is, you can disconnect yourself from the disturbing site, you’re floating in an immaterial world where you don’t get hurt ..
I don’t think human relations will change because of the virtual world :as long as we are material, we will have to make and respect rules that makes life in society possible. We are material and our body is the first and last marker of our feelings.
I can understand that people choose to live their lives differently and prefer to transform their inner feelings into an ideal, universal relationship with the rest of humanity. I respect that choice because in the past I made the same choice.

Do you see me, my friend ?


This next one is my response to Sylviane, although I think I am only reiterating what she has already said:
I think we turn to the universe of the Internet's Social Networks, often, because we are lonely and we want recognition.  Our face to face friends are often too busy for our needs. We are a delicate and needy creature, ever unsatisfied and the Internet supplies us with the tools to create ever more friendships, whether they are real or virtual, true or untrue friendships. 

Imagine having the perfect friend, a true virtual friend, always there when needed, presenting you with the perfect answers to every question, always being loving and kind and admiring of you. Always listening to you, always you being the center of every discussion. Never being needy or objectionable. Perfect in every way.  What challenge would that bring and where would be the friction in the daily life for growth and experience, necessary for the human soul to gain spiritual understanding? We would be dissatisfied with this type of relationship as it would lack the challenges that human relationships contain and which we seem to need for stimulus and contentment.

The social networks on the Internet, today, are full of real people, perhaps disguised as if at a masked ball, carefully choosing their avatars to be their guise and in the hope that it will project a better image of whom they believe themselves to be. These people will chose to be themselves, or a better self, or chose to do disharmonious actions or anti-social behaviors. These figures are run by real people, making choices, good or bad, unfleshed but still human.  They are not virtual, it just begins to seem that way when we don't see a face or an expression to give lie to the words . . . so we believe everything we see and hear as a fact in this world, yet it seems more distant as time moves on and our external world disappears from our peripheral vision and our bodies become mere extensions of our actions on this Internet.

The next comment is a poem written by Spud-Lover and passed on through MSN Messenger.
I thought it was such a beautiful expression of life behind our avatars that I asked if I could share:

Behind our avatars
Do we really know what we’re saying in our posts on the page,
Just one word, one sentence, one comment, one phrase,
Can make a world of difference, lift or crush, once it’s done,
Bringing wild raging anger, or a giddy joyous fun,
Can eradicate what went before with a click of a key,
Can bridge the gulfs of difference between you and me,
Access can be blocked or granted, limited and defined by spontaneous choice,
Just like we’re given freedom, opportunities, friendships, and a voice,
Words are so freely written, sometimes without thought of their potential,
Their impact often felt later, but no less worthy of our attention,
Their power must not be underestimated, for whilst it can bring elation
Also possible are happiness, warmth, confusion, and sometimes revelation,
Consideration of implication is paramount to the context in which they’re received
Whether to laugh and giggle, be shocked, worry, is it to be believed?
Just think…… The textual universe does not convey the same as your speech
Whilst you may have been making a joke, what nerves may you have reached?
It’s not about deleting what doesn’t fit, and keeping just what’s good for you,
It’s about evaluating what we write, seriously thinking it through,
Criticisms are only helpful if they are not part of some sort of list,
And don’t try and tell me what I said, you’re not a ventriloquist,

By Spud-Lover
New Blogger!



That night we walked together

beneath an ebony sky

Did you hear the
            gentle raindrops
wiping sorrow from
                   the worn face
                 of the golden moon?
Were you counting the fallen
as they coated our pathway
          like velvet snow?
Did you see them glow
      like pearls at your fingertips?
They sifted softly through your smile
as you looked at me
a star shining
            through your eyelashes
while you sang my name . . .
Can you hear
the moon sigh
                        for the thought

of you . . .
I can see the
wind breath the
shimmering petals through the darkened sky. . .
they gather in
the moon-light
like the memories
I have of you


My sister was killed
she was gone in a blink . . .
her body tossed by the side
of the road . . .
never to be seen again
by me . . .
lying under a yellow tarp
as they measured and weighed
the drunkeness of the killer driver and
the eye of the camera roved
and lingered
while I stood before the television
observing -
shaking -
weeping -


. . . . . .

a vision:

. . . . . .

we were walking in a meadow
a sun dappled meadow
we picnicked
we laughed
we talked
I wiped a crumb away
from her beloved, smiling face
looking into my eyes
she said,
"it is time to go."

I followed her to the sky-blue reflective river
and as she started to cross
she said, "No, you must stay here - awhile yet!"

And I stood on that beautiful shore
and wept


  The previous story is true in all regards
except I left so much out:
what it was like on that riverbank;
such an indescribable beauty and peacefulness;
so I wont attempt to paint the picture of that place.
But I do want to say this, God blessed me with the chance
to say good-by to my best friend, my sister,
and to catch a glimpse of perfect peace!
Why did I weep? Because, I wanted to go there, too!

Got a message today as I walked home!
I followed my pathway and saw leaves
in concrete - pasted there for the long life
of an untrod way
unlike the offerings from a soft ephemeral course of a season . . .
left on the trampled byways 
which reduce the broken things,
the fallen leaves, 
into a shifting scab covering the disappointments
and scars along the road . . .

I came to a boulder
nearly passing him by . . .
but he called to me and showed
me a sign - that
the past is best left dead
and the future may never be . . .
for what is left to see
may evaporate completely away
and all we have
is what we are . . .


I've been hunting - and I caught - a sunbeam, a feather in the wind, the quiet song of angel wings, the bell like sound of laughter, music in the crystal air - all music . . .

After-School Computer Lab

My God - I feel so blessed -I wish you could hear the music of their voices
the gentle patter of children chatting about their games
sharing techniques, laughter, and the sweet banter
of one student beating a level before another . . .
Pure Joy emanates from their beings
their little songs when there are empty spaces . . .
they fill everything with their electric presence
they are fascinating little creatures . . .
from the little boy, so serious with his car racing games, as
he always sits alone and makes automobile sounds
or the girl who has to keep everybody laughing and
always has a crowd around her. . . . laughing!

 This album's concept and the music's darkness . . . creates a massive dreamlike quality and gives itself a power to grasp hold of the individual's imagination and soul . . . which has an intriguing effect on the listener's visions. Smoothly flowing, like liquid ebony, leavened with emptiness, the music wraps itself around your very being. This is a very dark story with a gleam of wistfulness, like stars in the night sky, shoring up the emotions with hope and causing the listener to look for angels.
This is an astonishingly good album with a foundation of poetry and dreams. . .

have you ever flown too high
through the inner darkness
far away from the golden sky?

whoever is afraid of the rain
. . . chooses instead to die . . .
dreading the wind and

the loneliness of the cold falling dew . . .
this incomplete world was gifted,
confused and silent and dark
with many longing to make harmony of

a song which has never been heard
and yearning for dawn from the

the night rolling on like a wheel
From the end of the dream
to the end of the road
where an angel stands guarding the passage
and we stand alone
in the darkness,
hungering for a passing song . . .


left on the planet
as a mysterious trail,
hundreds of puzzle pieces . . .
the orange and the blue,
the brilliant greens
shining there
beneath the dust of human
and muddy rivulets flow . . .
I thread my way
between the pieces
leading from the old
burned out house
where the homeless
found strength and shelter
. . .some release from the storm. . .
the overgrown garden
with the sagging picket fence,
where all was once content
when the old man lived there . . .
but upon his release
from this world
chaos formed
and chose to create
a new venue
an insistence of life
of living . . .


If all the multitudes,
from time before memory
. . . through the misty 
reaches of the unknown
declare their love for you . . .
that song would pass through
you like water through a sieve . . .

and if all of the heavenly hosts
from here to dimensions unknown
presented shining love
indelible and engraved for all eternity
in precious stone
it would evade your understanding
and leave you cold and broken. . .

That love is fluid and quenching. . .
will that ease your soul?
that love is solid and attainable
will that reach your heart?


Friday, March 5, 2010

Despair!   - French Version

Please watch: "Home" - An exceptionally beautiful and informative film on the fragility of our planet.

vanishing forever

like a swift run river leaping down a steep cliff . . .

disappearing and gone forever

into the mists of the past

we turn our backs

on the dead

and the living alike . . .

what we don't want

we kill


we destroy

i can't stop thinking . . .

something for the children . . .

if we Loved we would save the world

reaching out to aid

a neighbor in distress,

feed the hungry,

clothe the poor,

hug the crying children . . .

the child's tears ran down my arm

warm like heart's blood

like a river flowing forever

streaming and falling

and vanishing into the earth . . .

despairing like Joy lost forever

forever and ever
lost for an ever

a nothing is left . . .

a bird

a song

a dream

it was there

and now its gone


into the vapors of time . . .

the feathers

and all of the tears


the silent echo of something that once was

and no longer is

where once it flew

a shattered pearl

in glorious color

a song called Hope


is gone.


Sometimes we have one of those days - when we weep over the despairing cry of others - a friend who wants to end his life . . . perhaps . . . a golden sunny day that shining and beckoning endlessly has no appeal to the broken hearted . . . perhaps . . . a few sufferers along the way . . . perhaps . . . but most wounded of all . . .

A small child pacing over a worn orange carpet, a lonely boy, a refugee . . . he paces the small confines of a school office, a musty place, a fearful place for a boy who awaits his fate. The teacher sees his anxiety and meets him in his walk and wraps her arms around him. He leans his child's face on her forearm and weeps, his tears running down her arm in warm rivers and pools on that threadbare carpet. The teacher, also begins to weep and her tears run over the top of his head . . . a child never hugged. I am afraid, he cried, my father wants to put me in kid jail . . . he wants me gone. This tender child, one of the baddest boys in the school, one of the most brilliant, yet the most wild child . . . hungered so for a hug from someone, anyone.

Perhaps my whole reason for living, the only reason for this poor excuse of a life  . . . was to hug that one lone child.

Added: March 9:
Yesterday, I was asked if I would mentor one of our very troubled youths, and of course I was eager and agreed that I would love to, but it nearly broke my heart when I saw his face light up so . . . I am not sure why I felt so sad.  I also told our school counselor that I wanted to mentor the other child, who has been so deprived of hugging . . . I helped this child out of his hiding place today, his locker, gave him a big hug and walked him to class . . . his teacher reported that he was much better today . . .