September 26, 2016



Cricket points to space

Trees sway sleep

Secrince’s light

September 8, 2016








Was true in moonlight, set in space

absence of time, blue, red and black

fountains violent, desire-less sight

touching, yet separate; similar paths

Rage does slow, abound and kneeling

with page in hand, soaked with feeling

perfected sight, foot steps go slowly

come back full circle, season dwelling

Sane willows sway and hold dear secrets

sworn once more on final night

known and forgotten just to see

merged again to absorb light


Sudden creaking door

Natural smell, sudden smack

Merton beneath trees


she sleeps

August 16, 2014

she sleeps

he lay there thinking

he is aware of the over thinking

and chooses to sit in the silence of the dark morning

breathing in, seeing the confusion, feeling the onslaught of emotions

she sleeps

he sits


breath and awareness separated by concept

candle flicker and nature dual

her breathing becomes the lesson

of letting go


the hips fall forward

allowing the channel to open

for a second he analyses


“Let go: it’s OK. Just, let go..”


Some would say he forgot his surroundings

and fell into another state.

Maybe found a higher plane…

Yet, he simply made peace with this time and place.

And as she dreamed, hoped and slept,

he sat.





inspired by a fellow blogger/writers’ recent post



I like darkness; the more the better. I like it to be so dark and so silent that I actually start to look over my shoulder every few minutes. I like having fresh cheese, tomatoes, salsa, guacamole, bread and wine laid out on a table in front of me for lunch (I miss you San Francisco lunches). I really like a cup of coffee with a cigarette, yet, both speed me up too much… and then I don’t like it anymore.

I like when Charlie, my cat, grazes my arm with his wet nose. The silence after midnight. I like walking around after midnight, when most are asleep so the need to speak ceases. Weeks at  Dharma Ocean; especially when in silent mode for days on end; I also like leaving Dharma Ocean after weeks of brutal meditation (with a sign of weariness and relief).

I like the smell of seaworms; yes, I can still smell you. And yes, the books still smell like you.

I like the feeling of books being in a perfect straight line. And I too, like the sound of a door being closed slowly. Foods that have the texture of skin; the smell of my fingertips after rolling a cigarette. Eating snow, sleeping in the mountains, people that don’t suck and convincing people who do that they don’t have to suck. I like waking up still in a dream, so connected I can taste and feel what was happening. I like the way Charlie just wants to sleep and purr; no other motives.

I like staring at my kids when they don’t know I’m looking. I like staring at my kids and annoying them when they know I’m looking. Getting lost in the woods. Taking the train somewhere unplanned and unknown. Left Hand Milk Stout, Amsterdam Shag tobacco, the smell of an apartment the morning after a ton of sage has been burnt. I like biting my nails ( it’s so damn satisfying). Riding my bike downtown with no destination or direction for hours.  A giant glass of milk with a plate of french toast.


I like ending things.


May 22, 2014




And what will you send to me

Tidal waves of blood and bone

Or lakes and forest, the smell of stones

Surely something I haven’t seen

A hidden message to receive

There will be a house; yes, there will be a house

…in appreciation of Carl Gustav Jung

Thirty seven breathes

April 30, 2014

My love,



All of these years, 

I can still feel you;

all the trees still look like you.

All the books speak your voice,

drawing me deeper in.

And on a few moonlit mornings,

I swear you’re still gently waking me up.





We don’t talk anymore,

and I don’t get to see your face except on the computer screen.

But the last time you touched my face seems like last week.

How is it possible that I love you more now than our last sleep?

Thirty-seven breathes…





I still can’t wait to tell you of all I meet within myself.

I still wake up excited to tell you about my dreams.

You may not know it,

but these days of mine I still share with you.

All of these days, all of these years,

I still feel you.





February 27, 2014

I met you first in a mental ward

never thought I’d feel your voice against my skin

We talked for hours in the red light

Told all that others wouldn’t hear

Miles away, ears from sight;

you’re still here

Keep telling myself

February 12, 2014

Just another number to forget

another name that I’ll always regret

Just another song I wont play at the bar



Just another late night place to avoid

another unique laugh I’ll never miss

Just another face I’ll never kiss

Or so I’ll keep telling myself…



Never gonna miss the way you say my name

or the sound of your breath,

while your head’s resting on my chest

Just another feeling I wont miss

when I wake up to your kiss

or the way you know just what to say

when I’ve been having a bad day



Never miss the way you danced with me

like everyone else has disappeared

or the way you let me love you

like I’m your best friend

Or so I’ll keep telling myself…



This is actually a song I’m working on…so it’ll probably change and be updating soon.

In the depths

February 12, 2014


Telling a story made of lies

to bring about awe and surprise

Does the three seconds of laughter justify

the ingrained solicitation?

Now that the crowd has lulled

what next will be revealed

to fulfill ones’ empty need?

Or is it just the opposite?

Is it a covering over of the uncertain and the unknown?

For true death comes from surrendering the cyclic process of thought.

Pushing away all discomfort and uncertainty; aggression

Pulling and grasping that which makes a sense of security; passion

Endlessly oscillating, thinking it will bring about happiness; ignorance

Is it not below the current where stillness brings about clarity?

In the darkness; the disorientation; the fear…

In the depths where stainless love has always been.

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