I had dream conversation last night with an old friend who, in my mind’s eye, is always smiling, laughing. She’s bright, talented and full of light. When she laughs, she laughs big; throws her head back and laughs with her whole body. You can feel her laughter run through you.
Yesterday, after a surf session at one of my local breaks, I paused to watch the beautiful head-high waves roll in. It was, on this fall day in the midst of a our surreal election season, a peaceful moment. Then, directly in front of me, seven young men taught each
The power and need of brotherly love. Over the last two weeks I’ve had three speaking events, a high-stakes presentation to client and a TV news interview. Upon reflection, it strikes me that the act of putting oneself out there and up on stage, creates a paradox of separation and
A Fusion of Rituals Each morning I wake up at about 4:45 am or so. Usually prior to a preset alarm. I rise, get cleaned and head downstairs to our sitting room. There’s lots of open space in that room. Some days a candle is lit in the early predawn. There
As part of Communal Acts of Beauty I leave poems for hikers along trails. Most often these poems are left within Penasquitos Canyon Preserve. When I started leaving poems, I usually folded them and tucked them into tree knots or nestled within branches. This weekend however, after spending time on
There is a trough in waves, a low spot where horizon disappears and only sky and water are our company. And there we lose our way unless we rest, knowing the wave will bring us to its crest again. There we may drown if we let fear hold us in
It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work, and that when we no longer know which way to go we have come to our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is
Eros scrabble to rose and rage to gear or gare, as in Gare du Nord, where I trained in to Paris from not smoking pot in Master Mad, I’m sorry, Amsterdam, with its canals called grachts and clocks that bonged my homesick hours at different times. Which is smite for
When art and poetry are shown together it offers the reader a glimpse into a world beyond the imaged poem. While this can sometimes be limiting for the poems contents, I have appreciation for when it is artfully applied and especially when, for instance, a photo of a natural landscape
For the Senses May the touch of your skin Register the beauty Of the otherness That surrounds you. May your listening be attuned To the deeper silence Where sound is honed To bring distance home. May the fragrance Of a breathing meadow Refresh your heart And remind you you are
Communal Acts of Beauty 