The King is a remarkable man

July 16, 2015

As he lay in bed, he turned his face toward the stars. There was nothing left to be said, but this: The light of the wood stove danced on the living room window. I saw my face inside his, refracted by the firelight. We seemed splinted by the night. It was cold outside, but we were mended by the warmth within. My father, Robert Burton Baker, died on Saturday night. It was December 7, 2013, at 9:15 PM. It was on this night I witnessed the great mystery. The old rattlesnake is gonna shed his skin.

The…


Why bathing in a glacial river is bad for your eyes.

June 17, 1997

The early evening longs to sweep out the day, but this yearning is disrupted by a warm afternoon wind-shear flying the canyon walls. Seven years ago Whychus creek trickled along. It was narrow and shallow, but today it runs deep and wide. I don’t know why it’s called a creek; it sounds like a river. Everyone else departed, but I sit now at the water’s edge naked against the memory.

The campfire that sprayed laughter and light rests smoldering in the fading blustery light. A metal…


July 7, 2015

The King on a river in Alaska.

“If the Zabuton is the river and the Zafu a tree, your father took his last breath inside your heart willingly. This is where you both run free. You cannot keep him caged like some wild beast. He’s more than just flesh on bone. He is a spirit sent from the Teacher, the land, the river, the wheat and stone. He is not for you to own. He is a flower to admire on your journey to acquire the meaning of your life. Do not pluck him from the field to some selfish end. …


Part 4

The Master

“The pups he called Rango and Ocho moaned restless beneath his seat. They knew their Master left the room, but they didn’t see him leave on his feet. These were the pictures running through my mind the night my father died. So I asked my friend Siddhartha because he could read my sighs. He said, “My dear son, this is the transitory nature of life. This is what the Master wanted you to see. The rose blooms and the rose dies. Be glad you are a witness to this decay and strife. It is the Alpha and the…


Part 3

Great picture of the King

“The light of the King’s strength faded under my weight. Across the room I noticed a lover chasing another in the rain. As tears from Heaven fell to the track, a deafening silence came. The earth stopped spinning, the stars stopped blinking and the crashing waves froze. Please don’t go my sweet Rose. But the furious train, which had been rightly named; No Mercy by the simple folks in town, gave no mind and ripped him away like an outlaw galloping out of town. From the rear of the train the Dark Angel exclaimed, “no one here gets…


Part 2

June 19, 2015

The explosion of his second birth. Neil Young helplessly cried helpless, helpless from the living room hearth. He had some morphine to ease him through the decade’s places he had been. I arrived to say goodbye to the man I loved the most. There was nothing left to do for the King. The time for that had passed. There was nothing left for the King to do. Just don’t want him to be alone. At his bedside, I realize snowflakes are falling in my mind. I think about campfire light, fishing trips and whiskey fueled…


Part 1

June 15, 2015

My Pops, Bob Baker

My father died on December 7, 2013. In the first 72 hours, I typed this piece into the notes app of my iphone. I’m sharing my thoughts on the subject for the first time here with you. I’ll update this once a week until the whole piece has been published.

“As he lay in bed, he turned his face toward the stars. There was nothing left to be said. But this: The light of the wood stove danced on the living room window. I saw my face inside his, refracted by the firelight. We seemed…

Brett Baker

Brett Baker is an American actor, poet and songwriter. A cowboy-warrior kneeling before the Master. http://brett-baker.com

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