A turning point.

I am writing to you from the desert
Where I have wrung myself out
Like a damp flannel on an airless day.

There is nothing left here to offer.
No deep well of intuition. No gleeful spark.
The dusty casing discarded by an…

Reminder for a Monday morning

Step down
into the river.
Step down.

I must remember
that I forget so easily.

Meeting

I reach out a thread to you,
tiptoe and stretched to a fingertip
as subtle inner constellations feel the strain,
slumbered inertia gives way to well-tuned strings
and I offer a connection, an open invitation,
to empty, energetic, unforgiving space and -
you might meet me here.

To be holy

These days What does it mean
these days
to be holy?

Be holy

What does it mean

these days

to be holy?

Make a clearing

Remember, damn it.
Remember to make
a clearing.

Early morning.
Late September.
Autumn sun tips
gold fronds and
long grasses.

On those days

On those days
where everything is lost
where no bird comes to the window
where I am not sitting on a volcano
where the wind is not with me,

Trials and blessings

You call me out
say — this will not do,
is not enough.
I’ll show you that
you still have stuff
to work through
and work on
- I’ll show you.

From the clearing to the path

We met in caravans
each circle arriving
called together by common curiosity
to sit around the fire of our longings.

And then I remember

There is a shred -
A shred of a sliver of something
That I recall in a thought
Of a smile that beams
Or the wryest grin with a twist
Or a face that is sunlit and loving
That I long for

Vertigo

What is there to see?

The well is too deep.

When I turn the light
of my mind towards
the deepest feeling 
of a long drop falling
then I only see myself
and the surface tension
of my dark reflection.