Excerpt for Choose Carefully Tread Lightly by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

Copyright (©) 2017 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada

Cover pictures by: (old man) by Khaled: (path) by Michael Quinn

All pictures found on FreeImages.com

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.



Being Different

Is Our Universe Shaped Like A Globe?

A Cut Above

A Single Disaster

Embrace The Light

Shattered Fantasy

Teacher Or Indoctrinator?

Your Ship


Earth's Pain

Ebb Tide

Echoes Of Life

A Twig


The Earth's A Magnet

Making An Assumption

More Than You Think

For The Moment

Keeping Secrets


Let The Dead Bury The Dead!

Dream Child

Death of Self

Those Who Never Turn Back


Earth Song

Empty Pockets

Obtaining Character


Shared Moments

Shifting The Focus

Be The Teacher

Choose Carefully, Tread Lightly


Cross-Walk Blues


Sands Of Time

River, O River!

The Handshake

Dance On The Horizon (The Storm)

Free Energy

Forced To Change

Finding Solitude

February 1ST



Heart Of Gold

Individual Journeys

There were Violets

The Teacher


Observe Gently...

Of Distant Worlds my Heart Would Speak

Shadow Goddess


Planting A Garden

Opening Doors

Shadows On Sidewalks

Suicide Or Freedom?

Taking Responsibility

Talk Before You Walk

Oh, Earth!...


The Power Of Now

The Deer at the Railway

The Nature of Things

The Future Makers...

A Place of Secrets

Where's The Magic In Our Fairy Tale?

Death Of An Earth Angel

See this Ultimate Horror


These books contain a form of free verse poetry, opinions based on observation, and some humour and imagination, engaging the heart as well as the mind. A critical look at many current issues intriguing and plaguing man. Spirituality, interaction with nature and environment, social changes, dwindling resources. Well worn issues now, indeed. But the poetry and other works in these books gives this subject a different perspective. I daresay that here we can find a "higher" vantage point from which to look at ourselves within the cosmos.

Who knows but some of the ideas in the books may get you inspired to do that thing you always wanted to do, even if this comes in a very small way, to make your corner of this world a better place to be in. Who knows but you may realize your little corner is a really nice place to be in after all.

It's all about life, if at times expressing life "outside the box" as the saying goes.

Being Different

There are those who share a love of heart,

even if prevented from giving the helping hand

for whatever reason.

There are those who have the desire of heart;

like late wild flowers scattered

in meadows of dried soils and browned grass

you encounter them here and there,

dancing gently, adding color to Autumn.

In the hustle of Spring they go unnoticed

but when the dull shades of Fall cover the meadow

your gaze naturally turns to these brave hearts.

They could have chosen to be like everybody else;

Spring flowers gone in a week of sun or day of hail;

or grass: would a tired passerby notice

the brown stems lying on the ground all around?

Would his eyes find rest there?

How does one cause real change?

not from conformity nor uniformity.

It's not easy to stand apart from the crowd,

to blossom in Autumn

but some do this, not out of pride,

but out of natural purpose!

Is Our Universe

Shaped Like A Globe?

I had a vision

that our Universe

is shaped like a globe,

same as our planet, or sun.

Whatever we 'see'

of galaxies, black holes and nebulae,

are but 'whirlpools'

on the surface

of this enormous globe.

The planets, the suns;

passing comets and flashing meteors

scattered among these spatial vortices

are as running, laughing, sleeping children

which these whirlpools created

over the aeons; and I wondered:

if people had this vision

they would see how the Earth

has created them too!

A Cut Above

There is a barber in town

who sees the world

in a way most do not:

he talks to his clients

about the horrors happening

everyday on the planet -

and he wonders why these must be.

I saw a man come in

seriously in need of a haircut

but no money -

so this barber says "It's OK"

and he cut his hair for free

instead of turning him away.

I call that


and wonder:

must one be aware

of the Great Suffering

before one can know;

before one can demonstrate,


Can those who care

but for their daily, petty desires;

their need and greed,

ever know, ever understand

this great healing power

that's called compassion?

That is quite unlikely

and explains much

of what transpires

beyond the headlines

on this dark world.

A Single Disaster

Current statistics say

250,000 people a month perish

from being denied such basic needs

as safe drinking water and sanitation -

and that adds up to more

than the total death toll

of the Indian Ocean tsunami.

The world of man was moved

by that one single disaster:

billions of dollars changing hands

in bids to be the ones

recognized for helping those struck by the tragedy,

and yet, what about these others

whose lot it is to die each month

victims, not of natural disaster

but of indifference and oppression?

Where are the headlines for them?


There are two very good reasons

why their deaths are unworthy of publication:

one: it would mean exposing

the great evils of The System,

a System that owns the Media -

and two: it would make a boring study,

month after month

and who would watch the “news”

or buy the “papers”

if all they showed

were these victims of “progress” -

or should I call it,

man's inhumanity to man?

The need to see gory stories on the “news”

appears to be human “nature”

and gore is what sells.

Embrace The Light

Embrace the light

you know you should,

you know you must,

for all is made of light.

But for all that,

do you reject darkness?

Is the path of the blind mole

any less valued

than the passage of the eagle

to those who know?

Darkness and light:

blend them together

on the canvas of your life:

dance within with both

until you feel bursting within

the power of cosmic energy.

Shattered Fantasy

From some other dimension,

she appears as a wisp of golden light,

swaying in warming winds;

preforming the dance of passion;

the dance of joy (and of sorrow).

Her energy awakens my loins,

excites my every sense,

freeing love to follow

that ageless path

strewn with shattered dreams:

the path of the universal lover.

The flame of desire leaps within me

as she spins her web,

an enchantment

intertwining pain and ecstasy:

what can I do

but follow her sinewy form

into the morning mists?

Summer runs as sand in an hourglass;

soft murmurs and tranquil days

end as suddenly as they began:

one look into her eyes says it all –

she releases my trembling hands

and fades away into the sunset.

Teacher Or Indoctrinator?

Speaking of mass "education"

or "public education" -

when is a teacher

no longer a teacher?

In today's classroom,

he entertains, trains, instructs

but mainly indoctrinates

generations of techno serfs

on how to be good corporate citizens -

to salute the bottom line;

to raise the corporate flag;

to praise success at any cost;

to grow the numbers;

to lie their way

to any important position;

to consume more effectively.

He explains the laws of physics

to build better smarter cars,

to fabricate bigger off-shore oil drills,

offers jobs in bio-chemistry labs

to make new poisons,

new edible chemical compounds,

better and smarter bombs.

He instruct in the skills of the bar;

demonstrates the use of lies

to get your client off,

guilty or not.

It's those who get results,

that get results.

Now do you still ask why

Earth is being systematically plundered

beyond any hope of redemption?

How can it be otherwise?

Your Ship

When your ship anchors far offshore,

do you swim out to it in anticipation,

or wait for the next wind

to bring it into port?

Which way will the next wind blow?

If you wait, will this opportunity

sail away again?

If you swim out, will you drown

in an undertow?

The Man Without a Face adds:

"You came back to remember

who and what you are:

there is never a 'right' or 'wrong' choice;

all are designed for the growth of the soul

but how very wise the one

who recognizes the challenge of choice!

Such a one will never be disappointed

regardless of the outcome...


Life can be taken for granted: tick tock

around the clock we go...

Life can be questioned: why? asks the child:

Who is the wisest, the child who questions all

or the adult, worn down by cares and dissipation

who can no longer even ask, for he'd not hear

the answer?

Unless ye become as a little child

ye shall in no wise enter the kingdom

said a once upon a time master of rhetoric...

and I ask, what does it mean to become as a child?

I cannot remember many of my childhood thoughts

but I do remember the world was much different then,

inhabited by fantastic creatures and sounds

which no science had yet dissected or attempted to explain

for I could not have read the dissertations.


Why do birds not fly backwards when facing the wind?

Why does water rain down, but evaporate upwards?

Why do clouds change shape?

And why do humans fear and hate each other

when love is so much simpler and easier?

You see, some “Why's” appear silly in themselves,

but asked often enough, one why leads to another

and one why will make you think of something new:

and in one “Why” your life, your world, is changed -


Earth's Pain

Vileness; violation; violence --

these things must find their time and place

and planet earth has been generous --

providing blood and death that the game may play.

The people of earth have suffered dearly

the rule of evil many a long day;

the rule of hate many a long night;

each begotten within a web of fright.

Of mayhem and murder

earth knows so much;

of oppression of the weak,

all of her ways do reek;

of genocide, butchery and slaughter

her gods boast in ancient writings!

Bring down the walls of stone --

Kill the men and kill the babes!

Rape the women, enslave the young!

Bring their gold and silver to the temples;

Make free of the booty for yourselves --

your god has blessed you with victory:

rejoice and forever remember this day!

So it has been on planet earth,

and so it shall continue to be.

For the will to change these horrors that are

has not been found in the human mind --

too many yet are those who choose

to conquer and to rob; to enslave and to kill

to some Devil's music that can never be still.

And who shall shed even one tear

for planet earth and her dying people?

Who shall look down upon her wounds

with eyes of compassion to heal her children?

No one can cry

- for they have done the crying

and not a single tear is left to shed.

No one will come

- for they already came

and for that they were killed.

Man chose his ways over those of life,

killed love offered and inherited strife.

Ebb Tide

Yesterday rushes upon me

and a string of memories

- though unwanted -

fill the mind with shadows,

destroying the purity

of today's inspiration.

I find myself plunging

into depths of incomprehension,

and my thoughts are scattered

as leaves before the wind.

Summer is fading to Autumn;

Autumn will be followed by Winter

and the Summer I failed to grasp

will become another layer of memories;

of unused thoughts decaying

as leaves scattered on the ground.

There is no recalling the magic:

the poet I once was

becomes one with the turbulent sea,

vanishing in the ebbing tide.

Echoes Of Life

A squirrel gathers nuts in a sun-filled glade;

salmon struggles up a swirling stream;

the sun streams down over bluebells and chocolate lilies;

two eagles soar: pin-points on a blue horizon;

a Summer storm replenishes mountain streams;

and somewhere, waves crash against a rocky shore

and cottonwood leaves rustle in a midday breeze.

The cry of a gull comes from the shimmering skies

- in August they return from the sea -

and a raven soars by, diving wildly

to disappear somewhere below a rocky ridge;

a brown fox dances in the kinnikinnick

and red paintbrushes tremble in the breeze.

These images of the planet I hold sacred

even as one of millions of unseen faces

under the ever-spreading canopy of the city

whose smoggy breath forever hides the stars -

the city, where no one looks up anymore

except those still mesmerized by her neon gods.

Yet even here, in the great inferno, life thrives:

people talk and laugh at sidewalk cafés;

impromptu gardens drape balconies and window sills;

rock doves in iridescent plumage flap their wings

and trees still grow, surrounded in concrete and steel

and like humans, learn to breathe the poisonous fumes

of an endless flow of passing traffic...

'Ah well, all is fine,' I find myself thinking

as a soft breeze suddenly ruffles my hair

as I run across a tree-lined boulevard;

when the sun breaks through between highrises

to touch my skin as in my days in the mountains.

All of this reminds me of the beauty of Earth;

how privileged I am just to be;

to have experienced one colorful sunrise;

to have made love, if only once,

between the roots of a big old tree:

to be one of the undying echoes of life.

A Twig

A twig grew straight and slim

by a gurgling mountain brook

dreaming of the day he knew must come

when he'd be the tallest tree on the hill.

But erosion brings down an old tree

which falls dead centre on the twig,

bending it to ninety degrees, perhaps more:

but does it stop growing?

Does it wait for someone, some god,

to come along and move the offending tree?

It keeps growing, though bent and odd ;

nor does it care, for its search

is ever to the light in each new day..

An old fallen tree; a belief system:

one and the same, and many are those

who cannot go beyond this boundary.

They stop; they think that's all there is;

the last question, the last answer.

Look to that twig! How does it know

to hunger for light in the darkness?

Life does have its strange burdens

but it graces us with some amazing gifts:

the power to change; to adapt:

to forgive all and to move on.


I am

so very wealthy


every desire of my heart

is mine to have

to hold and I know this.

I hold in my heart

the power

to give without expecting

a return;

to accept

without having to pay back.

All is a gift,

however it feels,

appropriate or not

seems to me

that is what we mean

when we say “Love”

and it may well be

the only gift

that is truly free.

“Love” is a bird in the hand

who sings from

a nearby branch!

The Earth's A Magnet

It shouldn't surprise anyone

to be surrounded by positive and negative vibrations

while living in this colourful little world

spinning about its sun in fusion:

after all, the Earth's a magnet: it has

a positive (+) and a negative (-) pole

we call North and South, very convenient.

The human body is an electrical machine,

grounded to its source of energy,

and we're still talking of positive and negative

energy, aren't we?

What else can we say of our beautiful home?

it has a daylight and nighttime; hot and cold;

up and down; light and heavy; dry and wet;

male and female; open space and density;

life and death; the mountain top and sea bottom:

opposites attract, that we well know

so on our earth we should find

a great deal of attraction from all that opposition!

Let's meditate on that fact for awhile

and realize our warring and hate is but foolishness

which serves no purpose but to declare

to the entire cosmos we have failed to understand

the very fabric of our human life,

cursing the heartbeat of our mother: the earth

with our persistent ignorance of life's inverting laws.

All earth life possesses a positive and negative side,

never one or the other alone!

Yet in competition, are we not still trying

to prove that one is superior to the other?

Making An Assumption

Some who read my poetry

call it bottom of the pile garbage,

they say it needs much rewriting;

object to my thoughts, say I'm all wrong:

well now, can a thought be wrong?

Hey, maybe they're just afraid: people do fear

what they can't understand:

it's so much easier to scorn than to accept -

many still do not realize it is the child

who enters the kingdom of wisdom!

I'd be the first to admit: I don't have a degree;

I failed barn cleaning at age twelve!

(though I do mow lawns on temporary permits)

My brain doesn't function the way most do

but it does force me to see

there's a 'fool on the hill' kind of world inside my head

and if I know something not mentioned

in the smart guys training manuals, can I help it?

Criticism is but an assumption

basted, battered and baked in fear.

'Earthians' pig-out on this stuff:

May I never eat such dried up crumbs.

More Than You Think

Child, woman, lover, mother, (goddess)!

you guided me through years of doubt,

protected me from sorrow

nursed me thru illness.

When I was cold

you opened your arms

and held me to your breast.

When I was sad

you spoke much wisdom

and laughter entered our home.

I've thought about this

through the years,

wondering who you really were,

who could so easily move

the parts of the me

I tried to keep hidden from the rest,

who could change my moods,

who re-directed my desires

and brought me a world

filled with wonder and love.

I suppose its quite possible

to exist not believing

the gods guide and love us.

I suppose its quite possible

to believe we do it all ourselves.

Had I never known you

perhaps I may have concluded

I was the one who steered my ship

and made it all happen.

Now I've seen the goddess in you

I can't believe that all along

you thought you were just

a man's wife!

For The Moment

Let time flow through

each moment of experience;

learning to swim

with every tide, every awareness;

observing, understanding

each moment.

For as a picture once taken

it stands on its own merits

unchanged in its light and shadows:

every experience stored

in the fabric of the greater soul.

It is unwise

to long for a solid, certain future

yet un-visualized,



to ponder too deeply a

recent past whose fire has died;

whose memory no longer strikes

the tender, the bitter chord of life.

Every moment must live

unhindered by the preconceived,

encouraging and enhancing

every other moment;

until passion and desires

blend into purpose,

birthing harmonious dreams,

bringing forth new creations.

Keeping Secrets

Secrets poison life, clog the flow of truth,

enslave those who participate

in their telling and their keeping.

Why have secrets?

darkness is secretive, fear creates secrets,

weapons to use against the innocent.

If someone asks you to share their secrets,

do not be taken in

thinking you will share in something good:

secrets are like venomous snakes

that bite and kill.

What are secrets made of?

Guilt, jealousy, pride, lust, vengeance:

who keeps good deeds and loving thoughts a secret?

It is those who live in darkness who harbour secrets

and in their lives you will always find

hurt, anger, self pity, fear and hunger for revenge.

Secrets perpetuate fear,

sustain dictatorships and oppression,

and make enemies of friends:

Let your life be an open book, a light on a hill:

if you have something to hide,

perhaps it is not worth keeping.


If you'd like to try your hand

at understanding Lavender

then you must be very sure

that life is not a game...

You won't need a reason

just to be alone with Lavender

for her light so warm and pure

will draw you like a flame...

(Approaching Lavender - Gordon Lightfoot)


I gave myself the name of Lavender

Oh, it was so long ago

in the very first meadow

among the fireflies and the honeysuckle

when no one else had yet awakened

from the dream we had shared.

I stood alone and viewed the world

as it looked before the first sunrise,

starlight reflecting from the waters

rippling gently upon swaying branches

of yet un-named trees.

In the wild unknown fullness of night

which others such as I still feared

where countless things had not yet appeared

I stepped forth sensing the land's desire

and finally came to rest upon a hill

lulled by the call of a whippoorwill.

When I awoke from my sleep

the long night stretched forth beyond time

under a canvas of spinning stars

and a soft glow surrounded me:

the land's open invitation to explore

all the veiled things she had in store.

I rose from my bed of sweetgrass

forever endowed with the fragrance of life,

the touch of the flowers of Earth --

for such was the name of the world I beheld

when I was called to awaken from my dream --

and from the hill gushed forth a young stream.

Many years, long and short, have passed

and Earth, awakened under sun and moon

filled with light-seeking life blossomed wildly

in rash and spontaneous joy --

but came the starless darkness and I cried

as in the endless burning so much died.

Though hidden now in cares and sorrows,

my earth body changed, aged, worn, broken --

in heart I remain true to my awakening dream

and still upon a hopeful earth I choose to wander.

I remain the same as on my first night, Lavender

whose breath retains the freshness of flowers

which now grow but between endless tombs.


Oh, sweet Lavender

your smile is like the golden sun;

I'd love to see you laugh and run

as naked as the sea

Oh sweet Lavender

as fragrant as the name you bear

please cast away the clothes you wear

and give your love to me...

(Approaching Lavender - Gordon Lightfoot)

Let The Dead Bury The Dead!

Why are the dead embalmed,

so carefully packed away in boxes

like paraffin mummies

bearing no resemblance

to the incarnated soul now gone to rest

(or so it is said)?

Strange creatures to believe

they can live outside the bonds

formed by the Earth upon their flesh;

to believe a body should be saved

from the hands of Earth,

put in a box like some great treasure

to be preserved - for whom?

For how long? Is it expected

the owner will return?

The Earth cries out for you

to acknowledge her gift of life in flesh,

today: give her a blessing

because you are! Because you are!

And should a loved one die

take the body in your arms;

gently lay it to rest naked

upon a field, in a marsh, on a mountain

and walk away, neither sad nor happy:

just walk away. The Earth knows

how to embalm.

Dream Child

Sleep, sleep, my child:

your slumber rests your little body

but your mind will wander.

Where will you go tonight?

What world will welcome

your lovely eyes filled with awe?

We are but the dream child,

always ready to dream

new worlds, new possibilities.

While the Earth body rests

we run from star to galaxy,

a never ending race...

a human race...

Death of Self

Say what you will:

when speaking of humanity

one speaks of selfishness.

Humans are selfish beings.

How did this come about? -

I don't know.

I don't know even why we know

this is so.

Evolution of mind?

Growing awareness?

Growing unease with our excesses?

It's now quite obvious:

being selfish is not a good thing.

So how do I change this?

How do I become something I am not?

There is, it seems, but one way:

the old path of self-discipline;

of personal sacrifice.

Ugly thoughts in today's narcissism

but what else is there?

I would speak of death here,

not death of a body

but death of one's character.

If it is a truism:

“You do what you are”

I can only do “other than”

if I change my nature.

So, some will challenge me,

say it is impossible.

But I will contend:

all things are possible

and given the alternative,

I'll take the impossible:

the death of the selfish self

and welcome the new self:

the empathic, compassionate


Those Who Never Turn Back

Those who never turn back,

but march forth boldly,

never doubt clouds will break;

always envision light dissipating

the darkness of their times.

We fall to rise, we learn

to confront fears;

we sleep but to uncover

the meaning of dreams;

we interpret wisdom

to expose the wiles,

the webs of lies,

unravelling the fabric

of an insane world.

To many we appear

but as wanton destroyers

of precious legacies,

yet do we well know

death always precedes new life:

the weavers of the new age

are not far behind!

The plough precedes the sower.


Every so often we hit a rock, stub our toes

along that not so smooth road we walk,

Sometimes our face lands “splat”

in some mud puddle disdained.

I've gone astray in a daydream,

once or twice myself,

to be rudely awakened by a passing prejudice.

Been suddenly made aware of some goings on

in a moment dropped from the dream!

It's easy to lose sight of the task at hand,

forgetting purpose and plan

in the “why” and “wherefores” of destiny,

getting all caught up in the fabric of time

and the web of space folds,

not so gently upon the dreamer.

O reality, reality, what are you?

where are you?

Earth Song

When I was young - seems so long ago;

I sang the old earth song along with many:

We were young hearts filled with hope

and buoyed by faith in endless things:

things needing no explanation

for we were sure they would ever work.

Mother earth we called this place, we called you;

in our meetings and sit-ins and groups

where we called for peace; for understanding

and made ourselves aware as best we could

of the sad state of your environment--

and so easily failed to make the connections.

And the train, if there ever was one,

left without us -- we married and got jobs --

just like the ones before us whose ways

we thought we so despised. Oh what fools

these mortals be -- and they were us.

Oh yes, how easily we were fooled.

But times have changed, as times must --

I have grown old, and so everyone else

and in your own way, so have you, earth.

And our old song now echoes off key

like an old Fifties tune on a scratched LP:

discordant, out of place, meaningless.

I've observed another Christmas go by --

watched the hype and even was recipient

of some unexpected special wishes...

but you, earth, had your own way of celebrating:

140,000 plus humans and countless other life

wiped out overnight in a tsunami... Not bad.

Mother earth? I asked myself in the night,

trying to put faces and names to these I shared life with!

My, haven't you grown into the great bitch!

You let countless rich bastards rape you to death

and turn your anger on the poorest of the poor --

Have you lost all sense of decency --

or have you always been a prostitute for the System?

Ask the right question, get the right answer

so I've been told, time and again:

Ah, the sly way you turn tricks for the rich,

opening up your remaining stores of riches:

resources galore for wars and Wal-Marts!

But the poor die without water or food,

bombed and poisoned, slaughtered without mercy,

pushed out into your empty deserts --

crushed underground, drowned under the sea;

and predators fly, walk, creep and swim unhindered

making life hell for their victims --

and no one can see; no one can reason... or so you think!

I've become observant: years can do that to some --

and I had warned you I would not remain docile

if you tried to play me for a fool like the rest:

I'm free to speak out -- I'm not your child, earth.

And how do you like my new song now?

You should have let me go when I gave you the chance:

now it's too late, I've written the report.

Empty Pockets

A mountain stream cascades

through brambles and over stones:

I hear the water as I sit

in silent contemplation.

I came to these mountains

to clear my head and my heart

of recurring bouts of heaviness,

hoping I'd find forgiveness

for I don't know what,

or at least, some understanding.

We all have hidden things

filling the pockets of our lives,

weighing us down more and more -

things we are ashamed of;

memories we wish to forget;

experiences we could have done without.

That is what brought me to this stream,

because I know if I do not release these

they will continue to haunt me

out there, in man's cities

and the pollution within

will be worse than that without.

By the sound of the waters

I find myself saying:

I will not be a slave to my past;

I will let it go into the starry night.

I will take on my problems

as tasks to be performed,

which I must complete

that I may move on,

emptying my pockets

and walking lightly once more.

Obtaining Character

Life is seldom 'steady as she goes'

but we stumble, sometimes in woes:

we all do things regrettable

and remember, Oh how we remember

the things we wish we'd never done!

But when we choose to know those things;

when we kneel and call them by their name

and we gently pick them up,

and carry them with us

as children dressed in miserable rags

as a reminder that life moves onward,

like children, they will change,

the pain they caused

won't matter in the end.

Their legacy must be, can only be

the obtaining of deeper character

because we loved enough

to carry and hold the un-loveable

about the one we refer to as self.



you gave me life

years ago

in my time

now in my prime

you give me hope

for years

to come


in your now

you give me sun

in water to swim

warm rocks

to stretch

my naked body

on and laugh

at passing gulls


you give me love

for all that surrounds

my childlike




beyond dreams

my time in libra

universal free soul

Shared Moments

The wind sweeps fiercely

over a wave-washed ocean shore

as I ponder at my incredible loss

when death laid her body to rest

and freed her gentle Spirit:

as a young gull learning to fly

I felt her leave this earth.

Each teardrop shed

mirrors shared moments alone with her:

here, among giant fog-dampened trees

and through waves caressing our skin

we ran nude, shameless and free.

We made passionate summer love

among dried beds of sun-dried seaweed.

As she is now free to begin a new journey

somewhere among the stars,

so I too have learned to break free

of the past's shackles of pain:

like a gust of rising Chinook wind

warm and full of hope

I see these trees, I walk this shore

with new eyes, with new feet!

Shifting The Focus

A fear-based society needs scapegoats

that is a historical truism -

but who are the ones creating the fear?

The ones managing that collective fear

to their own advantage?

There is a tendency in these black times

for people to find fault, a desire to blame:

someone has to be responsible for everything -

from creating the national debt

to making us feel insecure and unsafe!

Why not blame the people on welfare?

The handicapped? The sick?

Why are they getting "free" money

from our tax dollars?

Must be their fault the nation's in a mess

and we can't get the debt paid.

(Has to be their fault - no one else

to blame at the moment.)

Oh, wait, did I forget terrorists

or is it illegal aliens?

And who has the courage to finger

those with their fat fingers in every pie?

The blatantly crooked politicians

we are enjoined to vote for?

Who even remembers, come election day

the promises that are still echoing

in the empty voters' brain,

rattling a bunch of scattered cells around?

Ah but of course,

it's the politicians who create this phobia

of welfare abusers; of fakers in wheelchairs -

who point the accusing finger -

blaming the victims of society and nature

for our economic woes.

Shift the focus: few will notice

the Fat Cats grabbing the choicest part

of collective earnings,

pocketing it while planning

their retirement on Grand Cayman.

Be The Teacher

His Irish flute still plays

gently through my silent mourning;

in remembrance of his passing

tears water my eyes

as rain on autumn leaves.

Yet through my pain

a channel remains open

as I remember these thoughts

he left with me:

"When the sun shines on me no more,

and the path you travel

seems pointless without this love

find the courage to close the door

on a chapter of life that for you

exists no more."

And these words he also spoke to me:

"A day will come for you to speak

to the world with your own voice.

You will write your own chapter then,

and from chapter to novel

your own life will unfold,

new and wonderful.

Keep in mind that dependency

is for children, for those

who mistake fear and laziness

for obedience.

Never remain anyone's student:

be the teacher, as you were intended."

Choose Carefully, Tread Lightly

Choose carefully your time and space...

may it always be by choice, never by force

where you find yourself expressing

with your body the shape of your mind.

All have a place in the puzzle of Earth,

though few find it, and many suffer

following the dreams of others,

in greed and schemes and half-baked hopes

that come to nothing in the end.

Choose carefully your sacred place

and tread lightly - or not at all

for not all of it can hold your weight

nor fulfil the desires of your heart:

Be aware of all the limitations --

nature is but a child - willing but weak.

Choose carefully where your eyes rest

and do not hold what is there with money

or even in dream or memory.

For what is held on to, always dies,

but what remains free, always lives.

Choose carefully where you put your paddle,

disturb the waters not, go gently and silent

whether the water be calm or stormy;

whether it be muddy or clear --

be not the one who upsets the balance:

you will be well repaid when your turn comes

to lay at rest all that you chose to pass by.

Choose carefully and be aware,

but do not hang on, you are a bird on the wing

and how swiftly will Autumn come

and the call of migration pull you away

perhaps never to return: let the rains of winter

wash away your nest of mud and sticks.


What is compassion?

Is it a feeling?

Something one does for someone else?

Simply a virtue seen in those

one would call good people?

Perhaps that is how it manifests

when we observe it;

when we try to practice it

but that is not what it is.


is a language known to all

who call themselves intelligent

sentient, self-aware beings.

Perhaps we could call it

the language of the Universe

from the depths of the Cosmos.

Another way of looking at it:

compassion -

The greatest expression

of Universal love

and on earth, love in action.

Perhaps compassion

was the language of the gods,

those who created the worlds

(and us!)

and perhaps they left it as a choice,

whether we would use it or not.

Perhaps it is that legacy

we lost to the vagaries of time

when the difficulties came

and we chose survival

over love.

If it's as simple as that

how simple it is

to get back into it once more

and make the Earth

dance in joy.

Cross-Walk Blues

A man stands at the very edge

of wide, white- painted lines:

endlessly, a stream of traffic rolls by,

and no one sees him standing helplessly,

waiting to cross that mad divide...

His frustration drives him to anger;

he waves his fist in the air,

his middle finger doing incredible gymnastics

and he shouts out words I wouldn't dare repeat!

So, where does that leave him?

Forever at the crosswalk wrapped up in aggravation

with fear and anger to determine

the flavour of his day.

I believe life has a movement, a purpose, a direction:

so listen to the mad prophet, you chickens!

Step onto that street with bold mien:

set your feet firm and it’s steady as you go.

Walk with assurance and purpose;

show no fear in your certain stride

and if you get to the other side without a "splat"

the world will think you utterly crazy

and maybe worship you as a god.


Do not hide

your feelings or your acts;

whether it be business deals

or romantic excursions:

it is wise

in today's light,

to do all openly,

honestly and freely!

If all is not in tune

with love of self,

with love of all,

the enterprise thus entered in

will not sustain your interest.


if feelings or desires

remain repressed, hidden,

couched in fear or shame,

they will certainly crouch

at your bedroom door,

unwanted companions

to destroy your peace

and ruin your life.

Sands Of Time

For so long! so long

sands drifted over the earth's surface;

so many years! so many

have sifted by the unwary

burning as dry wood in summer

or soaked in human blood

while ignorant, helpless, silent,

we have watched our self-appointed leaders

the power wielders of our time

ruin our dried-out, empty lives

crushing the shells under their heels.

The sands are moving slower now:

most valleys are full;

rivers run dry in parched deserts:

sands are meeting sands,

time poised to stand still;

time's hourglass is cracked, its sands

drift out aimlessly!

The hour of chaos and confusion

has come upon us suddenly

and though the chains fall from our wrists

we fear the death of our gods

who've kept us in bondage

these endless years

while we hewed their wood

watered and harvested their crops

and fed from the poison of their lies.

It has been said

that man must be set free

to renew his earth:

do you know a better way?

River, O River!

Cold, rainy, grey

Cloudy: dark and heavy

with hope:

I can feel the water

filling the hungry earth

beneath my bare feet

I can hear the River

rising between the rocks

in its parched bed

Soon she will cycle again

carrying her treasures

to the sea,

past all the obstacles

littering her way

she'll sweep them as always

contemptuously out of her way:

She can't understand evil:

the new power blocking

her appointed path of life:

the power of delusion: the greed

killing her flow, her life.

For eons, she has done her work

happy to serve,

providing the arms

which nurture and hold

for the salmon or

the lowly sturgeon,

the early man,

the wildlife on her banks:

She carries her treasures

wood, sand and algae

she guides the fish

to the salt sea she nurtures

with her flow.

But at her mouth,

steel giants have risen

to rob her of life

and kill her children:

They search and probe

they take away her treasures

Along her banks,

an anti-life has sprung,

a loveless, garish, angry growth

injecting its effluents

inside her veins

She feels the cold poison

of substances unknown to her,

She watches her children die

floating away forever gone

upon her waves,

her skin is cut by noisy beasts,

her children flee the surface

to die into her murky depths

If one were to listen

he'd hear

her whispered complaint

to her Creator:

Her questions mingled with her

age-old song

of grinding sands

If one were to pay attention,

he'd hear the answer

in the beating of the rain:

"Life was taken from the man

and the river fed her children

once more--in peace"

The Handshake

To expect payment for a job done

(note: doesn't have to be "working")

say the professionals,

you must have it on paper,

signed and possibly notarized!

Two hands clutched together

moving slowly up and down

now only means you'll be taken for a ride!

You're riding on the highway of deceit,

not walking the trail of trust.

How did the old reliable, reassuring

palm touching palm lose its age old trust?

I'd say it's the so called "rich" and wannabe's

with shaky deals, broken promises and false advertising

that tarnished its trustworthy reputation.

So now we live with costly con tracts

(as in tracts written by cons, get the drift?)

lawyer drawn, duly notarized, double intended,

creating more fear and broken hopes

for queuing trusting dopes.

How can confidence flow back again

from one human hand to another?

Age-old wisdom gives a ready answer:

Ensure money does not cloud the issue,

preventing honesty from entering the heart.

Let friendship guide the vision of accomplishment:

the true meaning of the hand shake.

Dance On The Horizon

(The Storm)

Eagles soar through darkened skies

defying jagged mountain cliffs:

gracefully, flawlessly ascending

on nature's endless symphony.

Of summer winds breathing gently

through leaves' rustling harmony;

of the thrush's flute echoing

its rolling notes through hushed woodlands

Of the sun's sizzling evening dance

upon scarlet ocean waves

softy rolling upon timeless shores;

of unseen fingers, gently moving

upon a fairy mandolin;

Of mighty flowing rivers

descending from raging mountain storms,

covering meadows and heaths:

of such is the great overture composed

releasing the beat of nature's mighty drum

shaking the mountains' quiet haven.

Now comes the moment of release

inspired by nature's symphony:

gracefully riding on rising winds

I touch the crimson evening sky

and beneath my wings

my tears of joy become

a gently falling summer rain...

Free Energy

Some thoughts on "free energy":

What would happen to planet Earth

if Earthians discovered the concept of

"free energy"?

Much is being said on the topic

as non-renewable resources dwindle

and pollution increases.

We are entering the age

of "permanent resource wars"

for control of remaining resources.

What would our "leaders" do

with free energy?

Would they give it freely

to every human on the planet?

Would they facilitate the sharing

of such a priceless resource?

Or would the opposite happen:

would there be increased corruption,

more greed and destruction

as the need to conserve and care

seems no longer valid?

In a world whose modus operandi

is simply raw greed

how could "free energy" be a boon?

It would be the ultimate disaster

as happened with fossil fuels

when it was believed the supply

would be endless.

In the days when oil flowed from the ground

to be had for the taking -

who worried about environmental pollution?

Only mad prophets and idiots.

The System knew better

and the people as always

knew whom to trust.

Forced To Change

Things being what they are at this time,

we find ourselves forced to contemplate change

in the way we think, the way we act,

yet, like running naked through devils club,

the thought leaves our ego wounded and scarred,

desperately seeking shelter from its misery.

Perhaps, we say, we need not think of change

and things will go on as they always have,

yet, we know full well our final legacy will then be

not only pain and shame, but the worst of deaths:

the death of a spirit which can no longer feel

the pain inflicted on a passive world.

Bowing beneath man's endless blows,

nature's only defense will be silent death,

irrevocable, unless we mend our predatory ways!

If we refuse to listen, think,

when all is gone, who will be "mother" then?

(Devils club: broad-leaved shrub of moist undergrowth in

Pacific Northwest mountains, whose spines cause painful

infections under the skin. If you enjoy running naked in

the forest, avoid this shrub!)

Finding Solitude

I sit among trees

beside a smooth stream

lulled by gurgling waters

polishing stones;

enchanted by song birds

claiming space in high treetops

gently swaying light green

in morning breezes.

I walk above clouds

in a painted landscape:

an open meadow

brilliant in alpine flowers,

while the sun's rays

guide bees to nectar pools.

I dance freely

on a foggy stretch of beach

along a thundering sea,

letting my thoughts scatter

to ebb and flow with the water

or disappear as gulls

in timeless grey swirls.

February 1ST

Never enough of sunny days

upon the river's smooth running waters

in any season, no, never enough:

for me.

I heard the calls, the cries of birds

upon its sparkling, laughing mirror

and I laughed too, on the wild river

in February!

Lying nude, nestled in soft dry grass

the wind playing over my skin, I

re-discovered man's first-heard melody

on Edenic shores.

I heard the haunting song of the sea

in swaying tree tops,

the wild, restless sea of my youth

the same breeze moving both

I heard the whisper of a past season

in browned grasses rustling, protecting, loving,

reaching out to please, to offer life anew

bending over me.

Suddenly the river calls to me, persistently

the breeze builds up, the air cools:

forced out of my cosy bed, I dress and run

in the canoe again, the river wants me:

"Up, up!" I hear the rapids now

Eagerly, I round the cliffs:

there they are teasing me: "we dare you!"

I push up steadily along their defiant roar

challenging my skills:

the current is wild, the canoe dips, turns

tries to flip around and roll downstream:

I dive in, catch a back-eddy, flip the nose

and as suddenly all is over,

flowing quietly on still waters

above the rapids I look back

at the threatening, noisy shapes

their watery manes tossing in the misty air:

It's my turn to laugh! Their echo answers back:

"We wouldn't harm you, in any case,

She loves you!"


A pathless mountain in early morning,

as good a place as any

to focus on the concept of empathy:

embracing those who hurt others:

and for instance,

should a rape victim forgive

the rapist who tore into her life?

Should a HIV-positive person

infected from a blood transfusion,

forgive the health care people

who utilized tainted blood?

Should a mother forgive the drunk

who killed her child?

What good could possibly come of this?

Can any of these "shoulds" walk

in the same reality we do?

Are these but lofty thoughts

good but for those who sit and ponder

covering perfectly good paper with words

no one can possibly believe?

Examples of impractical idealism?

I believe there are those who forgive

the greatest of wrongs;

who dare to love those who have hurt them.

They do not make the headlines

but sit quietly within a circle carefully drawn

to release pain, horror, emptiness of heart

kept locked up inside from that terrifying time.

Here, touched by the light of Spirit;

here, with tears of deepest sorrow

they release fitful birds of darkness

to meet their new dawn.


As twisted shadows

in shades of night,

giants abide

formless, yet deadly;

threatening, knowing

time is their friend.

Ancient giants,

uncivilized, fearsome,

trampling about

unguarded borders,

ever watchful,

seeking unwary victims.

Confusion, uncertainty, fear;

anger, stress, despair:

where will the attack come from

this time?

I grow so tired of fighting:

couldn't I just let them pass,

turning away

from their baleful eyes,

never again to stare down

their ugly mien,

Yet how could I?

They rule this world

fueling its systems

and I won't become

just another pawn!

Heart Of Gold

Did you ever hear the song

"Searching for a heart of gold"?

I may have found one,

on the street of this town.

There lives a woman,

a philosophical woman

whose heart is as pure

as a mountain stream;

her thoughts as fresh

as an Autumn storm.

She sees the world differently

and I will always remember

her simple words:

"Everyone has a gift

to offer a hungry world,

a seed to plant in another heart.

Do so,

and before long,

this world will be transformed:

if you would see love,

sow love,

for whatever you sow

that shall you certainly reap."

Individual Journeys

The sky turns a greyish blue,

the horizon remotely visible

as I face the evening sky

lightly sprinkled in stardust.

Is there only one of “me”?

Or am I one of many fragments,

grains of sand drifting in cosmic winds;

inhabiting other worlds, passing through time

knowing past and future,

experiencing individual journeys

from vantage points on strange horizons?

What are other fragments of me like?

Should I meditate on this?

Should I wonder at this mystery?

If I ponder this possibility,

will it arouse fear or awe?

When death comes to set me free

to rejoin forgotten realities

certainly, I will then know

there is a time for everything;

a season to remember fully.

But this moment

in its marvelous complexity

is enough for me ‘now’!

There Were Violets

There were violets, I remember,

violets in the fields;

I remember well, violets.

They’re beautiful

I remember thinking.

It was easy, I was a child:

An innocent may walk

even past the gates of hell

and they cannot prevail.

The violets, I remember,

waved in unison

in a warm afternoon breeze,

smiling at me under the sun.

I wore a straw hat

mother made me wear.

Careful to keep it on, always

mother said,

I did not have to ask why.

I sat down among the violets.

They said something odd,

or so I thought

because I did not understand.

What does that mean,


we feed upon the flesh

of dead men?

The Teacher

The Teacher's path is as the wind;

no one knows where he is from

nor where he goes.

He travels space, he travels time.

His word is spirit,

teaching the open minded,

giving to the seeking,

finding the lost,

strengthening the timid,

upholding the faithful.

If you have heard these words,

you have heard him:

"Know and believe your truth:

everyone has a different story,

each a grain of sand forming a beach;

not one ever like another...

Be swayed by nothing

but your own discoveries,

your own awareness.

Thus shall the Cosmos

give ear to your prayer;

open its abundance;

hand you the key to every door,

and any door you open

shall never close,

nor any dream you dream

not come to pass."


Is it possible to seek entertainment

solely for entertainment's sake?

Look at it this way:

What kind of society evolves

from being forever entertained?

From seeking endless pleasure?

This can be said for “entertainment:”

that it should be a result, not a cause.

And the same goes for pleasure.

As the world seeks more entertainment,

more pleasure,

is it not obvious that the great “virtues”

such as courage, patience, peace and love

are the clear losers in this?

Pleasure seekers are hedonists -

their only concern is finding something

- anything - that makes them feel good:

“If it feels good, do it!” or “Don't worry, be happy”

Yes, in today's world being happy

is next to godliness - if not a cut above

and many are the fools who live

but for their short-lived pleasures -

but what do they inherit from this?

A trivialized life -

costly in money, cheap in value -

meandering through endless week-end rituals

in a shocking morass of dead ends.

And the cure?

Plunge into even more hedonism,

invent new ways to get thrills -

and damn the consequences

for the environment, the future

and all relationships.

Today's gospel, in a nutshell:

“We're not here for a long time,

We’re here for a good time!”

Observe Gently...

Walk, don't run, along your life's roads

in humility, open to understanding,

for all are designed as lessons

in experience for the universal soul.

Learn to breathe in deeply

all of life that surrounds you;

pause often, take time to observe

every living thing; how a tiny seed

transforms into a giant tree,

gnarled roots enveloping

the edge of a cliff on a lake.

Note the cycles of life repeating;

feel the growth energy

fill and lift your heart

as the spreading light of the morning sun

gives nourishment to the land.

Stand quietly in the rain

as its life giving waters run over your skin

entering the ground gently

where you walk in wonder

on one of life's countless roads.

Of Distant Worlds My Heart Would Speak

Of time, I cannot even speak

for truthfully, it is a meaningless measure

from then until now, how would we account it?

Of space, what can I say

of the parsecs we fled across, then re-crossed

ever searching for the ones we lost?

But of tears, though uncounted, uncountable

of those, yes, I could weave a tale indeed

for the ice of your comets is made of those.

The great sundering, how did it all begin?

What dark shadow, what unholy terror

suddenly swept throughout the outer worlds?

How innocent we were then; how unprepared

for such things to emerge from friendly space!

They came, first a vanguard, Others, friends,

so we thought for we knew of nothing else.

Into the minds of the weaker ones they entered

and there sowed fear, deceit, lies; covetousness.

We saw ourselves then, no longer beautiful.

We learned to hate, oh, so well, so utterly

but Them we did not hate, not then, not yet:

we feared and worshipped for we sensed their power.

Then came the Masters, and we served these from fear

for they were ever clothed in living flame.

We gave them our lands and they took our children

and so many were those we never saw again.

We swore allegiance to them; they taught us war

and skilled we became at shaping weaponry;

at bearing arms; and at killing? Masters in our own right.

In our fevered minds we saw shining, spinning worlds

and all we could think was, Go! Conquer them, enslave,

for the Lords want them as jewels for their crowns

and if we do not, they will wear our bones instead.

We did as we were bid, we flew the ships, we fought the wars;

we conquered, slaughtered, made ourselves rulers

on worlds that once had been our nighttime stars.

But their hunger nothing could sate

and their oppression became too heavy to bear.

We begged release, claimed we had served long

and served well, that we had earned our rest.

We asked to be returned to our world: how they laughed

to see us beaten, gloating over our despair upon learning

our world had been destroyed to make the weapons.

We turned our faces from these terrible Masters then

and walked away to our certain doom

for we knew they would never stop demanding more

of what we once so willingly gave without exception.

We knew they would come after us and if we did not fight

we would become as those we had enslaved in pits and mines.

Then we heard the voices of the lost ones

coming as it were from the forgotten outer worlds;

the voices of our children, the voices of our mates and mothers

a universal cry of woe we could not turn away from.

Instead, in rage we turned upon the Masters as one

and the fires of our struggles lit up space as Northern Lights

at times illuminates this planet's nighttime skies.

Came our final inevitable defeat and we fled, hiding in the darkness,

in the dreadful emptiness of unknown space and there, singly,

we sang a song. A song filled with so much woe and suffering

when it echoed among the frozen wastes,

these bled diamond tears into the void.

Not so much a place or space; not so much a time;

but a great loss yet to be made right.

And so we search, even today, even here,

and one by one we find the lost ones, we find you;

though no longer do you cry for you were seduced

by space, by time, and to you remains little, if any,

remembrance of distant worlds. Just empty words;

your thoughts, earth-bound, the graffiti of life.

Shadow Goddess

I saw her shadow

tossed upon white sand,

as waves unfurled

their thunderous applause,

yet all I had ever seen was her shadow.

(I had heard her voice!)

I wondered what it'd be like

to taste her breath, touch her skin,

see the colours in her eyes,

the smile on her face;

to feel my fingers though her hair.

Days went by, spaced by longer nights,

and still she remained but a shadow

until I closed my eyes, went to sleep,

and boldly imagined her by my side!

A warm wind touched my skin gently,

kissed open my eyes

and there she was: the goddess!

We shared the day, or so it seemed;

she showed me her passion:

a life wrought from love discovered

roaming freely through starry galaxies

and in her moment of release

we touched infinity.


I didn't know any better

so for years I took it -

having my intelligence

lowered to that of a dummy,

by those who I discovered

did not want me to understand,

to learn, to expand.

Their pleasure was in tormenting;

in making me feel inferior,

a "loser" in my own eyes.

From the school yard

to the work place,

always the same.

They needed to believe

in their intellectual superiority

within a constricted mental space

and I was the 'dummy'

they used to beat up on.

One day, I'd had enough

and simply walked away

from all the bullshit:

enough of the baiting

and the lies that kept me

from walking further along

my own path to self-empowerment.

Everywhere I heard

the spirit of freedom

calling my name and laughing

and I never looked back.

To my own great surprise

I did not totter or weaken

but propelled myself

upon a creative process

that has become my life!

Planting A Garden

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