Excerpt for Plodding The Mindless Maze by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Title Page

  1. Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

  2. (in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

  3. Copyright (©) 2019 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

  4. Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

  5. Chilliwack, B.C. Canada

  6. Cover picture by: Ben Shafer

  7. All pictures found on

  8. Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

  9. I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.


Title Page



Finding Solitude


Heart And Passion



Into Sand


No More Secrets

No Tears

Nothing Or Something?

Old Train


Oh, Earth!...

On The Edge Of Time


Path Of Evolution?

Planting A Garden

Split Personality

The Image Maker

Plodding The Mindless Maze


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.


I feel the cold of an Autumn morning;

I see dark clouds roll in from the west;

Ah, it feels so much like it might rain...

Feelings: what are feelings?

Can they be controlled at will?

Can feelings be hurt by another?

I ponder this as I walk along:

Perhaps feelings are just more

of our natural senses.

They inform: how else would I know

how a situation is affecting me?

Are feelings, emotions?

Emotions, feelings?

How often do we confuse these

and fail to understand our feelings

when we react with emotion?

Feelings tell me what is going on;

how I react to it, that's emotion!

Feelings are always neutral:

the battle is never with the senses -

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.


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.

Heart And Passion

Strong are the passions

that move the heart of man

and stormy they can be,

unpredictable and wild

spinning often beyond control:

Strong must be the heart

whose passion is for healing

and forgiving

in unconditional love!

Powerful it must be, and wise

to overcome searing passions

dressed in temptations.

Life on earth is as fleeting

as the snow bird's passage:

but life does not end here

and what is done

can never be undone.

Take good care of your heart:

may it serve you well enough

to see you beyond this place.


A clear cut on a mountain side:

there are those who oppose

as there are those who agree:

protagonists in man’s number one game.

It’s all about fame and all about gain;

It’s all about blame and all about shame!

The cause would be better served

if we thought of those who lose their homes.

What about the precious life in the mountains,

birds, squirrels, insects, trees, plants, streams:

what happens when there are no trees?

No home for so-called wildlife,

and no roots to hold the soil?

If an apartment building was being torn down

to create work; to boost the economy,

what of the ones who called that their home?

Who’s possessions are destroyed?

Now they’re homeless: where’s the real gain?

Is that not the same as cutting down a forest?

Perhaps we shouldn’t stop the cutting of a forest

by blocking logging roads, or spiking logs,

nor by giving in to anger or rage,

but perhaps there is another way:

the way of peace, of love and compassion,

the way of empathy for all of life.

Thus can we show there’s a better way

to live.


A friend likes my poetry

feels inspired to write some too

when reading of laughter and woe

pouring from my mind and fingers...

He brought me a poem he wrote

proud he was, and happy too:

I looked at the page - well I looked again,

and really felt sorry for that paper

I held between my fingers.

How much redundancy, how much trite

- hmm, ness, can one poor page suffer?

Well, now I know, way too much -

who would have thought

paper was that tough?

And not just paper anymore,

but think of that amazing ether

carrying this ho and hum and neither

right across a Universe?

What worries me more than any other

is the thought of an intelligent sort

out there in cosmic land, and armed to boot

reading this tripe and after falling off a stool,

taking a space ship aimed at destruction

and visiting our space.

Who knows, who knows, but they may think

man is way beyond any saving grace:

and all I meant to say was

that was a very bad poem.

Into Sand

The waves carry sand

to carpet the ocean floor

as I frolic with the wind

along shifting shores

rejoicing as my tired feet

are gently massaged

by sand and water.

Old grey faces stare back at me

from giant cliffs

so silent and still

and I feel a kind of sadness

thinking they are not free

to move with the wind

and dance in the sun.

"Do not be sad for us:

We too journey as you do

but on a level human understanding

does not grasp as yet.

When we passively sit along this shore

we learn balance and rhythm

as we feel the rise and fall of waves.

Gradually, as children

dismissed after class,

to scatter happily and return home,

we too become as little ones

and wind and waters

take us merrily along

far across the oceans.

Only humans feel bondage:

it is a state of mind,

not an act of creation.”


She swam nude in a jade pool

fed by a waterfall,

free from society's judgment

of such candid natural display

as she swam to me.

I felt strangely exhilarated

standing there, watching her

with just the sun

and warm breeze on my skin,

forgetful of everything

but the moment of anticipation.

She gently touched me

as if she were blind -

and loving hands

filled my body with ecstasy.

No More Secrets

It's no secret

secrets are the parents of gossip:

a secret that cannot be told

chokes the mind

and puts a fire on the tongue

until someone is found

to impart the secret to:

but don't tell anyone!


The fastest way to spread a rumor

is to call it a secret!

So perhaps we should do away

with the concept of secrets:

hold everything in the open,

everything public knowledge.

No more secrets!

(And an amazing side effect:

No more gossip and of course

No more politicians!)

No Tears

An old man sitting on a bench

- and I -

both of us watching a sunrise

in Springtime- years ago.

He turned to me

and spoke of his youth:

My old man was a mean bastard

and I grew up hating the S.O.B.

- he said, looking at the sky -

My mother raised me.

She was a kind and gentle person

and I think she really loved me.

But you know what

- he said more quietly -

when my mother died

I couldn’t cry for her

and no tears would flow

but when my old man died

I cried

like there was no tomorrow.

Nothing Or Something?

When a man and a woman

decide to have a child,

what is that child

upon conception?

Imagine the child

as an ocean wave.

That wave reaches the shore

only to return to the sea:

does it then become nothing,

or is it now an energy form

self-knowing and aware,

though apparently gone

in the bigger sea?

Could the very same wave

reform again and incarnate,

rolling gently

upon another shore

in another time?

Who’s to say: impossible?

Old Train

That old train -

it's still running through my mind

polluting my thoughts

weakening my passion:

I want it to break down;

to go off the track somewhere;

somewhere far, far away from me!

I want to walk freely in my mind

and not be dragged along the old ways,

however well-worn, however acceptable.

I'm tired of beliefs that go nowhere;

of teachings that chase their tails;

of life purchased with death.

I want to see the real beauty surrounding me -

but that old train keeps clattering on

and me, still in the same old seat

watching the same old scenery go by.

An old man comes down the aisle

and he sits beside me, smiling to himself:

he is not looking at the scenery -

in fact, he seems not to be on the train

for his eyes are clear and far-seeing.

He leans over and says to me:

“Wish all you want

but until you let go

the train won't stop

for you are not in control.”

He lifted his arm and the train stopped -

I chose to jump off with him

and I found myself quite alone

in a quite alien land.

But at least the damned train

has stopped rattling in my head

and I'm free to go my own way.



black oystercatcher


motionless upon black rock

white foam in lace

rides rolling waves

splashes the black rock

turns it to grey sands

scattered upon an endless shore

until the rock is no more


black oystercatcher



above rock's erosion

for it knows time

and possesses wings

and if time should fail

its wings will not

Oh, Earth!...

Earth, Earth!

Gentle and beautiful!

I hear your sobs

in close darkness

while they eat and drink,

inviting death

through their corruption...

I hear your sighs,

your helpless moans:

the evil ones are abroad,

the ones nurtured in hope,

in endless, boundless love...

I hear you crying in the night

for exalted ignorance.

What can I do, mother of life,

witness of joys and sorrows,

to ease your burden of guilt

and take away your sadness?

Is it enough to let you know

I too cry in the dark of night

when evil, tangible, palpable,

(tomorrow's misery)

boldly claims this dying world?

I saw your tired feet

bleed in the thirsty sands:

You give life, you suffer

beyond any word or language

the consequences of folly...

Oh, Earth, Earth!

what did you hope to gain

bringing me here to this?

Did you hope that I, a human

as one, could atone?

Could learn in time

to speak the word of power,


the healing template?

Perhaps, perhaps, all is not lost

and there may yet be time

to counteract this invasion

from the dark side.

On The Edge Of Time

Outside of time and space

a vision waits:

the spirit's next trek

beyond the known, the (questionable)

comfort zone of Earth home.

As the albatross

flying high above the storms

the spirit wanders, searches

for another world, another life

another experience

to which nature

has mapped the way.

Spirit awakens, encourages

the seeker on his quest,

enriching body and mind.

He learns to practice wisdom

with deep understanding of life

as energy in motion,

not something to be judged.

In his quest,

the knower remembers;

in remembering,

the knower knows again

what had been forgotten.


Once upon a time, I (the child)

knew nothing of life: I

(the man)

followed my fathers' footsteps

cutting down trees, digging holes,

and putting up fences and walls

Keeping in and keeping out

my possessions and insecurity.

I never stopped to think

why I was doing this: everyone

was doing it -why not me?

Who would look after (me) if not (me)?

Without a fence, my things

could easily get lost

on someone else's land...

Without a wall, my world

could easily get changed

by someone's interference...

But all that changed one day

(no, I don't know why it should)

I heard the voice of the Spirit:

He asked me what I was doing

(I told him what I was doing)

He asked me why I was doing it

(I told him why I was doing it)

He said:

come here and listen:

I know a better way.

You work so hard for food that spoils

When it's already laid before you:

but you forget that nothing

of value is ever

l o s t

You are one with everything

Do not separate yourself

from your environment

for if you do -you will die.

Do not build fences or walls

they poison the life

I've given you.

Path Of Evolution?

Before man cursed himself to labour

his short life upon this earth;

before he delineated lands with names,

borders, guns and barbed wire,

he roamed the valleys and plains

in primitive enjoyment of his now,

his life: the image of the land.

With so little system developed

to restrict freedom of his ways,

he did not spend an entire life

paying for a house he could never own,

nor did he kill or die protecting

something that was never his.

He followed the seasons and accepted

the bounties of the land with thanks:

at least we hope that was the way

the ancestors walked the Earth and I ask:

hasn't something been lost or forgotten

along the path of human evolution?

What world have we made

where everything, even love –

yes, especially love –

now comes with a price tag?

We believe we abolished slavery

yet cannot see

being attached to a “surfing” gadget

has become the most insidious form

of all-time slavery.

What will it take for man

to take his life back from those

who stole it with a carrot on a stick

followed by a whip?

Planting A Garden

Someone once told me

trust in your guides, your gods, your God

and everything you want you will get:

So whatever I desire

(I said out loud, to be sure!)

all I have to do is put the thought out there,

and trust in spirit to look after the rest.

As from nowhere came an old man

who said with a crinkly smile:

“I'd be quite willing to bet

nothing will ever come by putting trust

in guides or gods, in genies or wizards!

Let me give you an example

with the old garden analogy.

To start, it's a good thing to know

what makes a garden grow:

more there is than throwing seeds

helter-skelter over the ground.

You need to prepare your soil,

turning it over, adding fertilizer, maybe lime.

Seed what supports symbiotic relationships

of insects, birds and flowers

and don't forget to space for growth.

Now you've planted, is it over?

Oh no. Now comes the real work:

you'll need a shovel, a hoe, a rake,

a water supply and some stakes.

Hours to spend on hands and knees

weeding, thinning, banking

and finally, by Summer's end

you should have a harvest --

that also means more work!

And so with all of life's endeavours;

without personal effort

nothing good ever happens.”

I wanted to thank him for the advice

but I turned and he was gone!

Split Personality

I was standing on the highway

both arms out this way

when a car bound easterly

and a car bound westerly

stopped simultaneously.

The drivers were angry,

yelled "get out of our way!"

but before they sped away,

I jumped with alacrity

and discovered unexpectedly

my split personality.

The Image Maker

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

so it has been said.

But what is the source of beauty?

Nature is the maker of images

but not the creator of beauty

for beauty lies in the realm of perception.

It was man who, upon experience of ecstasy

thought beauty into existence.

It was man who said: thou art lovely my love

and thus elevated the mundane

into the realm of the sublime.

It was man who trapped himself

into thoughts higher than himself

and found he could not live

according to the visions he gave himself

from a world he could not comprehend

but could only sense.

Thus man cursed himself to die

burning from within with fire,

with a desire and a passion unquenchable

for in his human nature

as received from his own creator

he could never hope to fulfill

the thoughts he created of himself.

Thus it is now man's gift to re-create himself

from his passion and his desires,

with his awakened sense of beauty,

into a new beingness, a new creation -

no longer dependent upon another for life

but utterly upon himself - alone:

Man, having reached his Omega point

empowers himself to become the Alpha.

Plodding The Mindless Maze

Plodding the mindless maze,

herds of bleary-eyed sheeple shuffle;

jostle and crowd 'neath ancient towers

moldy and cracked, ready to crumble

with the touch of a child's hand.

Joining jeers, cheering multitudes

applaud their own laugh-track --

commercial-driven stupids

too ignorant even to qualify as fools --

somehow enduring unaware

parading their emptiness of mind

briefly upon the plastic stage

in the worst-ever bad-acted sitcom.

But what does it matter to them?

They know just enough to realize

no one is watching their antics

no one cares when they tumble off

tired, drunk, diseased, depressed,

their inflatable life pin-pricked:

it's all the reality earth can offer.

The worst show ever, that it is,

but it's on every available channel

and it's prime time all the time.

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(Pages 1-35 show above.)