Excerpt for It's All About Your Future by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Title Page

Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

Copyright (©) 2018 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada

Cover pictures by: Top, Alfred Borchard

Bottom, Barun Patro

All pictures found on

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.


Title Page



Behind The Mask



Future Child

Great Spirits


I Want More

The Immune System

In Exchange

It's All About Your Future

Journey into Thoughts on Afterlife

Keeping Secrets


Northern Lights


Poisoned Earth

Rainbow Of Dreams

Resilience Of Weeds

Roads That Go Nowhere


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 walked


a soft field of

dancing purple asters

under an afternoon

waning summer sun

in moss

still damp with dew


turning white light

to gold

the royal color

preferred of those

who like to rule


powerless and

(barefoot still)

I walked a gentle field

of purple asters

in my child’s mind





Behind The Mask

This world of man, a giant mask.

Frailties, foibles, fears, fantasies, failures,

All hide behind the frightful chameleonic mask,

So ancient, so comfortable, so safe, so faceless.

We feel its presence, its security, its certainty,

We call it tradition, the will of God, fate,

We also call it patriotism, manifest destiny, normalcy,

Like the Conservatives or the Social Credit party:

We're so sure of everything, hiding behind the mask,

We can use it to ignite wars and kill at will;

Somehow it's all so proper when the faceless hollow voice

Inside the mask repeats the slogan: "Necessary!"

As one out of time here, I wonder how many others,

Finding the mask doesn't fit, refuse to wear it too?

Sometimes I fear I may be recognized, walking around

Naked like that, my mind unshackled, my thoughts

Un-muzzled, un-fettered, free to roam -I reflect:

Will they see I'm not wearing their sacred mask

And make an example of me, a sacrificial offering

To discourage others from walking around without purpose?

To save their doctrines, beliefs, theories and plans

From being exposed to the light of truth?

Yet who else but a free soul or an innocent mind

Can freely say, the emperor has no clothes...?


Early in life

I was taught this great truth:

"all men are brothers...

(if they think like you,

the rest are enemies...)

Later on, I discovered

(quite by chance -

the lie in that

implied truth)

"all men are brothers

(I said to myself -

it's not something you

talk about freely

in such a free country)

I stopped there

and let it go at that

it seemed enough

it was enough

for me

(I did nothing to prove

the right or wrong of it)

Still later on, joining a group

(a fellowship, they called it)

the original lore

the ancient lie

sprung back to life within

with little prompting:

We -had the truth -

possessed the book of books

stolen from another race

(now cursed, of course)

and added on for good measure

(well, one can always use

more truth -

from God himself, no less)


if at the end

God decreed eternal torment

for any who did nor read, did not


the book in its entirety;

did not accept its believers

coming with lies and guns

plundering the lands

raping the women

enslaving the children

then so be it: God is just...

But wait:

God in his way is also very merciful

(to all sinners -

even to believers of lies -)

and I believe again


"all men are brothers"

there never can be

written absolute truth

for the book itself says -

if everything was written

the earth itself could not contain

the books written

as a witness

to it all

Now I understand

and won't be fooled again.


Extinction: the end of a species;

each year, less variety:

cause for alarm?

Experts say, as experts must

each vanishing life form

brings human annihilation

one step closer, ever closer.

The earth could survive very well

with less humans to contend with;

could it equally survive

with less fish swimming the waters?

With less birds flying the winds?

Less insects roaming the ground?

Less mammals climbing trees,

and wandering valleys and plains?

Even with less variety of plants

and minerals?

Yes it could; yes it would!

It doesn’t sadden me to hear

of another life form gone:

I know it has just moved on.

We speak of death,

of vanishing species: could we

but see the energy released

in life’s struggle to balance itself!

There is enough life on earth

to satisfy the needs of many worlds:

shall we live in fear

or dare to understand?

Future Child





of authority,


often angry,

wanting everything,

and equally,


that I can give:

already bored

with life barely tasted,



beyond inquisitive:

what are you, child?

Why can’t I recognize you?

I look into a mirror

and there I am!

Great Spirits

Great minds, great spirits have walked this earth

(at least in the past - can't vouch for today!)

and these great ones have faced raging opposition

from the establishment

and other brain-dead, brainwashed fools

in their time.

Why would such ones come here?

Did they have no choice?

If not, why did they speak, write

or demonstrate superior ways

only to be called liars, mocked, jeered and killed?

Doesn't it make you wonder?

Who were these individuals?

Where did they come from?

What power did they use

to stand against peers and power groups?

And why would some people listen to them

for such a short time then forget all they ever taught?

Funny thing about humans:

they can be counted on to hold to ideas that don't work

and to spurn those that have a chance.

Well, it's not too surprising:

humans are an indolent bunch

morally and spiritually speaking.

Don't appreciate being told to shape up or ship out -

better to watch TV or grab a case of beer,

go down to the boat launch

and go snag some helpless fish;

take the SUV downtown:

off to a fashion show, a display home

and lunch with the girls.



City streets can be colder than stone

when you're young, vulnerable and all alone

nor are they ever paved with the rich man's gold

when threadbare clothes leave you wet and cold.


She comes to a familiar doorway

somewhere in the night when she's lost her way

and remembers all the days of her short life

how desperately she'd run from strife

knocked on strangers' doors for protection

then ran away again from every nightmare.


The man at the desk knows her as she tosses her hood

approaches and puts her hand on the worn wood,

and knows the words she'll say before she forms them:

"I need a place for the night, do you have a cheap room?"

He smiles at her - or is it a leer?

and as he speaks, she can again smell the beer --

"I have cheap - forty dollars for a night at the inn -

and I have free if you'll let me tuck you in."

and his hand slips over her wrist

and her skin tells him, for the mill she will ever be grist.


He hands her two sheets and a pillow case:

she grabs but he says, "Easy, no need for haste."

Here's the key - it's three - o - four -

and don't forget - don't lock the door."


He watches her walk to the rickety stairs,

shoulders slumped, but doesn't feel her despair

and in her head as she steps on the first rung

she hears the lines from an old song she'd heard.


"Baby I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked the floor
used to live alone before I knew ya
But I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Our love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah"

(from “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen)

I Want More

Why do we want a job?

Or need a job?

What is the motivation in the quest;

in staying with this labour?

Some would say "lucky"of the one

who finds and holds a job

that gives both enjoyment and satisfaction;

when positive energy flows out of the effort;

when it seems society even benefits

from such work.

And luckier, indeed, if it pays well...

But if success becomes the driving force;

when the work pays greater dividends

and possessions, prestige, power

accumulate as a result,

how quickly the motivation changes

from one of "I would give more"

to one of "I want more!"

In our society, 'tis not the labour

that's counted as valuable

but the amount of money it returns:

for success is counted in money earned,

not in satisfaction received,

much less in gratification given.

Forgotten are the lessons of the past:

that one's honor is tied directly

to one's willingness to serve.

The Immune System

America: the coddled society

with drugs are a-plenty

pill pushers - doctors - more!

so eager to give you paradise.

Feel a little ill, feel a little pain

rush to the doc's office to complain:

take a routine examination

and what do you get?

a routine prescription, that's what.

Rush to the drug store,

don't wait to get it filled,

pop, pop! POP 'em all!!!

the red pill, the blue pill, the white one,

now everything's OK,

you can watch TV again -

no head-ache, no pain,

need something else to complain.

But what are flu's and colds and such:

Diseases? Signs of poor health?

Of course not!

They're testing the immune system,

see if it's working; if all is OK.

By-pass the test with a pill -

feel OK in the moment

but your immune system is not tested,

its batteries may be dead;

last upgrade not done

comes a deadly virus,

sorry, it is not there for you

your body becomes infected

and death not far away.

Choice: make yourself feel good -

pop that pill, relieve that ache, carry on

with the party, the game, whatever:

sooner or later the real thing comes

and you won't know until too late

your immune system lacked an upgrade

and wasn't standing by:

no response to the alarm.

Accept a cold, a flu, an odd ache and pain:

they're there to test the system, not to kill.

"Every human being is the author of his own health or disease." (Buddha)

In Exchange

Thumbs in suspenders; smug, wood-hard face,

the old logger stands, and near the end of his time

surveys a clearing of bleeding stumps: his handiwork.

On surrounding hills, torn patches of earth's sagging face

leave him unmoved, his attitude unchanged.

With the cold eye of the predator, he calculates the worth

of one remaining tree at the far edge of the clearing--

a fleeting life, struggling alone, needles falling silently

as tears from an orphan in the path of someone else's war...

He hefts the chainsaw to take this last life,

but as suddenly, falls dead in his own killing fields,

his heart giving out, tired of the noise, the killing:

another wasted life in a wasteland of its own making.

Among the wreckage, in an evening's freshening breeze,

the logger's son falls to his knees, weeps silently,

his tears, long held back, fall freely on this broken land:

are they for the father lying dead at the morgue--

or for himself, now able to see the works of greed?

In fading shadows, his haunted space comes alive:

he hears his mother's voice and unheeded advice:

"Never take any life for foolish pleasure or greed, son.

Take but what you need with constant gratitude

for such is understood and permitted.

and in fair exchange give of yourself also."

It's All About Your Future

It's your future we speak of (They said)

You should be concerned - and don't you know

It all depends on believing in the right things?

What sort of right things? (I said)

I'm sorry, I wasn't really listening there,

Thinking rather of those without a future.

Where will you spend eternity? (They said)

Don't you know there is a hell

For those who do not obey God?

I'm sorry, what was that again? (I said)

His load is heavier than I had anticipated

no wonder this man was down on his knees.

Let's try again - do you believe in God? (They said)

The Bible has all the right answers

for those who sincerely seek salvation.

I have heard that before (I said)

It's OK, let me carry this a bit farther for you

You are exhausted and obviously hungry.

Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ (They said)

And he will forgive your sins

And in the end take you into heaven.

Yes, I know, I've heard that too (I said)

But for now could you give me some money

so I can get food for this man and his family?

Oh no, we preach the gospel (They said)

It's not our job to look after the destitute

There'd be no money for the ministry.

Ah, I see, of course (I said)

I let the anger in my heart flow out silently

no worse off for blessing than for cursing.

Journey into Thoughts on Afterlife

My goal was to walk the high mountains that day

so I passed through forests of poplars and birches

eagerly shedding their golds and browns

in anticipation of Winter and avalanches

of branch-breaking freezing snows not so far away.

I observed their leaves fall to the ground,

and pondered this unalterable fact:

that such an act has been performed

for uncounted years in these un-humanly quiet places.

As I walked through these valleys of harsh shadows

it became inevitable I'd think of my own life,

a life well advanced and no going back,

the past now a silent memory, most of it lost already.

So to the future I must look: and what is that?

I've heard the theories, and seen many a face

imbued with its belief of heaven and of hell.

Safe beliefs, I thought, provided by Religion

to suck membership, money and common sense

from the frightened, the foolish, the unwary

(and of those icebergs I've always prided myself

I could steer clear).

Alone but for the wind and death rattle

of a thousand falling leaves scraping algae-speckled bark

I consider this future, this possibility, this thought:

Do we have existence of a kind,

a future beyond this one physical passage?

Can one know for certain?

I heard towhees and varied thrushes

scratching for their food in the underbrush:

What do they think, I began to wonder?

Easy it would be to dismiss

the idea they'd have thoughts on the matter,

being but dumb animals and all that,

and I a member of the Master Race after all.

But I'm the only one here, and this is their world

so maybe the scale is tipped back in their favor

and I'm the one who lacks understanding.

I stopped my headlong rush up the rocky trail,

to sit on a rotting stump and to listen.

Avian chittering, scratch of leaves and moan of wind

in denuded branches is the language

of the message I must hear, translate, understand.

It's not easy, being a brainwashed Earthian humanoid

to hear what the world of nature would teach,

but not impossible, for after all,

we are endowed with a universal translator.

I won't say; I cannot tell, what I heard

and what I came to understand there,

in the chill shadows of hulking grey mountains

under the veined, harsh blue sky of Autumn:

birds, leaves and swaying trees did their best

to explain, I'm not complaining. I did get it.

I did not continue on my hike that day, nor since.

Instead I heeded the call to return to my own world,

to the city, the man-made mountains and crawling streets

and see if there I could find a connection, fit in,

just like the birds, leaves, trees and wind

fit out there beside the trails to the high places.

For my thought was this, and so remains:

if I cannot fit in my own man-made world

however permeated with assured madness

how can I match myself to any kind of future?

You reap what you sow and as below, so above

go the sayings, and do we not know,

are we not taught, the certainty of this?

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.

perhaps it is not worth keeping.


I may not prevail

in every struggle,

but I hold this truth

firmly within my heart

that a battle lost

should not be discounted

as waste.

Whether I win or lose

is not the point of this game:

there are valuable lessons

taught in defeat.

How so? you may well ask.

Well, humility is one seed

that sprouts well

in the soil of defeat.

If heaven had a door,

you'd find that humility

is a key

that would fit quite well

within its golden lock:

there are other keys, of course.

I'll leave that to you

to figure out...

Northern Lights

(Remind Me)

I watch in wonder

as northern lights

dance among the stars


I ponder the passages

that form my life


I could have

walked here unaware

never glimpsing

the simple

the precious

tucked away

not always neatly

among nature's treasure trove

I could have failed to see

just one tiny shooting star

crossing the distant horizon

a cloud passing over the moon

or the leaves falling

and blowing in the wind


I could have

but these northern lights remind me

there is more to life

than mere survival


Weight watchers,


drug and mind therapy,

binge and purge,


Middle-aged America passes

in distended, deformed bodies

whose stomachs and thighs

are bloated with cellulite.

So much food,

so little nutrition

and a society

of fast food junkies

and couch potatoes

waddles through its pitiful life,

dependent on clogged arteries

to get from car to doctor’s office,

to the prescription drug counter,

back to the car,

and back to the couch.

Meanwhile economically driven famines

sweep across poorer nations

and millions die

without food,

without water,

without care.

Is there a connection

between these extremes in evil?

Oh yes,

but how many understand

how these energies interact

to create these two famines:

one that kills with surfeit,

one with want?

Poisoned Earth

Ever wonder

what poisoned the earth?

Ever thought that maybe

somehow, something


happened to her?

In the beginning

was peace and happiness

In the beginning...

but what do we know

of that?

A man had a brother

became jealous

killed him:

slowly the earth

absorbed the brother's blood

by a million tiny veins:

that blood

spread throughout

the earth:

a deadly poison:

Whatever man sows,

that he shall also reap:

He killed his brother--

gave his blood

to the earth

sowing death into the soil

with jealousy

A poisoned blood entered

a virgin earth

raping her

through murder:

How could her children

not be murderers?

They have never understood

their past, their guilt

They do not believe

they cannot hear

the cries

they cannot feel

the pain

nurtured by a poisoned earth


between Heaven and Hades:

what can they know of life?

of death?

Rainbow Of Dreams

The worst of the storm is over,

I made it through,

and with but a few changes,

kept my dream alive and safe,

deep within my soul.

The sun now breaks through

passing clouds and light showers

and every drop of water

now becomes a crystal refracting sunlight

into radiant colours;

a rainbow of dreams coming alive,


to continue its journey

through life's eternal kaleidoscope.

Henceforth will I envision

each single raindrop

as a crystal dispersing moments

as colours of endless rainbows;

thus will my dreams

transcend the limitations of time.

Henceforth, nourished by pure love

every step I take

will be upon new paths.

Resilience Of Weeds

A man stares

as weeds take over his lawn,

choking out costly blades of grass.

In panic

he runs to the local garden shop,

buys the latest, most daring

weed killers

to destroy the annoying growth

but like every other manmade thing

the chemicals take care of cat and dog

but not the intended victims:

the weeds get high

on their toxic food,

multiplying faster then before.


fearing they might invade the house,

he roto-tills the lawn;

lays down plastic and mulch

to cover the soil

then laughs out loud as he declares

the weeds officially eliminated!

He barely finishes his second beer

before the first blade breaks through his defenses

the spears of grass stronger than ever.


he packs and moves away,

to a house boat on a quiet lake.

Ah, says he, no more pesky weeds to fight!

Just then he makes a gruesome discovery:

on the side of the boat, milfoil!

already it reaches over the sides

pulling the boat down

to the murky deep!

Roads That Go Nowhere

Pavement stretches for miles

in endless series of criss-crossing puzzles

that used to lead where man touched

all of life with his Midas hands,

dipped in wishes of oil and steel...

covering, choking, filling

a once vibrant soil springing

with delicate plants, healing herbs,

mighty trees and wildlife roaming free.

Rusting carcasses of dead dreams

now inhabit an inhospitable, forsaken world

invaded, cornered, strangled, choked

by the poisons of progress

as defined by man's leadership

and slavish obedience to lifeless rules.

Ages have passed, and now behold!

True tranquillity, untainted beauty

blending in majestic harmony

are found again upon the earth,

scarred land, polluted air, decimated wildlife,

healed, cleansed, free once more.

Scents of wild flowers and newly formed leaves

travel the breezes throughout the earth,

announcing peace and wholesomeness

to all that cares to listen.

But of man who closed his heart to life's pain,

no one is left to hear the news

of earth's joyful renewal.

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