Excerpt for A Moment Unguarded 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 picture by: Belovodchenko Anton

Web Page:

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.


Title Page


A Moment Unguarded

A New World Beckons!


In The Know...



Man's Children 2


A Man—A Survivor


Concerning Earth





More Than You Think

Morning Prayer

Mortgaging The Present

Early Winter: A Mountain Canvass

Beyond Concepts




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.


A Moment Unguarded


It may be but the middle of February

this day, this crazy wonderful day

but out of the blue the sun came out

as with a vengeance for all the days

his face imprisoned by endless clouds

felt the land's dream as dark and dank

still caught in Winter's vise-like grip


Suddenly and without warning

in a moment of unguarded ebullience

Spring, so shy and hesitant, so light of step

bounced from her deep slumber under the Earth

and with a shout of delight and crazy joy

filled mountain valleys and cities' gardens

with a touch of her long-awaited magic


Buds still draped in the night's frost

dangle pearly mystical drops and silver bells

as dew in a Summer's early morning.

Robins try out their first Spring songs

while a gentle breeze whispers by

rustling herself a bit of hesitant music

in dry grasses, rushes and scattered leaves.


Everywhere come the sounds of renewal

everywhere life springs forth

not caring it's too early Spring for most

daringly unleashed in fervent hope

that Spring, real Spring

cannot now be far away

I too know this and how

can one help but rejoice, if foolishly?

1A New World Beckons!

Go, run, barefoot

where there is no path;

do not strangle your feet

with industrially-made shoes

or anchor them in synthetics.

Swim and run nude freely

within nature's sacred realm:

laughingly leave the tattered clothes

which a society’s shame,

imposes on itself!

Like the sorcerer of the sky,

fearlessly lead violent storms

to clean and renew life on earth;

strengthen your faith in life’s lessons;

then simply teach those whose

desire is to learn the trade.

Simple lessons teach appreciation

of life on the organic level;

the goddess energy.

Within her we shall enter

a beautiful new world

prepared by those whose faith

already brought them along

this ancient and renewed path.


I read this somewhere:

“To live within unconditional love

I must join the greater whole,

the oneness of all things.

I must learn to open my third eye

to understand how to speak to anyone

without lies, sarcasm,

deception or exaggerations

so frequently used to avoid the truth.

When people begin to see themselves

as equal with all things,

they will experience a shift in awareness

to a more enlightened state of being,

connecting every heart-beat

to the rhythm of life, to Mother Earth.”

But I wonder,

does this kind of thinking work

or is it just more ‘new-agey’ baloney

that tickles the ears

but when put to the test

falls short of the mark?

What I think of all of that

can be said very simply:

those who write stuff

expect “me” to prove their words

and as for them,

they’re in the marketplace

selling their wares,

same as, same as – for if it did not sell

they’d be writing something else.

In The Know...

Many subtle changes

happening around me

make me aware of love,

of the need for understanding

the harmony that brings life

into this passing moment!

In renewed energy -

I feel I must go forth

as within a bright light

to guide those who as yet

cannot find their way

out of the old darkness.

But gently, gently,

whispers my heart:

Do not arouse that

which as yet

has not finished dreaming:

all slumber is not sloth.


In small waves

they first came,


testing the waters

and the shores

of a new land

then more came

and more


swarming, spreading

up and down

the seashore they went

taking freely

whatever they found.

There were others

already there

whose passage

left no trace

no destruction

no pain Pagans

whose lack of faith

in a God of love

caused them to care

to love to maintain

a good earth for those

following behind --

doing as had their forebears

for thousands of years before

The locusts

tired of the seashore

depleted its resources

looked West:

a land of dreams


in possibilities

of vast untapped resources

whose humanoid population

with pagan religions

barbarian speech

immoral dress

dark pigmentation

defied propriety

God's righteous decree

that all humanity be


or have no claim

to the earth...


the trumpet call

to Jericho

and genocide

repeating biblical history

to inherit the blessing of God

in their promised land

and bless them, He has:

with violence and bloodshed

with hate and fear

with slavery to self

with money and power

to buy and to sell


with the 'exalted'


of becoming the prime movers

of the destruction of earth

and all that is in it!

"...In Thy Holy Name, O God

we shall destroy..."

sang the hordes of locusts

trampling the prairie grass

in pagan blood.


Do we lose things along the way?

We say:

I lost my hat; I lost my cat;

I lost my way!

All is energy:

it is quite impossible to lose


Other things or other lives

simply grow tired of us

and slip out of our control

for a time or for ever.

To be able to lose,

we must be able to own,

but where or when did we

get the idea of ownership?

No one can ever own anything

and life is full of surprises:

who knows:

I may “lose” myself before morning!

The things I own

likely understand the truth of it:

they break free of owners

and suddenly disappear.


Not for those who have learned

to think outside the box.

Besides, it's a lot more fun

than just tick-tocking along

stuck in the same old beliefs.

Go ahead, lose your mind!

Man's Children 2

Man's children accompany

their mothers to the mall,

their senses crushed, broken,

to fit the mould of techno-frills:

can't you hear their whiny,

rebellious little voices,

choked, stunted, denied,

endlessly clamoring for life?

Can't you hear their angry cries,

muted in pyramids of garish plastic,

distorted in static of pallid fluorescence,

subjugated to the lowest price law,

soothed by the gumball dispenser,

terminated by the video street fighter?

Can't you feel their hunger, their despair,

as helpless, unheard, unheeded,

they rage against the emptiness?

As denied life in the moment

they struggle to survive the lie

long enough to reach tomorrow?


I heard you playing last night;

the notes cascading softly

through the wall

and settling gently in my heart.

They came as waves

drifting upon a shallow sandy shore

on a quiet moonlit evening,

I could feel your caress

on the polished wood

and every brush of fingertip

on vibrating strings

pulled strange feelings

from deep within my soul,

stirring up some un-named passion.

Your guitar gently sang,

expressing a new meaning for life,

an essence of happiness.

I felt as if I had found the freedom

to cast my unbound love

throughout a world

burdened with sadness;

as if I had the power

to change that old melody.

I hope you'll play again this evening -

I'll be listening.

A Man—A Survivor


A strange old man, a very ancient figure,

that’s who he was, who he is.

A man of many titles in as many times:

poor Bill, mendicant, beggar and tramp.

At times,

panhandler, good-for-nothing loafer,

deadbeat, vagrant, hobo, gypsy

and in more recent times,

a welfare bum.


Sometimes this strange man

comes back from the sea,

sometimes from the wars or prison:

no one comes to the quays to meet him

and to hug him.  Alone

carrying a damp and dirty canvas bag

he limps down some dark alley

to find a familiar den,

a smoke-filled tavern, an inn.

For a few coins, a room under a stairway

a garret with drafty shutters

become his home ‘til the angels come

or the demons, but who can ever tell?


Sometimes he just gets tired of jostling

for position and wealth—leaves one night

never to come back.  What for?

His wife re-marries, but does he care?

Who’s to know? Not even he

wandering the drafty city streets

with his new title and essential wealth.

He’s a successful miner now,

mining garbage for treasures

carefully arranged in a rusty shopping cart

(of missing front and bent wheel

from an accidental encounter with a taxi)

until deposited for safekeeping.


They call him “homeless” now—the

politically correct term

for this strange old man who never did fit,

who in his youth had a strong back

to break up the coal, carry gear and pack a rifle

walk through flooded paddies

and burn babies in their mothers’ arms

inside grass huts in a land so far away.

He knew well enough then why he did this:

for God and country and freedom

they’d told him and he believed. 


He came back from the killing fields

to log the dark green hills

until the trees were gone.

He cleaned out curbs and culverts

for a pittance in part time jobs

to bolster free enterprise and capitalism.

“It’s all good” they said with a leer

and what could he do but believe?


He doesn’t remember much of that

and really, what does it matter now?

the rich got richer and died,

the dead remain dead

and he’s got his place

behind four loosened cement bricks

under a bank where he keeps his valuables,

drinks, sleeps and feeds his nightmares

of bullets and blood, of flames that roast flesh,

of screams of pain and terror:

endless screams—the voices of the dead.

Until it’s time to work the streets again,

push the rusty cart with the one bent wheel

until the angels return again

or the demons, and who’s to know?


He’ll be there again tomorrow

and the day after that

and the day after the Great Day

there he will be in his dirty tattered rags

his long stringy hair blowing wildly

in the cold, cold winds that haunt

the endless noisy, dirty, drafty city streets

and who knows what his title will be

next time I pass him trying not to notice?

I think I already know this, in my heart

as I look around and ponder this place:

he’ll be a survivor. 


He paces a darkened world

walking his familiar path

along a small river

bordered by silvery woods.

His canopy of bowing branches

no longer spring with life:

in his gray silence

he cannot hear

fading, gently falling,

colours of Autumn.

Tossed by a sudden gale,

a bird of passage drifts off course

and lands on a branch

just above his darkened world.

As it sings its last song

before resuming its flight

the walls of darkness lighten

and for the briefest of moments

the man imagines

the sun rising, delicately

brushing the sparkling dew

on yellow irises.

Concerning Earth

(Chronicles of the WindWalkers)

"And they shall be endowed with great intelligence

And turn it ever to evil deeds even to turning light to darkness.

And they shall be given a home but will not understand

And so shall they destroy the gentle fabric of it.

And they shall be clothed and fed but turn on their benefactor

And so shall they tear her apart.

And they shall have children born of Earth matter;

of wind and rain; of earth and fire,

And shall make them children of the damned.

So it was prophesied long ago to the Spirit of Gaia

before she set out to give life

And in tears she wandered in the darkness,

afraid to face the light,

afraid of the life she carried.

Yet it came to pass that she found a place in the sun,

And gave birth in pain and sorrow

To a life that would proliferate wildly,

Turn upon itself and eat itself unto death.


It was easy to take for granted

my eyes would always see

the beauty of nature's world

unfolding in a morning's blaze.

Now that beauty fades away

like the end of a movie:

darkness creeps into my life

as I stagger blindly to find

an exit from this theater.

The sun's light fades:

when it is all gone,

what shall I have left?

Memories of sparkling water

and colorful dresses in Spring?

Mountains, trees, sun-lit skies

where did you go?

Like dreams, you vanished

from waking but unseeing eyes.

I smell flowers and bread baking;

I hear children laughing

and a robin calling its mate.

“Excuse me” says a voice:

ah! I am standing

in someone's way.


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?

is this my awakened state? Is it?



after so many years

so many tears

so much death

so much destruction

man discovered


the doom pattern

of his technology,

his spiritless



pride's message?

for every problem

there is a solution


despair's answer?

for every solution

there is a new problem"

The End...


to avoid that end

is still possible,



embarrassed (more than slightly)

by my silly humanity

 - its disconnected deeds  -

glaring, raucous,

destructive witness against itself...

I long for that time

that place I know

sure to be revealed

to be opened

to those whose desires

seek intuitively

such a place


in the universal mind

a world without end

without pain

without death

without this

 - human embarrassment  -

without this




thing of time we dare call


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!

Morning Prayer

Colourful, scented morning,

drop like iris petals on awakening;

like dew drops on a wild rose.

Quench my thirst for knowing;

calm the restless spirit within!

A walk through misty woods

lets me absorb this dawn's rising

inexorably taking me

by pathways seemingly forgotten

in a strange yet familiar land!

Feel the joyous harmony

of nature's infinite bounty

in every living organism.

The soul is set free in love

life's energy flows unhindered

through a rested, eager body!

The Universe hears my voice:

latent healing powers awaken

in the pounding of life's heart

symbolized in daily renewal!

Mortgaging The Present

My future I thought was complete.

In it I reveled in riches and love:

I was the center of attention

with gold, silver and diamonds

to guarantee I’d always have friends.

Yes it was all there,

just waiting for me to reach and grab,

and live freely the fairy tale life.

Then I met The Man Without a Face,

and heard him ramble on (as usual):

“Be satisfied with the seemingly small;

if you yearn for the great,

use a small measure.

Never mortgage your future

to a system built on lies:

Let your integrity shape your dreams;

your experiences be your riches

and your friends be of those

who can never be bought.”

Early Winter: A Mountain Canvass

Glistening black crystal

of dark jagged crags;

twisted gray bodies

of tree line denizens;

a soft powdering snow

concealing salal and kinnikinnick,

a white sheet in red polka dots;

the whole draped softly

in rising mists from hidden valleys:

nature’s self portrait

on blue velvet canvass.

Could a camera’s eye;

could a painting

conceptually human

ever hope to match

the beauty of Earth


in her elemental moods?

Beyond Concepts

What is it we call “creation”?

A conceptualization of our senses;

construct of our feverish minds.

What lies beyond that concept?

Some would quickly say, “God”

but how helpful is that

for those who have no affinity

for such an entity?

How complex is the question

“Who am I?”

Much more than most would suspect,

for in that “I” resides many aspects!

There's the “I” of ego

the sensory being who resides on earth,

who was born and who must die.

There's the “I” of the mind

with the power to reason

and to project beyond the senses.

For some, there's the “I” of the soul

and for others, the “I” of the spirit.

But there is yet another “I”

seldom thought about, rarely encountered

for it would be deemed an aberration:

the “I” of the one masterfully uncreated

to become its own creator.

Beyond all concepts or constructs:

beyond “God” and all of creation,

beyond all that has ever been known

resides the uncreated -

there to begin its life

not as a part of some greater whole,

but as a singular whole in itself.

The only surprise here is,

it has always been thus!


For no reason,

just to feel love,

to experience peacefully

the song of joy's preceding

time and space in the great harmony.

For no reason,

just to be entirely free

of any negative thoughts

and to know life's energies

flowing unchallenged in my mind.

For no reason,

to be empowered

to live life without restraint

without fear of what could be

always in the moment's eternity.

Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-38 show above.)