Sunday, February 25, 2018

The Anatomy of Wonder

Art by Christian Schloe

I have been down that path
twice before. It has 
no more gifts
to offer me.


I have gardens.
I have oceans.
I have skies.

I walk in dreams.

where not to go?

I string out infinitely.
Nothing will stay me.

I am imprinted upon
the skin of the ether.

can i protect myself
from this crude vulnerability?

Here comes a new gathering—a
portal, unraveling.

Oh, Self-Discovery!
I have body.
I have wings.

My spirit hums,
long-breathing and bold.

this moment 
contains every moment

I leap,
brazenly tracing
this new unknown
un-invisible, my being
painted with sensation.

Sunday, January 21, 2018


The Guardian, Freydoon Rassouli

You confront me with such graciousness,
My Shadow!

You wait . . . and persist.

This time, I am the one
who is distant, far away.

And you?
You are the patient one,
the evergreen vested with endurance,
the poised, assured watcher on the hills.

I leave the shore
in search of other unknowns.
I sail . . . remote, ineffable, stitched with 
the music of the wind.

I live everyday life 
with acute attention to detail.
I attach myself to the unspoken.

I feel your voice inside me:
Not knowing is a source of knowing.
Emptiness is a necessity.

I search elsewhere for miracles, 
entering deeper into the unknown.

And you?
You pursue me
like Pan does Echo.

You dwell within me, My Shadow.
The joy of your presence twists
oh, so deeply!
within my being.

My breath falters.

You mirror my movements.
Your lips graze my teeth 
with their closeness.

If tomorrow’s sun doesn’t shine . . .
I abort this. It is not your voice.
Nor is it mine.

A window opens inside me.
A door. 
    A ceiling.
A stairway.

The sun is high and bright.
Intense. Ubiquitous.

Why do I still have questions?
I ask myself.

And, I hear you sigh inside me
and—with empathy—mutter,
Emptiness, Dearest.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017


Art by Dan-Ah Kim

Once again . . .
The promise of sanctuary.
The insolence of perfectionism.

or, should I say
the sanctuary of perfectionism?

Whatever I name it,
it beckons.

This time, I decline the offer.
I no longer constrict myself.

no more armor.

Instead, I crack myself and 
open wide the mouth
of the wound.

what pulls me, now?

I am inclined towards
the quiet wonders
that sit before me
in silence and listen.

what do you want me to say?

In the space between us,
the softness glistens
like stardust.

I can cry, if I want. I can let
the image reflected in my eyes dissolve . . .
like millions of undulating raindrops.

But, I cannot lose that image.
Or, can I?

what pulls me?

Nothing is permanent.
Not this.
Not anything.

I sit it out. Let it pass.

let it go.

The heavens are here.
Stars. Stars. Everywhere.