the truth

I would love to get it,
to capture it with this pencil,
cage it on this paper,
but it is elusive,
and I will keep hunting...

a wood pile

To Write A Poem

To write a poem,
I must first sing.
I must sing with the rising sun,
The first light of day,
And sing with the morning breezes,
Sing with the birds,
And the busyness of my neighbors.
I must sing with children playing,
And with the barking dogs,
With the world as it rotates,
Through the day,
With the hopes and dreams of humanity.
I must sing as families,
Come home together and eat dinner,
And sing with the setting sun,
And sing with the stars and moon,
And with the sleeping.
I must sing,
To find a poem.

after the Christmas storm

The Child Has Grown

The child has grown,
The man has traveled on,
The suffering God,
   has been taken down from the cross,
The dead has risen,
   and the tomb is empty.

The grove is silent,
The temple still.

He is not standing still,
He moves faster than light,
Comprehending the universe,
Hearing a child's prayer.

He bids us to follow.

We Understand

We want to be home for Christmas,
By the tree drinking wassail and eggnog,
Eating candy canes and fruitcake
Laughing with our family.

We want to be children again,
Waiting for Santa Claus
Immersed in magic again.

And there is magic still,
The kind we'll never outgrow,
Because now we understand,
So much more.

We understand the innkeeper,
Because we've been busy,
And overwhelmed before.

I understand Joseph,
Because I am a father,
And have watched the miracle of birth.

Jean understands Mary,
Because she has been great with child,
to be born of covenant and promise.

We understand the shepherds,
Because we have seen miracles,
And we want to run and see.

We understand the angels,
Because we too want to sing:
"Peace on earth, good will to men."

We understand the magi,
As we seek the King,
Carrying a sacred gift.

Tonight, this Christmas Eve,
We understand,
Loved and loving,
Blessed and blessing.

Merry Christmas.

Letting Go

Letting go,
I hold more.
My open hands
Hold more,
My open eyes
See more,
My open ears
Hear more,
My open mind
Knows more,
My open heart
Loves more
Of this day,
Loves life,
Loves you.

winter flowers

solstice in horizontal

A Christmas Prayer

Father,
I put down the string of lights
That I hope will work,
To thank thee.

Thou hast already decorated our home
With sun, moon, and  stars,
With flowers and leaves.

Thou hast sent birds singing
Simple, wild carols,
A joy to our hearts.

Thou hast provided a feast,
Our daily bread,
And enough to share.

And thous hast given
The greatest gift
Wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Father,
Wilt thou receive my gift,
Humbly wrapped, already broken?
My heart, as taught thy Son,
My Savior, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

laden

a tree of life

A Winter Wonderland (in Sage and Cedar)

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

It's all here, isn't it?

a bit of garland

Open the Door

Open the door,
Let the air in,
Let the sunlight in,
Let the visitor in.

Or, open the door,
And step out,
Into the open air,
Into the sunlight,
Into the community.

Open the door.

A Promise Waiting for Spring

It's Not Perfect

It's not perfect,
this patchwork of dreams,
and regrets sewn together,
with years of work,
and forgetting,
family and friends,
beneath the sky...
with dirt on my hands,
and seeds in the dirt,
waiting for water,
and a little care.
It's not perfect
this patchwork of faith,
and doubts stitched together,
with sleepless nights,
howling at the moon,
waiting for angels,
and the rising sun...
as our kids go to school,
and then into the world,
we created for them,
where are our pillows,
as we wait for leaves to change?
It's not perfect,
this patchwork of life
and hopes sewn together,
holding hands as we walk,
slowly on the pathway,
waiting for another day,
beneath this sky,
upon this Earth...
mud on our shoes.

for the season

a memory of a glass bottomed boat

colonies

just a memory of poppies in Eureka

lights of the season

creativity vrs skill

My 4 year old grandson and I were playing with Playdough this morning.  We each did the same thing.  My creations were in blue, his were orange.  You will note that I may have more skill, but not more creativity.

peering into a crystal

selenite gypsum

diamonds in our front yard

florescence 2

florescence

Thanksgiving

I give thanks
For all that I have.

I give thanks to my parents
For my life,
For each beat of my heart,
And each breath of life I take.

I give thanks for my mind
For each thought, hope,
And worry that crosses it,
To know that I am.

I give thanks for my eyes
And the sights I have seen,
The colors, the shapes and forms of things.

I give thanks for my ears
And all I have heard,
Music, birds, the wind,
My mother’s voice,
My father’s whistling,
My children’s laughter.

I give thanks for my hands,
My mouth, my nose,
And the luxury of all I have touched,
Tasted and smelled,
Of this Earth, this life.

I give thanks for this Earth,
With the sky above,
Life surrounding me,
And the soil and rocks below.
For the tilted axis,
For seasons, the weather, the tides,
For it all.

I give thanks for the sun
And its life giving warmth and light,
For the moon bidding my gaze upward,
And for the stars bidding my wonder.

I give thanks for this place,
This nation, this state, this town, this street, this home,
And for those who know me,
And for those I know.

I give thanks for my family,
For ancestors, for grandparents,
Who brought us here,
For my parents,
Mother and father,
Who conceived me in love,
And in love raised me,
And my sisters,
(and now my brothers)
I give thanks for my wife, Jean,
And my children,
And now grandchildren.
I am, with them all
Son, brother, husband, father, grandfather.

I give thanks for everyone
Teachers, preachers, friends, and others,
Who gave me countless lessons
Of life, and everything I know
Everything I believe.

I give thanks for everything,
Great blessings of life and living,
Here and now,
I give thanks.        

An Abstract in Straw and Shadows

rabbit bush

a curtain

been here...

Perspective: the Sky Above and the Earth Below

I have a perspective that may be primitive and naive, but is natural to me.  I sit in the very center of the universe.  Everything that I can or will know surrounds me.  I am here now.  I cannot know anything that came before me; history is for me imaginary.  I cannot know anything beyond this particular moment; the future, with all its potentialities and plans, is also imaginary.  I am totally alone here and now, in the center of my universe (I believe you have your own universe), and I must interpret everything that I can or will see, hear, touch, and understand.  I doubt very much that my perceptions and interpretations are perfect.

My interpretations of the universe are based on everything that I have been taught and experienced during my life... mixed with a lot of imagination.  When I experience things that need to be explained, I make guesses, hypotheses, theories, extrapolations, predictions, etc.  And they are all imaginary, and I know it when I say them.  I am just making things up as I go along.  Sometimes I luck out and evidence supports my conjectures, often there is no test at all and the explanation stands uncontested, adding to my mind like moss or barnacles.  If I stand in a place long enough I will acquire the thoughts and manners of of my peers and my environment.  I am a psychological chameleon.

So here I am at the center of my universe with my own perceptions and imaginative interpretations... and universe of my own creation... or at least I have decorated it.  I am what I am, I see what I see and hear what I hear...

I look up at an ever-changing sky.  The sky changes second by second, day to day, season to season... from light to dark.  The sun, moon, stars and planets constantly move in their calculable orbits.  But the weather also changes the sky from moment to moment, impossible to predict.  The sky is as intimate to me as anything can be.  The sun's warmth touches my skin; its lights makes me squint.  The air, the breeze, touch my hair and skin, and whispers in my ears.  But as close and intimate as the sky can be, I cannot touch it, grasp it, or hold it close to me.  I cannot hold the sun's rays or the wind in my hands.  That may be why a raindrop on my face or a snowflake in my hand, fallen from the sky, is so fascinating.

The sky allows me to see, to have vision.  I can see miles, hundreds, millions, billions of miles as I look at the horizon, the moon, the sun, and the stars.  I can look through the wind because the sky is transparent, perhaps "spiritual."

The Earth beneath my feet is opaque and solid.  I can touch it, pick up pieces of it and hold them.  But, I cannot see through much of it.  The Earth blocks my view, and I can only see the surfaces of the ground, hills, mountains.  To extend my view I must climb up into the sky, to the tops of buildings, hills or mountains.

Here, where I stand in the center of the universe, on the Earth, with my head up in the sky, is everything that I can or will know... everything I will see, hear, touch, and otherwise experience.  Here is everything I can or will pick up, hold, move, manipulate, shape, work with, or work on.  Here are all my jobs, chores, and projects to do.  And here are the physical foundations to my plans, worries, and regrets.  Here in the dirt I am human, digging holes in the ground, moving rocks, creating cairns and houses.  Walking on the Earth, on the ground I find artifacts of others I will never meet or know... I may hear their stories.  And here I will hear of places I will never see...  Only images taken by others I still will never meet.  Here I pick up a pebble as evidence that I am here now.

Between the Earth and the sky I see other things, living things that also stand on the ground with their tops in the sky.  I recognize my stance and my behaviors in these others.  They are alive and that Life is all around me...  I see vegetation that is rooted in the ground but reaches up into the sky and attempts to cover the dirt, rocks, hills, and mountains with a blanket of photosynthetic green.  I then am most likely to see birds celebrating life in the sky and on the Earth, with their wings and songs.  Then, if I am lucky, I may see other wildlife among the trees, brush, and meadows, feeding on life.  They too will mate and reproduce, and eventually die, feeding others.  I must accept that most living things fly or run away from me.  I do not touch many living things... and often don't want to.

Humans are all around me too of course, and they teach me.  I learn everything I "know" through the human performances, stories, and dramas that stimulate my mind.  Learning from my parents, teachers, and peers, I am gifted with many treasures... words, spoken and written, language, music, art, dance, religion, science... work and play... identity.  But, even though I learn almost everything I can and will know and do from others, people are almost as aloof as wildlife.

I sit alone in the center of my universe with millions of people around me at various distances.  I touch almost no one, and when I do, I only touch one of their hands.  Most people remain untouched strangers.  I shake hands when I meet one, who now becomes an acquaintance.  I touch my family more, hugs and kisses, wrestling, tickling, etc.  Friends get and give some touches, sometimes.  One individual was a stranger, became an acquaintance, then a friend, a lover, my mate, and my life companion.  But I realize that in Jean, my wife, nothing has been lost or completely forsaken; she remains to this day, stranger, friend, lover, mate, and companion.  And our children began their lives as tiny, helpless strangers, growing into children, and friends, acting out their own performances and dramas to teach me lessons.  As close as my family can be to me, as much as we may reach out and touch each other, I cannot bring anyone into the center of my universe.  The most basic properties of matter cannot allow anyone or anything else here with me.  I am here now, alone.

But, I am always watching and listening to the performances, stories, and drama of people and life around me.  I see and hear what I can and will to learn what I can and will.  I learn to accept the guesses, hypotheses, theories, myths, extrapolations, predictions of others.  And I decorate and color my universe with these theories and myths.  I can and will experience what my words allow me to experience.  I judge everything by the standards I have been given by parents, teachers, and peers.  I use inches, feet, yards, and miles; I see colors and black and white; and I have the cardinal directions, up and down, and qualities and values.  I can tell you what is good, better and best, and what is bad or evil.  I have absorbed so much, often without critical thinking, which came later with experience.  I have been my parents' child, my teachers' student, and my peers' friend or victim.  I watched and listened to them all and learned their performances, theories and myths, and made many of them my own.  I look at my universe through the lenses others have given me.  I see what I can and will.

And everything made sense to me... with the sky above me and the Earth beneath me and life all around me... all seen through the lens of my culture's theories and myths... until it didn't.

I sat here now alone at the center of my universe watching everything I could and would see, and I began to notice inconsistencies... there were gaps in evidence, flaws in reason, errors in definitions... the theories and myths began to fail.  Mistakes were being made, with a lot of emotion to justify them.  I could tell that I was jumping to conclusions that would not stand closer examination or newer evidence.  I found fabrications, fantasies, and deceptions.  More and more of people's performances, dramas, theories and myths were revealed to be imaginative, creative fictions, rather than faithful reporting and recording of truth and reality.  I felt all that I "knew" collapse.  Sitting here now, alone, I knew very little if anything.  I began to lose many of my beliefs as well.  Like the wildlife around me, truth fled and hid from me.  Like most people, reality did not allow me to touch it very often.

I have been told that God stands waiting behind a veil... we cannot see Him, but He is there.  That seems to fit...  I have also been told all about Him, but I don't believe they have seen Him either or heard His voice.  I believe they imagine Him and make up most of what they tell me.  Their old stories, theories and myths explain everything and comfort them.  They tell me they are never alone.

So, here I am, sitting alone at the center of my universe, without much of a past and no real future, without any explanation of how or why I am here now.  I am crying out for someone to give me one.  Tell me where I come from, why I am here, and where I am going.  Reassure me that everything is OK and that I am OK.  Comfort me.  Touch me, hold me, be with me here and now.  Tell me the story, the theory, and the myth, and I will be happy... if I can and will.

But, please make it true.

ragged

In the Box

This River

I wade into the cold waters
of this river,
and dive beneath its waves,
to feel its currents
pulling me toward the sea.
And I stay under
until I must breathe,
I resurface to take that breath
and feel the sun
warm on my face.
Still the currents pull on me.

Red and White

two "celebrations" of snow

First, I push back the snow, the forces of nature.

Second, we build a snow man.  Celebrate the spirit of play in the snow.

five stones