I’m the wound that never goes away,
the scar where humanity was cut from the side of the divine
and has been blindly searching for home ever since.


my hands

Sometimes I hold my own hands
and they feel so small
tiny as an infant’s
so tiny and so fragile

And yet they feel so old
so ancient
full of deep secrets
and unspoken fears
slender bones of unknowable strength
covered in a fine veil
of such vulnerable flesh

These hands have penned many words
including the ones you read here
They have played the music
which begs to be heard
music which writes itself of thin air
a spirit which teaches my fingers
songs my fingers know not

These hands are an extension
of my very heart
These hands ache for others to hold
These hands want to give
but find themselves empty after so many years
These hands now long so dearly to be filled
but they do not know how to receive

I am the small fragile hands
of an impossibly large spirit
so strong and so beautiful
that it frightens me
because these hands hold the weight
of that which is unseen
eternal divinity

not the 99

I am not the 99
I am the 1 who left your side
I’ve skipped town
and if you want me back
you’re gonna have to chase me down
break my legs, carry me back
So go ahead and do it
If you love me
here’s your chance to prove it
it’s just me
and I
off to find
if the grass is any greener
on the other side

all over

Rushing again and again
love me leave me
sweep me away…
but I’m still on the beach

Nothing is real
but the sun
and this sand
The waves are always temporary

And it’s all over
all over again

they call it awakening

the breakup breaks down
to a breakthrough of breaking

the uprising is an upswelling
of your uppermost limits

an implosion of explosion
shrinking in and tearing out

a voice swallowing itself while screaming
a vessel catching it’s own spilling

they call it awakening:
the fine edge of death and new beginnings

there is only Right Now

There is only Right Now
No past with its failures
No future with its accomplishments
There is only Right Now
with the me that Is.

Right now
I am the dividing line
between light and darkness
The hovering of a spirit
not at rest in either world
I am the struggle of mental power
that is losing its charge
and malfunctioning
Struggling to make sense
of itself
and it’s surroundings

I’m good intentions gone to crap
A schedule quickly unraveling
A body that can’t keep up
with the spirit and mind’s incessant bickering
An internal war
And the me that Is
is the real casualty

I am dead
I am alive
I am the angry adult
and the child who cries
I’m the edge of consciousness
the cliff of broken dreams
I am the sum of parts
too blind to be seen

What am I now?
I am all of the things
that refuse to be tallied and quantified
A voice which speaks the truth
while whispering dull lies

I’m a question mark
A story with no end
and no beginning
I encircle the circle of life
A massive womb always stretching
I’m mother and baby caught in transition
This moment is eternal
There is only Now
No before or after
I dwell in this pregnant pause
of everything I cannot see
but can only feel.

There is only Right Now
A heart struggling to heal.


How many people live inside of me?
How many pieces form my identity?
All my different parts
bickering back and forth
Some are hiding
Some are sleeping
And some just won’t stop screaming

I am both the orchestra and the conductor
I am both the cast and the director
And after awhile, it feels so overwhelming

I don’t know how to run this show anymore

clenched fist

I must let go
for the truth is
I hold on to nothing

See here:
I am but
a clenched fist
grasping illusions
which promise satisfaction
but only leave me
more hungry than before

Where does the illusion end
and reality begin?
Somewhere inside my palm.

The clenched fist knows nothing
but rabid desperation
But in letting go
it can be open to receive

Love is a creature
that cannot be controlled
cannot be manipulated
It must be accepted
as the wild and free spirit that it is

Do not try to corral it-
it will only break down your fences
destroying your illusions
of progress and success

Love cannot be tamed
it cannot be paraded about
enslaved to the circus master

Love cannot be dominated
and made into a whore
used, spent, and disregarded

Love exists on it’s own terms
and is subject to no one

If you think you possess love
then you are deluded
Love is possessed by none
Love is the possessor

Love does not exist  
within the clenched fist

Love is but a spirit
passing through
just passing through

Open up your hand
let Love flow between your fingers