look ma, no hands


look ma, no hands


a wild love for the world


    that title right above is borrowed from another source.   pardon please but it is just the right thing to say.   and in ways as many as I have fingers here, how much far away from this title has my life described itself? wise man once said, want to know your purpose in life?   just look to what your life has most energetically attracted or repelled from yourself.   there’s the easy key to turn.

    thus for me, my purpose is mostly evident by what it has
    held away from the story of myself.   oh no, that’s not me!
    and yea, two titles because that’s what I want.


then there’s this

each of us had a beginning as we entered the universe and took our place within that space.   thus spoke the astronomers.

old admonition.   don’t discuss politics or religion with folks you want to keep as friends.   well politics sure, don’t interest me much, so no fuss.   but religion, maybe not the best of words.   too many unfortunate hooks.   but spirit, or even that other honorific – god, well that interests me as much as anything can.   ain’t that what we want to know?   even if we’ve been told to leave it alone, unanswerable.   even if the person saying that has been ourselves.

I haven’t ever let that one go unattended away from me.   that’s not what my bones want to do.    they insist.

trust no one.     no, trust everyone.     yea, both of them.
so mother said to the child me, here, go to church, we’ll pass some time,   see what you like, then keep or let go as you wish for yourself.   kind of kindly progressive suppose you might say.   but kids, yea, they know the truth of adults, what they really think and feel.   as I did then.

other than the observation that everyone there was halfway to dead, all I took was the core notion, god is every thing and god is every where.   simple enough.   formulaic.   I held that as a test of truth.   you find some where some thing where god isn’t – then somethings afoul with how you’re holding all of that.    that always stayed in my pocket.

so far, nothing hocus-pocus, secular enough in its way, isn’t it?   there’s a lot you can sketch, right from there.   rules applied.   fairhandedly.

so, describe everything

is that a test?   can my inscription ring an honest bell?   well you kind of can and you kind of can’t.   describe everything.   not unless forever is being given you.   you know, the list goes on and on and on and on.

but there is one.   one and only one way to satisfy that task.   given a singularity, if indeed that’s how it began (or maybe even is right now in this moment we’re speaking about).   then that one single point, that’s the everything in one fell swoop.

although there’s a trick.   everything can also be described simply as what is.   yet allowing the rule of inclusiveness, you remember do you not?   what is must also include what isn’t.   else no god at all.   fair to be amused.

nothing.   previously addressed with some short rope if you’re curious.   almost too much even for the secular.   but no forgiveness for cheating here.

so in all our conscious glory we haven’t a language yet able to describe an essence so bare as nothing at all.   again, amusing perspective.

yet simplicity takes it all in stride

then god whispered into the ear of matter, said, here, here’s what I’d like you to do.   and matter replied, yes, nothing would please us more.

admittedly rather anthropomorphic.   but fair game, isn’t it?

so came stars, blazing, hungry, and galaxies, all engaged in dance just as they were asked.   then big rocky things, then water, then creatures with four legs, then creatures with two – us, to be specific.   all because of what one whisper implied when set free to be as it would be.
so where’s this going?   I don’t know.

maybe here.

a wild love for the world

so here’s my feet, my calves, dangling over the edge of a precipice.   one week, two, months?   seven months, is that possible?   but in one variation or another, yea, this has been my life, this chapter anyway.   hardly believable.

but, here I am.   do I call this living proof.

I’ve thought a lot about that description, that definition, for quite some while.   anticipating the next second, next minute, yea, fill in the blanks.

a serious student of Christian story, some Buddhism too.   thought I understood life, existence, the universe pretty well.   but that edge, yea, it intones with clarity, oh yea, you think you understand?

am I ready to let go with a smile on my lips.   gratitude?
I understand I think I feel, how C. didn’t want to leave when leaving was close.   every tree every bird every stone every face every sky every cloud every poem every book every song.   it’s all so much to not want leaving.
         yea, I know.
I worry some about transitions.   but not about judgment except my own.

so here’s the garden, here a tree, some apples and one snake.   now just who do you think that snake was?   sort of obvious to see by now, isn’t it?
and demonstrating that god has a sense of humor, if nothing else.
living may not transition neatly.   some fray around the edges.   expectedly.
how shall we speak one to the other?    do we call this home?

maybe you have a better ending than me.    go ahead.    you write.
are your words on these lips?     whisper me.

talk to the face

isn’t it odd (a wonderment) how I don’t see what’s (revealed) hidden right in front of my fallow face?   here, lets allow these words, borne into sprouts.

tectonic revelation

So seven hundred miles, no, it wasn’t that.   Tuesday perhaps, no.   Things I forgot to bring along.   Things I remembered, and did.   (no, none of those)


I’ve well past described the sea-change for me, leaving California (shy, reluctant me) and driving North (one trailer in tow) here to Washington (near all unknown) (no me, no them).   It was no plan (changing more than geography) but was genuine (surprise) (like a puppet show?).   This transformation I’d thought was me finding making declaring some new face of me.   As some sources might say, previously solitude was my comfort home, how I energized myself – it was the bones of me. Now was I mirror image, sustained by conscious relationship (fancy words for talk with me, please).   New way to walk on two legs?   I thought so.
            I was wrong.

    a muted kind of slap, then repeat.   blue dress above (after thought).   recognized (said a voice), hello.   past my slower better sight, responding, hello.   she continued down the street.
           I smiled.    nothing much, just like everything.

Not wanting to roll in my history (a scent of otherness), that was mostly left to be left behind.   Short sighted.   Better navigation to look see the bigger arc of experience.   Who was I then?   Who am I now?   Like such numerous mysteries, obvious enough with open eyes.   (open eyes)   (no fear enclosed)

            question was, how come my thirst?

Proportional?   Seeming not.   I remember an earthen Anderson dam to the East of the valley floor.   Dirt on top, you could drive across, boulders at the base.   Massive, sturdy we’d have thought.   But – water wins by being small.   So too my thirst soaking into ground.

Simple answer raises a hand.   What was new was not my desire, my thirst to engage, but rather was my cloaking fear (we say shy) giving way.   Wanted thus (from the beginning of the universe).   See, it was only a bucket of stones, unfettered pain needing shyness (withdrawal), concealing better birthing nature.   The sensation is not-eating.   Belly swells with emptiness (you’ve seen the pictures).

            now, native me on two feet

Even sitting still when you come near, I can lean in to engage with you.   Do you respond?   Do you?   Not mine to say that part.   Like a poem says, I can start the thread but it is your play next to follow or no.   Possibilities.  Stars from drifting clouds of gas.   Who’d have guessed.   But yea, obvious, even certain to be.

            I am.     with a period at the end.

here, some tails to wag

Lesson learned.   My habit, cup of coffee, sit on a public bench just beside the sidewalk path.   Meeting strangers sometimes works like this – walking past my sitting self day after day, some reluctant folks figured, at least he hasn’t bitten me yet.   Maybe risk, hello.   Look ma, no hands!


Read this poem aloud    Write a healing poem was the prompt.   Not “about” but what is, in & of itself.   Consider how you’d answer yourself.   Is it even possible?   Some questions are worth failing if that’s the price.

Makes the question – what is real?   Can words, can a poem make that difference?   I don’t know.   Me, I think the poem falls short.   But two notions came to me of possibility.

          Wise sayings heal nothing.
          Saying does.    Speak to me.

          Meaning is in what we pronounce.
          Let us say what we mean to be.


I know a man who sees the truth.   No mistake.   But what to say, hard to render experience into symbolic words, already one step removed.   Being alone with true being.   Very hard to say the truth.   Sorry, I say.


Childless.   Maybe it was kind (yes and no) wanting none.   Not wanting to give a child a father (filled with coal). Children see.   What kind of gift could I be?   Also why I never much spent time with the children of my friends. I never said, but that’s why.


I miss cigarettes.   But considering, no way doing that.   Remember precisely why I began.   In college, painfully shy, cigarettes were my friend.   Actually, they were punctuation for anything and everything.   Don’t miss the chemistry, but the emotional component, yes.   So be it.


I think of you, ardent reader if you’ve plowed yourself this far along.   No small thanks.   Walking down the street, here and there a cat I don’t know but who welcomes a friend.   This too is how I wish we each could be.


Wise man said, wanna know your purpose in life?   Look see what you attract, what you repel.   Same same.   That’s your home.