Thursday, October 11, 2018

Where are the women who have had to learn to be human?

One could say the body is a metaphor, but that’s not quite true
It speaks and sings and dreams on its own
And does its call and response on cue
But the being is more than reflection

New pathways in the mind
That space behind the eyes awakened
(Feeling safe, perhaps the trigger)
Colors mobbed for purchase
Dramas playing out
That skimmed moment before sleep

To what do I owe this epiphany
This deliverance from pain

My guide sits quietly
While I stroke the flanks
Of a quiescent panther
And note how its consciousness is out of body
There in the same glen of my meditation
Where a black goose has also come
These sacred animals just visiting
I had to record them for no reason

Whenever the sound, sight, technology
And super-ideas convene
The focus becomes clearer
Love the ocean?
It sings soars, roars, rolls and delivers
Birds fly
Their wings determined
And deft with the sculpting of space

I’m left with the notion
That there is no embarkation
Demarcation or separation
Except for the touch of one being
Upon another

Monday, July 30, 2018


Time is so elastic, with a quality of kindness
One can nestle into
Wrapping oneself in the
Infinite expanse of space

She's very tall ... I glimpsed her once
Presiding over the universe
On a golden ribbon, sacred artery
That flowed beneath her feet

And in that river, bright leaves appeared
containing, microscopically
Uncountable beads of karmic treasure
In all beings' book of lifetimes

It seems ridiculous to think of
Parceling Time into segments
She laughs at the idea
Of being cut, corralled or measured

She stands so broad and colorful
In her long coat, until she smirks,
Turns sideways and
Disappears entirely

Leaving only patches of light
Like melting snowflakes in the dark

Wednesday, June 13, 2018


How we all change day to day, year to year.
If I met the person I was sixty years ago, would I like her?
Forty? Twenty? Yesterday?

Talking with my seatmate on the plane
I tapped into the universal language –
Commonality is a lingua franca
Last night on the dance floor, each of us shone
Like individual moonbeams

I liked the women in sequined dresses, all silver and gold
And the tipsy girl in tulle
My aging muscles remembered the steps
Knees complaining afterward
Like proud, exhausted athletes
Who didn’t shoot the winning basket, but helped

Our moonbeams flashed
With the same kind fire
Into the welcoming night

And fifty years ago
My hips could telegraph and tease
My arms could play a talking drum
Of anxious youth
Striving for a clear opening to victory
On the racecourse of world peace

Would that girl recognize this queen of leisure
Tuning her senses to each sentient being without a qualm?
Anxiety is a burden not to be borne
Oneness is our Blood Type O
And will I take this knowing into tomorrow?

Perhaps my consciousness is a layered dress –
Sequins, tulle and silk
Over clean, soft cotton
All the layers pressed together imprint the soul
Like a leaf from under the microscope

Note: Koinonia means a spiritual communion. This was the winning word correctly spelled by the winner of the National Spelling Bee, 14-year old Karthik Nemmani. This poem is a reflection on layers of self, after attending a wedding and reception of my dear nephew. Traveling cross-country to be with family brings up a lot of feelings. Who am I? Which I?