Before the Internet

Before the Internet there was a different
Kind of loneliness

Obsession was weightier
Not easy to slough off
Without endless distraction

Love felt like an enormous
Production complete with spirits
Arrayed in symphonic splendor

Never before discovered
Or enjoyed
Exactly so

There was a different kind of
Inner silence
In the seams between the sighs

More than just pauses between clicks
Or never-ending texts
The waiting moment

Touchable, reachable
Only by a cascade of experiences
Each to be absorbed

Going back in time to greet myself
I might be surprised
To feel that same ennui

That agony that used to fuel
My creativity
When having a muse

Was the difference between
Loneliness and being
Alone on a sea of joy.

To My Fellow Artists (and Humans)

... and mostly to myself.

Who cares about criticism?
Criticism doesn't matter.

What matters is fighting through the depression
to what counts.

Don't let fear of criticism
stop you from creative
self-expression.

Be yourself.

Tough Talk

Scientists have confirmed

Reality is a figment of our imagination

Or more accurate to say

We create our reality with our minds

Our minds

Those sacred organs

Given to us in trust

Each lifetime a fresh start

A chance to do it better

Not forget the truth

The Buddha said

Reality is a construct of your mind

Self is an illusion

Thus it’s most important to remember

Compassion is the first thought

Compassion for self as other

Jesus said the same

Love is the source of all wisdom

Love your brother as yourself

Love yourself as your brother

Once you feel that

In your heart

For all life forms

Then you can know

Truth …

Reality as imagined

Is not truth

(Let me rant just a little while

It’s my mind

After all)

Reality is only truth

When you strip away

The body nation culture

Strip away the name gender family

Strip away the construct

Of morality philosophy

What’s left …

What then is left

Is truth

Lennon also said that

But names don’t matter

If we just do it.

Trees

Nature’s softness
Reaches its branches
In an expression of solidarity
With a consciousness
We cannot understand

Humans craft a language
To describe a tree
Ascribing feelings
To the sap, the leaves, the roots
Yet no one knows except

The sapling nestling its trunk
Against the mother
Talking to the breeze
Knowing truth
With timeless clarity

As I walk
I cannot help but wonder
How it feels to be the earth
The sky, the wind,
The insect in the bark

And if they will be here next year
And the year after
I let my heart speak
Giving all I’ve got,
Imagining an answer.