I am flow, centerless, a conduit for the wondrous and impossible beauty of this universe. Soft cool, gentle sound. Stillness. “She” is present in the self, goddess of the personal. “She” is the search to be more and more. If only she were a planet instead of a person… A world within a universe. A she within an eye. She stretches wide the ribs around her heart to give herself a better view. The world wanders in. There is conviction in the attempt to express experience. Convict

We of the valley of the first storm, sit inside a Self that spins eternal - a single drop of water at the center of an endless pond, ripple after ripple. We are the original chaos, the mother of creation, the moment of first order, language without origin, both crest and trough. We of the all that flows endlessly from the nothing, from focal point to periphery - subtle petals of a perfectly unfolding lotus, a sacred expression of cascading harmony lapping at the wa

Tenderness... brutal and sharp, vulnerable - violet crocus against empty snow. In this shining void i can't seem to find the leak much less determine if things are spilling out or pouring inwards. How much belief is too much belief? Sometimes growth is a bullet.

Tesselating rhythm of a beating heart, of a bleeding heart; Lost in the sound within the sound like an echo that stretches on and on in a cave of infinite beyond. Imagine passing through that point of the event horizon where all and nothing stretches so thin existence breaks... No self can survive in that void - so then, what comes out the other side?

So much chaos hindering momentum... bits of oscillating space junk in the atmosphere of my mind, what started as clear skies now needs cleansing. A cascade of sharp rain, soft pain, needles behind the eye begging for attention - migraine or intuition? Used to feel so connected to the source behind, beneath, within it all... now I just feel quiet and alone. But even that has a mind of its own. There is no need to compromise values and energy when it's just me orbiting this los

It was a hot day even with the windows down. His legs stuck to the vinyl seat as he snapped his jazz fingers to the heartbeat of the radio. She sat with her face in the wind, still and quiet. They slid down the street in his rusted heirloom of a Camaro. It was second-hand transportation but they wore it like movie stars. It was a slick day. The kind that slides its belly along the streets. The sun was humming, loudly and fluorescently like a ceiling light. It was a hot day.

I want to be the empty hanging frame and the wall. Nail. Hammer. The blue missing in a gray day. I want to be the point of twilight where the entire world vanishes. The finger that converses with the petal of a flower. Spilled salt and nearly empty dishes. I want to be the photograph that is out of focus but compelling, none-the-less. Cosmic image of cosmic Self. I want to be buried with the bones of the native's feast, and rubbed along the hot embers of a dying campfire only

Jurassic forest floors long since swallowed up by waves of bleach-grained beaches, overgrown trails winding through Autumn mountains, remnants of leaves, coniferous greens now umber, still scented like cold pine - the language buried in campfire signals, ley lines and worn river rocks... that deep and whispering code just at the edge of comprehension, damp and ancient. Smoke rises, lingering like a shadow, a haunting dawn breeze, here then gone... so much of the world already

No choice for us but to linger - still tethered to the weight of here & now as you float away freely on the thermals of cosmic godliness. Soar, brother. Til we meet again. This piece was donated to the Pass The Good Foundation and the Beck family in loving memory of Stewart Beck. Miss you, buddy!

I spend a lot of time thinking about the elusive and indescribable force that compels us through our individual lives, the instinct that keeps us convinced there is something more. I'm taken with the mystery of it all. Why does the entire universe seem like an infinite pattern... like a fractal-ing bridge between the micro and macrocosmic realms of existence? Scientifically... spiritually - how can that be? The absurd and opulent, the dark, the beautiful - what does it all me

The rock, the chair, the black hole and stars are all a part of each of us just as we are each made up of all the eons that have come before - the mosquito, the vibration of thunder and all things are connected. We share the spirit of the river stone and the bodhisattva alike. no matter if yes or no let it all go... let it all flow. To reach the presence of god one must break through the density of the universe, the film that clogs up our minds, eyes, mouths, drips out our ea