Excerpt for In The Wake Of A Whisper by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

In The Wake Of A Whisper

Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

Copyright (©) 2018 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada

Cover pictures by: Top: StarLight

Bottom: frank van den hurk

All pictures found on

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.



A Ghost In Every House

A Life Is Freed

A Matter Of Change

A Moment Alone

A Sacred Place

A Seeker’s Answer


Against Time


Along The Path (Of The Good Old Days)

An Alternative

An Autumn Day

Anything Is Possible

Awaken The Wind Sleeping In Your Mind

Beyond Fear

Bringer Of The Dawn

How To Believe


Raw Greed

Questions Of Language

Like The Chinook Wind


Is Our Universe Shaped Like A Globe?

Shifting The Focus

The Second Greatest Gift

Reaching The Gates

Legacy Of Ignorance

Bringers Of The Dawn

Simple Pleasure



Space Travel

Stray Thoughts

Sunny Weather

Surprised By Joy

The Eternal Dream

The Healing Room Of The Heart

The Light Shines In The Darkness

Thunder Spirit

In The Wake Of A Whisper


These books contain a form of free verse poetry, opinions based on observation, and some humour and imagination, engaging the heart as well as the mind. A critical look at many current issues intriguing and plaguing man. Spirituality, interaction with nature and environment, social changes, dwindling resources. Well worn issues now, indeed. But the poetry and other works in these books gives this subject a different perspective. I daresay that here we can find a "higher" vantage point from which to look at ourselves within the cosmos.

Who knows but some of the ideas in the books may get you inspired to do that thing you always wanted to do, even if this comes in a very small way, to make your corner of this world a better place to be in. Who knows but you may realize your little corner is a really nice place to be in after all.

It's all about life, if at times expressing life "outside the box" as the saying goes.

A Ghost In Every House

It is said in some parts of this world:

"There's a ghost in every house

but if you make peace with him

he will be quiet." [Vietnamese proverb]

Perhaps this is true but how will we ever know?

We are not good at making peace

with anyone, or anything, let alone ghosts

and in our destroying, warring and killing

we make more ghosts than there are houses,

so where do they go -

these homeless ghosts who know not peace?

They haunt the land; seek holes in the ground

made by bombs or stinking trenches full of bones.

They huddle in smashed bunkers; under fallen bridges

and stare hollowly from overturned tombs;

sunken ships and submarines below the seas;

from burned-out wrecks and crumbled homes.

Their shadows walk burning, smoking streets

and what do they see, these countless ghosts?

They see the dead and the children of the dead.

They see the living defiantly return to their hell

until the next bombing, the next maniacal attack

swells their ranks

and join in their eternal, restless vigil.

We have a history; we have a geography and a memory.

We have "universal" education, and we can read

but what have we learned from the days of Noah?

From the disasters ordered by God or inflicted by nature?


Nothing anywhere has been learned.

Experience be damned, the ancient pattern of death holds

and even ghosts despair of ever finding peace:

there is not a one to offer them even this tiny hope.

It would seem in our madness we are quite alone.

We will all become ghosts (or perhaps already have)

and no one - ever -

shall visit this cursed world and accidentally disturb

the evil that slumbers in its blood-caked dust.

No one will ever come to make peace with our ghosts

and they shall never sleep; never be quiet.

A Life Is Freed

Gentle light filters through

steel bars enclose an empty room

I look out and try to reach

the sky's deep blissful blue:

is that where my long-time companion

now flies free?

will I ever see him again,

in some other reality

far from this lonely place?

'Tis said some birds

cannot be caged:

their feathers lose their colours;

their songs the echo of the wilderness

and by degree they die.

How then should a human life,

knowing its time has come

be set free of the body

to join the boundless light

of Eternity's spring?

Though I rejoice in his freedom

and I knew it had to be thus...

how drab, how cold and empty

is this place his presence sanctified.

A Matter Of Change

There is a vision I see

as sunlight dances

between rolling clouds:

I see what can only be called

a divine being: a woman.

I have known of her many years

but I have yet to touch her,

to hear her laughter

or wipe the tears from her eyes...

Were it a matter of trade

I'd gladly give up

my most sacred possession:

my written thoughts -

to bring her to this reality.

Yes, I would even give my life,

to see her manifest here

for I know she has the power

to make this world

a better place for all;

and if by giving up my life

I can make this happen

I am willing to do this:

I should not be so selfish

to think I could have such a one

for myself only.

The clouds get darker now,

I feel a change happening:

Is this the moment of truth?

If so, is it for me

or for the Earth?

A Moment Alone

A moment alone

brings forth these thoughts:

Why am I here?

A perverse trick of nature?

An accident of time?

A meaningless chance?

- or -

Designed specifically to serve

some so-called loving God

who gets angry when I fail to meet

his detailed (but unexplained) expectations?

A God redolent with needs and ambitions

which I must somehow fulfil for Him

as the good wife for the couch potato?

Is it to work as a slave all my life

so the few at the top can have

what is thought of as the good life?

Is it to acquire or lose

a bit of karma here and there -

without knowing what that really is...

or where I pick it up or drop it?

Is it to learn and grow from experiences

through events and struggles

to get to the next level?

But which level? Up or down?

I don't even know what floor I'm on

and the elevator seems kind of stuck.

A Sacred Place

Standing on soft sand,

the wind gently touching my skin,

I am totally free from society's rules.

I feel the exhilaration of this freedom;

a feeling as old as time - or even before -

before laws were enacted and taboos made

to create human shame and misery.

I allow the sun to warm my body,

stretched out on dry white sand

and the usual crowd arrives

loud, boisterous, ready to do its thing

as is done on modern nude beaches..

I wonder: Why has this sacred place

become a market place for fools

in search of beer, pot and whatever else

lurks to satisfy what's below the belt?

What happened to the quiet enjoyment

of these moments of physical freedom

and simple childlike contentment?

I wander to a remote point

to let soft waves wash over my body

and listen to their music.

It is here I must make a difficult choice:

Do I leave this place?

Do I stay and watch the Yahoos destroy it?

Or do I create my own sacred space

even here,

where no one but me can enter?

A Seeker’s Answer

I walk in high mountains;

in troubled thoughts, a seeker lost

upon the snows of time.

In my mind, tomorrow’s storms;

in my eyes, an unshaped, unsure world...

But the wind, my constant companion

of lonely days upon the crags,

shifts and obliterates my old path.

On I must now go, with nothing to see,

but the swirling snows.

I fear to forge ahead

dreading this moving emptiness

in strange, unfamiliar territory.

Could I still turn back, I wonder,

knowing my trail was long lost in drifts...?

A voice in the rising wind

addresses my fear and loneliness:

“To give your life new meaning,

graciously accept all change -

let the rains cleanse your heart of bitterness,

the snows heal your eyes of blindness,

the sun dry those tears of regret

and just let nature guide you gently

upon untrod paths to new adventures.

All of life once was an adventure

man had learned to live to its fullness

‘til he lost his seeking spirit,

his childlike faith and trusting awe;

became time bound, space conscious,

blocked, fenced, cornered, captive,

enslaved and dying

in ever-expanding cities made of pain.”

Eager to escape the common fate,

I looked up and saw a way

leading to the very highest peaks.


There is a glow that remains

now that the sun is gone

– it is called the afterglow –

I was used to the bright, shiny,

beautiful light from the sun

and my body comfortable in its warmth

but the moment it disappeared

I had to re-adjust everything

in a transitional moment.

This world is in its afterglow,

a lingering impression

of what was once believed would be

an endless path to glory and success.

But now we’ve entered the twilight;

the murky, shadowy uncertainty,

everything looking, feeling, so different;

the remains of our “day” in the sun.

Can we hold this moment

to adapt to the coming night?

Or will we disappear from this world

as have so many others before us?

Against Time

The River of Time flows faster

as one approaches its gaping mouth;

roaring waters echo wildly

through canyons of time-bound lives

seeking to escape the surging stream

into the unknown sea.

"Stop running away," it says,

"I am life's normal rhythm:

my flow cannot be reversed with fear.

Let my life-giving water become a mother

carrying a child: the soul of your life.

I am not an enemy,

I am the companion.

All that comes here

must reconcile with me

or fear me!

Give up the need to conquer,

the selfish demands crowding your mind,

the desire to win eating at your soul:

I can give you peace in this sojourn

as I must carry you to the portals of life.


Alone, always so alone

walking sandy river bars

or climbing rocky canyon walls

in calming sound of wind and water

or driving unkempt city streets

and the madness of the freeways

in restless, angry noise.

I feel this terrible loneliness,

as a sea of pain, immeasurable

tearing my soul to shreds.

What is this aloneness

which no human voice can express,

no gentle touch can heal?

which no sun can burn up

or wind ever blow away?

Vibrations from a million echoes

shatter the stillness of the day,

grind the air through which

unseen gulls plaintively call across the void

and I hear myself crying too

for the undiscovered, the unknown

hidden by time-shrouded mists.

Alone in this emptiness

my mind fills with many thoughts

seeking to understand the ancient paths

we're told are past finding out

lost in a long forgotten past.

Along The Path (Of The Good Old Days)

The path of life often passes

through dark canyons and empty wastes:

its endless trails crisscross

prairie grass, desert sand

or dangerous mountain snows.

He who fears the unknown

haltingly wanders crooked pathways,

blind; unknowing, always looking back,

his unformed future stillborn

beneath memories of his past.

His unstable feet meander back

over yesterday's fading paths;

always uncertain, his mind fearing

what it perceives as looming dangers

forming overhanging cliffs

or bottomless seas filled with monsters.

He chooses not to reason

that beyond the obstacles of today

possibly lie greener pastures.

In any case, why fear the inevitable?

Perhaps because one realizes

that when one does not plant,

no 'greener pasture' is likely to appear

as magic - from nothing.

"The shelter of memories has no power

to keep life safe."

An Alternative

Man's so busy inventing

a better star drive,

hoping some day to blast out

of the solar system,

he fails to greet a passing comet;

ignores the portent

in exploding supernovas;

blissfully ignores all warnings

from galactic headquarters!

Maybe he should think

to ask his planetary neighbours

for help in understanding,

preferably preceded by a galactic

knock and cordial handshake!

Surely there are alternatives

to blasting rockets

through someone else's home!

Man should learn to ask permission

before he thinks to venture forth

through someone else's living room

and stop pretending he's the only bully

and the galactic playground.

An Autumn Day

Clear skies following

the wake of a misty rain


a light breeze blowing


in the maple tops,

testing the anchorage

of dated leaves,

colours of gold



(delight of sated eyes

rested eyes

Autumn eyes

from restless

Summer desires):

Persistent but gentle

the westerly

not too rough,


enough to warn

reluctant leaves


to crumble into sod

nurturing a new crop

in coming Spring!

O, to inhale

an Autumn day

to hear

reluctant rasping

the sound of leaves

tailless kites fluttering

helpless to the

ground ...

O, for the sight

of a clear sunny day

an indigo sky

on sugar-coated


the tingling smell

of freshly frosted

lawns end...

for a beginning.

Anything Is Possible

Is it possible,

Is it feasible

for a human mind

to conceive of something impossible?

An interesting thought:

can anyone think the impossible?

If “yes” - then what is it?

If it has no description

then it does not exist

because it cannot be conceived!

If that is so, could we say

that whatever the human mind conceives

must then be within

the realm of the “possible?”

Possible, impossible, some would say

it's just a play on words:

I don't think so.

Thoughts create our reality,

not “God” and not “gods” either;

nor fate, nor even destiny.

Our thoughts are what creates

and that is why every “thing” in our reality

exists: It was thought up

because even when it did not exist

as we see it

it existed as pure possibility

within the realm

of all that which is possible.

Awaken The Wind Sleeping In Your Mind

If you would run with the wind, first you must awaken the wind.

Many winds blow over a world such as this,

And who knows where they're from or where they go?

Never trust a wind someone else has set in motion,

No matter their credentials, or whom they claim to be.

You remember well that as a child you

First learned to run with other people's wind?

That was good enough, such as it was.

But surely you remember also

such running left you drained and unfulfilled?

And that is to be expected for after all,

Running others' desires is but a chasing after the wind.

Awaken the wind sleeping in your mind.

Learn to run with this greatest of friends:

Out to the sea and over the prairie;

Chasing snow snakes over the tundra;

Perhaps even down the street of a dying city.

Never shall you tire nor shall you ever be lost again.

Run with your own wind: that is all that life asks of you.

"Sing me the most beautiful song the world has ever heard," she said.

"Certainly I can do that, if that is your wish," he replied with a smile.

"Tell me a story that will make the stars move," she asked.

"I have many such stories to tell," he replied with another smile.

"Give me a ring whose radiance will shame the sun," she demanded.

"I possess such a ring which I may bestow on whomever I please," he said sternly.

"Very well then, all I ask of you is that you love me," she sighed.

"Ah, but that I will never do," he replied and turned his back to her.

"Oh? And why not? Am I so bad that you do not like me?" she queried.

"I like you, really. But I will never love you." he replied more gently.

"Please tell me why not?" she begged.

"No, I will not. You will tell you why not.

"Look at your world with my eyes now.

"Find all the love stories in the planet's book.

"Now read the entire book and tell me how it ends,"

And when her eyes were filled with tears

and her heart was breaking with sadness

and her despair utter and complete

he took her hand firmly in his: "now you know

And now you understand."

Wiser now, with a knowing transcending her old life

she let out a sigh and awakened the wind,

the wind that had been sleeping in her mind.

"Now I run alone and I run free,"

Was all she needed to say, and she was gone.

Beyond Fear

No fear! No fear!

says the slogan

on jeans and bumpers

but is life so easily reducible

to no more than a slogan?

How many have walked the desert,

crossed the tossing seas

to see what lies beyond

the ancient barrier of dread

called death?

Who has captured the eagle

to ride his mighty wings;

looked over the highest mountains

to see the other side to understand

whether in sorrow or in joy?

Who has understood

the curse in the face of God?

the longing in the face of Satan?

Who has measured the distance

between these polarities?

Have I?

Do I know--

and if I said I did--

why would you believe me

when you can't believe yourself?

Bringer Of The Dawn

When I come to you,

I do not bear crystals

for I am the living crystal,

from Prime Creator sent

that you may be enlightened;

nor do I bear sacred herbs

burning in abalone shells

to purify your environment

for I am pure air, pure Spirit:

my breath, of pure light emanation

cleanses the confines of your space

that you may breathe deeply.

nor do I verbalize ancient lore

from old writings decoded

for I am all knowledge,

my mind embodies all pasts, present

and all futures,

that you may understand;

nor do I bring you a way of life

excluding all others

for I am all ways

flowing perpetually from Goddess/God

that you may walk your path of power;

nor do I direct you

to a temple of worship

however ornate or simple

for I am the temple

where God energy dreams creation

and Goddess power conceives, births

and nurtures the flowing river of love

that you may evolve in abundance!

When I come to you

child of the living light,

I bring you to the dawn of eternity:

I bring you to yourself!

How To Believe

What does it mean to “believe in” something?

It means to become a part of

whatever that “something” is.

Wise it is to believe that all things exist -

For whatever is thought and spoken,

whatever is written, or played out -

that is reality immortalized.

Wise it is to know the difference between

believing all things


believing in something!

Many are those who do not understand;

many who think because they believe “in”

their faith becomes universally applicable -

Sadly for them,

thankfully for the rest (of us!)

that is not so.

As long as one allows for existence of everything,

Without believing in any particular thing

one remains free - one remains at peace.

But when one believes in one particular thing

conflict must inevitably arise

between what is generally believed (allowed)

And what is believed in (faith).

Wise it is to know and understand this:

to believe in any one thing is to exclude any other,

to dis-allow its freedom to exist.

Believe in your gods and demons -

that is your sacred choice

- but know that it is my sacred choice

to reserve my mind's space for other things as well;

As I do not condemn you for your choices,

do not condemn me for choosing my own path in life.


Spirit, O Pathfinder!

Seek for me new roads to wander on;

new horizons to scan past a setting sun;

new doors to tempt awareness:

all to create expanded consciousness.

For you live but in the moment,

the only possible place;

the non-place, null point,

where past and future meet and disappear.

O, Spirit of transformation!

Do not allow my ego to block your flow;

to rely on a crystal ball,

for a glimpse at a nebulous future,

or understanding of a past

woven from misconceptions...

Reveal to me each moment ,

untouched, pristine, pure, ready

for the experience I came to find.

Let me realize humbly

that each experience is a unique gem,

a gift of love, of another ‘me’; of God.

As each is experienced,

teach me to gently let it go

back to the Source that sent it

knowing that in my file, it will be marked:


Raw Greed

Governments crumbling,

spending more, much more,

keeping alive

their slave making,

tax grabbing,

dream shattering,

energy wasting,

war mongering,

fear generating; and for what?

To spread the terror

of earth-destroying dictatorships

through raw greed.

“Teach your children

as we taught ours,

man does not weave

the web of life,

he is merely strands

within it.”

(Chief Seattle)

Questions Of Language

Did we used to speak without sound,

gently, softly,

using the central nervous system

to send forth thoughts

until alphabets were invented;

forced upon a mind's normal way

of sharing ideas?

Did someone become bored

with brain waves communication,

"thinking up" the concept

of guttural utterances

as a more profound way

to say one's say?

Do we give credit

to the writers of the Bible

and re-read once again the tale

of failed Babel: where a god in fear

comes down to confuse,

throwing forth a multitude of languages

to cause dissent?

Perhaps some enterprising scribe,

out of work, with tears in eyes,

realized he could not, ever

pen down our thoughts

unexpressed by words?

A controller, a conqueror,

knowing that without words

no record of his misdeeds

would remain to throw fear

in the hearts of a struggling,


race of beings?

Is this trying to tell us

that languages in any tongue

are not a natural result of evolution

but un-natural interference?

Can you read my thoughts on this?

Like The Chinook Wind

Like the soft whisper

of the chinook wind

gently swaying branches

of spruce and poplars

on warming winter nights,

you came into my life

unannounced, but hoped for.

Under your springtime softness

my winter apathy melted,

dripped away so quickly

like snow on rooftops;

new life flowed

in endless rivulets and streams.

Like the chinook wind

I thought to myself, bitterly,

you would cool away and die

under cold eastern skies:

but you were the Spring Maiden

and with your breath

this new life flowed forth

joining the eternal river.




coming together;


joining of spirits as



experience of inner





the heart,

touching every

living thing!


not evil

nor sinful,

but simple, natural




Is Our Universe Shaped Like A Globe?

I had a vision

that our Universe

is shaped like a globe,

same as our planet, or sun.

Whatever we 'see'

of galaxies, black holes and nebulae,

are but 'whirlpools'

on the surface

of this enormous globe.

The planets, the suns;

passing comets and flashing meteors

scattered among these spatial vortices

are as running, laughing, sleeping children

which these whirlpools created

over the aeons; and I wondered:

if people had this vision

they would see how the Earth

has created them too!

Shifting The Focus

A fear-based society needs scapegoats

that is a historical truism -

but who are the ones creating the fear?

The ones managing that collective fear

to their own advantage?

There is a tendency in these black times

for people to find fault, a desire to blame:

someone has to be responsible for everything -

from creating the national debt

to making us feel insecure and unsafe!

Why not blame the people on welfare?

The handicapped? The sick?

Why are they getting "free" money

from our tax dollars?

Must be their fault the nation's in a mess

and we can't get the debt paid.

(Has to be their fault - no one else

to blame at the moment.)

Oh, wait, did I forget terrorists

or is it illegal aliens?

And who has the courage to finger

those with their fat fingers in every pie?

The blatantly crooked politicians

we are enjoined to vote for?

Who even remembers, come election day

the promises that are still echoing

in the empty voters' brain,

rattling a bunch of scattered cells around?

Ah but of course,

it's the politicians who create this phobia

of welfare abusers; of fakers in wheelchairs -

who point the accusing finger -

blaming the victims of society and nature

for our economic woes.

Shift the focus: few will notice

the Fat Cats grabbing the choicest part

of collective earnings,

pocketing it while planning

their retirement on Grand Cayman.

The Second Greatest Gift

We may invent any kind of trick or gimmick

to ignore, deny, or cheat old man death

but still he remains here, right here

and at the appointed time (his, not ours) -

in humility or in pride, we'll take his road.

We may search til the cosmic cows come home

and lay quietly down to chew their cud;

we may re-invent the quest for the fountain of youth

or fill our heads with arcane knowledge

and still we won't have a clue

as to death's identity, nor where he hails from.

The statistics are in: they say one out of one dies.

That being an unalterable fact, why fight it?

Why not replace fear of death with compassion?

Replace the taking of life with the giving of life?

For, wouldn't you say it is fear of death

that makes us fight and kill one-another?

If I cannot prolong my own life,

let alone save it, however I try,

perhaps I can give to another

that which I cannot keep for myself

or even give to myself?

Reaching The Gates

So much trouble

turmoil of soul,

darkness, fear,

and questions unanswered...

What is right, what is wrong?

I know

soon I will reach the gates;

I know

they will not yield to

the presumptuous,

the proud,

the selfish,

nor the greedy,

but only to the pure of heart:

and how can I know

I truly hold this precious key?

How can I know

this, that I hold,

is not just an imitation?

A lie I've grown comfortable

walking with?

Who will answer

this final question?

Legacy Of Ignorance

I stand alone on a thundering shore,

cold spray washes over my face

and my tears are the sea’s tears

but I find no solace here,

and there is no answer.

The wind will blow

wherever it wills;

the sea will crash

eternally upon her shores;

and the black stones will stand,

mute sentinels

to the passages of time

and the ravages of ignorance.

The body of a grebe

floats among the wreckage at my feet:

I should consider it fortunate

it isn’t the body of a human child,

not today... not yet.

But is there a difference?

A beautiful bird dies of poison,

a gentle child of hunger,

thousands upon thousands

all in one day; just one day.

Now I realize there is an answer,

or at least a statement:

The sea is aware.

She knows.

As does all that has died.

Only man still fails to see;

to see his hand in the blood.

Is this world doomed

to utter destruction?

Or will the one who can alter fate,

will man


from heartlessness

and learn how to feel?

Bringers Of The Dawn

From deep woods and gently flowing streams;

from searing sands and towering mountains;

from tossing seas and wind-swept coral reefs;

from polar snows and realms of eternal ice;

from hearts of volcanoes and deep rocky rifts;

from mines, factories, high-rise, and slums;

from smog-choked cities and clogged highways;

from rolling clouds and wild, untamed winds;

from pulsing northern lights and planets' wakes;

from throbbing suns and sparkling stars;

from bloody battle fields and refugee camps;

from the most distant worlds

of inner and outer dimensional realities

we have come... we have gathered... we now stand

in your midst, on the edge of your world;

we are heralds of a new dawn breaking,

so long awaited, so desperately hoped for,

yet so greatly feared, so little understood:

look! children of earth: here we are, fear not!

feel our rays of light disperse your darkness;

turn hungry eyes to the east as your sun rises

and see the crystals dance upon your far horizons:

understand the meaning of this evolution in motion

and come, join our dance--openly, freely, we dance

just for you on this beautiful earth morning!

let our wings fan your hopes and deepest desires:

appointed and perfect in time, we have arrived,

your Bringers of the Dawn!

Simple Pleasure

The simple pleasure

of hearing bare feet

gently awaken the dawn

gradually fades,

vanishing forever.

Though I may see the sun rise

over snow-draped mountains,

and see the white swans flying

to their favorite feeding grounds,

I do not hear the wind in the willows,

nor the call of the geese

on their long journeys south.

I see children play

and remember their cries of delight;

I see hands clapping

and faces glowing with happiness

but I no longer hear

the music of this world.


Smog; second hand smoke, exhausting exhausts

belching their poisons into the air

and something totally weird to top it all:

a sign on the back of a smoke belching

diesel powered city bus: “We all share the air”

Do I curse this trend? Do I cry? Do I choke?

Or do I choose to see the positive

in the negative of this image?

It is more difficult to breathe

when smog levels are high,

unless my lungs are healthy

then they don't mind so much:

I run and hike and stay in shape,

and that's my way of fighting smog.

Another thought I would share:

without blatant evils everywhere

how would we motivate ourselves

to take responsibility for the state we're in?

How would we become incensed enough

to activate the drive to seek and make,

those changes necessary to a better life?


Arising from the depth

of an endless ocean

a sun rise sends forth

new morning sounds:

of a wave

slowly ebbing

gently combing

a sandy shore;

of wind awakening

the morning mist,

blowing gently

along the strand;

of a bird calling

the change of season,

from winter's passing,

to spring's rebirth.

"nature's sounds amaze the listener"

Space Travel

Science fiction or reality?

Space crafts propelled by phantom drives;

by anti-gravity; by the spice mélange;

by 'warp' or space-folding energy:

people traveling across space

from galaxy to galaxy

following worm holes

in the blink of an eye: here, there...

To many this is but science fiction

but what if some have lived this reality?

Experienced in pain or joy, the discoveries

brought about by living aboard such ships?

Perhaps there is a place for new paradigms;

for believing the unbelievable;

a place where we can safely listen to such tales;

intuiting where logic wants to stop us.

Here, we might begin to conceive

how we can indeed travel to the stars;

and perhaps infinitely beyond!

Stray Thoughts

I look for friends,

simple understanding, even love

in the strangest places:

I've been to paradise and back:

I was given life,

not guarantees or promises

for none are needed, anymore.

I've met with the Goddess:

she teaches me simplicity

in things I deemed impossible.

I trust her, her friends

are family now, the others gone

and now, as Esther said to Mordecai:

"If I perish, I perish."

Sunny Weather

A comment often heard

during a stretch of sunny weather:

“This is such lovely weather

why can’t it be like this all the time?”

But if I were to comment back:

“Well we really need rain --

like maybe a month of it

the fields are parched.”

they’d look at me

as if I’d lost my last marble.

Amazing what processed food

has done to people’s minds.

Food comes from the supermarket

or from the commercial greenhouse.

It seems the weather

no longer has any bearing on this.

These people’s parents could still see

that if it were sunny all the time

the rivers would dry up,

the fields turn to deserts;

and without water,

what then?

I think these days

the only thing they’d worry about

is having to leave the “Seadoo”

on its trailer at the beach.

Surprised By Joy

What if I saw the woman I love

walking down the street

hand in hand with another man,

on a misty magical morning,

when the wind of Spring lingers?

What if I held no jealousy, no anger

but only happiness

to see her filled with love?

Is such a feeling even possible?

I should experience pain and anger,

I should feel abused by her, shouldn't I?

Yes, if I do not love her, I certainly will.

If all she is to me is an object of pleasure;

if all she is, is a feel-good thing.

But my dilemma is: I truly love her.

If you love someone, what can you do

but accept and allow what pleases them?

What other way is there

for love to know itself?

What if we tore down the walls

we place around the ones we love

keeping them from wandering away;

from loving whomever they choose?

What if in our vision, in our minds,

we truly granted them their freedom?

Accepted however they lived their life, their love?

Would we not see our world differently?

Would we not perhaps

be surprised by joy?

The Eternal Dream

How much of that substance known as "me"

already has passed outside the borders

of time and space; has forced its way

past the fears, the taboos, the ridicule

of a dying world, moving unawares?

In the night, the dead of night,

the inky blackness of a normal night, I,

the earth-bound, unknowing, ignorant

sleep the sleep of the fluttering moth

when the light is suddenly extinguished.

But now the miracle of the night begins:

the dance of the spirit, the world of magic,

the fantasy of guided dreams unfurls:

"Actors, pay attention, take your places,

sun, moon and stars, focus your lights!"

Always obedient, the universe as one

bows to the will of the gods in the clouds,

provides misty stairways for them to descend

to every place where action is decreed:

it's time to learn, it's time to play.

I meet my friends again, creators, actors,

with me in the endless drama of life opening

like vernal flowers in greening meadows,

their voices, the eternal Spring song of love:

we acknowledge each other, and play our parts.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the dream ends,

the magic wand is waved, the stage rolled up,

the last echo of our laughter caught

in the song of a finch outside my window:

"Are we just ships that pass in the night?"

I, the restless wanderer, wide awake now

ponder that endless question, seek the answer: wait!

Could it be that one night, after I learn my part,

I too will disappear with the waving of the wand,

becoming part of the eternal dream, once more?

The Healing Room Of The Heart

Is there such a thing as a healing room?

Is it found in a special building?

A special room? A great power place?

Does not all healing proceed

from one's love center in the heart?

A heart weighed down, crippled

from dis-ease of the body;

from fear, lack of trust in its own power;

from false belief, or disbelief;

from a sense of lack --

either of money, or love or other wherewithal,

is but a "healing room" closed to those who seek.

Must they then turn helpless to the parasites

who suck out the remaining life from the dying

in their surgical cubicles?

The Light Shines In The Darkness

The light shines in the darkness,

but the darkness has not understood it.

[John 1:5 – The Bible]

It is understood or believed

that before the beginning

there was utter darkness,

Chaos the master

ruled endless realms

of nothingness.

Weighted by gnawing emptiness

Spirit in thought overthrew

the bonds of darkness with light –

and what is that called light

but life become self-aware?

Light is revelation –

and the reality of things

that had always been

but unseen and unknown

even unto themselves

locked in the dungeon

of darkness’ pride –


And what is that called darkness

but utter ignorance;

the state of unknowing,

not being alive even unto oneself,

unaware, while and yet

always existing

in cosmic Pangaea?

In the beginning

Spirit brought into the worlds

the light of life

to run its course, long or short,

to become swarms of fiery stars

burning themselves up

in cosmic orgasms,

proliferating wildly

even unto death.

Whispered thoughts among the spheres

weigh its inscrutable path

cutting down friend and foe alike:

inevitable abomination

proscribed end of light –

and what is death

but the unalterable return

of primal ignorance?

Thus comes the end

the laziness of forgetfulness,

forged chains of ignorance

tighten and lock;

the lights wink off one by one:

allness once again

hidden in primeval


Chaos rules,

once more Master un-creator,

unchallenged, proud

yet ever fear-bound

to the next awakening

and which state is this now?

an ending, or a beginning?

Thunder Spirit

Angry waves crash against

a jumbled, rocky shore;

a raging wind howls;

torrential rain falls

from a heavily laden sky.

I stand alone in the storm

amongst moss-covered trees;

my heart pounds:

I seem to hear echoes of drums

uncovering wounds

caused by ancient fears.

A bolt of lightning

streaks across the darkened sky

randomly striking a tall silhouette:

Thunder Spirit rumbles

then gently speaks his wisdom:

“Remember your greatest fear:

name it! Face it!

Fear nothing; embrace all,

even your darkest moments;

your darkest thoughts

and Great Spirit's love will manifest

in clear understanding,

though seldom in ways

you've learned to expect!”

In The Wake Of A Whisper

The tundra’s sun rises

to colour rocky out-cropping:

will this place also

be raped and pillaged

for what resources

may lie frozen under the soil?

Will man succeed

in his bid to subdue and destroy

every living thing from this world?

Can man still make right

all he has made wrong?

Perhaps in the wake of a whisper

the voice of hope may answer,


But the heavy machinery

of drilling trucks and cranes

is moving in the distance

and I know deep within

there never was any hope for man.

It is but a matter of time

before the life-sustaining environment

finally collapses;

before man himself becomes

his own victim - and perhaps just as well

such a creature does not deserve

a world as beautiful as this.

Certainly I will miss

the beauty I see before me

but I know I have to go:

I see no point staying around

to watch the deliberate destruction

of yet another world

at the hands of insatiable creatures.

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