Cave of Wonders

At the center of the cave of wonders,
is a golden thread. 

And if you pull it, 
Your whole world comes down around you.

Letting Go

Lying in a wind-whipped field,
Drunk on dissolution.
Plucking out the cactus barbs,
My need for retribution.

Blowing on the stinging hum,
Of wounded ego’s flesh.
Convincing myself to let it go,
Knowing there’s nothing left.


It’s our instinct to survive,
Though dying is our birthright.


Dry bones,
Ground to dust.
Particulate memory,
Meaning lost.
Victim of time’s tricky construct,
Hostage of atmospheric finitude,
Heartbeat pounding in the smallest speck.
Muscle contractions, pulsing fear,
Life, no, lifetimes realized here.
Bone built upon bones,
Matter within matter,
But what is the matter?
Oh, everything!
Out with the tide,
forgotten breath,
What bones?

The Ego is Not the Soul

Soul thoughts feel good.
Soul feelings make the best decisions.

Ego thoughts feel chaotic.
Ego feelings operate from fear.


May the things you’ve done,
Bow to what you’ve become.
May you face the sun with a smile.

In your heart lies the truth, 
You’ve always known.
May you sit with it for a while.


Here we sit,
In the infinite meanwhile,
Unfolding all the time.
Everyone you know,
And everyone they know,
Living parallel lives,
Of lust and anger, 
Joy and love,
All at once.

Here we sit,
In the infinite meanwhile,
Bouncing off one another,
Scattering in patterns,
That appear random.
Forging paths,
That look like grooves,
Though we swear they’re new,
Until we see the truth,
Is the infinite present.


To contemplate the cosmos,
The space beyond,
And tell tales of creation.

To have no resource but,
the naked eye,
And a warm heart to depend on.

To live unmediated,
A life more true,
And uncontrolled by reason.

To know possibility,
And know myself,
A soul that really turns on.


The present waits,
Like a trap of uncomfortable varnish and sound stage effect,
Set to catch you unawares.

One mental misstep and the metal jaws clap you right out of context.
Truth lies there in the collapsing dimension of the hyperreal, 
So close you can almost grasp it,

The key to your own freedom, 
And turning like the Earth itself,
Until it's past.


Purple mists,
Sea of stars,

These celestial bodies,
Who go on seeking truth within,

Don’t stop to notice the mystery,
Flayed in the field before them.

There is only oneness,
Liberation lies in the open.


I stumbled into the present,
While walking my dog.

At once, everything was hollow,
Matter stretched, endless in every direction,

Time collapsed, 
The light of the sun, harsh and direct,

Flashed like a strobe through, 
the gaps in a chain link fence.

Pippen stopped to sniff a blade of grass,
While I caught my breath.


Presence is a gentle ecstasy.
An undulating awareness,
Of all beings throughout space and time,
Traversing every cell of the body.

The desire to grasp it,
Foreshadows its escape.
So too is the infinite fleeting.


The deep peace of inhabiting a moment,
Is spacious and unencumbered. 

The internal murmur of fret and doubt, 
Loses its meaning and drifts away.

A certain faith in the plan of creation,
You will miss before it’s gone.

Returning to the material plane,
Feels like waking into a dream.


What is it to be an outcast,
When there is no outside?

The realization of nothing to lose.


The metronomic heartbeat of time,
Suggests there’s somewhere I need to be,

And this sensation of always arriving,
Can be cast aside,
For Striving.

The payoff is more immediate, 
I promise you.

Dopamine hits like a deep sigh.
A goal is reached,

And you can love me now. 
Now I am acceptable to myself. 


Until that goodness dissipates…
The validation I crave is an empty jar,
And I renew the search for more.

Maybe this time it will stick to my ribs,
And I will be someone,
Of substance,
I will be seen.

Maybe this time.


When the final articles fall, 
Inside of hope,
Lies a beautiful beast.


I remember exactly where I was,
The day I started to disappear.
I was heading north on the 405,
Past the Cherry Avenue exit,
Wondering why vegetables are,
So rarely used as street names.

My hands were there on the wheel,
Resting on the crossbeam at 9 and 3.
Billy Joel was singing about a woman,
That I was pretending to be.

My left hand began to fade first,
I reasoned that I could do without it.
Until my right hand began to flicker,
Which caused quite a stir in me.

It occurred to me then,
What I had secretly known:
This was bound to happen,

In the days preceding,
I had been to the store, a coffee shop,
I had spoken at a networking event,
And encountered it in small ways,
My invisibility.

People asked me how I was,
As they looked right through me.
They spoke to hear themselves,
And ushered me away,
When something better came along.

My classification was tenuous.
I was already fading.
No one could verify my actuality,
And so I became skeptical.

How does one go about,
Proving one’s own existence?
And to whom,
Must it be proven?

I didn’t have the answers,
And now look what’s happened.


When one slips into the present,
The seemingly flat nature of the third dimension,
Is due to the heightened dimensionality of the present moment.
The present is too challenging for many to inhabit directly,
We become overstimulated and can’t take it head on.

So we preoccupy ourselves with linear time and three dimensional form,
But there are many more dimensions to experience.
Once we step into the present and realize its expanse,
We see the material is vast and empty,
And we experience the nonlinearity of time.

We come to know that other truths exist,
That life is more than we realized,
And our experience extremely limited.
What else is you? 
What is the Truth? 

It is for the brave to discover,
Through surrender, 
And trust in perception,
Trust in the universe and what lies beyond—and in(love)between.

When you reach these signposts, keep going,
There is so much more to know,
Ascension is possible in this lifetime,
In fact, it’s necessary.

This is true evolution:

Be Here Now

There is no container.
You cannot think your way out. 
There is nowhere to get to.
So be here now.



The waves are lapping, rolling, crashing,
I’m floating, treading, fighting, gasping, 

When down is up, I push till my heart aches to explode.
When right side up, I think I’ll never make it out.

I sink.

Now, this is where I live,
in the quiet beneath, 

In the endless surrender, 
to one single moment, 

of peace.


I find my perch on the razor’s edge of the world,
The clouds form in ridges like rib bones overhead,

Where a murder of crows caw loudly,
coasting in spirals on the cooling wind.

Just behind me, the sun is dying,
Sinking into the earth like rotted fruit.

For a moment, everything stops,
Except a sharp chill cutting for the marrow in my bones,

And I whisper to myself, “this is it”.


The wind rushes on from an endless horizon,
Dried leaves rustle like a mother’s hush.
The swell of my breath,
The warmth of the sun,
The gentle hum of life wanting to be known.

A speck of dust,
A mound of dirt,
A mountain range,
All touch the sky.


The predawn light fills the sky with rainbow-banded aura,
The twinkling constellation of night-cloaked townships stretch across the valley.

In this perfect moment, anything is possible.
All is as it should be. 


The wind rips with saw teeth through the canyon walls,
Opening this ancient rock to the sky, to these eyes, to pondering meaning,
To becoming each day anew through decay.
I’ve been here before, 
but it didn’t look like this.

This is my home, I feel it,
Though I may stray to embark upon a hero’s journey,
To confront my own destiny,
My own opening, 
My vulnerability, 
My new meaning, 
My awakening, 
I will return to this ever-changing place, 
And contemplate.


Stepping lightly,
Over beautiful bruises,
Pressed hard from solitude and time.
With endless pockets, I carry them home,
To heal them and be healed.

Some rest on my alter,
And some in my palm,
Gleaming with a secret,
A sacred whisper:
Beauty and pain are one.

The Way

Meandering along the winding road of life,
Trying to smile at the rocks that bite and tear at my tender feet.

Well-worn with time and plodding along so that, 
Were I to tread over the same stone again,
I should thank it to show me the way.


In each moment, you must make the choice to let go,
In order to return to bliss: the open glow of unconditional love.

Divine light and true guidance can only be achieved,
By honoring yourself in each moment, thereby creating no karma.

Let go. Stop. Let go…

What fear is there in falling if you never hit the ground?


Will it rain tomorrow,
Do you think?
I need to know.
It’s not in the forecast,
But forecasts lie.
It still could.
It rained a week ago tomorrow,
It rained all last month too.
Do you think it will rain tomorrow?
Oh god, I bet it will.


Yesterday, a raging squall.
Today, my own breath betrays such stillness.
It is the same ocean,
Below an infinite sky,
Which rocks me gently awake.


In the heat of the day, 
The red rocks become a clay oven,
Gently baking the dry brush on the hillside.
The smell of hot sage and juniper fills the air,
Soothing every breath.

A warm wind sweeps through,
Softly pushing the clouds.
Like tufts of cotton on tethers,
They move in unison, over the mountain ridge,
Off to graze eastern prairies.

It is the height of summer,
Everything is happy and brown,
Bathing in crystal blue skies and radiant sunlight,
Pretending together that this moment is endless,
And that winter will never come.


As the blue blanket of dusk draws over the valley,
Stillness sets in,
And the chorus of crickets practice their evening hymn.

Over the mountain ridge, the mist of daylight ebbs in exalted surrender, 
The white noise of distant highways echoes through the canyon—there fly faraway selves, 
Wrapped in unknown dreams, rushing toward tomorrow’s surprise.
As moments flee and light fades, seconds, hours, seasons pass,
Pine needles pile soft and dried at the feet of their livelihood, 
Not far behind the heat of the day, travels winter’s chill.


It’s the darkest part of winter,
When everything is still,
Except my beating heart, my hot breath,
My racing mind that wants my feet to run, my eyes to not look back,
My rigid body that yearns for my face to delight in the warmth of new days,
My restless spirit’s icy wings poised on the verge of flight toward lovelier seasons.

At night, I find relief in the death of sleep, and the hope of awakening at dawn.

It’s the darkest part of winter,
When everything is quiet and dull.

At night I find relief in the death of sleep,
dreams pregnant with purpose,
And the hope of awakening at dawn.



Hey, Darling is burning, white, and lonely in her eyes.
If I reach in to save her now, we both will surely die.

Wrapped up in the cyclone sheets, her hands are pressed in mine.
Swirling toward surrender, we’ve, never been more alive.

I’m in and I’m down,
And she’s screaming and crying,
Wanting to know where I’ve been.

I’m up with a thrust,
And she’s softly sighing,
Saying never to leave her again.


Let magic happen,
Even if it fades,
Let our eyes meet,
And our love stir,
And our hearts grow,
Let yourself go.

Give in to this moment, 
When you and I are us,
And we are limitless.

Let your body know mine,
Take me and be taken.
Surrender to the pleasure of love,
Let magic happen,
Allow us this paradise.


I was stung.
The sharp pin prick awakening, 
The burning venom unfolding within,
I feel anew the blood in my veins, 
Tainted by this pest, this tiny conqueror,
This nagging, haunted desire to tear at my flesh to uncover--to excavate--the foreign.

What offense have I committed?
What sacred lands trespassed?
To be so afflicted,
Was mine a treasured token?

I scratch the wound that holds secrets,
Until the trill of my piercing surprise folds over,
And all that remains is raised, raw flesh and tingling pulse.

I was stung. 
In a week, the evidence will have vanished, I know,
But the ache could last forever.


With each uneven step,
the coarse stone in his boot,
takes the shape of my heart.


What words am I supposed to use?
What words?
These words I’m using now?
These dried up, worn out, dusty words?
These hollowed out, slumped over, crusty letters?
To express this sublimity?

Which sounds does one use?
Which sounds precisely?
To convey the ecstatic?

What movements does one make?
How does one move?
To share her solitary bliss?

Tell me, show me, let me know.
Let me know.


Sweeping headlights at dusk, 
Illuminate the distance between us.
It is but a crisp fold of paper.


Your love bites like a snake, 
On the fleshy spot where my heart’s cage claps shut.

I'm not worthy of love, 
Suck out the venom.

I cannot be trusted,
Suck out the venom.

I do not deserve greatness, 
Suck out the venom.

Clean out this vile wound, this fecund blackness,
Take your poisonous passions and rattle me no more. 
I am not your victim.

I am not your lover,
You are not my beloved.

The Bear

Is it the same for you?
Do my thoughts rock you, shake you, leave you stunned?
Can you feel me moving on the earth?
And can you see from these eyes?
Do you know it too?

My dear, you are a bear in my bathtub,
There is nothing subtle about this.


What smooth affection,
This docile love, 
Which knows no tumult or strife.
Whose sentiment simmers over dull flame.

To envy or despise, 
I cannot decide.

Mine is a passion that boils over, 
Making a show of spoiling everything.


Love is fraught,
And partners imperfect,
And patterns only repeat.

But you are:
A mirage in winter,
A misty idea,
A secret I like to keep.


It’s like being inside a symphony,
Sitting still in this chair,
While you—instead of oceans—sit, 
A mere table length away.
Your grey eyes, your crooked smile,
The boom, boom, booming bass drum of my heart.

No longer an impressionistic figment, 
Your warmth, your words like music,
And I, deeply moved.
The intensity of the strings—violins and cellos stretching my chest with each breath.

I sit and watch, carefully studying you,
My flushed skin betraying my silence. 
The flutes and clarinets of my mind softly accompany your words—something about world politics and problems with the US military-industrial complex.

This wall of sound, this passion,
This swell of music seeps into my pores, asking to carry me with it,
But here I sit, still as a sea sponge, saturating in your resplendence.


I love you.
The words look so ordinary on the page,
But they feel like lightning in my veins.
Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine you feel it too—this storm,
That you know my energy like I inhabit yours—a strange comfort. 
When you strike, you light up my sky.


When he kisses me gently goodnight and we’ve said our goodbyes, 
I settle with relief into the quiet of solitude.
Here I find the residue of our last meeting, my darling,
(Like a stain that won’t come clean).

We’re on the porch, (my mind washes over it) this memory so delicately ingrained—
Passion splitting like waves against sharp rocks of self-possession.
The sweetness of one desperate kiss,
A charge of honesty and the unspoken (fear) between us, 
And love, (is this love?) which we toss back and forth, carelessly as a red rubber ball.

When he calls tomorrow asking to see me again, I’ll make that plan.
I’ll send you to the corner of my heart, my dear,
And I’ll scrub (and scrub until my hands are raw) to create space for his new possibility.


I practice holding love and rage together.

Letting love run over the sharp corners of rage,
Smoothing it like a stone in a riverbed. 

And rage, in turn, strips love to its raw purity.
Revealing a tender wound to examine.
In this potent balance, each has new purpose,
Empowering me to love myself despite my past—
What I have done,
What has been done to me,
I find the tongue to speak my truth without fear of consequence.

In truth, neither are mine—the love nor the rage,
No matter how tightly I hold them.
So, I soften my rage and relish this vulnerable love,
And let them go on their way,
Toward changing hearts.


I don’t know if I can be yours and mine at the same time.
Hours pass and I feel small, waiting to hear from you,
Like a child searching for her parent in an open-air market.

You could be anywhere, and in that thought, 
I imagine I feel you drifting further away—vanishing into the distance.
Maybe you’ve got what you came for,
You don’t need me anymore,
You may never return.

And just like that, I am lost again,
Here in this market, surrounded by fine things—beauty everywhere,
Spinning in chaos, mocking me,
Until I surrender, throwing myself to the ground.
I can’t do this anymore,
I give up.

My phone quivers beside me,
It’s a message from you:
“Good afternoon, beautiful”. 
I smile and sigh, 
And laying in a humble heap, I reply:
“New phone, who dis?”


Sometimes I want to know the notes before they’re played. 
My past traumas, like phantom limbs,
Ache to remind me I should’ve known better.


Sometimes I love with my ego
Instead of loving from the center of my being. 
It’s like any old habit, demanding relevance
Refusing to die, to let me live.

And what of these old lovers?
Who lie heaped in the junk closet of my mind,
Like all possessions I refuse to discard, because,
“What if I might need this again?”

Their memories dingy and threadbare, from having their way with me.
Each one a phantom limb that burns like searing tissue,
Whenever I dare think I’ve let go, for good this time.

“You meant nothing to me, Darling.”
“Remember you are nothing.”
“Don’t you dare try to be someone worthy of love.”
“You aren’t deserving.”

But what if...
What if this time it’s real,
And this man, this good man, 
he sees me, and he chooses me,
And I don’t give in to the haunting pain of past trauma,
But instead, I use my own voice:

“You can do this, Darling.”
“You deserve good things.”
“You love unconditionally from the center of your being.”
“And you are loved.”


I AM the one who sits beside me,
And tells me pleasant things.

I AM the one who holds my hand,
And gently guides me through the dark.

I AM the one for whom all things,
Exist, retire, are born.

I AM the one in all the glory. 
I AM the one who loves you.


I awoke today with a broken heart, 
Tender and mended, cracked but whole.
It shines with golden light,
Illuminating deep space in which to hold
The titillating vibrations of infinite being.
Arriving and arriving and arriving again.
Compassionate receiving—that naked feeling,
We are this.


Sometimes I forget
That rainbows exist
And your love for me
Was only a myth.

It Begins With You

Madness is perpetual torment.
Being haunted by self-deprecating thoughts in any form.

Sometimes, people around you, 
Reflect to you those thoughts, doubts, or ideas.

You have been seeking unconditional love. 
All things being equal, it begins with you.

Love yourself unconditionally.
Bliss is perpetual love.

Awareness is acute perception, absent thought.

Us (at our peak)

You are a mountain, and I am a stream.
I’ll soften your edges as you gently guide me.

You root into the ground as I flow toward the sea.
I can’t get where I’m going if you cease to be.

I am merely water, and you a mound of earth.
But together we realize what we’re truly worth.

Enjoy These Bones

My boundaries are warped into hostilities,
My expression of feeling declared extreme.
And the pressure to empty myself in order,
To fit in your tidy box marked “perfect” becomes unbearable.
Should I apologize for myself?
Take back the things I said when I spoke my truth?
To make life more comfortable,
For you?
Turn myself upside down and shake vigorously,
Everything must go!
Except, of course, for relentless and thoughtless positivity.
I wouldn’t want for you to not feel supported,
And that every day is a magical gift,
For you.
It’s whatever you want.
I’m whatever you want.
Is that better?
Can you see yourself loving me now?
Oh, good!
Now seal up that box and suffocate my soul.
Press firmly,
And enjoy these bones.


Divine grace, please let me be love.

Risk what it would be like to not have agency.
That would be a scary threshold. 

True motivation comes from honoring oneself. 
To liberate the love that I am in every moment. 

The sacred is here.


Uuuuuuus us us ususus
Uuuuuuus us us ususus
Uuuuuuus us us ususus
You and me.


Tenderness has a quality
Like a broken heart
Open and vulnerable
Receiving directly 
What life has to offer it

Tenderness has a power
Subtle yet frightening
It carries with it
A glimpse of the void
In each fleeting moment


The heart-expanding feeling of loving yourself,
Is better than any drug. 

It is the current that regulates your system.
It keeps you clear and removes distortions
Directing love…at yourself. 
It’s the purist energy in the world,
When directed at the self. 

It is our connection to Source.
It is total acceptance.
Total receptivity. 
Complete openness. 

You feel everything at once. 
And rest in the knowledge that you are loved
Because you recognize,
The heart-expanding feeling,
Of loving yourself.


I rest back
And love myself
Knowing that
I trust my heart
It will guide me
To do the right thing
So long as it is open
And purified by
The love for
All being.

Love is Eternal

I don’t need anyone’s permission to love myself
I am perfectly acceptable to myself
Just as I am
Shining like a diamond
Because I allow the energy of Source to flow unrestrained
No constrictions
No karmic dust
On the prism of my heart. 
Only pure feeling
That raises the frequency
And resonates with 
Similar vibrations.

The light pours in
To the open aperture of my heart
Attachments catch and distort energy
Or weaken the flow

Practicing being
Without attachment
Brings us closer
To direct connection
With Source.

Be present and aware of what you’re doing
Practice it with care
And with love in your heart
There’s no reason 
Not to be in love with every moment.