Tightrope Walking

1411036926917_wps_15_epa04404076_A_picture_madI have begun to wonder whether love, art, beauty are in fact not robust, but rather are stretched taut like a thin, but strong wire between the two mountains peaks of ecstasy and tragedy. Whether connection and creation are similarly arranged. And that perhaps the greatest souls were those balanced delicately yet precariously between the two, always one small step from ennui or despair on either side.  The threat of life and limb, of emptiness, of failure, haunts the moments in between sublimity and exhilaration.  Can you catch your breath and your balance before you fall? Can you create faster than things fall apart?

Those very same processes that caused continents to move, planets to form, leaves to unfurl, and mammals to seek shelter from the storm occur just as much within the human, even if ever more subtle.  With the human, yes, something new came into the world.  This cannot be denied.  But how could not the very same processes which everywhere permeate the cosmos and take different forms not find themselves expressed in us as well?  How arrogant to believe we were created ex nihilo?  And why would we want to be?  No, rather, we are a continuation and extension of all that came before.  As Alan Watts said so eloquently, “We do not “come into” into this world; we come out of it, as leaves from a tree. As the ocean “waves,” the universe “peoples.” Every individual is an expression of the whole realm of nature, a unique action of the total universe.”

Words are food and sex is eating and sunset raptures are the beauty of the bare shoulder of the freckled woman and the back of her legs are the silence of the misty forest grove and the cries of the baby are the frog’s croak at dawn and the playful cheetah kitten is the laugh of the lover and her eyes are the stars of the heavens and all our smiles are the same buds as the spring cherry blossom and our contradictions are the lotus flowers and war is the coyote eating the deer and the lion eating the wildebeast and it is why branding and lies are the march to the crematorium and malaria is the explosion of the bombs killing the peasants and their spotted goats.

It is all coming together and pulling apart without end, without a name, without explanation.

The remarkable implication is that to know the universe is self-knowledge and vice versa, to know oneself, is to find oneself in the heart of the cosmos.

There comes a moment when one must make a decision–one wrestled from the chaotic deep waters of our being–to simply walk across that wire.  To walk as if there were no possibility of falling; walk assuredly of each step, firmly planted, one after another.  All the while not forgetting that the abyss lies merely an inch to either side. And knowing that even in the tragic things are born, things are created, and the patient onward flow of things is ever more consecrated because of this.

How different from that other life, other way of being, awkwardly and guardedly pressing onwards with each step, unsure of one’s own pace and style, one’s own footing in the midst of things.  That is–at most–a caricature of human life.

The twin peaks beckon.

Omnivore – Haiku Series

(In progress)

“Even decay is a form of transformation into other living things, part of the great rampage of becoming this is also unbecoming. It is cruel, it is death, and it is also life, degeneration and regeneration, for nearly all things live by the death of other things…” From Rebecca Solnit, The Faraway Nearby

Omnivore Haiku #1:

Dear Detritivore:
your voracious appetite,
completes the circle.

Attention Earthworms!
Mission: Decomposition
open your gizzard.

twenty four seven
breakfast buffet of decay
your waste is our wealth.

Sun eaters unite!
redwood and algae alike
be still and absorb

How calming to hear,
The sound of your chloroplasts,
Abuzz with sunbeams

Mr. Vulture please,
eat the remains of the day
i don’t carrion

Ferocious feline
feasts on flesh of the field
king of the jungle

elegant eland
graceful, but too slow
a bloody carcass

but rather than hunt
you stole hyena’s dinner
who is the top dog?

Life feeds on life feeds
on life feeds on life feeds on
life feeds on life feeds…

An Unsolved Murder – Haiku Series

crowAn Unsolved Murder:


New neighbors arrive
a conspiracy of crows
a raven haven

flock of ‘feathered apes’
tilted beaks and trickster eyes
caw-caws split the dawn

A cacophony
of congregrating corvids
cracks open the day

These crows are vultures
feasting on my silly heart
just a fantasy.

Suddenly unclear:
between wing-ed and legg-ed
who’s the scavenger?

in wonderment with
corvid curiosity
would that i could warg.

mystery remains
omen of power or death?
an unsolved murder

La Luna Llena #3: Lunacy

The full moon dazzled me tonight,
dancing across the sky,
like some sorta late night lunar lambada.

Her gibbous eyes had me in a trance.
She seems to come by about once a month.
I know the rhythm by now.
Bright as ever, she pushes all stars aside,
owns the sky,
unaware of the impact she has on us earthlings.

But I’m not the only one.

Did you know certain trees are overcome
with lunar madness?
The Moonstruck Mountain Hemlock
is tricked by the radiance,
lured by the luminosity,
and sends its branches skyward,
hoping to touch the
trace water trapped as ice in rocks beneath the surface,
not realizing lunar lakes are an illusion.
that moon mares are mirages,
240,000 miles away.

no matter how high it grows,
no matter how far it bends,
the tree will never touch the moon.
Even at its perigree, it is forever out of reach.
At most, 59% of the moon’s surface can be seen.
The rest remains inscrutable.
A mystery.
A secure celestial citadel.

it sounds crazy.

lunatic if you ask me.

8 Worldly Winds

(Still in the works. Inspired by the buddhist concept of the 8 worldly winds)

Eight worldly Winds,
whips us into twisters, but
the sky still abides/big sky abides.

#2: Pain and pleasure
Endless parade of
‘i want this, i don’t want that’
what a sticky web.


Gentle breeze arose
Set my embers ablazin’
flames of praise and blame

gotta pin it down:
whose fault? i blame it all on…
such a great story.