Moral Compass

Instrument: Brio – Red Cedar Concert Ukulele

What does it mean to be good?
What does it mean to do what you should?
How do you know what’s right?
What does it mean to go far?
What does it mean to be who you are?
How do you see the Light?

1. Society can’t help you ’cause it’s broken.
It answers with a question leaving doubt.
And loving one another is a token
Of words we just can’t seem to carry out.

2. We’ve got to learn to look beyond the faces
Of those who preach the practice of the truth.
The teacher’s in the most unlikely places-
It shimmers in the soul that lives in you!
So ask it

How can I be the Light?
What does it mean to be good?

Connecting Prayer

You are me. I am you.
Nothing can part us. We are not two.

We are one. Thy will be done.
Spirit made flesh. The web is spun.

Created in love. Below and above.
Earthly illusions, the push and the shove.

Yet in every thing eternity sings,
One Spirit of knowing that plays its own strings.

Because you are me. And I am you.
Nothing can part us, One in the Truth!

From my notebook of
Prayer treatments.


Oneness Prayer

Oneness Meditation Treatment

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Tanka Experiment

ocean swirls and churns
feelings thought dead resurface
rumbles of desire
tides wash out unconsciousness
deposit new embraces

My first knowing try of this “female” Japanese form. I wrote some over a decade ago, but doubt I really understood the form. I’m not sure I understand it yet, but Toni is helping out over at
dVerse MeetingTheBar. 🙂

Season of Headache

Celebrating is the last thing I feel like doing.
The first thing is sleep.
The second is coffee, but I’ve already had too much.
That leads to the third,
A terminal headache…
But this, too, shall pass
As I journey onward
To celebrate

Grace hosts today’s first of five anniversary features over at
The Quadrille has become a favorite of mine, and this one should contain the word “journey”. I am journeying indeed, but not celebrating… yet.

Still Life

I am the sculpture;
I’ll come right out and tell you that.
Which one?
I can’t say, because you don’t really care.

I was stone before I became this statue.
I am still stone.
And I will be stone even thereafter,
If (Merciful heavens!) I am chiseled to bits.

I told you I am the sculpture,
But I lied.
Yes, I, too, can create a ruse!
How do you like that?
The same way you like it when people point at you
Or put you in their neatly labeled box
And say, “THIS is who you are!”

You are not THAT,
And I am not the statue alone.
Heck! I am not even stone!
I Am Life!

You don’t think so;
You don’t believe what I say.
But did you believe me then,
When I said I am the sculpture?

No matter.
You can have your opinions,
And beliefs!
These are problems I do not have-

But I am still Life!
I was before the stone was.
I was before the sculpture was.
I am now,
In the stone and the rendered statue.
And I will be
Long after the sculpture is no more,
Long after the stone has eroded.
I am there.

But lest you leave this conversation all freaked out on me,
Let me come right out and tell you that
You are Life, too!
Stoned or not,
Oops did I say stoned?
Ha ha even the stones have a sense of humor!

Anyway, no matter the state
In which you find yourself, Grasshopper,
You are Life!
So live on,
For you are sculpture and stone,
Artist and observer,
Creator and creation!

Now step lively,
Rock the boat,
And live Life with the Spirit that You Are!

Oh, before you go?
Tell that painting over there
That it is still life, too.


dVerse | Poetics – Chisel Me a Conversation.
I had fun writing this!


Abundance does our soul enfold,
But we’re forgetful in this world.

Such hardened hearts and trials tough
Show Everything is not enough.

The countless Enemies to blame
Perpetuate a losing game.

If love spilled out like human greed,
The currency would not be “need!”

A Quadrille for
where 44 is the magic (i.e. required) number of words, and one word must be a form of “spill”!

Elegy to a Loved One

Prompted by

The sorrow doesn’t hurt anymore.
The stabbing pain has gone.
I’m not wounded daily by your passing from this world.
But I feel it like a heavy weight
In my sad eyes,
A lump in my throat,
A burning in my chest,
A knot in my belly.
Sometimes I cry;
Always I remember.

It’s strange, what I miss most about you–

The things you taught me help me every day,
And I am left to wonder
What else you could have shared.
When I pull out my tools
To fix or build something,
My heart aches for your guiding hands,
Encouraging words,
The knowledge you gave me.

Someone else will teach me now,
But not the way you did.
And I will learn,
But from different people, in other times and places.
And my own hands will know the tools,
My heart will see the beauty in the fixed and newly created.
But right now they yearn for what they do not have.

And the laughter?
I can’t talk about that
Without crying.
I don’t even remember what you said.
I just know it was funny;
You always brought a smile to my lips,
A happy tear to my eyes,
A song to my heart.

I realize through the shifting sands of grief and time:
I still have this smile,
This happy tear,
The song you helped me write!
And I am glad!

I don’t always feel peaceful,
Yet I am at peace.
I am strong in the knowing
That you are here now,
As you always were
And ever shall be.
Yours is the Spirit of eternity,
The one that cradles and keeps me
As It still keeps you–
In a new form perhaps,
But no less present
Than when I could touch your hand and hear your voice.

You are the Light of the Ages,
The Love that turns this world,
The tides that move and remove.

You are life,
Abundant and free!
And you are here
In me.
–for Kenny
with the song,