Why do we hold prisoners on the edges of society
Pretend they are not human or do not exist
judge
judge
judge
Why do we judge them
rather than be merciful
as all the good books claim their god to be and want
Why not take moments to understand the atrocious
?

af

(written on computer)

This path is a journey, not a destination
The Way is a journey, not a destination
My life is a journey, not a destination
Breathe, step by step,
What I have gained, I might lose
What I have lost, I might gain from
…it is all just a journey, there is no destination

love and light

 
af

(written on camino)

Making life too much about the insurmountable “big picture”;
lost touch with how to act within everyday reality.

Sitting inside,
uninspired because
it is just all the same now….
In all the parks,
the same artists, the same people, the same backdrop.
In town,
all the stores, the landscapes of nature and businesses
are all the same.
The movies, the trains, the patterns, the conversations
…all the same.

It is time for something different.
Not to plan, not to wait…

In loneliness,
because of the stubbornness of the ego,
wrong decisions are made,
ones that reaffirm our position that the instincts are always incorrect.

I suppose that there is some purpose to the cliché,
considering myself fortunate to know the difference;
That the reality of current american urban living is not normal, is not a natural life, should not be accepted for what life should be.

Funny how all along I ignored the warnings…

af

(written on computer)

Sister Mary
you have guided over journeys
before me
for me
after me

My gratuities have come easily
like luscious oil absorbing into my dry skin
…moonlight over the meseta
keeping the wolves at bay
lifting suffering from my existence

Sister Mary, mother of angels
most holy creature
climbing mountains with the goats
with ladders belonging not to Jacob
with wings fortified, unlike Icarus
how you cradle me in the cool breeze
while the hot sun toughens the leather of my skin

Some moments
I am too lost within the maze
wondering too much about
where your guidance will lead me
forgetting you are the voice of the way

Sister Mary
the womb and breast of life
the opportunity of evolution
the hope of survival
stay atop your mountain
so that we might strive to climb

Do not reveal yourself,
allow us the journey to find you

The Way drifts over snow-capped peaks in summer
and sister, mother whispers homilies
in abandoned stone buildings
across this landscape of medieval history

Sister Mary
you are the home many of us never had;

a pilgrim
step by step
you guide me in my darkness and light

af

(written with pen on paper for Sister Mary’s 71st year on the Earth Plane)

La piedra de la luna clouds in the city chaos…

Too much anger, I suppose.

It feels the rapture of disbelief

the pressure of us clever humans

creating nature from concrete

It spies the lover curious about me;

Notices the young rebel opening her legs for a peek;

Feels the idiosyncratic stares from Hamburg

And still confused by the gratuity, within this mess,

of the homeless juggler,

the most humble in all of this city.

I have brought it from tranquility

and it has dutifully absorbed my spiritual odyssey

waiting patiently to be recharged.

af

(written with pen on paper)

Being outside

bare

sky everywhere

the breathing

the white noise of the pack

the cacophony of the wild

step, then step, then step, then step

hypnotized by the horizon

making promises out of questions

Do You Trust Me?

The current

becoming water

Watching the blue butterflies fight

then make love overhead

following the alchemy

“i trust you”

and I ask for no mercy

af

(written on computer after returning from the Foothills Trail)

Urban existence in itself is unnatural

completely artificial

which can only conclude that everything  within it

is as well

(bartender just underpoured me)

(my sarcasm is not always welcomed)

the vanity of…

(oh, shut up…

lighten up, Francis)

Urbanity consists of finding a way to matter

(if I returned, it would be for the wrong reasons…

vanity, lust, ego…the holy trinity of entertainment)

it would all be too easy

and I like my new life

Cake is meant to be eaten

it does not have to be mine

You hear that?

That is the clash of the ages colliding right in front of us.  Patient storytelling with characters, time, elaborate sets and rich scenery playing against the unfocused twink who needs nuance logicized.

The hard truth has to come out.

af

(written with pen on paper)