“He never moves.  You notice that?”

That was the observation of the little girl, soon to one day be a woman who will most likely fall in love with this man, hopelessly, and spend the rest of her life fighting for pieces of happiness to comfort her for the rest of her nights.  She was little by society standards, but already a woman in the animal kingdom;  Fourteen, noticing everything.

The girl understood.  It was an unasked-for ability she possessed.  Whenever a wise, older soul would pass on from the flesh, the world shared a piece with her.  As a result, she was far beyond her physical years.  “And he rarely writes in that book of his.  How confusing to feel the instrument of your relevance will go on and betray you.  Has anyone tried to get him to understand?  That there are people like us, like him, still here?”

“It’s not about the few among many.  It is about something bigger to him.  About what the collective represents for the species.  It isn’t about his life.”

“His thoughts are of existence?!”  The girl both asked and answered, and then  she walked over to him, leaned in to place her lips on his left ear, and barely whispered sound and air into it.  His eyes immediately shifted and he smiled.

That is when she sat next to him, they both never moving, together…

af

(written with pen on paper)

i am not going home

as i have none…

just making a stop

on the way to the next journey

af

(written at the airport)

The Western world embraces the
art of suffering
just as the Eastern doctrine consumes the
art of war
…we are organized animals.

The natural world contains enough
peaceful chaos for all of us
and still
we organize pain
perhaps
so that we are able also to keep organized
our successes
…superficial risk
…artificially created cause and effect

A children’s song once claimed
    Life is but a dream
but dreams only exist for the common person;
over time, we have created a game,
one with no end
one with promises
synthetic purpose
superfluous commitments

To fit within the walls of society
we must always play
achieving victories along the way
to satisfy the appetite of inherent greed
knowing in the end
no one wins
for we are all spirit
and the flesh always dies.

The truth might not feel good
however
it is the only road to the freedom
of the soul

af

(written on computer)

She is watching us

I see her when I stare upward near exhaustion,
see her hovering there
blue eyes
her senses emanating the seeds of safety
I turn around to look back from where I came,
see her there, behind me
her rivers, cocoons under a bridge
their violent rumba stinging our lungs
adrenaline scribbled across the entire journey

I open my book to write
and right there
with only half of her sight
the earth the water the fruits the fire the vibration
the Way
whispering all along
do you trust me?

The dancing around the humidity
as the gnats, tenacious, swim in the corners,
burrowing through to the third eye

The fresh air
breezes vibrating off her page

I stare into her eyes
knowing she is watching
until I realize
she is
the only purpose to life;
the smell taste sound touching vision

She is watching us
this holy trinity
the ghost of nature
the possibility of man
the deconstructed womb
meticulously organized

the sheer simple magic of a whole lifecycle
this microcosm of existence
nourishing pilgrims
along her seven day walk

af

(written with pen on paper about the Foothills Trail)

i think about what i have
and what i do not have

i think about what i want
what i do not want
what i resist

i think about the complexities i avoid
the simplicity i insist on

i think about what could challenge me
about what could complicate me

i think about how easy it is for some people
to be with each other
to be in love

i think about how easy it is for me
about how difficult it is to be alone
about how difficult it is to commit

i think about what others think about
when staring at the ceiling in a room full of sleeping people
when between the moment of closed eyes and sleep
when embracing someone while at home there is someone else
when they catch me staring at them

i think about people with families
what that trust between them must feel like

i think about the true pilgrims in this world
stuck outside on a freezing night

i think about what food tastes like for other people
what my mouth tastes like to other women
what my body smells like to strangers

but mostly, right now
i think about if anyone else is thinking about me…

 
af

(written on camino, just before bed)

There is a small window
out of which displays the cloudy sunlit
mountains of Galicia

There is a couple
two strangers who now share weeks of experience
reading back their journeys to each other
looking at memories in photos
understanding that, soon, they must separate
in order to return to their obligations and promises

There is an aged roof
pieced together by centuries of labor
now neatly covered, spackled
for the protection of this modern pilgrim

There is a girl
top bunk across from me
strong handshake, deep blue eyes that
instantly force me into her soul
wishing and wanting so much life from life

There are twenty of us
different heritages, different paths
all of us with different smells, sounds, customs
different directions come tomorrow
but all of us living together, somehow
with this unspoken bond
that this life we have chosen has thrust upon us

There are many, many different moments
occurring all at once in this room
in the land of the forest people
all existing because of and for
the necessity of love

af

(written on camino)

The red wine dripping into the glass
a free-falling river, serene
along the Way, in the solitude of meditation

Looking out a small window encased in stone
into another stone wall in another ancient village,
raindrops counting the steps of pilgrims
languages and music and the scratching of pens
watching a cat on the wet, clay roof
peering down at a three-legged dog

I do not wonder why the journey has to end
I do not remember exactly when it began, years ago
so I will continue on for years more until
I realize I happened upon another

I do not wish or want or wonder anymore
because I know now that I exist
and what my eyes do not see or my ears do not hear
still occurs, still a part of the spirit I am

I do not worry anymore
because I know now there is nothing worth pining over
I am existence, I am pure peace

We truly are ants marching across a tiny land
some sleeping
some working
some dreaming
some eating
all together
as a wandering tribe
clinging openly to a life
different than
the safety of pre-determination
the security of goals

We all,
in our own ways, with our own degree of confidence,
know fully
there is no future
know literally
there is nothing that happened in the past
know certainly
why it does not exist

We cling to every second
We savor every bite
We absorb every word
take another sip of wine
stare off remembering the path
and always seem to get lost in our own minds
forgetting what we began
not really caring to know what is next

Spending the day watching the rain
from this small window
is enough life
…nothing more I need

 
af

(written on camino)