Always With The Punching

Imagine instead that the thugs suddenly drop their guns, their faces quizzical, their blinding rage wiped away by a wave of tranquility. They are not sedated into unconsciousness to arise later still bitter, but rather awakened entirely from their cold trance of hatred. They can feel again.

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Shadow Of The Toad Woman

Is she marking me or erasing a mark? Some long ago scar that I have chosen to ignore at my own peril? Or am I marking her? Finally claiming her as mine, telling her to come home? I sense that we are dancing, suspended above all these questions, for in the end it is the simple act of contact that matters.

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Today

Inhale, exhale. The back and forth of the spiritual ocean. The rocking of the great chair. Sit beside me. Press your cheek to mine. We will ebb and flow together, ears like shells creating the sigh of waves each for the other.

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Map of My Heaven

I don’t need a God
At the center of me
Or slightly off center
I am not a Buddha or any other divine man
Inside where I dance

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My Hero

My hero’s quest is a tree. It is a conversation. It is a child with wings. Its course is a constellation seen from within. Its orbit is a song. My hero’s quest will work changes upon the world like a wave on the ocean floor. Deep, blue changes.

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