Spirit of Truth

The Spirit of Truth cannot whisper to your thoughts. The mind, however nimble, clings to its imagined boundaries. Behind your thoughts, the watcher slumbers. He waits, and dreams, and knows. The truth is so simple and profound.

Imagine you are a map of the entire universe, you plot out a course dropping pins at favorite spots. Life in its current state, is like visiting a certain spot and convincing yourself that you are a pin.

To express ideas and point to beauty and truth is wonderful and necessary, but to confine ones self to identity, in the sense that it means separate intity, is to perpetuaute the illusion.

Lessons on the rose vine

Pluck the rose if you must, but breathe deeply the intoxicating fragrance. Touch the petals softly. Whisper private affirmations. It belongs with you not to you. Always to enjoy, never to possess. It is best left wild on the vine, so passers-by might linger a moment and remember that life is beautiful, fragile, and much simpler than we’ll allow.

Mixed signals?

I was reading an article about unusual psychiatric studies involving patients with brain injuries and mental illnesses, and suddenly the strangest idea occurred to me—–what if what really makes you you is simply an electrical impulse, a signal broadcast on a specific frequency. Transmitted from where? And you believed you were the vehicle,  expiring when it ran out of gas. Personality disorders? Competing signals? Alzheimer’s? Weak signal? Far fetched? Maybe, but interesting none the less.


There is nothing more powerful than truth. We cannot adequately measure the depth of its beauty, as we cannot  wrap our minds around the distance of infinity, nor can we comprehend how long forever may be. One could argue that truth itself is cold and heartless without the emotions and we attach to it. However, it just may be that it exists as we understand it to be perceived,  we recognize it because of the way it feels. Keep publishing your truths as you discover them and singing us your songs, they may lead us to new ones of our own and I find that idea quite powerful and beautiful.  

You are not done discovering

​You have found some truths

Some difficult truths

Some may even belong to you

You own them like your own skin

But you only see in part and feel in part

They do not define you

The greatest part is an arms length away

You have to keep reaching

Simpler minds may be satisfied with the tactile qualities 

Of the surface, but you must plunge deeper

Reach, dive, dream, and never give up.

It is not so very long

Our sojourn here

So try your best to make it count for something

Break from the tiresome routines 

Step out of your comfort zone

Give of yourself and you’ll get more of you back

Loose the silver chords

Share with me your brokenness

Your imperfections,  the ugly cry,

The snorting laugh 

Paint on a smile for the rest of the world if you must, but take me inside you until I discover the truth

Speak to me with your eyes, don’t turn away and break the spell

You have nothing to hide from me, I am not fit to judge myself much less anyone else

I will guide your fingertips across my scars,   slowly tracing the textures

Your whispered breath in my ear is the only language we need

Be with me only, fully present in this moment

I sense your fear as I blow your defenses down and advance into the hidden places

I am also afraid, you are my sanctuary

We are so close to discerning what has been lacking

The origins of our phantom aches

Peering cautiously through the veil together

One step further and we must loose the silver chords, disintangled and set adrift

Inescapably joined together alone

perchance never to return

 shotgun seat experience 

I love the jumping lines

I watch them approach and fall behind 

And the trees running backwards

I watch them until I am dizzy

Then lean back and extend my arm

Just far enough to allow my hand to surf the wind outside the rolled down window

Sometimes the air bids you lean forward  to brush your face and tussle your hair   Other times it is enough just to close        your eyes and listen to its whispered.       secrets

The well traveled highway sings 

Bumps and roars, tires rolling rhythmic clicks and pops

I am a traveler, and for the moment it doesn’t matter where we go or for how long

I’m swept up in the motion, in the journey, in the going

The present rushing past, fleeting , beautiful 

Not to hold, not to keep, not to have 

Seeing, feeling, reaching out, touching, being touched, listening, learning, and letting go