Maintain That Openness

Maintain that openness

which never closes;


an openness of mind,

not forever undecided,

but decidedly open;


open to possibility upon possibility upon possibility;


forever open;


wanting only to move into deeper and deeper regions

of possibility;


like the yogi on his mat,

holding a pose,

maintaining a stretch that strengthens;


maintain a pose of the heart,

and of the spirit and its energies;


a state of active passivity,

waiting for the Divine Hand

to weave its pattern

into the fabric of our Life.


Not concluding,

even while observing.


Not separating,

even while distinguishing.


Cultivate, and maintain,

that openness.


Underground Men

I saw eternal freedom;
its caves,
where the underground people live.

Belly-down in damp rock tunnels,
they search for crevices and cracks;
smaller, darker spaces.

Cursing the cold,
hard rock;
cursing the darkness,
their own stench.

Unable to go forward.
Unwilling to go back.

underground men



I cling to the bar,
knuckles white,
shaking with exertion.

“Let go.”

I will not.
I squeeze tighter,
strength failing,
will giving way,
emptied of strength,

I let go.

I hit ground,
feet firmly planted,
shake tired arms,
blood rushes in.

“Get back up.”

I will not.
The ground gives way beneath my feet.
I scramble and run until at last
my legs fail.

I reach, grab the bar again,
legs, rest and refresh.
Until finally, I hear once again:

“Let go.”


I hurry my life.
Seldom feel peace.

What good comes from speed?
– From having the list completed?
From saying, “I did this, and that?”

I do not know.

I know that a life unsavored
is a wasted life.

But I cannot seem to stop.


Open or Closed

There are two ways to live life:
open or closed.

Open is:

to let be and let go
to release and relax
to take in and give out
to give and to receive
to reveal and be revealed
to hide nothing and fear nothing

Closed is:

to fight and shut out
to cut off and not allow
to close and contain
to force out and hold back from
to be unreceiving and inhospitable
to conceal and hide

open or close

The Clarity Of Death

I scream across the abyss of time,
trying to tell you;
trying to show you what I see now,
what I feel now.

Death is near.
The illusions have shed
like accumulated fat.

All the walls and masks and safety nets
abandon me in a moment.

I am alone.
I finally see everything so clearly.

Hear me.
Hear yourself.
Shed your layers.

clarity of death

I Am Not

I am not white, black, or brown.
I am not fat, skinny, or athletic.
I am not straight, bisexual or gay.
I am not American, Indian, French, Italian.
I am not Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Atheist, or Agnostic.
I have no name.

I am every person you ever will meet.

racism- water fountain

A Crossroad

A crossroad: two diverging paths.
One sign, old and worn.

I went right.
There was black.
Cold, flame.
Grunting, toiling.
Hunger. Sweat.
I saw Prometheus.

I backtracked,
went left this time.
There was white.
Soft. Abundance.
I saw Judas.

Confused, I returned,
stood before the signs.

A hooded man approached,
I asked why Judas
was in paradise.

“All wander where they like,” said he,
“Judas indulges all day;
never finds peace,
the leech, unable to stop sucking.”

He continued:
“And there, Prometheus, the noble soul,
each day tortured for his sacrifice of love.”

“So which is heaven,
and which is hell?” asked I.

“Neither,” said he,
“or, both, if you like,
for the souls that dwell there
make either so.”



Like feathers on the arrow
you quiver,
driven, upwards by a wind.

Reds, oranges
yellows, and blacks:
beautiful and severe.

Your blue is not the blue of peace
but of war.
Hell-fire. Purifying.

you burn so near to my heart.


Some Nights

Some nights,
Life walks with me.

She stops her games,
so I stop chasing.

She leads me down long, quiet,
winding paths,
through places I have never seen before.

She whispers in my ear,
things I have never heard before.

And so I wander with her,
led, through the night.