Wisdom and Adulthood

Whole evenings turn into tiny moments,
that is adulthood.
Whole books turn into one sentence,
that is wisdom.


Confucius Says: Spiritual Emergence and Its Connection to the Current Global Crisis

If there be righteousness in the heart,

there will be beauty in the character.

If there be beauty in the character,

there will be harmony in the home.

If there be harmony in the home,

there will be order in the nation.

If there be order in the nation,

there will be peace in the world.

~Confucius, “The Great Learning”


Well, I’ve officially discovered hell.

Trapped in my own home, city, body, mind, old habits, ways of being.  Trapped in a holding pattern.  Trapped in it, alive, in the world, in the now.

Well, the good news, I don’t have that to fear after death.  That’s not necessarily true, but what is true is I see clearly with my own eyes how we Christians have misunderstood death, misinterpreted hell.

The sounds, the pounds, in my head and all around.

Welcome new world. Welcome.


Doors Open

It’s all so bittersweet,

This pounding in my head,

The ever-growing, longing to know you

More and

more and



For some reason I thought it would go away.

Once you find something, it should.

Once the questions are answered, a door is closed,

To, unbeknownst to me, reveal an even greater opening,

To a strangely familiar unknown.

Queen of the Newts

The air I breathe is clear,

The darkness has passed.

I hear it echo,

It echos,

The darkness has passed.


Memories enter—

They flood me of my childhood home.

The trees, the stream, the fish,

The basketball hoop, the trampoline, the treehouse,

The forts, the make-shift b-b gun target, the homemade jungle gym,

The shed, dad’s garage, the ivy,


But mostly that stream.


I understood my small world at a young age,

That water formed me, molding me into a human being.

I was curious.

I saw life, evolution, change,

Decay, rust, and death,

Truth, pain, and hurt.


That stream carried a lot.


I became a scientist, a naturalist, a Jedi warrior,

A raccoon, Indian, and hockey player,

A carpenter, eulogizer, and medium,

As well as Queen of the Newts.


I never thought you’d have to go.


How will you know where to go?

Which way to flow, and who to inspire?

Who will bathe in you?  Who will make sure you don’t dry up?

And why was I so lucky to have you in the first place?


My attachments are gone,

But my heart burns to return there.

Coming home to a place that no longer exists—

A nomad’s task, indeed.

Oh stream, stay with me, I plead.

The Path of the Mystic

The path of the mystic is not sacred,

Yet it is not secular,

It is this strange entanglement of the space in between.

It is the complex intertwinement of this world and that, the upper and the lower, the real and the not real, the modern and the primitive, the technological and the romantic.

It is in that space where nothing is resolved.  There are no answers: the in-between.

The space that no one else wants to look at, the space that no society makes space for.

The space that doesn’t demand space, nor settles in no space.

Not the perpetrator, nor the victim.  The force that may or may not pull ahead, but that ambiguity is its sweetness,

I think.

The space, by its very nature, takes up the most space, because it demands more.

This is the path of the mystic.

The Net

We discussed St. Francis of Assisi over shared cups of coffee,

And I finally noticed the gold on the walls.


What does this mean for me?

Is my life changed, or is it exactly the same?


Jacques Derrida writes on the secret,

I think I get what he means.


Cycling around the whirlpool, we dove,

Redeemed by the net,

A few jewels intact.

I carry those in my pocket now,

My secret.