We cannot summon soul to break through, can we !
It’s only recognizable after its words get carried by some
hugh emotion that was definitely not wanted in the first

There was a night last week when I struggled with my
body’s insistence on waking me up to change. It always
comes in the form of muscle pain, untouchable by pill
or panacea. Toward dawn, exhausted, I gave up.

I fell asleep, into a deep relaxation that ended my
insistence on resistance, and awoke hours later with
some freedom.

Without the story, I passed on my thoughts about
facing one’s ancient pain in an email that simply
burst out without plan. It might be worth repeating
to you now:

“We’re all in the same boat, this planet.
We’re paddling on all sides, sometimes can’t see
what the other is doing, the splash is so huge.

It’s OK. The ocean is deep beneath us.

the important thing is the air, the scudding clouds,
the rays of light that pierce through.
All ours.”

That was my apology for being out of touch.
That was what happened when I released my
need to control.
I guess. Control is not the right word, maybe
attachment is closer.

with love …


There are times when that which is utterly familiar,
happens every day, can take place without
fanfare, emotion, remembrance or any mortal note.

The poem following is evidence of that:


Mauve mist shadow cloaks the sky’s
River-blurred, inchoate border.
Dawn’s old story, and light tries —
Not the last time — to devise
Lasting order.

Look. The moon’s pale-copper sphere
Rings — a gong too faint to hear —
Through the city.

Let them linger, unawake.
Down the mountain’s wrinkled brilliance
Darkness empties like a lake
Minted gold, house windows make
Coins worth millions.

Both in disbelief and pride
All the buildings in the distance
On the river’s farther side
Take up, as the shadows slide,
New existence.

Shadow slides along the roof,
Past the guttering and gable,
Shrinks, and leaves the house aloof
Where the light reads out its proof
Like a fable.”

…………STEPHEN EDGAR, Sidney, Australia

Dawn happens like that, it takes only moments.
I’m usually just waking up half-way around the world
from the poet. Yet, I have a faint sense of memory
of something seen so often, or only briefly, that
holds the essence of a place, not in time,
Very much like this poem.

with love …


I have noticed that the golden yellows of the leaves are startling
against the tapestry of muted autumn colors. How have I not
noticed this in other years?

There is a Zen koan that addresses this:

“Q: When the tree withers and the leaves fall,
what is happening?

A: The Golden Wind is revealing itself.”
as quoted by JOHN TARRANT in the current
issue of Shambala Sun.

This frames a different November experience for me.
I am grateful when change brings space-fulness. I can see
through the bare landscape in a way that shifts losing the
leaves to a gift of clarity and aroused curiosity.

What is there here that I had not seen before?

Perhaps it is because I have slowed my walk and in so
doing have lifted my eyes and taken in for the first time
the familiar places I have hastened through before.

A golden wind, indeed.

with love …


This is what I read a moment ago:

“For me, there is not just this world,
there’s also a layering of others.
Time is not divided by minutes and hours,
and everything has presence and meaning
within the landscape of timelessness.”


I am so aware of time and the time it takes
to do tasks, to prepare for the day, to wait
for others to show up, to get ready to go
outside and walk.

I am also aware that time shifts, sometimes
for only ten minutes. That’s the day-dreaming time,
and it comes upon me no matter where I am.

I’m standing, looking at the cereals in a grocery store,
and suddenly, alerted by a quiet “excuse me” as
someone passes, I realize I’ve gone again. So, when
I read those few line above, that’s how I read it, as if
the writer spoke from a very intimate association
with time and beyond that, a mini-vacation from time,
from which I could come back, quite refreshed.

The actuality is that here’s how the first line REALLY
“For US , there is not just this world,” etc.

That change of only one word shifts it into a cosmic
approach, it becomes a prelude to something more,
I guess as it was intended. Very deep.

How curious that I should have read it incorrectly!
Just commenting.
Have you times like that? As if you’ve grasped the whole
thought before you’ve even begun the initial sentence
…and in so doing, discovered a part of yourself?

Hmmmmm, weird.

with love …


First of all, if I’d seen a title like this one, I would have dropped
anything to explore what came next!

In this world of daily extraordinary events, people & possibility,
it is rare to encounter the simple idea of goodness. Stripped
naked, standing on my own feet just as I am, all that’s left is
what is in me of goodness. You, too.
Here’s where I found that phrase, ” unexpected goodness”:

“The healing of our present woundedness may lie in

recognizing and reclaiming the capacity we all have to

heal each other, the enormous power in the simplest of

human relationships, the strength of touch, the blessing

of forgiveness, the grace of someone else taking you

as you are,

and finding in you an unexpected goodness.”

(from John Fox’s book, ‘Poetic Medicine’)

I suspect that goodness is something we find mirrored
in each other, and that recognizing it in others, we find,
in our own claim to that simplicity, a reason to trust.

with love …