Like The Chanook Wind


Like the Chinook Wind

What the Wind Taught Me 2 0f 4


Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha’Tara EarthStar)


Copyright (©) 2016 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing


Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada


Cover pictures: top, Kashfia Rahman,

Bottom, Viktors Kozers


Cover pictures found on FreeImages.com

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble


Next Series: The Less-traveled Paths

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.



Like The Chinook Wind

Fools Rush In

Why Can We Not See?

Selling Your Character

Sensual Passion

They’re Always Here

The Greatest Silence

Is Reality Real


Of Tragedies And Horrors

What Does The Blizzard Teach Those Who Know Him Not?

How Rich Is Rich Enough

What Works, What Doesn’t


Divine Beauty

Life In Life

Power, Meaning Or Both?

I Dream Of Tara

Sparrow Song

A Piebald Deer Crossed The Road

Another Gift of the Magi

What Is A Soul


Dreams And Lessons Of Surpassing Greatness

Thou Shalt Not Kill

The Birth Of New Love


The Shadow

Patterns and Freedom

Dance On The Horizon (The Storm)


These books represent a varied collection of remarkable “outside the box” thinking (and subsequently, writing).


If you are one of those trammeled and importuned by strong beliefs that won’t let go, this could be your chance to break free. I’m not asking you to believe what is written therein—I can’t say I believe all of it myself—but it makes for an interesting “other than” perspective. Reading these books can be compared to painting by numbers. You have this standard picture outline and between lines are colour numbers. You match the numbers to the colours and eventually you have a painting. It’s not great art, of course, and everybody knows that but it gives you the impression that you did it yourself. We all know that is how the System operates. It gives us a number of colours and our life is laid out and numbered, from cradle to the grave. There isn’t much we can do about it, it seems. It’s the System.


Ah, but there is something we can do about it. We can ignore the numbers. Use random colours and mix them. If “3” is green, we do pink on one of the “3” sections and arbitrarily use orange on the next, and so on. Pretty soon the System doesn’t know us anymore and guess what? We discover what real freedom can be. It begins by breaking the rules; by daring to violate those imposed beliefs. Here’s one for you: Did man ever land on the moon? Of course they did, you will say. You saw it on TV, or you saw the videos and read the reports and documentaries, right? Ok, fine. But that is not the point since landing on the moon or not did nothing to change the way people interact with each other. So the point? The point is to paint a different colour on the “moon landing” section of your life’s canvas. A “fake moon landing” colour. Now really go into this idea. Break the template here, convince yourself it was all faked in some studio, for whatever political reason. Then proceed to prove to yourself that it was so. Study this bit of history; look at the clues. What happens in the end? In the end you realize it doesn’t matter at all whether they landed on the moon or not. What matters is, you dared question it.


The material in here questions “taken for granted” ideas, sometimes seriously, sometimes with humour.


You know, it’s hard to think these days, when everything is handed to us via TV and the Internet. Everything tells us how to think, and does so in the blink of an eye. We don’t have to wait for the President’s state of the union speech, or the preacher’s rant on a given Sunday. We Google!


Can a mind atrophy? You bet. Look into these booklets and think about thinking.

Like The Chinook Wind

Like the soft whisper

of the chinook wind

gently swaying branches

of spruce and poplars

on warming winter nights,

you came into my life

unannounced, but hoped for.


Under your springtime softness

my winter apathy melted,

dripped away so quickly

like snow on rooftops;

new life flowed

in endless rivulets and streams.


Like the chinook wind

I thought to myself, bitterly,

you would cool away and die

under cold eastern skies:

but you were the Spring Maiden

and with your breath

this new life flowed forth

joining the eternal river.


Fools Rush In…

“Fools rush in…

(I did)

to find life’s ultimate

meaning -- end

pushed past all

warning signs:


“Do Not Enter Here”


…where angels fear to tread”


I stumbled in:


In awe,

in consternation,

in absolute dread,


I saw a blinding light;

heard a heart-rending cry

and now

in my exposed ignorance


all that remains

of earthly comforts



silent tears in the wind.

Why Can We Not See?

“Only the very young see the life ahead and only the very old see the life behind. The others are so busy with life they see nothing.” (Ray Bradbury)


A society plunges itself mindless into a ‘new’ world made possible only through ever-growing dependence upon technology and fails to see itself dying. It hears rumors of terrible times ahead, yet can only think of more esoteric ways to amuse itself. When if feels resource-threatened it lashes out at others who may or may not possess the wherewithal to keep the technology working to feed the insatiable societal maw.


A fake economy comes face to face with its own demise, yet the powers that be will not let it die. Of course not, their own lifestyle, their reason to be, are all wrapped up in this lie. So they ignore a future already mortgaged to the hilt and beyond, and draw more billions from a non-existent supply to uphold the faith. Billionaires collect billions in welfare from would-be elected governments who take real money from the poor, puree that with Monopoly funds, and pay themselves and their billionaire friends and families. The poor continue to play Russian roulette with charge cards, gambling casinos and lottery tickets. Like their leaders they are addicted to their mediocrity and empty lives. Speak to them of ‘meaning’ and they will stare back at you with the vacant eye of the living dead.


On the surface things remain pretty much as they were despite the cankers and the rot in every conceivable group and institution. A deadly cancer is hidden under plastic surgery, makeup and wigs. Do we not have draconian security measures at airports and sports event to prevent assassinations and hostage taking? Do we not have political correctness powerful enough to get a black president in the US White House? Do we not have lists of safety rules about everything long enough to fill encyclopedias? Do we not have experts in every conceivable field of endeavor giving us explanations for everything?


But isn’t crime on the increase? Aren’t epidemics and homelessness? Isn’t there massive unease all over the globe? I can see this, feel it, can’t you? Perhaps not. Perhaps you are not young enough nor old enough. You cannot see ahead and you cannot remember. You are blinded by your faith in your self-centered technology and the gurus that fuel it with their magic numbers. Your good life has lasted more than one generation now so no longer can you comprehend the need for self-discipline, sacrifice and self-improvement. You see your debts mounting but somehow they aren’t yours and if they are, it’s not your fault. When you feel squeezed, you go looking for more fun in entertainment and new toys and when you find that, the problem goes away one more time. Yes, true, it grows, but your pleasure pushes it away. Yes it will come back but you’ll just have to work harder at finding another source of pleasure, a bigger, better toy, a more convincing source of magic denial.


Let’s see. What do we need to be happier, to push the bad-times blues away? In this town? We need a bigger Wal-Mart, for one. And we don’t have a Home Depot yet either. If we had them we’d certainly be happier. Now why don’t we have them? Well, it’s because of those Agricultural Land Reserve laws, that’s why. So now we have something, which means we have someone, to blame for our discomfort. See? It isn’t my fault. And another thing. Why don’t they legalize Marijuana? Now that would make a lot of people really happy. Who cares about debt when you’re stoned all the time?


Ah but that’s the reason they won’t legalize Marijuana. It would compete with the existing drug: Credit. This society is already permanently stoned on credit. That’s why it can’t see itself, and the little it does see, it can’t even begin to understand.


Long ago I chose to become alive amongst the zombies of progress and technology. To do that I had to turn away from certain societal addictions. Credit, of course, was obvious. Gambling another. But mainly it was the Media that I turned against: TV, radio and newspapers, so-called. That was twenty five years ago. You wouldn’t believe what I have seen of this world since I started using my own eyes, ears, smell, touch, taste and of course, mind, instead of having that digitally fed. The freshness of reality is intoxicating. Now there’s a new addiction gaining ground: the Internet. I’m being warned about that one too.


I’m too young and too old to fit in this society so all I can do is observe its death throes. It won’t die overnight. Many won’t notice the tell-tale changes. The main flights of birds few south long ago but no one was watching and there are enough laggards still around to convince the faithful that nothing has happened, nothing is happening and nothing will happen. Techno-faith affirms the infrastructures of the System remain secure and safely functioning. The 2010 Olympics with open on schedule, with the usual fanfare, and that is all the proof anyone should need that God’s in his heaven and all’s well with the world.

Selling Your Character

There was a new girl behind the counter

at the produce market today

and she made a mistake on the change:

my food was five dollars,

I handed her a ten

and she gave me back fifteen in change.


Well, I thought in the moment:

this must be my lucky day,

and walked out smiling

as if I’d won a lottery.


An older woman walking in

noticed my smile and said:

“You look happy!”

Sure, I said, why not?

the new girl at the till

gave me ten extra dollars in change!


Well, the old lady answered,

is that all your character is worth to you?

honesty, integrity, compassion even -

you sold for only ten dollars?

Don’t you think that’s pathetic?

and she left me standing there.

Sensual Passion

I welcome

the sun’s advent

over the mountains:

his hot passion will move me.


I pledge

to give my body

unrestrained pleasure,

under his auspices today!


I intend

to reach a point

of ecstatic freedom

at least by early afternoon!


The point

you may ask?

I seek an abundance

of love I may share with you.



and gently pass

through my space today

before darkness descends once more.

They’re Always Here

No need to run to them or to seek for them

‘cause they’re always here for you – ever faithful.

You don’t see them, of course you don’t

Because all you see is them, there is nothing else

and you’re so used to them, to it all being the same

like the view from your tiny suite’s only window.


Of course they will eat you in the end you suspect

but they don’t mean to be either nasty, hateful or vile

‘cause if they were, you’d shy away from them

certainly you would, you’re no fool. No, not you.

All you want is a good meal, company, some dancing

and dream some dark stranger will take you home.


They take your hand, your arm, whisper in your ear

the secret of life is just around the next corner

and you go with them, talking loudly, laughing

late at night, all you see is bright lights and good times

when they have you in their mind to pleasure you

time pretends to stop here in your funky underground.


The morning tells its own story in a blinding headache

but they’re here too, in the pills, the bottled water.

They’re already talking about tonight on the TV

and though your head is pounding and throbbing

you squint blood-shot eyes, try to hear their message.

Same as yesterday’s of course, but that’s as it should be.


Should I phone in sick? You wonder out loud

and the radio answers for you: come out and play today.

you put on the dress they tailored just for you, and the shoes

and as you sip their coffee you hear the street calling

their Siren song you learned long ago never to resist.

The door slams shut, you turn the key and promise yourself

“Tomorrow definitely, yes, tomorrow will be different.”

The Greatest Silence

When I speak of the greatest silence, I don’t mean that I have not been writing. True, writing does not bring me the pleasure it once did and it is much more of a challenge. Lately I’ve been questioning my purpose in writing some of my thoughts through this medium. I have experienced a growing reticence to share my most recent ‘encounters’ with certain types of awareness not common to this world; with wisdom and insight not readily found here. I suppose that is what happens if one lives in between worlds long enough. You capture ideas from alien thinking patterns and see that such do not, as yet, fit the pattern of your own world. But sometimes you have to share it anyway. If there is ever to be a kind of ‘spiritual’ evolution, how else is it supposed to happen if everyone is as silent as the gods?


On the surface the following will seem to some quite inconsequential. People live their lives, and so it seems do the gods and at this juncture in time, the two appear to have seriously diverged. The peoples’ agenda is increasingly earth-centered and the gods’ agenda, I’d say that is past knowing. Yet I feel it is proper to address the issue of people and their gods, or God, because most people believe in divinities or a divinity in some form or other and also believe that how they approach that can have very serious repercussions on their future so the subject remains apt for the day.


I have been listening to, and intently watching, a series of strange and disturbing dreams and been troubled by what I would call the great silence of God. And why should I care? I care because I was raised in a time, place and social milieu that defined itself by the certainty of God’s omnipresence and like it or not that remains a central part of who I am. I care because belief in such a God remains the norm for a vast majority of Earth’s people. I care because from what I see in my dreams, and what I observe of this world today the only voice remaining to God is religion and that has become a meaningless babble of lying platitudes, misleading interpretations of ancient writings, a tawdry, tiresome and expensive business wisely left to its sad demise in time.


In my youth I learned that God does not speak through religion; that they are in fact bitter enemies. Simple logic states without an iota of doubt that any ‘god’ who stoops to using religion as his voice, is a false god, an idol. Why can I say that? Because no religion has ever, or ever will, expect its adherents to be faithful to the central tenets that once were the foundations of that religion. The other part of the proof is that idols do not speak for themselves, they need ‘priests’ to speak for them, and to interpret them. Real gods speak directly to real people. Those with a modicum of Sunday school know what the Bible itself had to say of any god who spoke through hired guns.


In the beginning of the war with Troy, the great Greek hero Achilles (an unbeliever) deliberately desecrates the Trojan temple to the sun god Apollo. When confronted with his act of vandalism and disrespect for the god, his answer was straightforward: if Apollo takes exception to my acts, let him come forth and confront me with it. To further prove his point, he had the priests of Apollo slaughtered, so only Apollo could now speak for Apollo. And as the story goes, nothing happened to Achilles at that point. And the sun rose in the morning and passed below the horizon at night regardless. The sun shone on Greek and Trojan alike, alive or dead and Apollo said nothing, did nothing.


Of Apollo, the same can be said of the God of the Jews and Christians, Yahweh, or of Allah, or of any other Earthian god. They are conspicuous only by their complete absence and even more so by their great silence. What amazes me the most though is not this divine absenteeism, but the fact that it seems not to bother those who spend time and money supporting the various institutions that claim to speak for these gods. They read questionable translations of ancient manuscripts written by people who obviously had personal, flesh and blood interactions with their gods and never once question why, if the gods could walk and speak with man 2, 3, 6, 10 or more thousands of years ago, they no longer do so. They seem to accept that in a time when divine intervention would be most appropriate; when it seems most needed, they and their leaders are bereft of such input.


But my questions are not, “Where is God? Why doesn’t God speak to men today? Why have believers been given over to the sharks and wolves in sheepskins who pass themselves off as pastors, or priests or imams who are for the most part ignorant, lazy and self-seeking individuals who couldn’t hack it in the real world?”


That’s not my concern. My concern is, what does one individual do, having a rudiment of truth, some wisdom and enough compassion to care about the condition of life on planet earth? Do we need ‘God’ to come to each of us individually and impart basic morality; basic requirements of human to human caring and sharing or giving? Of course not. Everyone knows how to behave towards others; how to treat the poor, the infirm, the weak. Everyone knows the necessity to give of ones surplus to help others. Everyone knows of love. Everyone knows the divine law (now of necessity having become a human law) to love one’s enemy even to the giving up of one’s life for such a character. And everyone not in complete denial knows to do the opposite is to be dead wrong.


That may be the key to understanding the Great Silence. In our beginnings God, the gods, the angels, the messengers, were all over the place, guiding, teaching, explaining, training the Earthians into becoming human. Seems they did what they could, perhaps even all they could. Having given writing to man they left the clues, the hints, of what was expected from ISSA beings. Then we have the examples of those who were truly faithful to the greater law (as we have the history of how our ancestors by and large treated such individuals). Because of such, no one could ever plead ignorance of the ‘law’ as given to us. We know, we just choose not to adhere to it. And why is that?


Well it would seem that in order to gain something, something has to be given up. If we would be avatars, we have to give up our Earthian lusts; our pettiness, our jealousies, greed, need to control and have power over. We need to give up our love of gratuitous violence, or the doing of violence to others for our personal profit or pleasure. We need to give up our innate competitiveness and become compassionate givers instead of selfish takers. And that goes against the system that we (or was it really us?) invented and put over ourselves as the true god of the age, a god that even religions worship-and little wonder for they too are a part of that system.


So in this scenario, my contention is that the great silence of God is a test for humanity as a whole. If it becomes wise and accepts its responsibilities as it was designed to do, it will enter into some kind of ‘golden age’ as promised, an age it will have formed from its own struggles and therefore can never lose. If it remains as selfishly ignorant and crassly stupid as it continually expresses itself this day, then the horror it already senses it has set in motion will descend upon it and crush it out of existence. None of the good things it has ever done will be recorded or remembered because its evil will outweigh all of that. It will be classed as a failed experiment and the slate wiped clean.


These are the thoughts and the dreams that are so difficult to put into words, all the much more difficult to share. Yet there is hope in these thoughts. Earthians do possess the wherewithal to save themselves. They are not doomed. I think the ‘divine spark’ that animates all of us is ultimately good, not evil. We can help ourselves.


To seek to change things because you think something is wrong is to act out of need-to live your life reactively. To seek to change things because you want something different is to act out of desire-to live your life creatively. [Ben Dench on OpEdNews]

Is Reality Real

Is life essentially a matter of faith?

Anyone can believe anything

and it is so, or it is not.

For example: death.

Is death the end of one’s life?

Observation says yes, it is.

And yet, millions claim it is not,

that “life” goes on forever.

Is “death” then simply a change of state?

Transforming, moving,

from one form to another?


We think that at the quanta level

life goes on and on…

but not so: sub atomic particles

appear and disappear,

blinking on and off:

Are they born, then die so quickly?

this engages the question of “reality.”

What is real? What is illusion?

If there is no ending, everything must be “real”

in that it continues…

but since it does not continue as is;

since it must “change state” to carry on

is it still the same life?

And this begs the next question:

of what is this life continuum made?



In rushing footsteps

of chinook winds,

flowers of rain

drape wind-swept cliffs


“When the spirit’s wind calls

no mountain is too high…”

Of Tragedies And Horrors

(And other things making up the good life)


Today (I heard the news) I really must wonder:

are humans utterly devoid of compassion?

Incapable of living in a world without war

and other collective madness?

Without the oppression and killing of innocents -

Of people, wildlife, the environment at every turn?

Without violent dictatorships

disguising themselves as democracies

or worse, business corporations whose only goal

is to make money at any cost – the drive of raw greed?


Humans seem incapable of living in such a world.

For without fascist governments pumping them full of fear;

without the news media reporting and exploiting

every misdeed, every crime, every tragedy and horror

- as just another part of normal life -

people would become unhappy, lose interest in their world

and the good life wouldn’t seem so good

if there was no spice of violence, no tragedies to gawk at

no one worse off than another.


My conclusion has to be that tragedies -

particularly if they happen somewhere else

provide great entertainment;

are wonderful sources of gossip

without which, for most, life is boringly unbearable.

Now, were I a psychologist

and I had to give a report on such a group,

I would call it psychotic.

What Does The Blizzard Teach Those Who Know Him Not?

Yes, it’s only the end of November and we are experiencing a blizzard here, in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia, Canada. It’s an unusual event, especially for this time of year. Following a long, very hot and dry summer makes it even more unusual. Is it just aberrant weather or part of some climactic planetary change? Or is it more?


What can such an event teach, beyond caution when driving?


“Above all else, the Mentat must be a generalist, not a specialist. It is wise to have decisions of great moment monitored by generalists. Experts and specialists lead you quickly into chaos. They are a source of useless nit-picking, the ferocious quibble over a comma. The Mentat-generalist, on the other hand, should bring to decision-making a healthy common sense. He must not cut himself off from the broad sweep of what is happening in his universe. He must remain capable of saying: “There’s no real mystery about this at the moment. This is what we want now. It may prove wrong later, but we’ll correct that when we come to it.


“The Mentat-generalist must understand that anything which we can identify as our universe is merely part of larger phenomena. But the expert looks backward; he looks into the narrow standards of his own specialty. The generalist looks outward; he looks for living principles, knowing full well that such principles change, that they develop. It is to the characteristics of change itself that the Mentat-generalist must look. There can be no permanent catalogue of such change. You must look at it with as few preconceptions as possible, asking yourself: “Now what is this thing doing?”

(The Mentat Handbook – Children of Dune – Frank Herbert)


I look outside and I see snow, quite a bit of snow, in a landscape normally green and wet at this time. That snow indicates a change. How do I “see” that change?


I can follow the weather man and see a slight blip in the normal weather pattern and speculate on tomorrow’s driving conditions.

I can listen to the promoters of “earth changes” and believe I’m in the midst of a shattering climactic “change” caused by cosmic forces.

I can check the fridge to see if there’s enough beer to see me through several sporting events on TV.


If all I give myself is choice between the above, the last one is by far the wisest.


Is there anything else I can derive from this weather?


Yes. I too can ask meaningfully: “What is this thing doing?” and wait for the answers to come tumbling from every possible direction, a veritable storm of revelations from which to see my world in a number of different perspectives.

The gift of change! The gift of life!

How Rich Is Rich Enough

I walk down by the sea

and watch the morning sun rise

over a placid pink mirror of water

before the first breeze of the day.

I sense the powerful interplay

of fire and water upon my eyes:

it’s pleasant enough to contemplate

these arch-rivals creating

such a beautiful canvas

on this summer morning.


If indeed we live in a world

whose soul is duality

does that not create

a “biological imperative”

whereby opposites must continually

assert their opposition?


Does “duality” -

the juxtaposition of opposites -

endlessly create inequality?

Or should it naturally

create equality of opposites?

Or does it make a difference

to the outcome?


What would happen, I wonder,

should these two ever meet and touch?

Ah, but that’s it, isn’t it:

they cannot touch, will not, ever -

and that explains the problems of earth;

of man: of rich and poor and injustice.

For the rich insist on touching the poor,

robbing them of life with every touch;

with exploitation and oppression.


And the poor likewise believe

that only upon touching the rich

can they alleviate their own burden -

so we have revolutions, we have wars.

Is this violence a necessary aspect

of creation’s concept of duality?

Is there a better way?

What Works, What Doesn’t

Earth people have been in painful transition for tens of thousands of years, attempting to come to terms with, and define, concepts that are not a natural part of their evolution. Attempting to integrate alien thoughts unfolding from their mental state.


Basic are what we call “vice” and “virtue” – good and evil as expressed through will and behaviour – volition. There are many spin-offs of these. I want to ask the most important question of all: how do we know if these concepts actually work? How do we know that when we accept their existence and their effectiveness in our lives we aren’t just being tricked by our emotions or wishful thinking? Just being brainwashed by those who rely on our obedience and acquiescence for their power?


Listing three of the most common; the most taken for granted; probably the most talked about: faith, hope, and love. Everybody has heard of those. Probably everybody has claimed to have had experiences with one or all of these. They are considered great concepts, usually linked with the divine in some way. Certainly linked to some of the greatest aspirations of the human collective soul.


Do they work as advertised? The easiest thing to do at this point is to guffaw and say, "Well, of course. " As if they needed proof! Take love now -- no one in any right mind would deny the validity of love, certainly?


I do not possess the human collective soul connection to assure me, with or without evidence, that these concepts work. As one who does not “believe in” anything (or anyone) I don’t get an automatic knee-jerk reaction when these things are spoken of.


I need observable proof.


And I think I’ve found a super-simple way to test these concepts. Imagine that love is water. Without water one gets thirsty, then dies. Unless love isn’t ALL the water, just some aspect of it. In that case I may be able to slake my thirst from a different source of water. All I have to do is find that alternate source.


The point is this: if we want to prove whether a concept is necessary to life and whether it performs as claimed, we must totally eliminate it from our thinking. We must refuse to use it and must search for alternatives. If we find them we must use them exclusively, then compare the results with that of those who use to “common” concept. If I find an alternative to love, after banishing it from my life, I must work with that until I have some concrete evidence that my alternate way either does not work, is as effective, or works better than the banished concept.


Some time ago I banished “love” from my life. I concluded that it did not perform as advertised. I was (predictably!) told not to blame love but (predictably!) the humans for its failure. Well that doesn’t work with me. Example, if Earthian arithmetic says that 2+2=4 and everybody accepts that, then that’s what is. If someone else comes along and says, Oh no, 2+2=8 – even if they could demonstrate it is so, it would change nothing. I would still accept the Earthian belief as my measure – because that is what is accepted and used here. I don’t care if 2+2=4 or 8. I care about the results. I don’t care about proper form, I care about substance.


So no matter what anyone says about love, the only evidence I can accept is how Earthians use it and what results they derive from it. Any other form of “love” is irrelevant.


Unimpressed with the results of Earthian love expression or usage, I went looking for alternatives. They were not difficult to find. Empathy immediately raised its soft young hand and said, "Please take me!" -- and I did. But empathy alone wasn't strong enough to withstand the onslaught of cruelty and degree of uncaring exhibited on this world. I needed something strong, experienced. And bent over tending to the wounds of a homeless person in a back alley I found compassion. I thought to introduce them but empathy and compassion are no strangers to one-another.


Compassionate empathy. Certainly more effective companions than love ever was. For the love Earthians use believes she doesn’t have to really do anything. She just has to look pretty and feel good. If she gets hurt she runs to feel-good therapy sessions or reads through thousands upon thousands of pages of books explaining how she can get herself together again. She also knows she is the favourite of God – and maybe she’s not stretching the point to claim she is God (God is love, after all) and undoubtedly the most popular and sought after concept on the planet. She finds herself invited to participate in almost every human transaction and relationship. When violence is done in her name, well, c’est la vie!


Of course there are types of love that emulate compassionate empathy. Not effectively on this world, but they are talked about, so not unknown. For example, the girl in the old movie “Love Story” says “Love is never having to say you’re sorry.” Not very clear but my interpretation of it (likely not the politically correct one) goes like this: “I love you, therefore you can do no wrong. I have no expectations of you. What I feel towards you is my doing, not yours. Whether you like me or hate me won’t change the fact that I love you. If you ever need my help and I have the means to do it, I will. So you see, you never have to say you’re sorry if you think you hurt me: you cannot. The love I bear towards you is dependent only on me.”


Some would immediately label that “unconditional love” – but that’s a redundancy. What is love if not unconditional? Ah, yes, love as practiced by Earthians!


As for “faith” and “hope” I banished them long ago. I haven’t found any alternatives yet and I don’t miss either of them at all. So maybe they are just window dressing; wall flowers… or part of the great brainwash.


He paces a darkened world

walking his familiar path

along a small river

bordered by silvery woods.


His canopy of bowing branches

no longer spring with life:

in his gray silence

he cannot hear

fading, gently falling,

colours of Autumn.


Tossed by a sudden gale,

a bird of passage drifts off course

and lands on a branch

just above his darkened world.


As it sings its last song

before resuming its flight

the walls of darkness lighten

and for the briefest of moments

the man imagines

the sun rising, delicately

brushing the sparkling dew

on yellow irises.

Divine Beauty

Goddess of divine beauty,

your aura shines as the sun

though clouds abound;

I embrace the rush of energy

streaming from your body;

and as we touch,

the clouds scatter

rays of golden light

create a million rainbows

arched gracefully over

this secluded lake.


As we reach the point

of ecstasy,

we discover hidden knowledge

and open another doorway

into a new dimension,

a new world yet unseen

by the human eye.

Life In Life

Why is it so difficult to find life in life?

Why do we ponder, question, despair,

die young -

or live as zombies in the madness

of the commercial maze?


Perhaps it’s our focus,

too narrow, too restrictive;

too many attachments to “what is”

to drag us down into the grave -

(not always feet first!)


Do we

hold a belief system?

keep a family tradition?

hoard money?

worship a saviour God?

attend church?

vote and hope?

buy insurance?

seek protection?

push for education?

own a house?


…and do we enslave ourselves

to all the trimmings

that go with all the above?


These are attachments,

not needs -

not a one of them!

The “system” creates the desire,

and funds the belief in the need.


No freedom is ever found

where there is need.

Freedom is found only

through detachment!

Power, Meaning Or Both?

“Some people seek power because they know life is short. Some seek meaning. But the world is the same for both, and makes no effort to accommodate either.” (The Magi’i of Cyador – L. E. Modesitt, jr.)


An interesting observation. And so true for many. Always thinking it has to be one or the other. (And that it must come from someone/something/somewhere else!) But what about having power and finding meaning through it? Means to an end, rather than an end in itself? For power without meaning is ignorance and meaning without power is useless.


So difficult it is to to look beyond the obvious and reason for ourselves the “why’s and the wherefores” of life. Yet it is only that which is reasoned by oneself, for oneself, that has any meaning. We may spend a lifetime studying, maybe even attempting to apply, the reasoning of others, be they religious types, powerful political figures, philosophers, scientists or engineers and be no closer to the answer, “Who am I?”


Oh yes, I may be able to emulate my teachers, or even rise above their abilities. But that does not make me a powerful individual -- just a dangerous slave. For anyone who cannot answer the basic existential question, "Who am I?" fully remains a slave - to something or someone. An ambiguous personality cannot function on its own and remains dependent.


Many are those who seek power but their seeking is dependent on existing (obvious) power patterns. They are, first, students of the System, then its servants. As they rise through the ranks, they gain power but their power is limited by the percentage of their energy they must give to those above.


And many are the ones who seek meaning, hoping thereby to answer the question. But they may as well be seeking their answers in the entrails of a chicken, or in prayers to unseen deities. As long as they look within the offerings of this world, they will only find that which the System allows, no matter how they twist the evidence around to justify their lack.


This brings me once more to consider self-empowerment. Walking one’s own path, one never walked before and “coded” so no one can follow in it. And why would I not want anyone to follow in my footsteps, if I think I’ve got something good? That’s easy to answer: the self-empowered do not need leaders nor followers. For such are always a limitation on one’s desires. Let others notice that I seem to carry some power they would like to have. Then let them realize from that example that they too can find their personal freedom in their own way.


The only way I know of to shake the deadly limitations imposed by the System is to be self-empowered. To go through life using methods the System knows nothing about, or cannot use without destroying itself. The first serious step outside the well-worm paths is to find something that cannot be bought, sold, faked or limited.


To my way of thinking, that’s compassion. Compassion is the hallmark of the free individual, the self-empowered who has managed to find life’s meaning and can live that meaning with power; a power that takes nothing from others, expects nothing and cannot be curtailed by any aspect of the System.

I Dream Of Tara

Dark clouds roll in from the West

marking a change in the weather;

warmer air heralding Spring.


This is the time

for the return of Tara!

She will ride her dark stallion

from a far away land

beyond the distant horizon:

will she stop for me this season?


I remember the times we shared

which passed as love to me,

But what were they to her?

Spring and Summer

she laughingly shared with me

as she did with others…


She left in the Autumn,

springing away lightly

over wildly tossing waves

on her shoreless ocean:

left me yearning for her touch

as Winter cast her frigid spell,

in the wake of her leaving…


I wonder:

does a flower dream of the sun

touching its petals

long before the dawn arrives

as I dream of Tara’s return?

Sparrow Song

A song sparrow on a near-by branch,

instantly fills my heart with joy

with her free, full-throated song.

The bird flies from branch to branch

as if indicating I should follow along;

as if to show me something special.


In hesitant steps I follow the notes

wondering what I could possibly find:

something really beautiful?

Something really meaningful?

I come upon an open field,

my expectations dashed,

as I look over a barren terrain.


Why has it lead me to this empty place?

and a gust of wind whispers:

“Don’t look at what you see,

look at what you want to see!”


I close my eyes and for a moment

I see a scattering of mountain hemlock,

of alpine fir and abundant wild flowers;

butterflies and bees sharing pollen;

a gurgling crystal stream over polished stones;

an eagle flying in a transparent sky:

when I open my eyes

the Spring maiden takes my hand

and she leads me on beyond the Earth…

beyond her sparrow song…

A Piebald Deer Crossed The Road

A piebald deer, white-tailed, crossed the highway

just in front of my truck (today).

It attracts deer, this vehicle:

already had the front end rebuilt

from previous David and Goliath encounter.

David won that tournament (so I was told)

but the tale ends badly for him

‘cause he died by the side of the road

and Goliath after some serious reworking

of cheap shiny made in China armor

lived on to posture another day.


I know the tale of the Valley of Elah*

(though I wasn’t the driver when that happened)

I slowed right down anticipating

an attack whether by sling, hoof or horn.


Two brown deer, as normal as can be, casually crossed

that wet country road and went on their way

through a smelly rain-soaked field of rotting cabbage:

that’s that, I thought

when a strange-looking creature

bounced in front of my vehicle

wagging oversized ears and snorting:

it was indeed a piebald deer.

It looked strange, most unacceptable.


That’s the way it is, isn’t it, with perception:

what is familiar we easily accept

but at the unfamiliar, the mind balks

making acceptance difficult in all things

for we are by nature suspicious and superstitious.


So I checked and yes, they do exist,

not just as some figment, the piebalds,

deer and / or otherwise designed

by whomever or whatever, some designate

as Creator. It has a sense of humor,

I’ll grant it that.


*ref: Valley of Elah – First Samuel, Chap. 17 (the Bible)

Another Gift of the Magi

Ariana and Sylvia were twins and they were inseparable. They did most things together and were seldom found far from each other. Even as they grew older, they shared their times and even their friends. When their parents divorced, they were ten years old. In their innocent wisdom, they decided to “share” themselves between the parents. Sylvia went with her dad and Ariana remained with her mother. So every time the girls wanted to be together one parent or the other had to bring her over. Thus, over a period of time, and even after they were re-married, the parents developed a deep friendship as they watched their children playing or talking together.


After their parents separated, both girls, raised nominally Catholic, began to consider their faith and returned to the Church, attending and helping organize various functions. They shared the same intense belief in what the Church stood for.


Both grew into beautiful young women and over-achievers. They were heading to college when Ariana told her sister that she had decided to enter the convent and become a nun.


“I want to try on Mother Teresa’s shoes Sylvia, see how they fit and how long I can walk in them before they kill me!” Mother Teresa had been their childhood heroine.


Being Catholic, entering the convent was not an issue. Men and women were both desperately needed by the Church. Sylvia cried when her sister put on the veil and became Sister Celeste. She accepted her sister’s choice as they had always accepted each other’s choices. Sylvia went to college then on to university intent on getting a medical degree.


After a few years Ariana, now Sister Celeste, confided her passion to Sylvia as they spent a Christmas day afternoon together.


“I want to open a hospice for the homeless downtown. It’s my dream, Syl. It’s my passion, my inspiration.”


“And how does your Order and the Church feel about that?”


“If I can get private funding to open it and keep it going and convince at least four other sisters to join me, they’ll bless it. Problem is, I don’t have any contacts I could use to raise the money.”


“How much money do you need to start?”


“I need at least one hundred thousand dollars to open. I’ve got a tentative tender on a lease already. After that, I don’t know.”


Sylvia took her sister’s hands in hers and looking into her eyes, said: “Has God ever failed either of us, sister?”


“No, never.” she replied, smiling.


“Then go ahead. Do this and you will get the money… I promise!”


They talked some more. That day they swore an oath to each other, that no matter what the circumstances, no matter the distance, they would always spend Christmas day together.


Silvia sold her new car. She broke her engagement and when he told her to keep the ring, she sold that. She maxed her student loans and canvassed the campus and all her well-heeled friends. A few weeks later, near the end of January, Sister Celeste received a call from the bank where she had opened her “hope account” for the hospice. There was a one hundred thousand dollar anonymous donation in the account.


Ariana opened her hospice and from the very start it was a success. A brilliant manager and tireless, she drove her staff and herself to meet the needs of the homeless. Abandoned children were found temporary homes; pregnant girls were sheltered and placed here and there. The sick and the dying found a place of refuge there -- a warm place, not an institution. She was often heard saying, "Unfortunately, our business is probably the busiest in town. We'll never go broke from lack of customers."


The anonymous donations kept coming, always enough to meet the rent and the basic needs. But where was Sylvia? After she collected the original amount, she quit university and hired herself out as a model and a call girl. It was the only way she could see to raise money in sufficient amounts, consistently and quickly enough to meet her sister’s obligations. Her sociable ways, confidence, beauty and intelligence soon made her the number one choice companion in the underworld.


She changed her identity and had a false address. She took the name Folie Delacroix. She had one rule only: no entertaining in her place. She rented a run-down basement suite in the old part of town, among the poorer segments of society. Some she even directed to her sister’s hospice. Every dollar she made not needed for immediate personal necessities she put in her sister’s “Hope Fund” as they now called it.


Every Christmas, as they had promised each other, Sylvia came to visit her sister. When pressed about her doings in the world, she remained evasive, explaining that getting her degree had been put on hold due to more immediate commitments. She spoke of trips to Europe as assistant secretary to the CEO of some software company. She made up stories of exciting times on the Riviera and other places. At the end of their yearly visit, they would hold each other and say nothing. Moments that brought back so many happy times for Sylvia and gave so much hope to Ariana.


The anonymous donor was faithful. The money was always there, sometimes more than expected. Then on the tenth anniversary of their vow, as they met for another Christmas, Ariana noticed her sister looked pale and thin. The luster in her eyes was dulled.


“Syl, what’s wrong?” Sylvia shrugged.


“Don’t do that. I’m a trained nurse and I handle sick people everyday. What’s with you?”

Sylvia began to cry… “I’m sick, Ari. I’m… I’m dying. I’m being punished.”


“What for? What have you done?”

Sylvia sat crying for a long time without saying a word. Ariana waited, holding her, sensing her fear and confusion. Finally, Sylvia unburdened herself and told the story of the last ten years.


Ariana was shocked. She kept staring at her sick sister and finally exploded:


"You foolish, foolish woman. What have you done? Why? You gave away everything you had, everything you were, including your reputation, to give me this hospice? You sacrificed all that meant anything to you so I could have what I wanted? You gave away your life for me. Syl... I never knew until now what love is. You... you did this -- for me, so I could fulfill my dream...


She stopped. Sylvia continued to sob, their tears mixing as they held and kissed each other.


Ariana gave way to Sister Celeste. She held the other woman's hand and said: "Listen to me very, very carefully, Folie Delacroix. Few people could do what you have done. Even fewer ever do it. Let me never hear you speak of punishment. What awaits you, sister, is not terror but joy. You have demonstrated once again that love given freely, unconditionally, to another -- which is the same as saying "to God" is the greatest gift of all -- the gift of the Magi."


Ariana takes over again: “You will remain here. I will look after you from now on. No more work. Please say yes, please!”


Sylvia protests: “But how will you meet your expenses if the money stops?”


“Remember what you said to me once? ‘Has God ever failed either of us sister?’ It won’t stop. For some time now, the overall donations have exceeded those of the one we called “God’s Agent”. The Church has, shall we say, adopted this hospice and it will be regularly funded. You have done your part, now let me do mine and let us do ours.”


Too weak to protest and fully aware that life as Folie was over, Sylvia stayed at the hospice. She did not get better but while she could still work, she helped with the chores and her singing voice often echoed in the rooms where she worked.


Near the end of that year her body finally gave out and she remained in bed. Ariana spent as much time as she could spare comforting her and listening to some of her experiences in the underworld of high class prostitution. Sometimes they would both burst out laughing, followed by terrible coughing fits for Sylvia. Surprisingly also, during that year some of her clients traced her to the hospice and she was allowed to receive them. There were strange tearful reunions and many a new anonymous donation appeared in the “Hope Fund”.


The week before Christmas was the hardest. Sylvia labored for breath and could not eat. Fed intravenously, she was slipping fast. Christmas Eve came and she couldn’t hold any longer. Ariana came in and saw that the battle was over. She reached down and held the frail, wasted body of her sister and said:


“Remember our vow – no matter what the circumstances, we would always spend Christmas day together? You have to hold on tonight. You have to celebrate the birth of our Lord with me tomorrow. You can’t break your vow. You can’t!”


Sylvia understood. She held on and passed away in the evening of December 25. Ariana looked out the window into the city night. Snow had fallen all day and everything was covered in white. Street lights reflected their light upon store fronts decorated with various aspects of the Christmas the world has come to accept as normal. And for a brief moment the city was not ugly. It had put on a white mantle for the passage of Sylvia’s soul. Above the city, between high-rise escarpments, Ariana saw a couple of stars. She cried.


A year went by. Things returned to normal madness in the hospice. Sister Celeste drove herself even more now, but learned to ease up on the younger nuns and things ran smoothly. On Christmas Eve she found herself alone in her small office. She had chosen to take the night shift. Most of her staff were sent home to their families for Midnight Mass and Christmas day. She pulled out her rosary, thought of Mother Teresa doing the same thing and smiled.


She thought of Sylvia and tried to imagine the kind of life she was now having. Pangs of sorrow, regret and emptiness hit her. Had her foolish dream, however well it had turned out, been the cause of her sister’s death? She shook her head as she prayed through the rosary. “I cannot entertain such thoughts. It is wrong. Sylvia and I were one and she did what she chose to do, not just for me, but for the people here, for the city, for the world. We both found what we wanted most.”


The front door buzzer brought her out of her meditation. She checked the monitor. Two men, unshaven, obviously hungry and cold, stood at the door. Compassion moved her heart as she looked at them and in violation of an unbreakable rule she had made, against all common sense, got up and went to open the door. She invited the men inside and as she turned to lead them to the cafeteria, they grabbed her, threw her to the floor and raped her at knife point. Then the one with the knife leered at her and plunged the knife in her heart several times.


As Ariana lay dying, she cried in a loud voice, “You are forgiven!” then quietly, “As promised, I’ll be with you for Christmas, Sylvia.”

What Is A Soul

Much is said about the soul:

who really knows what that is?

Is it a part of us that is eternal

leaving the body at death

to go wherever

according to beliefs, hopes and fears?


Why do we say, I have a soul?

Why not, I am a soul?

A good question could be,

Why do I need a soul?

Another good question would be,

Does this soul possess me?


Perhaps the soul is very real,

something given at birth

or at conception?

But is it a gift or a curse? An implant?

Something that tracks our path in life,

that records every thought, every move,

something subject to recall

when our time is up?


Who then, would be the owner

of this ubiquitous soul?

Some controlling divinity

with nothing better to do

than count the hair on your head?

The God of bean counters?


If we possess such a thing

or are possessed by such—

a much more likely scenario,

perhaps it is time, high time

to just hand it back to the owner:

thanks just the same,

but no thanks. I’ll go it alone now.


You believe in love,

because you encountered hate;

you believe in joy

because your heart was broken;

you are filled with inspiration,

because your mind was stagnant;

you believe in life

because your best friend died…


The heavens cry,

their tears cover the lifeless ground,

but lo! seedlings sprout and flowers bloom:

all come alive again!

you can’t just stand placidly:

life is experience,

darkness and light mix

in perpetual harmony;

you taught yourself to dance,

gave yourself awareness,

flowed gracefully through the steps:

life’s dance

in light and in shadow.


“Joy is understanding.”

Dreams And Lessons Of Surpassing Greatness

The path to higher understanding cannot be easy. If it seems easy, either you are very keen and intelligent and understand all the ramifications, or it’s a false path. I think it is likely to be the latter, as I’ve noticed in much ‘new agey’ offerings and of course, in the failing teachings of Religion.


If one is intent on evolving, thoughts will coalesce around purpose and that purpose will be quite simply to become a better person; to be (as in deliberate choice) a ‘nice’ person. What does it mean to be nice? What does it mean to be good? When a Teacher was asked, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” the Teacher replied, ‘Why do you call me good?’


In last night’s dream I was exposed to how life ‘works’ in the simplest of examples. Something we all face everyday. I had my car in the garage to be checked over and the manager explains that all is fine except my brakes need replacing, not critically but the pads are worn to where they must be replaced. They have an opening for Friday. But that does not suit me as Friday is the day I’ve set aside for myself, to go kayaking, and I need the car to haul the boat to the River. I suggest Thursday instead but they are booked for that time. Saturday is no good either because I have to drive to the City. I suggest that maybe one of the mechanics could come with me to the River Friday morning to drop me off with the kayak, drive the car back, repair it and return to pick me up later. No good. He points out that his men are all very busy and they don’t have time for that. I say, I’ll pay you for your time but that is not good either: I need my men in the shop to do their work, not driving around. Also he explains they may need more parts and cannot guarantee to get the car on the road that same day. How will they pick me up and the kayak then? Makes complete sense. But that is not what the Teachers wanted me to see in this exchange.


Here’s the ‘lesson’ if we want to call it that.


In lesser evolved societies that have just crawled out of the trees, so to speak, and become aware of a higher understanding beyond the predator-prey concept, beyond the fight or flight reaction, beyond the hunter-gatherer stage where nature maintains an unremitting and harsh balance of population to resource to an inkling of ‘moral conduct’ and of right-wrong behavior, there is a constant tug-of-war between the spirit/mind awareness and the body/brain survival and pleasure instinct.


The old way was simple: take or die. Now you must choose to take to survive, but also you realize that in taking you often kill something/someone else who may have an equal right to life as you. Terrible conundrum to be faced with. Society, or as I call it, the System, does its manifold best to hide these questions from the rank and file awakening Earthian. While the System needs your awareness beyond animal status because it feeds on your unleashed lusts for ‘more’ of what feels good, it does not want you to evolve enough to question your ‘divine right’ to take whatever you want as long as you have the money or the power to take it. It manages your understanding so you will not fall back into animal thinking (from which it does not benefit) or move up and beyond your feeling and emotion driven sense of need. So you find yourself in between worlds, being dummied up and down at the same time, between the proverbial rock and hard place.


What the dream so clearly showed me is that most of our individual thinking process is about ‘me’ and seldom about what is right and proper for ‘you’. I am not trained to see how my desires, or perceived needs, affect you as another individual sharing life with me. In my understanding what I want is more important than what you want. As simple predators that is obvious. If I don’t kill you to eat you, you will kill me to eat me. No real choice, so ‘choice’ is not an issue. But when conscience awakens that becomes somewhat of a problem. Now I need to justify killing you, especially when I can reason the killing is not necessary to simple survival, but becomes a source of lustful pleasure. (Note that when I use the term ‘killing’ I do not necessarily imply physical death. There are countless ways whereby we kill others for profit and pleasure. We don’t have to do it with our bare hands, and we don’t have to end another’s physical life. We do it by ignorance, by association and by degrees when our lavish lifestyles guarantee a debilitating quality of life for millions of others and we don’t care.)


As was shown to me after I engaged the interpretation of the dream, my first thought should have been how my needs affected all those others around me, and how could I help and facilitate their lives as they became involved with mine. Instead of seeing only my personal obstacles and trying to overcome them by ‘bullying’ my way through them I should have effaced myself from the picture and just observed as others fitted the pieces together so their time and business were not negatively impacted by my interaction. My thoughts should have been, how can I use this situation to make their lives better, lighter, happier? How can I serve those who are about to find a way to serve me? How can I use this situation to give rather than take?


On higher evolved planes it is naturally understood that life is a process of giving. Once we are no longer ‘suckling infants’ at mother nature’s breast we become the helpful siblings. We must take responsibility along with the Parent and learn to do our part so the younger ones will survive and thrive. Higher evolved entities know this and spend their ‘time’ looking for ways to make life better, more viable, for others. This is not onerous to them, quite the opposite. Living as an average Earthian does, in anger, in fear, in knee-jerk reaction to any and every change; in refusing to accept the inevitable and in insisting on rights would be to them a terrible punishment. They know because many of them return to their nursery worlds to refresh their memories and discover ways whereby they can help the struggling evolving intelligences and perhaps ‘save’ them from self-destruction. These are the Teachers, the Healers, the Avatars. Some make the headlines, most are hardly noticed in the general chaos and turmoil of these developing worlds with uncertain future.


If Earthians think it wise or logical to evolve beyond the current madness they have created then they must change how they view life and their role in it. They must learn (at great personal cost indeed) that the higher life demands sacrifice. Not in mindless victimization or by becoming slaves of the powerful, that only exacerbates the problems (and that is what is going on already anyway), but as self-empowered servants of all. As personal choice. As a sense of purpose. As a realization that self-sacrifice remains the one thing that spells hope and has not been tried, not in the way the Teachers present it here.


One of our Teachers said, ‘It is in giving that we receive.’ But how would we know this at our level of thinking? So we must evolve our thinking, beyond the programming of the Powers who say, “Believe in Me and you will have eternal life” or “Seek me and you will be rich” or “Support me and I will make your nation all-powerful on this world.” Everyone of those ‘offers’ is a lie, however colorfully and loudly proclaimed. History proves it beyond a shadow of doubt.


So? Do we desire the higher, wind-swept, snow-sprinkled path in the high mountains, the ‘walk between the worlds’?


“We are all longing to go home to some place we have never been-a place half-remembered and half-envisioned we can only catch glimpses of from time to time. Community. Somewhere, there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having our words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power.


Community means strength that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Someplace where we can be free.” [Starhawk]

Thou Shalt Not Kill

As I walk by the restless sea,

I thought I heard God whisper:


“I now realize my command

“Thou shalt not kill”

has never worked.

I want to take responsibility

for setting a bad example,

it has been such a long time;

so long… I’ve wanted to tell someone,

and apologize for saying one thing

while doing the other.


Know that my view about “good”

is forever changed;

I know what some people say about me

and so much is no longer valid or true:

I’m not perfect, all statements to the contrary --

I’ve made mistakes, big mistakes

and it’s payback time now, I realize.


Don’t think it’s an easy thing

for a God, a creator, to admit

I made mistakes with all of you

(even if those are in the distant past)

it takes a lot of courage to admit these things.”


I sit upon a smooth stone

and watch wave upon wave

roll upon the rocky shore

and in contemplating what I just heard

I watch Jesus – God in the flesh -

being crucified once more

not for the salvation of humanity

but for God’s redemption;

a payment for the debt of blood

owed earth by Elohim.

The Birth Of New Love

By the sandy shores of a quiet river,

deep in Eden’s purple mountains

the morning sun

touches the tops of alders and maple.

Nature’s full glory

awakens from a fading indigo

and in hushed stillness

the fragrance of spring

fills the air.


the history of innocence

repeats itself:

he encounters

the long awaited presence of Tara,

the One who awakens from within,

as a brilliant light of new love.


From God’s own hands

emerges the Goddess woman;

the new Presence

which sees but perfection

in all things.

In his heart

he becomes aware of her

and rejoices in his feelings.


Arising from the depth

of an endless ocean

a sun rise sends forth

new morning sounds:


of a wave

slowly ebbing

gently combing

a sandy shore;


of wind awakening

the morning mist,

blowing gently

along the strand;


of a bird calling

the change of season,

from winter’s passing,

to spring’s rebirth.


“nature’s sounds amaze the listener”

The Shadow

When light shines

upon a solid object,

a shadow results;

a lone tree

on a country road

provides shade

from the noon-day sun.


What were the creators

- was that you and me -

thinking of then

when they invented

the shadow?


Ahhh, but perhaps

they were thinking

that some day

they could be walking

a dry and dusty road

in bright sunshine

and the shade

of a weeping willow

or perhaps an oak

would be welcome.


Could it be that in life

things happen

for simple reasons?


We lean

to the complex;

believing the complicated,

seeking explanations

for that which is

self explanatory.

This does not result

in knowledge

but in self-delusion.

Patterns and Freedom

We talk of chaos and order and we talk of freedom. What do these have in common? Patterns, or lack thereof. To try to understand the process of life—that should be a primary concern of all evolved consciousness—we must stand still and ‘feel’ it move around us and within us. Life is movement. It flows through everything… or everything flows through it.


When we do stand still (I mean in the mind, not physically) what do we observe? Do we not see patterns in the chaos? Our own little orbits as we exist, or pass through, the greater movements, are these not made up of patterns? What do we call that which does not fit our patterns? If it’s good, we call it ‘being lucky’ and if it’s bad, we call that accidents. Depending on the severity of these chaotic events, we create new patterns from them. If we win a lottery our life changes: we make new friends (hah!) and possibly move to a more exotic location. We express our life on a broader canvas. If we lose our legs in an accident, or suffer a brain damaging stroke, we learn new ways to express our patterns, to cope, and our orbit grows smaller, tighter.


Without patterns life disintegrates into chaos and that brings everything down with itself. Note for example the downfall of this society as it plummets from the controlled, quasi-anal, patterns of the Fifties to today’s mindless, undisciplined chaos of slovenliness, foul-mouthed expressions, blatant law-breaking with little consequence to the perpetrator, increasing violence increasingly acceptable, planned obsolescence, educated ignorance, laziness, gratuitous noise that pretends to pass itself off as music, lack of respect for private property, gross misbehavior on the part of so-called leaders, greed and gluttony the likes this world has never experienced, mindless rituals of religions designed not to curb sin but to exonerate it (which accounts for the dichotomy of religious organizations growing in numbers to the degree they become utterly irrelevant to the day-to-day behavior of their adherents).


It seems to me that patterns are necessary to life if it is to evolve; that without patterns it disintegrates until a new set of patterns is formed to carry a new base for the jig-saw puzzle. A major problem is that patterns must, of necessity, confront and control freedom. Which means that in creation (well, that’s what I call it and does it matter if it’s some other kind of ‘spontaneous’ expression?) there can be no real freedom, only aspects of it. In our patterns we sense a need for freedom; we long for it; seek it in rebellion, in the breaking of patterns and when we do find it, it’s chaos once more, until we re-establish patterns. It has been said that every revolution contains within itself the seeds of its own destruction. What is a ‘revolution’ but a breaking of patterns? And why do they fail? Because they can only re-establish patterns, not create a new working concept. A true break with the patterned past would mean destruction and annihilation of everything we are familiar with. It’s as simple as that.


Ancient teachers spoke of achieving balance between chaos and order. In such a gigantic see-saw struggle between the forces of ‘creation’ (of patterned order) and the forces of destruction (of disorder and death) how can one individual achieve a healthy, comfortable sense of equilibrium, of peace, of harmony in equanimity—and note the importance of this next part—without giving up or running away from reality by hiding behind secure compounds or in the Never-Never land of TV sitcoms, in the programmed violence of organized sports, in closed groups of family and friends excluding the strange, the painful, the uncomfortable, the threatening? Caught between the struggles of these two giants, what do we do? What can we do?


One, we can rely on old patterns. We can cling to old ways and carry on as if there was no war going on—the conundrum explored in the movie “Pleasantville”. We can seek to make our personal life as safe and comfortable as possible; we can rush out to suck as much out of society as it will let us take and damn the consequences for tomorrow we die in any case. Or we can become addicted to the fantasy world of documentaries or pseudo-documentaries, join groups of conspiracy theorists and meaninglessly gloat over the downfall of the rich and mighty. In other words we can turn from worshipping ‘God’ which represents order and worship chaos instead. Another addiction. Another blind alley.


Heaven takes sides. Nirvana exists only in wishful thinking. As below, so above. There is no place that guarantees peace and freedom. Yet it is possible, even here, even now, to experience a kind of peace, a kind of freedom, that is real. It doesn’t come from security forces nor from the legal right to do whatever one wants. It comes from understanding life’s purpose and realizing that each one of us is ‘life’ and has that same purpose. In these worlds, at our level of spiritual/mental development and understanding we should be able to ‘see’ that life is all about giving. Life gives. Giving means emptying. You cannot fill a glass that is already full. It must first be emptied. If we are to become comfortable with the concept of living, that is giving, we must learn how to empty ourselves. The wonder of life is that it only needs emptying, never filling! The filling is what ‘spirit’ does. Or, if that is an uncomfortable term, use the word ‘source’ instead.


Life discovered itself by emptying itself, thus creating a flow, from emptying to filling to emptying to filling. If we busy ourselves in the process of emptying we won’t have time to worry about stuff. We will find that detachment becomes not only easy, but absolutely necessary. And what happens in detachment? We become self-empowered. What happens when we are self-empowered? We cease to take sides out of fear or for personal gain; to struggle; to worry: we become selfless. What else happens in the emptying process? We discover the power of compassion.


Once we arrive at this stage of understanding and we function thus, we see the patterns of order in the chaos as part of the fabric. We observe the changes, whichever way they take us but we no longer fear them nor try to impede them. That is not what self-empowerment is about. Seen this way, spiritual evolution becomes a very simple process, a very desirable process. But is this what we want?

Dance On The Horizon (The Storm)

Eagles soar through darkened skies

defying jagged mountain cliffs:

gracefully, flawlessly ascending

on nature’s endless symphony.


Of summer winds breathing gently

through leaves’ rustling harmony;

of the thrush’s flute echoing

its rolling notes through hushed woodlands


Of the sun’s sizzling evening dance

upon scarlet ocean waves

softy rolling upon timeless shores;

of unseen fingers, gently moving

upon a fairy mandolin;


Of mighty flowing rivers

descending from raging mountain storms,

covering meadows and heaths:

of such is the great overture composed

releasing the beat of nature’s mighty drum

shaking the mountains’ quiet haven.


Now comes the moment of release

inspired by nature’s symphony:

gracefully riding on rising winds

I touch the crimson evening sky

and beneath my wings

my tears of joy become

a gently falling summer rain…


Like The Chanook Wind

These books contain a form of free verse poetry, essays, short stories, thoughts, opinions based on observation, and some humour and imagination, engaging the heart as well as the mind. A critical look at many current issues intriguing and plaguing man. Spirituality, interaction with nature and environment, social changes, dwindling resources. Well worn issues now, indeed. But the poetry and other works in these books gives this subject a different perspective. I daresay that here we can find a "higher" vantage point from which to look at ourselves within the cosmos.

  • ISBN: 9781370782260
  • Author: Sha'Ra On WindWalker
  • Published: 2016-11-05 21:35:26
  • Words: 12639
Like The Chanook Wind Like The Chanook Wind