* awareness (in/finite) *

heavy clouds roll across blue mountain tops

internal conflict of the human mind

wind whispers through resin flaked branches

piercing insight into my own weakness

staccato rhythm of rain on cemetery grass

anger builds gradually, exploding outward

the valley below, a scene of unspeakable beauty

feeling the emptiness of the miles between us

the play of shadow and light across pale earth

having lunch with jesus carrying the cross

luminous green of sun infused catalpa leaves

coasting downhill on an empty tank

a shaft of moonlight slicing down the wall

the presence in absence of your body

vibration of earth through stone floor night

the sad refrain of a guitar in an empty room

gutted mesas slowly tumble to ground below

stars flicker high above in the night sky

everything and no thing all at the same time

the sticky sweetness of purple sage in your hand

deities staring impassively at time's procession

lying in the dark on a bed of raw cotton

the faraway glow of a distant city beckons

a dim and constant fire burning deep inside

an elusive place where no cliche exists

inked skin peering out from soft hidden folds

a dark quietness of ancient depth and splendor

Acrostic

Alternative forms of dopamine
Beautiful yet weary
Connective tissue connecting
Dreams of flying
Entire nations swallowed, the
Fullness of time
Google maps lie, an
Hopeful rebirth
Illusionistic time
Justice with mercy, a
Kiss for luck
Losing track of things
Mysterious ingredients
None of the above
Oil and water mix
Potty training progresses
Quixotic endeavors ever
Reigniting the spark
Scenarios, both real and imagined
True, sort of
Under the water
Violent equilibrium ensues
Where to begin
Xeriscaping the future
Young teaches old
Zen unfolding

entering the stream (sotapanna)

at the edge of a dark stream, further out others flow by.
wading in, you take a last glance back as she fades.
a moment's hesitation, then you step into the swift water,
thinking "i trust".

over the edge now, into vast darkness you fall,
liberated from fear and in peace,
knowing that you will be torn to pieces
when you hit bottom.

and yet, when you land, on the rocks below,
it is on your feet, in a soft cascade of water.

----------

en el borde de una corriente oscura, en la distancia flotan.
usted mira atrás ella y ella se va.
un momento de vacilación, entonces usted camina en el agua rápida.
usted piensa el "confío".

ahora sobre el borde del agua, en la oscuridad grande usted caer.
libera de miedo en la paz,
usted sabe que usted no será no más,

pero cuando usted caerse en las piedras,
está en sus pies en una cascada suave del agua.

tierra encanta

none own this palace,
they that walk upon.
made to eat the dust,
then to return.
blessed rolling waves
of yellowed earth,
breaks on this heart
and then dispersed.

******

ningunos poseen este palacio,
ellas que caminar sobre.
hecho para comer el polvo,
entonces para volver.
ondas bendecidas
de la tierra amarilla,
rotura en mi corazón
entonces se dispersan.

red sky at night

walking in, cold and benighted
alone this room, so well appointed
voices outside, a reverie them
the night is young, thrown to the wind

here the air still, and so am i
each heartbeat lived, a life goes by
incense, insulation, breeds some isolation
feeling desolation, end in capitulation

where and when and how to here
how to this place, and where from here
they like it here, so why can't i
be light of soul and feel this red sky

and where to next, the choices through
for time and time and time from you
so here so i, myself can't leave
never an end to this, not me

Approaching Storm

Riding across the plains, empty of all but desert scrub and dirt, the miles dissolving on the asphalt beneath. Far away on your horizon to the right, you see a thunderhead looming like an anvil into the sky. A few minutes later, still miles ahead and 20 degrees off center, a wall of water falls from the sky.

Nearer now, the wind picks up and starts to whip you around on the road. The deluge stays to your right, but nears with every mile that passes. Dust kicks up now from the fields and slaps across the road in front of you. Lightning arcs through the darkening sky ahead, the air heavy and pungent. A dust cloud rises just ahead, a terracotta funnel that blows by a quarter mile to your right.

You feel tension rising, the inevitability of this moment unfolding before your eyes. A raindrop now, then two on your windscreen, and you tense up heading into the looming storm. Dark clouds drop and roil overhead, and the rain comes down in sheets. There is nowhere to pull over, no shelter: nothing but flat earth and ditches rapidly filling with flood water. The wind, in full storm gusts, blasts in your face, and though full throttle, your bike feels as though at standstill to the road ahead.

And now the hail, marble-sized pellets crashing into your helmet, your chest, your hands. Stinging and ricochets scattered like manna across the drenched highway. The thought occurs that maybe you won't make it through this, and then other thoughts: of those you've hurt along the way, the ones you've left behind, those far away who need you most. You hold them there, bless them, and then let go.

The regrets, you let those go too, and accept that this is where you are and there's no way out. That's when you notice the beauty: a web of lightning crackles and dissipates right above you in the angry clouds, a rainbow column hundreds of feet tall rising up from the dark turmoil of horizon, the jets of mist spraying in all directions.

And then a sign, the first in many miles, an exit to a picnic area one mile ahead. You pull off in the driving rain and lightning, run to the nearest overhang and kneel underneath the concrete table in a puddle, the wind still buffeting all around.

Now you let go of it all, trembling uncontrollably, tears lost against the rain-soaked jacket. And there you learn to embrace the tragedy and destiny of each moment, as they reflect in drops of rain falling and magnified a thousandfold.

Time falls away as you wait there, unable to move, staring at the ground below. Gradually the rain lessens and then stops, and you are able to move again, out and across the soaked and flooded earth.

The Ride West

Riding west, prairie gradually gives way to desert. Smooth highway rolls out ahead, the smell of wet hay from fresh rain the night before. Huge, cloud laden sky turns to blue as drizzles subside.

Along the way, you see the skeletons of old mom-and-pops, all closed now, replaced by corporate giants of today. Every little town a carbon copy of Loves, Subways and Exxons.

Giant wind turbines speckle the landscape in an irregular grid, visually overwhelming the aging oil derricks. Turning slow and in unison, as if to mark the gradual passage of time. They, along with the privately run detention prisons seem to be the main growth industries out west.

The prison camps, razor-wire eyesores that blight the landscape every couple of hours: Pecos, Sierra Blanca, Fabens. One of them even looks like an old hotel wrapped in metal fencing. Brown people, picked up for having the audacity to cross an imaginary line in the water are disappeared there, well away from the shopping malls in the cities.

Craggy mountain peaks appear, leading edge of the Guadalupe Mountains as I-20 turns west onto I-10. Set in deep shadow, massive and eternal they jut out defiantly from the sand. Rudra, Yahweh, Apu, known by many names, yet always stern, always capricious. Seeing these peaks, you realize why early peoples always had their mountain gods.

Vicious crosswinds pick up now, and a massive dust cloud like so much smog looms to the west. Tumbleweeds gather speed as they roll south, headed back across that imaginary line. And everywhere a vast emptiness here, the kind that's full and waiting.