The Old Age

A time for fewer
and softer
footsteps.

 

A Product of Noise

It is startling to realize
that we are searching for a signal,
living in a universe
—a product of noise.

 

136

One hundred thirty-six.
The fasting level
of morning sugar.

What would it have been,
I wonder,
if that cookie
hadn't magically floated
from the jar
and landed in my mouth—
savored,
just as I was
on my way to bed?

 

The Weight of Nothingness

We yearn for the moments
still as a pond,
no ripple of need,
no errand calling from the shore.

Yet when they arrive,
the mind becomes a bird
beating inside a cage.

Trapped by nothing to do,
it searches for a stone
to break the surface.

 

To Be Still

A walk under the tall canopy
light shivering through the leaves,
in quiet, illuminated shafts,
shadows playing over the ground,
the soft crunch of leaves underneath.

In here,
the air is untroubled by ambition,
by striving for what comes next.

Maybe today,
the unease will loosen,
and the mind, no longer
a bundle of quantum jitters,
will learn
to be still.

 

Towards Wholeness

Mind, you are always reaching,
searching for another shape
to become.

Where would your striving end,
and where would living begin
as something that is whole?

When Boundaries Fade

Cultivate a quiet union
where the boundary
between self and world
dissolves.

In that stillness,
life and death
unfold as one continuum—
our passing
no more than the act
of stepping through
a door.

When Striving Ends

One day I may realize
I have achieved enough—
and whatever else
I choose to reach for
will matter
no more.

On that day,
perhaps at last,
life will be
content.

Contentment

There is a warm glow
in living the life
one desires.

Should We Add or Should We Subtract?

Crossing a mile
on an open road—
is it added,
or subtracted
from life’s
odometer?

Days in Caicos

It was a time
when moments felt ample,
fluid--and friendly;
when we drifted
with the cotton clouds,
unconcerned
with destinations.

Impermanence

Moments of clarity,
of being briefly aligned;
effervescent bubbles
in a glass of Dom Pérignon—

both transcendental,
both impermanent.

Never Quite Here

What comes next
on the long list of doing,
while hands keep
washing greasy dishes—

that small question
quietly becomes
our life’s story.

 

When the Surf Breaks Unevenly

On the left side of the beach,
there is a first Christmas—
a newborn daughter,
wrapped in gifts
she cannot yet appreciate.

On the right,
a friend with lung cancer
is hoping
to make it
to the month of
January.

Perhaps Nothing

What is next?
the mind asked.

Perhaps nothing—
came back
the reply.

A Diabetic’s Remorse

The chocolate dissolved slowly on my tongue,
the caramel-glazed cheesecake
caressed my lips.

They felt heavenly,
almost orgasmic.

I will pay the price—
for those moments of surrender.

Returning the Loan

Across the street—
on the wrap-around porch—
a rocking chair sways gently—
holding the outline
of someone
who chose to return
the borrowed atoms.

Primordial Questions

Purpose and meaning—
meaning and purpose—
which came first,
which after?

Birth and death—
death and birth—
which came first,
which after?

Consciousness and Reality—
Reality and Consciousness—
which came first,
which after?

Would the universe—
ever tell?
Or is silence
its only answer?

 After All the Searching

Tired of meandering
through the labyrinths of Mahayana,
and then trying the byways
of its sister city Hinayana—
all while stubbing toes
treading through the pages
of The Myth of Sisyphus

and the dense prose—

one day he arrived
at a road sign
that simply said:

“The purpose of life
is to live.”

Consciousness Dares to Ask

Being in a universe,
a speck of dust,
a fleeting spark
against the endless dark—

yet consciousness
dares to demand:
Why?
Why is it here?