the mission

To provide a forum for the intersection of spirit and art - a place to share what creations we must manifest to continue living in a meaningful way.


I'm open to what develops here - poetry, fiction, non-fiction, images, videos, quotes, insight - mainly looking at this blog as a record or shared diary in a spirit of playfulness and inspiration....mental froth, mind's eye materialization, and life songs lost and found.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

eli's haiku

quiet trails in woods
lead through jeweled pine forests
scented statues rise

Friday, October 29, 2010

monkeys in symphony 3 e flat major

Sweat Lodge

I found the most beautiful spot in the forest several years ago. It is a circle shaped grassy meadow with tall poplar trees surrounding it. I've always felt drawn to this spot and visited it many times. I soon felt compelled to build something sacred there to share with the good company of others. Finally I started the project this last spring and finished it this fall. All I can say it's a relaxing and yet purifying experience. I look forward to using it for many years to come...

Thursday, October 28, 2010


i am waves now
that is how easy the days have become
we like drinking and writing
and moving through brain-funnels
opening our heart-tunnels
and expanding
until light creatures
step soft-footed
upon grass
or splash with the paddle edge
amongst the lunatic birds
that shriek intruder

even the coffee and breakfast at noon in twin peaks
cannot sharpen an edge
that wouldn't lay in the grass
listening to the birds
in the cacophony of spring

And even if the words do
bounce on a rope weaving in the wind
over a meaningless chasm
what would be freedom
if not a fearless walker
surrendering his life to the day
with nothing but trees, and grass and sky
for mirrors
mirrors unlike screens
without canned lightning and couch candy
but the time of trees
and the ferocity of nesting birds
and the honesty of dirt

we write like horses
set free in the field
snorting the bright air
hooves kicking hard
busting earth
as dust coats our words

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

stone & water

Thursday, October 7, 2010


Like an invisible but shimmering god of air and water

I take steps over the forest hills, slow and plodding,

covering great distances.

Beneath, I drive my car down a rural 2 lane highway

lined consistently with tall trees, on my way to work.

Here and there, in privacy, as I listen to my tunes,

I am stepped on by my own spirit

(which rarely looks down).

Often when the symptoms of dysomnia react

With the stress of caring for patients

Rain falls around the car and my heart

hydroplanes, drifts as if on a puddle,

splashes to stop.

Soul clamber

My soul clambers upon inanimate heroes, scrambles for their light. Wrings coffee with kidneys and bowels just to get along. The weather snaps into a shocking cold after a hot summer and the first rain pours. Thoughts turn inward, the eyes receive less sun and coffee now is the meanest hero.

It wakes me up to work me up the mountain. An arbutus, overlooking the harbor and the surrounding islands, meets me impassive in it’s glory. Like I’d like to sip coffee sometimes on my deck, overlooking the yard.

The arbutus could not be happier to bake in the mellow, hot autumn sun. Mist clears, revealing its glee at an expansive ocean view, prime real estate. Dew evaporates quickly, the tree basks and so slowly, sheds its papery bark. My lower moods are envious. But, You’ve made it here with me, it says, we both breathe, we’re both lucky in sun. We meet at an important healthy intersection, you with your lungs and your sweating, me with a more relaxed, more tortured growing.

It’s roots are like steel cables spidering over the rocks.

Back inside, I place my hand on the table, it has the shakes from its coffee buzz. I think, I try to think amongst the coffee anxiety, the ancient questions, the simple ones. Where do I come from? A steady hand, fingers outstretched, high strung. I squeeze a stone. Why do we live and die? I need some carbs, need chopsticks first. In easy reach, these doughty saviors of the drawer glow with a nostalgia from 2 years ago. A kind of pain.

Thin, dextrous bridge of basic engineering between panic and nourishment, need and chewing. The distance between hand and food divided by two equals manners. I crash from the coffee, the sugar, the hike, in an urgent crescendo. I scratch the wood clean before beginning noodles.

As I eat, noodles swim in the soup of my brain, silly noodle thoughts sliming through my days. Starchy beginnings for quickly heated ideas. Minute noodles, minute poems. Fast food philosophy. The coffee, the arbutus, the chopsticks, the noodles, all these heroes stand me up face to face with the day. I teeter over the future.

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