From The Inside Out


When I take the time to look inside, instead of outside,

I find miraculous things.  Things I never have seen before,

Feelings I never have noticed and rules I never have followed.

Oftentimes they are the feelings and rules I have imposed on others but never followed myself.

Others whom I say I know well and in my arrogance convince myself that I know how they think,

And feel but in reality, my assumptions are baseless and I realize

That it is only me who I can ever know…

But only from the inside out.

The Single Second of Midnight

The Deep primal sounds at midnight are

A gathering of voices in the dark.

The language is unknown

But the meaning is understood.

Darkness hides the players

But not the play

As it is a script followed

Since the beginning of time.

The cast of characters remains the same with only

The players changing.

The truth of the story portrayed is undeniable, and

Is perfected in the casting of souls when the sounds of their voices gather and

Eternity resides in the single second of Midnight.


It Waits

It waits with patience hands

Outside our knowing, waiting to be let in.

Its story is always the same,

Its truth dependable but not always what we want to hear.

There is no hypocrisy, no deceit in its soul.

It is the soul that fills the void, that encompasses the eternal.

It exists in rhythms of time, tides of dependability,

Cycles of freedom and seasons of hope.

It can be ignored, but never escaped and so it waits,

In beauty and joy, in bliss and acceptance, in love and peace,

For us to wake up and realize it is but a mirror of ourselves,

The face of our existence, the light in our souls,

The essence of our being

Before we were born.



It is almost gone now,

Sadly diminished.

Only the hard and tough oaks

Remain to carry the song.

They sway less and less as

There is not much left to catch the wind.

But the wind still blows, it comes in waves and churns the ocean of trees.

One tree after another reacts to the wind’s hand, its push, its power.

Some bed in a flurry of dancing of limbs,

Some hold their ground, refusing to bend to the will of the wind.

The wildness of the wind comes in stages,

Craziest at the tree tops,

More subtle midway down with only a modicum of movement

Just feet above the ground.

I’ve often wondered if their roots feel the pull and tug of the wind. 

Are they dying to let go of the earth and fly away?

And when the leaves have all fallen, the wind’s song fades completely,

Losing its soft voice.

The summer’s soft song is replaced by the harsh clacking of naked branches and

The howling of frozen limbs in the dead of winter’s endless nights.

I hate to see the leaf song go,

I will miss is warmth and rustling.

But I will hold its song within,

Deep within, and sing it to myself in the dark time to come

When all in solemn stillness sleeps.


November Silence



The color outside my bedroom window is gone.

Yet evergreens stay to remind me of life’s continuance, always existing just below the surface.

The trees are stark silhouettes of gray,

Each branch and twig evident and asleep.

There is a new silence in the wood.

It is a soft, comforting, sleeping silence.

A hush of reverence,

A soothing of soul.

Awareness hangs liked smoke among

The naked branches.

It is an awareness of belonging, of no doubts,

Of confidence in the being and faith in the belonging.

And so they stand, the trees, in winter’s silence,

In perfect harmony with their place and mine.

Each a witness to the other and

Both a witness to the One.

All the Light of a Million Suns


His hands are weightless

His smile, eternal.


His eyes hold all the stars in the universe,

All the light of a million suns.


His energy charges every cell in my body and

His love powers and drives my nightly dreams.


When he speaks to me, his words feel like a warm soft blanket

Draped  with love over my shoulders.


His voice comes to me in the silence of meditation telling me to stop,

To let it all go.


He tells me that good will only come to me

After I throw out and reject the darkness.


He watches in silence and sadness as

I try but fail over and over…


He knows he can’t do it for me.

I know I can’t do it for myself.



Because of Him

Gratitude for the smallest of things

Becomes gratitude for the eternal.

Because the eternal exists in even the smallest,

A baby’s laugh, a milkweed bloom, a crystal blue winter sky.

An autumn leaf, falls softly in silence,

Releasing its life with gratitude in a celebration of color.

It is the small things in my life that cover me in warmth and

Feed the fire of my gratitude with love.

I am thankful for sunrises and sunsets,

The defining moments of each day’s beginning and end.

I am grateful for my children and grandchildren –

All manifestations of God.

The life light in a newborn’s eye,

Holds the spirit of heaven and the knowledge of Krishna’s grace.

And when I am in danger of forgetting these things, I sit and go deep inside myself,

Inside to that point where I am connected directly to him and he brings me back to grace.

It is my gratefulness that fuels my passions for the loves in my life, from acorns to hummingbirds

Grasshoppers to lightning storms,

Soft kisses at midnight,

And sweet love in the morning.

I am grateful to exist in a flood of grace and love.

Grace that is endless and effortless, and love that is all encompassing.

My heart is full and soft and my smiles are because of him.

Hari Om


Summer Sunday Evenings

There comes a soft sadness with

Summer Sunday evenings.


A time of day that remains empty unless full,

Lonely unless shared.


One week’s ending is

Another’s beginning.


Just as his absence is just another ending

And his staying away just another beginning.


My lonely heart aches and

Forgotten tears fall in silence as


My memories of him are left to collect dust in the corner,

Their silence speaking volumes.


No one else cares,

No one else remembers, and still,


The soft summer sadness of Sunday afternoon silence

Continues without end.

It’s Back

It is back!

It has been gone so long, I thought it had forgotten me and

Had left me behind to wonder

And miss it,

To search for its faltering presence and

To long for its comfort.

My wanting and longing kept it away.

My acceptance of its absence, for its own reasons, not mine, brought it back.

I must resist the urge to hold it close

To crush it with my desperate need.

For its need for me is as strong

As my need for it.

The un-manifest became manifest.

There Must Be A Reason

Music flows through my head,

My heart and soul follow.

The notes run together

Like stepping stones through a fountain,

Happily skipping their way

Across the vibrating waters of sound.

They bring order to the chaos of noise

And joy to the count of beats.

Music brings happiness in melodies that linger and

Form the foundation of memories.

Everything, when set to music,

Is easier to remember.

Why is that?

There must be a reason.