silent the twisted logs broke upon the shore
the endless crashing once peaceful, lines the horizon

It was the darkness she walked toward. It was always the darkness

Those places where the waning light distorts shapes into ghostly trees

Fiends and devils haunt you there

Squinted eye seeks definition never found along the edges of life. It’s mystery calls

through with glimpses from past dreams and the sleep of the dead, disjoint, now lost

And wandering. They have their own names. Like the secret names of cats that can never be spoken. 

The universe sighs. 


  • photography James Whitlow Delano

The Winding

between the tiny threads, the seeds, a root
softly brushes beneath those painted toes
when up from the darkness, a song emerged
thoughts of spring and new beginnings
smells like fresh cut grass and hyacinth
finds for you a painted sunrise pink and new
the winding years weave together visions
leaning intentions toward reaching dreams again.

In the grasses.jpg

of what remained

I saw you there
in the shadows
awkward and tearful
your gaze passed over me
again and again
misplaced puzzle piece
pushed aside
no words
laying there
lines in veins,
the cold cotton gown,
the painful wires protruding
endless waiting
long empty halls
those sad little roses
red again,
deficient and frail
spoke softly
what could not be said
shattering all that remained
of my broken heart.

Post surgery

Photography by: Daniel R. Wilson


three days passed one into another, lengthening
such agonizing silence twisting and flashing
swimming through the tar of incessant thought
until the heat broke, shattered the thousand tiny bindings
that held you frozen in some enormous, translucent web

in the new day’s cool, the softly pinkening light distanced
a longing only felt after the barrage, the straining reach
stark in comparison, reverberating a glimpse of hope
too precious to gaze upon directly, revenant reminder
straddling the worlds you embraced so tightly,
farther than your hands, then gone.

Zero Dean Photograph

Photography by: Zero Dean

You Matter and What to Do About It

Reposted from This Just In!
by Daniel Wilson

We are born with a joy of being. Children show us what that looks like.

The joy does not always last. A lot of people work hard to discourage us as we grow up, and it intensifies when we get a job.

We receive little or no instruction on celebrating our own significance. We may forget that we matter, and if we remember we might not know what to do about it.

I use the word matter to mean that we have a place in the natural order of things. We have virtues that we do not recognize because they are obscured by fear, or guilt or a combination of the two. Our role emerges over time as we continue our practice of exploring the true nature of things.

The first thing to do to honor our significance is to take a careful inventory of who we think we are. Chögyam Trungpa tells us not to judge what we see, but simply to notice it. Many people blame themselves for who they think they are. Blame does not lead to freedom, we are told.

The next thing to do is give up the quest for security and safety. This effort is merely a distraction. Life happens. Our lack of control does not indicate that we do not matter.

Then we go on to practicing love and affection. The Sanskrit word for this is maitri. Trungpa’s book title is Smile at Fear. I think what he is telling us in the book is to smile at everything, including our notion of self.

Smiling at everything, we are told, invites the universe to dance with us. Good fortune emerges out of thin air. Smiling also creates a shift in us that awakens our enjoyment of dancing.

I have published about 30 books for myself and as gifts to friends. My friends matter to me.

I am not in this wondrous state of being. I still think of mundane things to do. I practice simple things such as photographing people. I maintain this blog. These acts are expressions of myself consistent with how I see myself at this stage of understanding. I recommend being real as you understand the term.

I recommend shrugging off the morality of the crowd. I read a quote today that said the body is not a temple, it is an amusement park.

I like to keep track of what I have done, and celebrate it. I publish books to satisfy that intention. I encourage people to express themselves, and to take notes in some form. Notes demonstrate respect for our experience.

Finally, don’t indulge those people who don’t recognize that you matter. Hang out with people who appreciate you. You deserve it.


it comes over you slowly, slowly
fog rolling up and down hills caress
time slows and the stillness hangs
calls the edges of mind to attention
where all the dark things lie waiting
shadows the light from your eyes
searching the bliss for which to follow
road signs point erroneous crossways
landmarks, where internally hope hides.