After the storm
white and gray clouds
drift lazily north
beneath shafts of blue.
The sea ripples
with the rising sun
in a light breeze,
the soft awakening
breathing easy
after strong winds
and sheets of rain.
I open to the light
like green moss shining,
letting thought focus
on the near distance,
seeing through
the web of things
to the source beyond.
I fish the morning
like a dolphin
in the tideline,
where the food is rich
and the timeless
lies waiting.

Reading of “Where the Timeless Waits” with music by Van Morrison

Autumn fog covers the sea,
gray water quiet
with barely a ripple.
A lone seal fishes
along the rock shore,
a raven tears at his food.
Glad to be hidden
I stare at the water
as dolphin arc
in the tideline,
gulls perch and wait;
foghorns echoing
the only sound.
Moments of stillness
precious as gold,
currency of the earth
rich as starlight.
I rest here
in the falling mist,
entraining myself
to silence.

Reading by the author with music by Van Morrison

Veiling the mainland
fog shrouds the distance
rising in mist
off the sun lit sea.
Green moss sparkles
on dew laden ground
while the trees
and steep roofs
slowly drip.
My heart rests
like calm water,
luxuriates like moss
in the morning dew.
I’ve shed my skin
and speak with crows.
Stones talk
and I listen.
We’re asked
to be as birds
or like the sun,
to release our stories
and rise with the earth
like fog off the water.
Beneath our burdens
there are wings.

photograph by Robert Aughenbaugh

Reading by the author with music by Aaron Copland

Blanketed with smoke
and now fog,
visibility near zero,
nights are winter-like
in darkness,
day to an arm’s
reach of vision.
Tiny sparrows
flit about in the trees,
the sound of geese
echoes in the bay.
Turning within
to unfailing light
fear unwinds,
the true solace
of the dwelling place
beyond all harm.

photograph by Thea Patten

Reading of True Solace

Stirred awake at dawn
smoke blanketed the island,
the forests of the Clackamas,
Santiam and McKenzie
lifted into white clouds,
passing on their trail
to the other side.
So many old friends
who knew my name,
sheltered me through
turmoil and grief.
I rose and walked
to the rock point
in early filtered light
to stand on the shore
and honor their journey.
Orcas exhaled
in deep bass sounds,
a line of them
near and far along
the smoke laden channel
signaling farewell.
Years of standing vigil
beside mountain rivers
leaving this life,
their mantle passed,
carried on the wind.

Reading of “Trail of Smoke” by the author with music by Little Wolf

With open heart
morning floods in,
smoke filled,
alive with birds.
Some ragged memory
with a broken muffler
pulls to the curb
but I wave it off.
What could be
more important
than inner peace?
Find your way
to the soul altar
and speak your truth.
What you need is there,
waiting, full of grace.

Reading of “Full of Grace” with music by the Microphones

When your cup is full
with what need not be
empty yourself
to the morning,
untangle the knots,
untie the line
and free the boat
of your precious self
on the still waters
of the waiting sea.
The world of things
will not reclaim you,
the endless debates
and terms of struggle,
yet beyond the door
of the ancient prison
green fields
await your coming.

Reading of “Beyond the Door” by the author with music by Van Morrison

Along the coast
the sweet smell of the sea
blends with forest green.
The sounds of tide and wind
and shore birds mixing
with woodpeckers thump,
the rustle of madrone leaves
and sigh of tall firs
swaying in the breeze.
Dawn lights an orange glow
with the sun peaking
over the horizon
in summer warmth.
With our cities upset, disease
and painful issues stressing
the fabric that holds us together
I sit apart, letting the peace
of the holy world settle in me
and offer my thoughts as prayers
on the altar of the earth,
sent out on the invisible
as quiet reminders
of the everyday miracle.

photograph by Louis MacKenzie

Reading of “Everyday Miracle” by the author with music by Tom Kenyon

When did you become a ghost,
angry and walking away?
Bad words were said,
turbulence between us,
but I called to you,
asked you back
into connectedness.
These are harsh times,
many will leave,
behind them
a trail of ash.
It is easy to forget
and always difficult
to remember,
who you are
beyond time,
beyond the illusions
that tear us apart.
Each morning
I send this prayer,
the heaven full
of what may be.
As the sun reflects
off rippling water
may these words find you
and lighten your soul
on the long journey
yet to travel.

Reading by the author with music by Dire Straits

Quietly the sea rests
between ebb and flow,
still water before the next tide.
The sun rises, golden light
through banks of blue-gray cloud,
the passing sound of eagle’s wings
and far off the hoot of a sea bird,
gathered in early light
to shape the new day forming.
Like water waiting upon the moon,
you may give way to the broad heaven,
let go the field of opposites
for the purity of the morning
and become malleable once more
to the Shaper’s hands.
The book is open to write your pages,
what you want to leave of yourself
in the great story. Your quiet
like the resting sea, the arc
of your wings over water,
the depth of your waiting
like the endless stone shore
and your fire, kindled like the sun
to burn and light the waking world.
Write this with your one life
and sign it with your blood.

Reading by the author with music by Tonbruket