Chanting terror-filled rants,
cries of the insane echo
on early morning streets,
riffling in the detritus
of cans and bottles
on their painful hejira
through the wastes of chaos.
No one answers their incantation,
yet within reach silent trees rise
from cubicles of hardened dirt
to find air and sunlight
above the voices of the lost.
Despite relentless fear
and blanketing depression
my lips move in quiet prayer,
making space for the forgotten
on their lonely pilgrimage,
alien within the crowded city.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Space for the Forgotten” with music by David Bowie

I awoke to the moonrise
in morning darkness
with amber light on the sea.
Something in me
longed to awaken,
to visit the beauty
few would witness.
Daylight comes
and I share the sun
but keep the night glory
hidden in my soul.
Rabbits and geese
tear at spring grass
while I feed on moonlight,
savored in the silence
of this quiet solitude.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Feeding on Moonlight” with music by R. Carlos Nikai

The sound of wind through the trees
in a soft rushing wave
awakens the forest
in the bright light of morning.
The tide travels back
filling the coves and beaches,
refreshing the creatures
that cling to the rocks
and in burrows below the sand.
Do you hear the calling,
how silence beckons
with the wind its emissary?
The sea stretches far,
your eyes blessed by the distance,
the wholeness of life present
with invisible touch.
You recall the architecture
unsullied by confusion,
the house of being
broad in foundation,
graceful as it reaches to the sky.
Entering under open porticoes
we return as if we never left
and from the great hall
the sounds of music and laughter.
Joy is the treasure, free for the living;
enveloped by that mantle
we walk in the light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “House of Being” with music by Diane Arkenstone

Spring grasses surge
as soft rain falls on the greening land
lifting us from winter sleep.
From caverns beneath the cold ground
ancient voices stir and ghost dancers
move their tireless feet
to the pulse of earth music.
Above and below urge us on
to cross the waters of time,
toward the grail
that holds the lost truths
of our mysterious birth.
Into the rain we stumble
clawing on our oilskin jackets,
answering only to the sea
and the rock bound shore
as we forge our way
into the rushing tide
of awakening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Rushing Tide” with music by Art Patience