Category Archives: Sittting still

Note Found On The Refrigerator 3/19/2017

Don’t Shout!

            Shhhhhhhsh, your mind—

            For as long as it takes—

            Understanding the needs, we relieve

            Within our presence.

            Our life’s last ground is guided

By our first chance.

            You know we hold each other

            Responsible for our love.



Posted by on March 19, 2017 in Love, Sittting still, thoughts, Zen


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Dried Flowers In A Seasonal Antique Jar

Dried flowers in winter’s light— brightened by an antique jar.

Flowers picked in the fall, after waiting all summer, to bloom—

Jar dug up, on the other side

of the “tell tale” opening in the stonewall;

an old, late 18-hundreds’s dump, left there —

Many lifetimes’ ago.

I go about my seasonal chores,

I Watch you— waiting for you to fade.

You never do.

My soul curls up in intimacy on the frosted windowsill

Embracing the jar of age; having kept its beauty

 and displaying with pride, its content.

Teach me your resilience, your beauty

From your past, to the presence.


I find hope’s secret smile

 In your colors of dried flowers

in winter’s reflection held in my antique jar.

(Helping me understand all the promises, winter carries.

From it’s off Spring, to this coming year’s honeymoon…to its encore.


Shorter days and longer nights cannot sustain its post

Against the emergence of summer— and longer days.


Unannounced by frost melting into dew

the first wave of spring—

Then, trumpeted through picnics and summer parades—

And, the last wave leaves,

with colorful banners exiting through Fall.)

I sketch this last season’ thoughts— dried flowers

reflecting winter’s delight— smiling this evening,

Looking forward to another beautiful tomorrow;

As reflected in an Antique jar.

I go about.

I Watch you— waiting for you to fade.

You never do.

Until I put you out where we first left

And clean the jar again, in late May.


Charcoal and colored pencil sketch by R.K. Garon




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In Each Changing Tide

Beach sifting through my hand,

Flowing, streaming, gathering gravity settling in the sand;

Thought and mood changes from grain to grain.

Perils and adventures, rising and falling again and again,

From one position to the next, as all things change

From false to truth- as a true soul steadily remains

In each sunset, in each full moon, in each new sunrise,

I Become the sand released from my hand, rolling and anchoring myself

In each changing tide.


Photo: Google images


Posted by on September 6, 2015 in Beginnings, Existential, Nature, Poetry, Sittting still


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Feeling like a dandelion rose

As I was younger, the lawn looked beautiful

I worked hard. Pushing

The spacious green against the woods

Without fatigue.


Accented by the fresh scent

Of cut grass

I would go to the edge

Look into the woods


Step in, walk a bit

Then sit

To enjoy the view.

Especially looking through


The trees passed the lawn

Leading to our home


With the flowers of youth.


As I get older, I do less.

The trees are creeping

In along with

The weeds,


They’re taking over the lawn,

Making it easier

 Though, to take my walk

To the edge of the woods,


To step in and sit with

Sweet melancholy;

Looking past the small lawn

Feeling like a dandelion rose  


Seeing an empty house

Having flowered and gone

To seed.


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Winter’s Ballet

The snow is easy, it just falls

on several notes                                                       

played by the wind.


In between the trees

winter’s first appearance

 swishes like a skirt, across the yard.



in commotion,

in all those exclamations


innocent and clean. I

watch the ballet

and listen


to an orchestra unseen.


“It is said that King Ajastashatru had strong imprints for understanding emptiness, which was activated in the following way: one day, he invited Manjushri for a meal and was just about to offer him a very fine garment he had made ready, when Manjushri disappeared. Feeling very disappointed, Ajatashatru put on the garment himself and momentarily also disappeared. As a result of this he gained the understanding of emptiness.”

 Geshe Sonam Rinchen


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Note from a Beholder


Who knows

as I sit in anxious state awaiting the “Godot”

hoping He never shows

Like a sparkle in the grass

asking me if I care to go?

So I deny its invitation

and enjoy the sparkle

as all sparkles, go.

Who Knows

as I move in trepidation,

awaiting for the fulfillment of my prayers

not recognizing them, when they have been heard?

A shadow on the sky, asking me, to abandon fear.

So I deny its invitation

and watch a faceless shadow

descend and re-appear.

Who knows,

The mysteries I attribute to the “Soul?”

If followed, I accept its maze.

If understood, I accepted its direction.

Who remembers what can go through the eye of a needle?

Only the sparkle, the shadow,

and the beholder’s soul.

eye of the needle


Posted by on July 7, 2013 in ignorance, Love, notes, Poetry, religion, Sittting still, Zen



Notes Found On The Refrigerator

The Juggler’s Riddle

I enjoy the abstinence of reality,

I can juggle life’s puzzle pieces

without any particular fatality.


It is not a difficult feat …for imagination, memorization,

fantasies, or alliterations;  they deplete,

falling back into play, as only one obvious piece.


            When I drop a piece, it is often forgotten

somewhere in the air  between the sky and my feet;

until another one appears,  balanced on my forehead,

spinning , waiting to be shaken .To be awakened.


I am balancing, but not walking.  I am seated,

but, I am moving as fast as the air I breathe.


Making this riddle, a juggler’s dream; insignificant as any dream,

unless    I       am        in it.



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