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Let us Pray

     Sir/Madam do not interpret with your own mind, the words of Divinity; having to explain what is held In the temple of my Soul.

     You only speak as the sinner you are. Now then, let us pray.

Without umbrella

Scent aromatic in clouds

Spring rain wakes summer.

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Easter in Center Sandwich NH

Lent 2018

Sound is muffled in lovers ears

With the pounding of their hearts

Racing from all their fears.

 

We hear life’s music in its hustle and shuffle

And become doubtful of the truth.

 

Never deciding on what our hearts are to wear;

or, we should go naked, as we should go, before You

—accepting my knee.

     *****

 

Blossoms are near, as well as the seed catalog.

Winter supplies are low.

We discuses what we liked and what we will not sow.

Of course, not because of taste or preference,

But, what our garden could not grow.

     *****

Spring light*

The mountains are responding

to the spring sun. Awakening the deep valleys below.

Streams are slowly filling from the melted snow,

As we in Center Sandwich NH

Open our windows and open our doors.

 

*Photo by R.K. Garon outside Kathleen’s cottage on Holderness Rd. Center Sandwich, NH

 
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Posted by on March 28, 2018 in Easter, Lent, Love, Prose Poetry, Spiritual

 

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The Gift Of Free Will At Sunrise

      I shall not seek Thee —in a stiff collar of white or colorless turbine. Or, robes of wool…covering skin dark or light over bones disguised in cloaks of Yellow, Orange, Brown, and lest not we forget Cremora White!

      —You have no need to convince me of the fig leaf on my soul! I have acknowledged its presence. I will find its place in the empty void.

      I shall find You —by going forward and leaving me alone.

In valley below

winter thaws upcoming spring

On Holderness Road

 

 
 

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Notes That Started The Morning Fire.

I burnt my breakfast with brown butter and garlic.

It rose above the perfumed oiled scent of progress;

—creeping through the cracks of my window sills

wafting  silently,  carrying the day’s

chain-linked smog…breaking in with

—my paycheck’s upcoming arena.

Oops, I meant, aroma.

For a moment I choose to linger

asking for only a cherry tree.

 

I welcome the reservation that you

have set aside for me.

No need to build me a fence—

I am locked inside.

~~~~~

Do I talk to myself? Me and him?

Of course! Who else would listen?

How would I know when to stoke the wood stove

and make coffee, home fries, and scramble eggs?

I always tell myself what to do.

I am vetted by my soul,

Me:

The web, trickling inadvertently behind me, as I walk through space

Connects me to another square that I had left!

Never touching the ground, I wait with patience

in silk expectation —for a life, now to be defined.

Him:

The thread of your existence is never behind!

Nor could it manufacture a web to connect

to illusive time!

Shake off that wiggle… trickling inadvertently behind!

 

           

Hey! Anyone up for coffee, home fries, and scramble eggs?

 
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Posted by on February 8, 2018 in Experimental, Life, Outlaw, Poetry, thoughts, Zen

 

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Five Verses From a Brief Visit This Solstice With Ch’an

On Judgment:

“If we didn’t see things fine and coarse

How could prejudice exist?”

~Relying on Mind~ Ch’an master Seng-Ts’an (J., Sozan)

 

~~~~~

I practiced non-discrimination

and had smiled often at my gestures—

until I was slapped by a whisk.

~~~~~

I understand how wrong I’ve been

and the shame I have brought to the other—

Each day wakes me quieter  —clearer than ever.

~

Moments may be still –yet moves forever.

~~~~~

Causes are great —equal to the clouds

one may be greater than the other.

Dew is clear as no sound is loud.

~~~~~

What is it that I see— to bench myself in judgment?

Opinions are statutes!

Saddle my horse—

Giddy-up! I shall ride with the outlaws.

~~~~~

How does one heal from history

With its invisible scars and drooping eyes?

Thatch a new roof— and shush the flies.

“Jesus said:

If two make peace with each other

In this single house,

They will say to the mountain

“Move away”

And it shall move.””

 

~The Gospel of Thomas~[48p n] presented by Huge McGregor Ross

 

 

 ~Pine Cone Diary~ -proof 2018

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2018 in Beginnings, Outlaw, Pine Cone Diaries, Poetry, Sittting still, Zen

 

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Turn The Light Back On

Sundown was sinking from a ridge on Holderness road

Inviting me, or so I thought, to turn off –my one light on.

(The one I had turned on, when darkness was creeping along).

 

I could see as I stared out from my large window—

 the only one in my cave— a dimming invitation

for a quick evenings celebration; honoring a season’s resignation.

 

 

I wanted to meet her –to greet her,

Before the winter moon rose to extinguish  

her completed season’s accomplishments.

 

I left the house in a goose down vest,

donning my formal Pendleton— wide brim’s best.

Without a thought, I walked many steps

 

going about my way.

Until I opened my eyes

on an illuminated path of autumn amber pine needles

 

glowing from the rising moon and sunlight’s sunset.

They met and greeted me with giggles and mutual song.

I caught their transition between darkness and dawn.

 

They kissed each other… as the moon

asked me— to go inside

and turn the light, back on.

 

Photo by RKG…  Holdernes Rd. Center Sandwich NH

 

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The Shame of Religion [rev:15]

Page 6 of 110 ~Pine Cone Diary~

Why do we seek revenge, when our Soul

        Is a ghost without identity; that seeks peaceful universal assimilation?

Those who capture other’s souls of Faith, caged in hate or repression, have honed their zeal

        To inflict retribution as righteous judgment, on all “un-holy” dissidents.

Unable for their hearts to control their tongue or their scourge.

 

Love’s prerequisite of understanding, dampens volatile gun powder

        And buries the sword of hate on the path to Nirvana, Olam Ha-Ba, Heaven, and Jannah …

Or any place else that is soft enough to dig with your hands, under loves direction, to bury your hate

wrapped in your inability to leave it alone. Silent until you truly understand.

(Having found on that path, without harm, a pure gentle human heart melted in living flesh

That had no eyes, nor memory, floating freely, Holy above the intellect in senses

without shame, I found myself without anything, for my Love, to have to explain.)

 

 

 “In the universal silence of nature and in the calm of the senses the immortal spirit’s hidden faculty of knowledge speaks an ineffable language and gives [us] undeveloped concepts, which are indeed felt, but do not let themselves be described.”  Immanuel  Kant

 

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