The Conscious Observer

 Meditation cultivates our ability to become self-observant, to recognize our own internal patterns of mind, emotion, and decision-making from a place of detachment. The more you do it, the more you come to realize that the observer is actually who you are, and that your habits of thought and emotion are merely that— old habits. They may define you to others, but not to yourself. They are not core to your identity; your identity sits sovereign in the chair of the observer.

And the more you think about that reality, the more you start to wonder whether that true self ever changes at all, or is some sort of enduring, fundamental feature of the universe. I recall having this same level of consciousness when I was very small; the world of experience at my disposal for observation was just extremely limited.

Realizing that the observer is the self is wonderfully liberating; it means that there is infinite possibility for self-reinvention. We can truly change our lives from the inside out. And if we can master ourselves, imagine what else is possible. 

Quiet Hinges

The caves of the wilderness open their doors

To those who walk with an open heart—

Quiet doorways behind swaying pines

Whose hinges creek in the wind,

A slit in the sandstone, buried in shadows

That opens into a small, dark world,

Like a pocket sewn into a seam of time.

If there is anywhere about this earth

The smallest of rents in the veil,

I think it must be in the deep, dark woods,

Or deep in the human soul.

Degrees of Freedom

Clothed in white against the window,

Backlit by the salt glare emptiness 

Of winter’s brazen stare, you sit

Composed, a grin flashes and fades,

Whole worlds rise and fall behind your eyes,

You say nothing. 

                                The love that breathed here

Once feels evanescent now, concealed

Behind statistical probabilities 

Like an atom in the quantum field,

Taking shape only when observed.

The inner workings of the world

Invite us to a different view. 

The Dance

I have seen the mask slip

On the face of the world

In the void underneath

All the timelines converge

Back to the dance

All the steps are reversed

And only the hard, unrelenting smiles

Keep us in time til the rhythm returns

With one foot on the stage and one in the void

The music we’re born with dances with time 

Elemental

 I. Water

In the beginning, when darkness hovered
Over the surface of the deep,
There was no moon to pull the waters
Toward their home among the stars,

No fish to hold us in its belly
Until we understand
That our souls were inscibed with messages
We must speak into being.

There was only the darkness and the deep--
The eternal, churning heart of all things.

II. Fire

Air speaks:

You are my sacred counterpart
Though you can fill no sails,
And I am not the alchemist
You are who can turn flesh to ash

And yet no greater miracle exists
Than when you and I wed.
Forget the wedding party,
We will turn the whole world red.

III. Air

Fire speaks: 

I am borrowed from heaven,
Heart of the gods, lent to men.
I require constant attention
And there's always someone to supply it.

[Air did not reply to this, 
And carried on her way].

IV. Earth

Think of the predicament
We've placed the planet in.
Flesh of her flesh, bones made of
The same stuff as stones,
Our breath a never-ending exchange
Where we welcome her into our chests,
Yet deny her any purchase 
Until we must.

She is us, and vice versa, yet
As wayward children
We have tied her hands behind her back
While she looks on in horror at our actions.
With every breath she calls us back
To union with all things.
Our bold refusal leaves her with no choice

But to collect the dust we're made of 
In her palm, and scatter to the winds
The dream that we will understand
The predicament we're in.

Inside the Web

When you live inside a web
The whole world trembles on a thread,
Which can be somewhat terrifying,
Until you turn around and realize
That you're the one who's spinning it. 
Then you know you are the web,
And the world ceases to exist.

The Wordless Council

Come walk with me down to the bench 
At the bend in the sidewalk
Where the river and the canal meet and talk--
One from the depths and one from the shallows--
One moving fast and one moving slowly--
So each flows into each,
So the wordless council meets.

You think you'll never be forgiven
For the things you didn't do,
And that's not true. The reason you can't be forgiven
Is that the blame never belonged to you.

So let it go to nameless tributaries
Reclaimed by the earth
And let these words be the quiet room
Where you remember your soul's worth.