Spent the better part of this amazing sunny day inside, flipping through old notebooks written while in Nepal in 2001 searching for one poem. I’ve yet to find the poem, there’s three notebooks to sort through, feels like traveling in time, I am left feeling disoriented by the process. What I have found is a distinct peacefulness reminiscent of that chapter of my life. Here’s one written in Kathmandu on the eve of my first extended meditation retreat. And another dealing with origins, the idea of home and returning.


a day beginning in drizzle
cold greasy drops trickle
from palm leaves
in this tropical garden

the sky is a reflection
of my milky black
grown cold before its time

i am a ghost, these
observations I make are
shadows lurking
beneath the slick streets
of this city

in three finger counted hours
i go to the small mountains
that wrap their toned
muscles around this
valley full of city
in these mountains
the sounds i hear
will come only from inside

i will not make a sound-
speak a word
scribble a rant
read an account of
life made better
by fiction-

i will be the audience
for my true voice-
will it whisper or shout?
i’ll soon find out.


this began where it ended
following the graceful reach
of a willow tree
stretching tentacle fingers
toward pond water
drinking deep green tea

where the dragonfly left
its breath on
water lily petal

we began our journey
across this pond sized planet
into the universe jungle
juggling planets
and stars
with steady
mossy-fingered hands

some days the sun’s amber hair
falls down through the
otherwise greenage of jungle skin
and we think maybe there is
a way out
a way back
to where we began
beside a pond
beneath a willow
dreaming of the rapid-fire
wings of dragonflies

what is it of return
that we desire?
why return to where we began?

there are new places
to be wandered
placing each step in an
unknown direction
away from beginnings
toward continuations of
a lifelong stroll
new places

here i go
a first step
from the beginning

Reach out and touch someone....

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