A Clay Thought Moves my Open Hand

A clay thought moves my open hand;
I shape it, round it, trim it, stand
And publish-throw it toward the skies,
Accessible to public eyes.

Some glide, fired, yet never truly fly,
A downward finger (gravity) rebukes their good-faith try:
Wingless clay pigeons ensured to surely die.
Others, praised, soar as the reader sings;
Such white doves ascend by angels’ wings,
Shed the earth that held them fast,
And flutter from a time-bound clasp.

Cease to worry,
Start to be —-
And hover in eternity.

Three Words for You to Circumscribe

Three words for you to circumscribe,
Three words to speak around;
To tell them sideways, navigate
The turn until they’re found.

Three words were said, by my desire,
To fan my wind, and cool my fire;
They weren’t said to find hitched grace,
Or mobile latitude their place.

For those three words escaped my lips
And slipped away from tongue;
They brushed my thigh and drained away;
What they were for I cannot say.

So recompense blows nightly wind
For seedstorms sown in haste;
We cannot stand, we can’t see them,
Their place has been displaced.

I am to trees what you surmise
Some others are to plants;
They grow; I watch; I knock; I wait;
The lesson moves at other gait.

And wisdom round the ring of rise,
Up-sun through melted golden skies,
I perjure up-word journey through
Undaunted by my eyes;
For they send messages ill-willed,
And journey to the end;
And bringing such I never will
See beauty for a friend.

Night Time, Right Time, Astro View

Night time, right time, astro view;
Remove the planks from off your eyes,
Remove the planks o’erhead;

Shaking dreams cobweb-in-bound,
To soak the night instead.
Fathoms deep, I fathom not
The debt that I’ve incurred;
I’ve barely started to believe
That I can reach the Word.

Delicious Night, So Sweet to Me

Delicious night, so sweet to me,
I’m packaged for eternity;
The winds may blow around my head,
But I decide when I am dead.

There is no glutton for my eyes,
When sugar spins to my surprise;
like cotton, floating wisps away,
I can’t consider tooth decay;
And brine and spit, naught with ease,
Are blowin’ through my soul disease.

Thoughts on Max Hall and forgiveness

Thoughtful article from Deseret News writer Amy Donaldson on 11/29/09, in regards to BYU quarterback Max Hall's postgame comments:

"Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret."
— Ambrose Bierce

Somebody did Max Hall wrong.

He says it was the University of Utah. He also said it was the BYU fans who doubted and criticized him.

"I don't like Utah," said Hall after he threw the game-winning pass to Andrew George in BYU's 26-23 win against Utah in overtime Saturday. "I hate their program. I hate their fans. I hate everything."

He hates everything?

I don't know Max Hall, but I hope that is not true. Unfortunately, that is the treachery of anger and hate. You can't isolate those toxic emotions. Eventually, more quickly than you realize, they contaminate everything around them — including your own heart.

"Consider how much more you often suffer from your anger and grief, than from those very things for which you are angry and grieved."
— Mark Antony

For more than year, he apparently swallowed bad feelings about an incident involving his family. He said Ute fans threw beer on them during last year's game at Rice-Eccles Stadium. It was, indeed, a disgusting act that apparently ate him up inside.

And then there were the critics.

Apparently he listened to what they had to say about him — his inconsistency; his inability to win big games — and he hated them for it.

Life isn't fair. People do bad things and they get away with it. If these are your adversities, Mr. Hall, fall to you knees in gratitude.

"Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned."
— Buddha

It happens a lot in sports. Talk of revenge, pronouncements of redemption. Winning, it seems, makes everything right. The end, too often, justifies the means.

Saturday night, after being carried on the shoulders of teammates and fans, Max Hall proved that is an illusion.

Winning doesn't change the past. It doesn't erase anything. It doesn't make you a better human being.

He got his revenge. He beat the "classless" Utes and disappointed their "classless" fans.

The win won't change what his critics believe. It won't change the unpleasant experience his family had last year. It certainly will not engender thoughtfulness in those prone to call names and throw beverages.

What winning can do is show the benefits of hard work, discipline and teamwork. It can take you in a new direction and it can offer you hope and joy.

Max had a moment to praise his teammates, to thank his coaches, his family and those fans who believed in him, even when statistical evidence didn't support him.

Instead, he used his moment to belittle players who are, in reality, not that different from him.

"He who loses control, loses."
— Det. Frank Pembleton, Homicide: Life on the Street

Max Hall won.

It wasn't the perfect game for either team, but it was important for them in many ways. And he was blessed with a win.

Seeing him throw that pass, watching Andrew George hold up that ball in the end zone was a moment of triumph. It was pure joy. They earned one of those historic wins in fairytale fashion.

Instead of allowing himself to bask in happiness, in gratitude, he chose to spew venom at his perceived enemies.

Please don't tell me this is part of sports. Do not try to convince me that anger and hatred are motivating.

They are debilitating. They are corrupting. They are not what sports, especially college athletics, is about. Every single football team is filled with young men trying to earn an education, hoping to represent their schools well, praying they won't let their teammates down.

They are not the enemy. This is not a war, and there is no place for hate.
"Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die."
— Malachy McCourt

Sadly, his comments will cause a lot of people to believe athletics are not a good place to learn integrity, dedication, commitment and hard work. The games are the best place to learn these things because you are not always expecting it.

Each game is a new opportunity. An opportunity to test yourself, your preparation, your abilities and your skills.

Life is just a string of opportunities. Some of them will come on football fields, some will come on a freeway when someone cuts you off and then flips you off. Will you respond in kind? Will you allow their anger to contaminate you? Or will you be who you are, even in the face of unprovoked, undeserved anger?

This is another opportunity. Max Hall can teach us all a lesson. We can learn from it, or we can rationalize it. He can learn from it. Or he can hate everyone who tells him he's made a mistake.

Max Hall really was betrayed. But it wasn't by strangers in red. It was, instead, his own heart that led him to a place of pain.

Forgiveness, someone once told me, really is a gift you give yourself.

"Mirror" by Syliva Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful-
The eye of the little god, four cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

I am curious why she compares the woman to a fish in the last line. Any thoughts?

Hello

I uh... well, never mind.

Paul McCartney's music

I cannot understand how people don't listen more to Paul McCartney's music! I have been on a serious kick of listening to his music lately. His tunes are catchy, full of hope, span and toy with numerous genres, and contain, soul, passion, energy, and the poetic unconscious. His lyrics are catchy, and for the most part quite decent and appropriate. They speak of hope, love, and imagination.

Songs of his I currently dig on in a very serious way: "No More Lonely Nights," "My Love," "Junk," "The Long and Winding Road," Footprints," "Listen to What the Man Said," "For No One," "Day Time Night Time Suffering," "Ballroom Dancing," "Wanderlust," "Every Night," Heaven on a Sunday," "Tug of War," "Take It Away," .... and now I trickle off, but there are many more.

YouTube his stuff. Get an earful of joy!

A Beautiful Message about LDS (Mormons), Race, and the Priesthood

Friends at the Break of Day

There comes a time when young neighborhood children release their joy through facial expression.

A new writer's web site: IPF Cubed

I have joined a writers' web site: http://ipfcubed.com/. Take a look! It should be up and running by September 10, 2009.

Holmes Homes

My family and I have also been extremely pleased with our home builders, Holmes Homes. Not only did they build us a beautiful home, they have been eager and prompt to address any concerns, make repairs, answer questions, etc. They were also very easy to work with during the purchasing and building of our home. They are friendly, helpful, and professional.

Hats off to Holmes Homes as well!

Rollins Sprinkler & Landscaping

Hats off to a business that cares more about their customers than to make a quick buck.

Rollins Sprinkler and Landscaping installed our sprinklers last winter (2008). Unfortunately, they accidentally left off a part of the installation. A few months later, when it came time to begin watering our lawn, our sprinklers didn't work. When I called them, they came quickly, apologized profusely, offered us some restaurant gift certificates as a good-will gesture, and immediately fixed our sprinklers. Their owner, Quentin Rollins, was also quick to add that he wanted to know whenever we might need his service, and that he would send somebody immediately (he has subsequently been true to his word).

I would recommend their business to anybody.

I Hate Spam

I hate spam. I hate spam. I hate spam. I hate spam.

I am sick and tired of spam senders sending me sexual stuff. I don't need that.

Stroke Identification

(Passed on from my sister)

Remember the 1st Three Letters of the word stroke....S.T.R.

A neurologist says that if he can get to a stroke victim within 3 hours he can totally reverse the effects of a stroke. He said the trick was getting a stroke recognized, diagnosed, and then getting the patient medically cared for within 3 hours, which is tough.

RECOGNIZING A STROKE

Sometimes symptoms of a stroke are difficult to identify. Unfortunately, the lack of awareness spells disaster. The stroke victim may suffer severe brain damage when people nearby fail to recognize the symptoms of a stroke.

Now doctors say a bystander can recognize a stroke by asking three simple questions:

S *Ask the individual to SMILE.
T *Ask the person to TALK and SPEAK A SIMPLE SENTENCE (Coherently)
(i.e. It is sunny out today.)
R *Ask him or her to RAISE BOTH ARMS..

If he or she has trouble with ANY ONE of these tasks, call emergency number immediately and describe the symptoms to the dispatcher.

New Sign of a Stroke -------- Stick out Your Tongue

NOTE: Another 'sign' of a stroke is this: Ask the person to 'stick' out his tongue. If the tongue is 'crooked', if it goes to one side or the other, that is also an indication of a stroke.

Today's Revealization

The key word is replace. I cannot uproot a weed and leave a gaping hole, for another weed will grow in its place. I must plant a flower there.

Same with sins. I cannot say, "Stop doing or thinking that sin"; I must do or think something good to replace it. Replace sin with goodness. Don't just stand there and try to think evil away. do things that occupy your time, attention, and heart with goodness. Good music, friends who influence you to do good, serving others...

Wonderful Timelines and Map for LDS (Mormon) History

Check these out:

LDS & World History: this one is produced by the Church itself.

PBS also created a very useful timeline, as well as this extremely informative map.

Wonderful resources! Enjoy.

In Defense of Mormonism

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Fair Wiki (like Wikipedia) is a wonderful site dedicated to clarifying and defending the doctrine of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is not sponsored by the Church itself.

Check it out.



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"Africa" by Perpetuum Jazzile

Death to Cell Phones!

How many times have I been in a grocery store or in line somewhere, heard someone talking to me, and I begin to answer – only to discover that they are on a cell phone. How rude! How ridiculous!

I don’t have a cell phone, and I barely know how to use one. When I tell that to people they become incredulous, discombobulated. “What?! No cell phone? How is that possible?”

Apart from being extremely dangerous when used by motorists, cell phones seem to me to be one more inadvertent effect of technology separating us from our immediate life and surroundings.

There are times when I need to be alone, when I don’t want to be accessible. It is those uninterrupted times when I can be more productive, or introspective, or live in the moment and place where I physically am. Cell phones pull you away from such times, acting as an electronic leash.

While cell phones can of course be wonderful in times of an emergency, they are usually nothing more than a huge crutch. They take you away from the need to associate with those who are in your immediate vicinity; they also free you from the responsibility of planning or forethought; you can just call someone to get it for you.

In general, I vote against cell phones. They are a distraction, a leash, a crutch, a fracture in conversation and relationship building, a separation from our immediate life, another bill, and another thing to lug around. I suppose if you have to have one to make sure to use it judiciously.

================================

Thanks to my good buddy Jason for pointing out this article to me, which goes hand in hand with my cell-phone thoughts:

"More Better Faster!": How Our Spastic Digital Culture Scrambles Our Brains

Taken from http://www.alternet.org/media/140982/%22more_better_faster!%22%3A_how_our_spastic_digital_culture_scrambles_our_brains/?page=entire

By David Bollier, On the Commons. Posted June 30, 2009.

The digital communications apparatus is crowding out deeper relationships and more deliberative modes of thinking.

One of the more pernicious enclosures of the commons is the enclosure of time and consciousness. It's pernicious because it is so subtle and rarely discerned. When commercial values such as productivity and efficiency become so pervasive and internalized, they crowd out other ways of being. Our very sense of humanity -- full-bodied, spontaneous, spiritual -- leaches away.

All of this was brought home clearly in a provocative lecture that I attended yesterday evening. It was called "No Time to Think," by David M. Levy, a professor at the Information School at the University of Washington. Levy gave a chilling historical overview of how American society has become enslaved to an ethic of "more-better-faster" and is losing touch with the capacity for reflection and intuitive thinking. In an overweening commitment to constant doing and making, analyzing and thinking (which, let us note, are important human activities), we can too easily close off access to an entire realm of consciousness that is at least as important, our capacity for reflection.

Levy's research is focused on why the technological devices that are designed to connect us also seem to radically dis-connect us. As Levy puts it, "We now have the most remarkable tools for teaching and learning the world has ever known. How is it that we have less time to think than ever before?" Although our society supposedly prizes creative thought, it in fact gives little respect to the intuitive and the contemplative.

The "information society" has a certain frenetic mindlessness to it, one that takes Henry David Thoreau's famous line in Walden to a new level entirely: "We are in great haste to construct a magnetic telegraph from Maine to Texas; but Maine and Texas, it may be, have nothing important to communicate." Twitter may be all the rage, but surely there is something pathetic about the ascendance of Twittering as our unstructured, person-to-person social time dwindles away.

This trend has only accelerated, and become more internalized, as more and more digital technologies have become incorporated into our daily routines. Email, cell phones, text-messaging, voicemail, Facebook, instant-messaging, Twitter, and of course the World Wide Web – they all serve useful roles. But I also realize at times that the digital communications apparatus has transformed our consciousness in some unwholesome ways. It privileges thinking that is rapid, productive and short-term, and crowds out deeper, more deliberative modes of thinking and relationships.

According to Thomas Eriksen of the University of Oslo, author of Tyranny of the Moment, the electronic environment systematically favors "fast time" activities that require instant, urgent responses (email, cell phone calls, etc.) Such stimuli tend to crowd out "slow time activities" such as "reflection, play and long-term love relationships," said Levy.

Levy pointed out that this dynamic has an especially perverse effect in academia, which is supposed to be somewhat insulated from the larger society so that students and scholars can think more broadly and with longer range perspectives. But in fact, universities mirror the rest of society, and the dwindling time to think is as much a problem within the academy as anywhere else. As instrumental, short-term, applied goals take center-stage, our society has less access to the wisdom and complexity that deep, reflective thinking can provide. This is a major loss.

The ancients had a word for it: "leisure." In the original sense of the word, leisure was not a consumer-oriented activity like golfing or movie-going, or even "relaxation." It involved having time to ponder and reflect on the world. The words "school" and "scholar" have their etymological roots in the Greek and Latin words for these activities, Levy noted.

According to Josef Pieper, a German Catholic philosopher, "leisure is a form of stillness that is the necessary preparation for accepting reality; only the person who is still can hear, and whoever is not still cannot hear." Pieper, writing in the 1940s, worried about a world of "total work" that would make a "total claim upon the whole of human nature."

It's safe to say that that future has arrived. The very coinage of the term 24/7 and "real time" (usually as a virtue!) confirms the ubiquitous social reality of "total work." Fast-time activities absolutely crowd out slow-time alternatives. The now eclipses the timeless. And we are becoming diminished creatures in the process.

By coincidence, this week's issue of The New Yorker has a major article by Margaret Talbot on the use of "neuro-enhancing drugs" that are increasingly being taken to boost one's cognitive performance. There is apparently a large underground culture of people – students, business executives, poker players and others seeking a competitive mental edge – who take drugs like Adderall and Modafinil to stay awake, alert and mentally engaged, especially for tasks that require sustained attention. The whole idea is to prolong one's productivity and efficiency.

Taking drugs to prolong one's productive engagement becomes a new way to adapt one's very body and mind to modern demands for "efficiency." Why remain a normal human being when one can use chemicals to super-charge one's metabolism in order to meet the harsh imperatives of a college education, business negotiations, international travel and general multitasking? Defenders liken the neuro-enhancing drugs to drinking coffee. But that's a rationalization; no one really knows how safe these productivity boosters are over the long term.

The scary things is that we are slowly "papering over" the forms of human consciousness that we regard as gratuitous….yet which history has shown are essential to a meaningful life. We are sabotaging those inner capacities of consciousness that we need to be present to others and ourselves.

Yet this is no Brave New World imposed by a totalitarian state; we are "voluntarily" doing it to ourselves. While there is certainly a voluntary aspect to using neuro-enhancing drugs, in other respects our cultural norms of efficiency and busyness are encouraging this abuse. When your everyday life is saturated by email, cell phones, voicemail and texting, it's not a big leap to take a drug that will help you survive the "fast-time" norms of modern life.

In his lecture, David Levy called for an "information environmentalism" to help educate people about the myriad and aggressive forms of mental pollution afflicting our lives: advertising, telemarketing, junk mail, radio and TV, and various digital media. Perhaps we can begin to push back on the cognitive overload, he suggested, and recover some modicum of silence. That's the purpose of the "Do Not Call" list to prevent unsolicited telemarketing calls, for example.

We might also begin to design physical spaces with contemplative needs in mind (think of the Library of Congress' reading room, for example). Many businesses have discovered that they can make money by offering consumers the opportunity to "buy back" the quiet that has been taken from us. The Bose noise-canceling headphones are marketed in this fashion.

I liked how Levy put it: "We need the equivalent of old-growth forests and marshlands in our mental lives."

For more about David Levy's work on the topic of information overload and the need to recover contemplative mind, it's worth chasing down a special issue of the journal Ethics and Information Technology that Levy guest-edited in December 2007 (vol. 9, no. 4). Entitled "Information, Silence and Sanctuary," the issue contains six thoughtful essays on a topic that deserves far more awareness. Unfortunately, the journal is locked behind a paywall, so you may have to use university access to read it. Another person worth consulting is Ivan Illich, who wrote about silence as a commons.

Given the powerful economic forces that have a self-interest in colonizing our consciousness (marketers routinely talk about seizing "mindshare"), devising effective ways to protect our contemplative consciousness is going to be a formidable challenge indeed. But on the other hand, this is not a struggle we can avoid. The alternative is a jittery, jagged postmodern insanity.

Cheap music: MP3 Panda

Check this out:


Songs are only 5 cents each, and albums are generally 50 cents each at MP3 Panda.

Huge selection. Rare stuff. Bootlegs. Out of print.

Is it legal? They say so here.

Bill Moyers learns about the powers of Chi

This boggles my mind:

Visit to Iosepa, Utah

Two days ago, at the suggestion of my brother, our family piled into our car and drove to an old ghost town: Iosepa, Utah, which is located southwest of Tooele. It was an old Hawaiian Mormon settlement from 1889 to 1917, having been inhabited by several hundred Polynesians. It was raining fiercely when we arrived, and although the settlement is situated in the remote desert of Skull Valley, there were actually a dozen or so people there. Apparently these were descendants of the original settlers, and they were just finishing up a meal and party they had had at the adjacent pavilion.

As my mom and dad usually do, especially with Polynesians, they began asking the people questions and soon found out that they knew who they were, and that they knew relatives and friends of theirs when our family lived in Hawaii from 1971 to 1976. It was amazing that my parents could find connections with them. Despite the rain, we had a good time getting to know these people and the settlement of their ancestors. It was a memorable day excursion.

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to live life deliberately, and purposely avoid the trite

Proof of Joseph Smith's picture

This moved me immensely:

I got to meet Lyle from Napoleon Dynamite

This nearly changed my life.

Daybreak Scare

Playing for Change

My daughter told me a funny joke

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It goes like this:

Why did the chicken cross the playground?

To get to the other slide!!!!

Ah hah hah hah hah! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! I love this humor! Agggggggghhhh hah ha ha ha ha! Keep it coming! I can't get enough!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


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Singin' "Sweet Caroline" at Eastmont

My nephew Sammy wrote this to me

"Sometimes God has to roll you down the river some more to get all the rough parts out of your life. We are just rocks in a stream! God is just trying to get you smooth!!"

Shay the Baseball Player

A great story somebody sent me:

What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection.
Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do.
He cannot understand things as other children do.
Where is the natural order of things in my son?'
The audience was stilled by the query.
The father continued.
'I believe that when a child like Shay,who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes
in the way other people treat that child.'

Then he told the following story:
Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked,

'Do you think they'll let me play?'

I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps..

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said,

'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.
In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.
In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.
In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again.
Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?
Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat.

Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.
The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.
As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first! Run to first!'
Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.
He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.
Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.
All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third
base, and shouted, 'Run to third! Shay, run to third!'

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team

'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

I am freedom when....

I am freedom when I've no nervous sweat, freedom when the little things pass as insignificant.

I am freedom when eating is not psychological, when breathing flows, when the pipes are not clogged.

I am freedom when uninterrupted, when inspiration is seen and mapped out in my mind, when fear is replaced by ideas.

I am freedom when the true Spirit's near, when love is not vegetables and duty, when my horses gallop without fear of cliffs.

I am freedom when I laugh spontaneously, when appearance is not lurking in my foremind, when getting out of bed is rolling over and getting up.

I am freedom when smiles, heart, love, compliments spring out unabashed.

I am freedom when my pulse rings clear, my energy flows continuously and strong, my intentions are not overbearing but cordial and warm.

I am freedom when I see lovable sinners, including the mirror.

I am freedom unconscious, unediting, breathing on paper, bringing the value of wisdom back to my mind and sight. And freedom is living and love.

Some poems I wrote in 1997

1997

The Poem That Wins
March 23, 1997

The poem that wins will always find resolve,
Either in God, Nature, or love;
It works in wild waves to all absolve,
Or sanction-cleanses like an airy, whitened dove.

When I thought these words,
I sat alone in shambled days,
Self-extracted in a park, away from duty-birds;
I did this to achieve an inner gaze.



Dedicatory to Lonesome Words
March 23, 1997

For for me to not write is to not think is to not live,
And then will passion be an extinguished ember;
For words are like gray cobwebs sticking in my brain,
They burrow in the corners and settle there,
So often must I sweep again;

I told you "words," but I mean thoughts,
Or passions, glued to a cranial wall;
To voice them is to clean them,
To purge them frees the hall.

And I am just a worder,
But words mean so much more than scratches ---
They are strokes of emotion, the means to my well-being, and therapy ---
And I love words for they save me from madness,
And I drink them and mix them.

The messy child in the toy room, sitting cross-legged in the corner, and finger-painting on a whited wall ---
His words are merely acrobat escape
From all that houses and throws him;
Words words words ---
A dedicatory to lonesome words.



Grandma VanTussenbroek
May 14, 1997

My grandmother died yesterday, and I am glad
For her sake
She was a good woman
And now she's moved on
She's still alive, you know

Gut-wrenching
Coffin-bearing
Now she's really with Grandpa
Where are your friends when Grandma's gone?



Journey on a Tossed Galleon
June 7, 1997

And wisdom is a journey, often with eyes closed;
And the brain and heart an open conduit to the sunlight inspiration of God,
Inspiration which comes as a bright path of light, down through darkened, gray clouds,
Right over our heads,
Right into our heads, and into our hearts,
As we stand firm on the wooden deck of a tossed galleon,
Faces and shirts drenched by the seaspray,
Hair darkened and matted down against our skulls by the water,
Unaverting eyes riveted upward to the heavens,
To the Fount of all creation
Waiting patiently on His will for our deliverance,
Letting the tempest rage,
For we know the Master is near.



Aikke
June 13, 1997

Aikke!
My soul is broken, bleeding,
And I cannot help but stare,
At the face I'm puzzled reading,
And the love that is not there.

Your soul is frozen solid
To my touch --- you scale away;
'Tis too much, your love is fallen,
From the man who vowed to stay.



A Poem is a Notice
June 16, 1997

A poem is a notice that the Spirit is alive;
A poem is a deliberate, calculated, thoughtful celebration of some aspect of life;
It breathes the inner vision and sees the brain ---
Seize the brain.



What is True Religion? (James 5:14)
June 29, 1997

Loving God: faith, repentance, sacramental covenant of taking the name of Christ upon ourselves, prayer, reading scriptures, temple visits, follow/pray for guidance

Loving Neighbor: visiting sick (mentally and physically), paying tithing, fasting for others, doing favors for others, listening to others, mourning with others, bearing testimony, comforting others, priesthood blessings, visiting fatherless (orphans) and widows in their affliction



The Example That the Son Has Set
July 20, 1997

The example that
The Son has set,
The Son will set no more;
He will rise up
With healing wings,
And buoy us to the shore.

Three times to shore
We come for birth:
The first, to Earth;
And two, for sin;
The third, the waves envelop us,
And pull us from our skin.

But Christ the waves ignored.

Some poems I wrote in 1996

1996

I Am Nothing When I Waver
January 29, 1996

I am nothing when I waver;
I am real when I'm relaxed;
I am strength when I'm relaxed,
For then I can move mountains.

The faith will surge like lava,
The tiny rocks will melt,
The gelatin spine will stiffen hard,
The merciful mind will remember things felt, things learned;
So sleep swaddled and confident ---
Bring your friend to tomorrow's day: Jesus Christ.



There Was a Time (When Love Was Bleeding)
February 10, 1996

There was a time when love was bleeding,
When heart's desires were exceeding;
Now I spend my leisure reading.

There was a time when heart was yearning,
When love's new flame was kindled, burning;
But lessons well learned need little re-learning.

There was a hope that burned my soul,
Today that hope is charred to coal;
I'll sit and have to count the toll,
Perhaps tomorrow re-build the goal.

Here I come.



My Moderation Starts to Melt
February 25, 1996

My moderation starts to melt,
As I flashback to how I felt;
And though with her I've been three times,
My hurried heart reads 'tween the lines,
And hopes for rocks amid the sand,
And thinks to harbor in her land,
To moor with her, and drop my anchor,
Gaze and praise and finally thank her.
So if I breathe my heart out on this sheet,
And pause, in patience, till complete,
Then maybe I'll breathe easy when I'm by her,
And, as balanced, come across for sure;
For to come across as balanced exacts hope ---
The straight and narrow path along the rope
That leads from one to oneness for the fixed
Is crossed by precept-stepping whilst betwixt.
And eye'll lock on with rod of iron, balance pole,
And fix my gaze opposite: tightrope goal.

And I'll hold tight to iron rod,
And (let it snow) I'll think of God,
And untap good borne in my soul,
And leave again the hopeless hole,
And look for love appropriate;
Ignore the scar, bind up the cut.

I cannot float alone....



Now Jesus Was a God
March 1996

Now Jesus was a God, then a Man,
Then and now forever more a God;
And Jesus built the Earth, filled the Plan,
Came through birth, balms with mercy after justice rod;
And Jesus led the way, made the way, is the Way;
Each circumstance to fairly weigh and give repay.



Inhib-Oceans
March 3, 1996

I am tired of the sadness, of the boredom, of the sighs,
Of the lying perpetrated through deceitful, lying eyes.
I am tired being lonely, indirect, and undirected;
I would look you in the eyes but I feel so unprotected;
And I want to gaze at people with a frank and honest look,
And commune with other people, 'stead of shrieking in this book.

I need to answer truthful to the people who stand near,
And tell them of my love (or anger), thus dispel my fear.
At times I'm anxiatic to reveal my true emotion,
It oft is buried 'neath a tide of social inhib-ocean;
My seabed, though, 's a loving man, of tenderness and strength,
Compassionate, opinionated, yet often river-banked.

Conclusion to this writing is to bare my soul despite
All the fears and inhibitions that extinguish my life's flight.



Salvation Is a Soul-Cut Word
March 9, 1996

And salvation is a soul-cut word,
Curing, drying, relaying what's heard,
From God to man, then man to God;
He line-upon-lines us with Godly prod,
Re-aligning, de-maligning, showing, shining,
Unearthing, hoping, re-combining;
We become what He now is
From clay deformed to Master('s)piece---
And I am willing to be pounded, blue, suffocated, too,
For 'cause to bring about some Heaven-good.



Floating Bird
March 10, 1996

And so this girl walked in --- a woman rather ---
She knew my door and how to talk,
To make that social door unlock;
Unannounced and barely bid,
This floating bird flew to my head;
It fluttered there, mussed up me hair,
Crowded all my precious air,
And didn't seem to even care;

But she gave me love.
So, I let her stay.

She nested there atop my head,
And filled my mind with what she said;
I listened, grew, forgot my dread
(So fatalistic) to be dead.

She raised me with her pair of wings,
I couldn't help but leave my things,
And float to her....

(Inspired by a woman, and also the last verse of Sting's "The Lazarus Heart" (from his album Nothing Like the Sun), which makes me think of birds of creativity and hope flapping about my head and refusing to let me fall into despair.)



I Miss You, Kate
March 10, 1996

"I miss you, Kate," was all he said,
"And love you too," beneath his breath.
But this unheard, Kate backed away,
And spun, and ran to weep among the thicket.

(Inspired by Sting's "I Miss You, Kate," an instrumental from his "All This Time" single.)



God Will Conquer Me, With Me Gladly Accepting
March 27, 1996

God will conquer me, with me gladly accepting ---
For only God can mold my clay,
Exalt me on my knees,
And heaven-send me with the keys;

So destroy me, God, if Thou please,
For Thy destruction is instruction,
To help my carnal eyes to see,
And my spirit eyes to seize.



Will the Marriage Hold the Soul?
April 10, 1996

For will the marriage hold the soul,
And will the ex-love lost betray the goal?
And will I find what slithered through my fingers?
The pain of losts and ifs and whys so lingers.

Hear me when I speak ---
Help me when I'm weak ---
Hold me when I shriek ---

For rhythms only last so long,
And caverned souls can echo song;
But why be hollow on this hill?
When hermit-hope aspires love-lot fill.



This Perimeter That I Call My Home
April 10, 1996

Out here in this perimeter that I call my home
(A no-holds-barred unreasoned zone),
Where as a pauper, yet on throne,
I reign within the brain I own;
I will control myself and nothing more,
And let the Holy Ghost control the score;
For, when abandoned, I lose grace,
And, unprepared, will lose the race;

For God sees me, and lets me mindlessly run to learn my lesson ---
Hopefully I'll commit no crime
(Absolutely hold myself for heavenly inclusion).



Let Words of Worth Flow Out of Me
September 22, 1996

Let words of worth flow out of me
Like giant green apples, or nuggets of knowledge;
New apples, ready to be picked



Carving Time
September 25, 1996

Carving time: getting out the pen and rasping it against a hard mind to sharpen it up
The earthworms of existence begin
Pulling out the drawers of thought
Pen-word pen heard across the planet
Age-old mull,
Sit-time breathe-spine lull
(Same old bull?),
Choice thinking
Delicate moments



My Heart Is Pumping
October 21, 1996

My heart is pumping, I feel confused;

Grasping in my brain
To label nameless pain
A melancholy bosom can't explain
Its throb, its grief, its pain ---
Perplexed, yet falling, falling, once again,
A lonesome cloud dispatching rain,
Forming one gigantic, muddy vein,
A downhill, dirtspill, unprosperous strain;
My chest heaves forward like a train,
Mind-bent descent to valley plain;
This can't be love! For it's insane!
It must be elsewhere --- not her --- not here --- somewhere far ---

My heat stops pumping; I feel abused.



The Boy Cries, the Father Comforts
October 21, 1996

The boy cries:
"Why can't I train my heart?
No matter how I practice, eventually apart
My heart is blown like brittle glass, and frozen wind can penetrate
The tender interior of an impulsive soul."

The Father comforts:
"So sleep tonight, my loving child,
You unburdened your bosom and gave it rein;
Now sleep, recuperate, tomorrow rise again,
With healing in your wings;
Your troubles will shed like scales, or a small blanket off a warm shoulder;
Thank God for who you are and what you have and sleep in peace,
Let peace speak to your heart;
You weren't meant to suffer long,
So unburden, live, learn, release
The swellings, or your heart will go infected;
Release and renew through peaceful sleep,
Where you shall rest protected.
Sleep, young loved son."



The World Seems Mostly Dirty
October 22, 1996

Everywhere I turn to, the world seems mostly dirty ---
Parents under eighteen, singles over thirty;
People treading several paths,
Double-minded world en masse ---
A billion salesmen lunge at me, contriving incredulity if I don't indulge in their binge;
All methods of mating and arousing are exposed and debased unscrupulously, thrust on screen, glossy page, catchy lyric, and school bathroom wall;
People running red lights, hit-and-runs, shameless liars, parents disowning children, children disrespecting parents, outrageous fees for simple services, new exercise machines, lose-weight-fast-and-eat-what-you-want diets, get-rich-quick schemes, padlocks and security systems everywhere, every person partitioned in a private apartment, nobody gets to know anybody anymore, men and women lawlessly giving free rein to their loins with not a consideration for consequence, increased swearing, increased disrespect, people cursing God and dying, pseudo-self-esteem, violence of every conceivable medium, flaming sarcasm, loss of God, loss of country, loss of remembrance for the past, loss of identity, loss of responsibility, loss of tradition, loss of family, loss of wisdom, murder, everyone screaming to be heard.... (the list could go on)

And yet....

Please let there be hope anyway. There are still good people out there, and good parents, and God-fearers. I've seen them and met them. Please let there be hope. Please let there be trying.



Better to Burn But Just My Feet
October 31, 1996

What if I want to remember,
Even face, even shoulder,
The troubles that I caused?
(The responsible soul will never be lost,
If you but plead the Mercy clause)

I will walk this bed of penitent coals,
And meet Christ on the other side;
Better to burn but just my feet,
Instead of losing all to heat;

Instead of losing all to heat,
Better to burn but just my feet,
Than find my soul has died
Death with the dead, unrepentant souls.

And these coals are but just a lifetime
--- No more ---

Then I will bathe in Cristo-balm,
All troubles washed away;
This troubled soul will then be calm,
And Satan kept at bay.

So burn me if to purge me,
With Holy Ghost, with fire;
And cleanse me from the inside out,
To bridle my desire.



Amusements
November 4, 1996

God has seen me run away,
I run, then come again;
It's so hard to stay, to hold in patience,
When the world, like a merry-go-round,
With its flashing lights and screaming colors,
Begs me come go for a ride;

Says, "Boy, come go for just one ride!"
And so I leap, forgetting Father, thrusting me from Him;
I catch a pony by the reins,
And ride with bridled passion.

Colors flying, going by,
Vistas on the blurry move;
Father, flitting, catch my eye,
And bid me back unto Thy love.
For this world is merry-go-turning,
Screaming delights that whisk me by;
But soon, too fast, the lights low-burning,
Colors blurring, fading, experiences jading,
Amusement park thrills begin to die,
And I am left with nothing valued;
Money spent, wisdom drained,
Hardly aught but quick-rush gained.
Remembering Father, I turn to Him,
Tears welling in our eyes;
He waited long for my return, patiently, on the side.
He silently takes my hand, and slowly we walk home, in the twilight, Father and son.
The Sun sets on the repentant boy, the day's labors over.



I'm a Man
November 6, 1996

I'm a man;

I'd rather fold it firmly than iron it;
I eat out of cans and bowls and microwaves;
I sometimes don't make my bed;
Yeah, I do burp, but I say "excuse me;"
I lick my knife;
My sleeve is sometimes a Kleenex, or a napkin;
I do not have that hand-washing phobia;
I enjoy a good game on TV occasionally;
I don't claim to understand women completely;
Sometimes I need time in my cave (but I'm not a caveman);
I'm not into crafts or color themes;
I generally prefer comfort over fashion;
I express my frustrations and then get over it;
I like to open the door for ladies, and treat them with respect;
I clean things only when they're dirty;
Yes, I am sensitive, and I do not appreciate when females treat me as if I am uneducated, incompetent, and mannerless;
I hate mind games, especially in romance relationships;
I hate male bashing, and I hate female bashing;
I don't own a gun;
I like to stay physically fit and am attracted to women who do the same;
If I don't like it or don't agree with it, I'll say so;
I don't like to falsify my concern or emotions;
I love to laugh (long and loud and clear);
If I say "I don't want to talk about it," it means I don't want to talk about it;
I don't want you to change me;
I'm stable, honest, and romantic;
I sometimes leave the lid up.

I'm a man.



The Great and Terrible Coming of Jesus Christ
November 9, 1996

I sat on a rock, and waited for the heavens to part.

Then Christ came down, or Lightning,
Angels screaming, white horses pumping,
The veil rent as well as many hearts;
His semblance shown, a waxen ball of shining glory;
The Man behind the cloud was God,
And all eyes now looked up to Him.
Flight was useless, time expired, all knees bent, my tongue confessed,
My heart throbbed wildly, my sin melted away, I yearned for his embrace ---

He was dressed like a King;
And all I could do was stare and weep, grateful for the Inspiration;
All petty and trivial desires shriveled up;
There was only one desire now: to be worthy of the Lamb!



When I Envision God
November 14, 1996

I close my eyes and think of God,
And envision a loving, white beard;
Stability, calmness, bridled power, wisdom,
Comprehension to the core of the earth;
Discipline, justice, eternal laws to obey,
Dwelling in a kingdom-sphere, transcending our decaying laws,
Able to wholly comprehend, Universe Traveler end to end,
Power, light, space, no time, communication with the elements,
Mind connected and fully employed.

Some poems I wrote in 1995

1995

Spirit is Energy
February 9, 1995

Spirit is energy, a flowing energy;
Happiness is positive spirit energy, flowing;
Negativity / Anger is contra-flowing energy, perhaps deteriorating.
We get things to flow correctly by getting in touch with the flow of positive spirit energy;
This is done by submitting to the flow (humility), making a riverbed for it to flow through (faith);
The Spirit will come to you and flow through you if you prepare for Him, allow Him, desire Him.

It's a rhythm; a river (of energy).



A Love Hid From View
August 19, 1995

She could be alone (I know I am),
She could be hid from view:
A fish below my very boat,
A mermaid waiting for my dive,
A queen bee droning for my hive,
A victim of love about to survive,
A gashed wound begging for the surgeon's knife ---
(An unsuspecting girl to wife?)



Another Rambling on God and Woman
August 31, 1995

You pray to God and try to flow to Him,
You pray to hit but you barely skim,
And swim in diversions as if it weren't sin;
You hardly know you when you haven't slept well,
And your eyes do the swelling though your heart should swell;
And she's so far away when you need her the most,
To assuage your gaps and comfort your ghost;
And the heat of the night sends a message of drowse,
That drags down the heart and hoists up the brows
To heaven (or woman?)
To bind up one's chest,
Till man, unabandoned, perceives how he's blest.

God, woman, man together
Brother, sister face the weather



Heaven's Falls
December 23, 1995

And I know that I'm alone,
And I know that I've no home,
And I suppose I can abuse
By freely roaming where I want to roam.
For there's no one here but me,
No inspiration without caverned chastity;
And thoughts impure are only withering smoke surrounding the vine,
While Revelation's circumference divides on Earth divine the time.

And Heaven's falls are not that far away
For he who takes the dive,
With eyes sealed shut,
And arms outstretched ---
Night-die-ving
From one Eden --- through Hell --- to next Eden.

Begin again.

The time spent praying rewards us with a sharpened conscience, and a delivery unforeseen
True reality is Heaven
True reality clarifies.



My Heart is Packed in Cotton
December 23, 1995

My heart is packed in cotton, within a muffled box,
My time for emergence is I-know-not-when;
My time for hibernation seems to come again, again.
I need my building time again,
I crave for time alone;

And poems are only bits of life.

But I must be content to write the Forms,
And only yearn for long Ideals;
And hold the mast in bitter storms,
And thank God fervently for my meals.

Some poems I wrote in 1994

1994

When Then
February 20, 1994

When the Heavenly God whispers to my soul,
When the human influences dissipate,
When my inner strength returns to the water's surface,
When surrounding colleagues cease to give me numb advice,
When I can face the truth with an uncovered face,
When backbitings die,
When enticings lose their edge,
When iniquity is not an option,
When my options and possibilities are maximized,
Then....
I will rise up



A Host of Flitting Images
March 13, 1994

A parent in a distant land
An unrecognized classic
An invisible, comforting, warm hand
A fair maiden
A jug of chocolate
A hardened stomach overfilled
A diet of nature's berries and seeds
A guided image in a lonely room
A sweeping dusk, so beautiful
An art not making sense
A sense of direction in my past
An aliveness rarely felt
A smile, a gel, a pasted-on look
A favor for a lover-friend
A myriad of delightful colors
A poorly defined instruction
A song of inspiration
A death, an image, a watery grave
A friend you wish you could help
A union betwixt colleagues and comrades
A judgment from an unclear distance
A tyrant
A crooked-toothed man with purpose
A sensual experience
A roomful of sweat
A treacherous, beckoning smile
A man who once knew me
A solitary conclusion
An effortless composition or construction
A dynamic steeplefold
A reverent bow-down and submission....
Somewhere in a field.



Ramblings Upon Falling Asleep
March 19, 1994

And when I drift into this sleep,
My day's clothes jumbled in a heap,
My head into the pillow seeps;
And when my mind has cleared the day,
Expulsed, exposed from mortal clay;
And when this heart runs even keel,
And when this soul continually prays,
And when I show love without fear,
She'll come to me. And I'll be here.



Leaving Her Behind
April 23, 1994

Deep down he knew (or felt) what he needed to do ---
--- But it was so incredibly hard ---
When he severed the ties, he was able to drift,
Almost mysteriously right into the arms of God's will;
When he severed the ties he was in the dark;
When he severed the ties he made the leap of faith;
When he severed the ties he momentarily fell,
Like a rock through a spider web,
Directly into the waiting palms of an anxious God ---
He was so happy to have leapt ---
It was more than worth it ---
--- A surgery rendering great blessings ---
This was a time of rejoicing, of true loving.

He then moved on
Eyes shut
Arms outstretched blindly before him
Guided by Breath, Feeling, Heart.
Incredible.



The Single Mother
April 24, 1994

It breaks my heart to watch the single mother;
No decent man around, so she settles for whatever's there (a shadow of a man),
And this shadowman either beats her, bleeds her of her resources, or verbally destroys her.
So she moves on, alone,
Not knowing who she can trust
Not knowing a good thing when she has it,
Wasting her assets,
Living without thinking (because thinking hurts, thinking reveals an anguishing reality);

--- I wish I could encompass and protect them all ---

And our children
Are growing up without fathers.



Love is Murky
April 24, 1994

Love is murky
A massive vast wall
A deep indigo pit
A corner
An invisibility.

But we crave for it
Feel along the wall for it
Dive into it
Head for it ---

Scoping
Groping
Hoping
(Eloping?)



No Title
April 24, 1994

A pile of my possessions falls, suddenly, as if by accident, off my bookshelf;
In a split second, without any forethought or planning, the possessions instantly arrange into a still pile on the floor.
Transformed from one state to another, instantly.

My life is comparable to that.

Sudden changes or feelings, no pre-planning, landing into unforeseen shapes instantly, settling so quickly,
And I must react to the new change.
Sometimes I embrace the change, sometimes I just grit my teeth and pick up the pieces.
It all happens so quickly. Sometimes I don't have time to think. And sometimes there's no going back.



Innocence
May 12, 1994

A small child named Innocence was backed into an unlit corner and made to stay.



Words That Stick
May 12, 1994

Words that stick
Like butter on spoons
Smearing into and out of your unconscious



A Battered Man Who Seeks a Fight
May 16, 1994

A battered man who seeks a fight
Readily backs into a corner:
Bring on the challenge;
This has been his only life.

He will speak with swings and jabs,
He'll drink with one hand,
Punch with the other;
Blood smeared down his face and shirt,
Muscles tight and pulled and strained.

Nobody ever bothered to ask him
Why he grew this way,
Nobody ever seemed to care;

Getting socked 'side the head by Dad everyday took its toll ---
Now he'll take the his turn giving the socks;
And the cycle will continue until they all die off --- or embrace Christ.

No song, no possession, no victory, no amount of beer or whiskey
Will ever fill the hole ---
Until he stops;
And hears his soul.

(Written about a friend of a friend. The fellow described here is from rural Utah, and embodies the typical country boy. He is the "shadowman" referred to on April 24, 1994.)



Sensitivity vs. Numbness
May 25, 1994

So much of today's world offers us the means to deaden our sensitivities --- that is, to numb us. I believe Satan is behind this. He has in a sense opened up all of the floodgates in society. We are exposed to an overdose of television, music, violence, sex, movies, newspapers, magazines, murders, fads, styles, advertisements, words, information, data, stimuli, etc., that our hearts and minds have become inundated. There is an excess, an influx, an overdose of information --- too much for us to see, hear, feel, taste, touch, read, ingest, smell, process... so we end up shutting out and ignoring, in an effort to preserve insanity. At this point we start to become numb.

When we are thus overstimulated, our sensitivity diminishes. Unlike Samuel the Lamanite, who prophesied what the Lord made him feel in his heart (Helaman 13:3-5), we easily fall out of contact with the still, small voice of God. His whisperings are so hard to hear or perceive when everything else is penetrating our sensors, screaming for attention.

If our sensitivities have eroded, then anything looks acceptable. The ability to distinguish between good and evil will become fuzzy and indiscernible. In our distorted eyes there won't be any perceivable evil or good, just neutral existence which is meaningless (2 Nephi 2:11, the last clause of the verse).

I move that we heighten our sensitivity; that we eliminate the constant barrage of distracters; that we give a little bit of room, silence, space, and meditation for our God to work within us.



The Governing Heart
June 12, 1994

Not the actions,
But the heart;
If the heart is in its place
The actions will consequently follow.

The heart as a compass;
The heart as the hand in the puppet;
True motives inevitably yield true actions.

A few basic principles to govern my lifestyle;
See God in all things;
Fight for your spiritual rights;
Am I not happy when anxiously involved in a good cause?



The Sacramental Bread is Here
July 17, 1994

The sacramental bread is here,
To show us Death won't last;
Soon the water will appear,
To reconcile our bloody past.

And Jesus the Anointed,
Whose Expiatory treasure,
Restores to all disjointed
Unsurfeiting eternal pleasure.

Give out thy alms as freely
As the sins you guard inside;
Then Christ's body, sold completely,
Refunds life to those who've died.



A Brief Glimpse of a Wedding Reception
August 18, 1994

So bring us rice and rose petals,
And capes to trod upon;
Bring us harps and dried bound nettles,
And slush punch on a lawn.



Leave My Life
August 18, 1994

Leave my life, vacate my heart,
Before it's stretched in two;
You torment me as if an art,
Yet claim you wit not what you do.

Just one more straw and I'll collapse,
My back is bent and breaking;
I've drained my reserve and, perhaps,
If you leave, I'll stop aching.



Let Words Come Out Like Raw Clay
August 20, 1994

Let words come out like raw clay;
Mold them, rub them, till what they say
Is what you mean,
Tells where you've been,
Depicts your scene,
Makes you clean.

And when those words have found their mark,
And when your prayers are made with faith,
And when your hungers are appropriately channeled ---
Your waters will run pure,
And you will be sure,
And you will have your cure.

No music now will drown these thoughts,
No food will serve to plug these clots,
No intra-peace-through-venous shots.



From Sense to Sensation to Sense
August 23, 1994

People, especially poets, need to make sense of things, to be the midwives of meaning. Don't confuse us with complex structures, or couched meanings, or glitzy, decorated facades which cover or misrepresent truth.
Make sense;
Be plain;
Seek to enlighten, not impress.

But my mind darts and dodges,
(There's so much in front of my face ---
To see, hear, digest, taste, consume, ingest)
The colors and sounds and flavors are almost too much, when suddenly, subtly...

I've arrived into a silent night.

There's no complaining in the silent night,
No one trying to sell me anything (incredibly, even salesmen sleep),
No one or thing crying for my time or attention (no one to say "no" to);
Only rhythmic crickets, my summer colleagues.



Go Without and See What Comes
August 23, 1994

Go without music
Go without TV
See how your thoughts will blossom
See how inspiration seeps in

Go without
And see what comes

We blow our minds on influx
We glut our brains on stimuli
Everything is flitting images
Too many choices
They all flutter by at break-neck computer speed

This is the selfish epoch
Swollen in consumption
This is America (?).



Revelation's Hill
September 11, 1994

Pray continually for Guidance
And then won't wisdom and God's will
Flow down from Revelation's hill?

Two streamlets join to make a rill,
And, gaining speed, they dash to fill
The body at the bottom,
The soul not God-forgotten,
Drenched in dews from God's deep well,
A Resource you cannot dispel,
And rinse the mortal, purge the hell.

Then make us rise from dry lake bed,
A resurrection from the dead,
A blessing given on the head
Of lakes that are receiving,
Of lakes that o'ercome grieving,
Of lakes steeped in believing.



Roles of a Teacher
November 6, 1994

The multiple roles of a teacher in this age include: teacher, friend, baby-sitter, psychologist, career guidance counselor, entertainer, stand-up comedian, parental figure, slave driver, coach, example, role model, values instructor, enemy, disciplinarian, facilitator, guide, paramedic, bodyguard, warden.

Some poems I wrote in 1993

1993

Some Kind Girl, So Insistent
June 11, 1993

Some kind girl, so insistent ---
Her wide brown eyes a polygraph ---
Her words few, but well chosen at the empty restaurant ---
Her ears draw from me a string, a river of anguishes.

So I told her, to her eyes and to her ears
--- I needed to tell somebody ---
And she listened well.

(A dear friend, Kim Bartlett, went to dinner with me on this evening, and through our conversation helped me to begin healing from an emotionally draining relationship.)



Be Vague
June 11, 1993

Brush stroke one particular feeling
A thousand times with words
And maybe you'll catch it

Be vague

Be vague
And people will love it
Give them a thousand different bricks, or words
Tell them to build what they want
Be vague

Lovers will understand
Anyway



Girls Come and Go
June 22, 1993

Girls come and go
They smile, leave a glow,
And glide on through the door.

Girls they come, and play with words,
Saying and doing things I've always feared
(Their emotional make-up allows them to do that)
And I pause before them ---
Sitting there;
Sit there;
Glazed.

I've rehearsed a thousand times the scenario (of love)
With mentally ideal results;
But the plane
Knifes through the clouds
Speeding downward
Towards destruction



Here I Sit
July 19, 1993

Here I sit, or lay, alone,
Within this basement home;
Only words to comfort, or to travel,
To this bound heart unravel.



The Man in the Distance
July 25 to 26, 1993

The Man in the distance signals to me:
It's Jesus Christ.
With one hand He beckons,
With the other He waves me to take it slowly, surely, in appropriate moderation;
To see His face and live may take a lifetime.

So live ---
the zeal of LeGrand Richards
the thoroughness of Neal Maxwell
the love of Gordon B. Hinckley



Nephi
August 8, 1993

A golden ball absorbed your faith,
God made raw meat taste sweet;
Your brothers bound you, smote your face,
But shipwreck-threatened did retreat.



Christ's Word
August 8, 1993

Christ's word:
A sword, a globe, an iron rod, a rope we gather in,
Whose tied-end product is a fruit,
Whose whiteness cleanses sin.
Christ is the Word;
Christ is His word.



Encounter on a Lonely Beach
August 15, 1993

When the ship of survival leans to me, and catches me silently curled up on a dark shore, weeping, I strive to muffle my pain and shoulder my faith once more. I begin walking along the shore again, this time trying with a renewed concentration to maintain a rhythmic gait.

I am left alone on an abandoned shore, far from understanding ears and people willing to weep with me...

In the distance I vaguely see a hazesome figure walking,... I can't tell if she's coming or going.... she's coming. Along the distant sandy shoreline. Night is falling, and the shadows of illusion play games with my eyes. Suddenly she is in front of me.

"I am woman," she says.
I pause. "I am man."
We stand there looking at each other.
We found each other on this lonely beach.



Stupored in Transition
August 21, 1993

It's just that ---
In my heart of hearts ---
I'm stupored in transition ---
Shattered into shards ---
Isled in derision ---
Beached, abandoned, compassless,
Trying to enter rest ---
No routine to secure my days,
No clear skies in this soul-lost haze,
No clue to flee my mental maze;
If patient I'll be blessed.



Pearl
August 21, 1993

Pacing the shore for a certain grain
Of sand to make this pearl ---
Why did I take this pain?
My jewel won't be made from a girl(!);
She can't do such thing to this boy,
The answer's already within;
Pearls of self-virtue give me joy
Pearls from others only cover my sin.
Pearls may appease,
But world-pearls don't give peace.



Thoughts Too Deep for Words
October 3 or 4, 1993

Thoughts
Too deep for words
Complexities
In life
Too knotted to ever undo
But we try
And we slave
And music envelops us
And sanity is neatly wrapped in a blanket of poetry
And unconscious music is in the head
And words float
And some people don't see that I so often revert to this medium (writing) for soul-searching salvation
And that I mean no harm
Nor have any apostate intentions
And so it goes



Living in Waves
December 24, 1993

Living in waves; that is,
Sometimes writing poetry, but not always.
Some days very physical,
Other days very mental, or spiritual ---
In other words, not always doing the same things each day.



To a World That Has Essentially Forgotten Christ
December 24, 1993

For a world that has essentially forgotten God and Christ:
We still celebrate Christmas yearly,
We still calculate the year from His birth,
Many still remember Him in their cursings, or desperations.

Some poems I wrote in 1992

1992

My Mind Wanders With Direction
February 25, 1992

I am freer than the darkest night,... when I bleed with pen;
For somehow my mind detaches from the shore, floats to a solitudinal island, and strikes anchor.

My mind wanders with direction,
Errantly, yet in cause;
The wonder of a supplication,
Married to a pause,
Holds solid homes in tempest-weather,
Sweeps lead-brick burdens with a feather,
Keeps sanity and itself together,
Till they are one --- in peace (and only peace),
Never to be wrenched apart,
Or suffer esteem disease;
And when a blow comes to the heart,
It's overcome in natural ease.



Live to Mull and Weave
March 18, 1992

Mull and weave; mull your own words, then re-weave them into new ones; new combinations, new orders. With one grain I build out, adding variations, until filling the shore.

Live to weave;
Malleable words,
They fit my grip;
With these clay words
I build clay worlds
Or a tabernacle;
Tub, urn, ache;
To burn ash;
Two burnished swords in my hand:
Wit is the one, the pen is my brand,
Fashioned ashore a beach of sand;
The words slip through my fingers,
Not even one grain lingers.
Words are like that.



Eis o Poema
May 17, 1992

Eis o poema
Que nos estica, estendendo-nos como uma teia entre dois pontos extremos.
O poema efectivo faz com que saiamos do abrigo emocional e enfrentemos o que antes era impensável.
O poema deseja-nos moldar;
O poema quer ser a nossa escritura pessoal;
O poema é o bordão mágico do poeta,
Sendo-lhe um meio de auto-declaração.
O poema é personalidade em papel,
Coração palpitando na fina madeira.

(Behold the poem
That stretches us, extending us like a web between two extremes.
The effective poem gets us to leave the emotional shelter and confront what was once unthinkable.
The poem seeks to mold us;
The poem wants to be our personal scripture;
The poem is the poet’s magic staff,
Being a means of self-declaration;
The poem is personality on paper,
The beating heart on thin wood.)



The Spirit (Im)Pulse
September 5, 1992

I quietly ask myself in anything that concerns me, “Which?” or “What way?” and my spirit (im) pulse helps me see the good choice. Often the choice has supposed unappealing consequences, at least temporally (temporarily); but I don’t care as much, because I followed my Heart’s pulse, and I rest assured that things will eventually result in good. And they do.
I’m constantly experimenting with this, or have been for the past week or more, and the results have been very good.

It all seems to work when I honestly, truly detach myself from the numerous influences and temptations and selfish desires telling me what to do. When I am completely, wholly honest with myself to the point that I know when I’m exercising God’s will over mine in my life, then I am sufficiently sensitive to be guided.

A key in being guided by God is to stop and listen to your mind in all seriousness. Listen to your mind! Turn off the music, stop talking, stop planning, stop reading, stop exercising,… stop everything and think in quietness.



A Death Confronts a Living Person
September 26, 1992

A death confronts a living person, by surprise, and forces all other base preoccupations to dissolve as mist. Every line points inward, every element, every particle of the soul, centers; true focus descends.

True issues arise:
"God help us!"
"I must cleanse my soul!"
"I love my family!"
"My loved one is dead but shall embody again someday."

All masks are removed around a death, and we see each other and our own selves as we truly are; no façades or concealing can exist; we see truths everywhere and in everything for a brief moment.

No make-up, or concerns about appearances
No machismo
No bickering or social gossip
No social manners
No acting
No money worries
No obligations or appointments too important to break



This My Brain
October 23, 1992

This my brain, some sort of sort of sort of train,
Making way through hill and plain,
With energy I can't explain ---
Bursting bursting bursting on the scene,
From foliage thick to meadow green,
With no one thought to solely preen;
My thoughts are not sure what they mean,
But wordsthoughtsfeelings all explode,
Whenever they can't hide;
At times I can't refute this mode,
For doing such I'd be denied.



This Soul It Loves
Late 1992

This body's soul white as shewbread ---
Refutes the baking Son ---
My carapace a browning crust:
Sepulchre less sin.

Once dead, now leavened,
From chamber home leavening oven,
I made to rise a vow ---
Sacramental Jesus given
E'en to unacknowledging Jew.