Tired of people knowing everything about me before they meet me, I'm trying something different.
Ask me questions. I promise I won't be as vague as this profile.
Love for friends, for family, for the stranger and for the other.
Compassion; for the walls between us are not real, and judgment is only fear masquerading as strength.
Permaculture; there is no struggle or battle, there is just what works and what doesn't. It is complex but not complicated.
Presence; where are we? I aim to be right here.
Reading; all books have covers and some are misleading. Sometimes the pages are wet, burned, missing, yet what is written there is beauty that cannot be found anywhere else.
Awareness; knowing what you don't know can be more valuable than years of knowledge accumulated. There is no wisdom in age, and no age in wisdom. It is not about where, what, why or who you are. It is about how you are.
This month's poem: The Flutist
My hand flutters, a bird's feather
in flight across quiescent chasms
ring finger quivering, naked,
a song's provenance.
I touch the butterfly's wings,
chimney black and granny green
they shiver into stillness,
and I swallow
the bobbing apple.
Silver light sambas the mirrored
surface of the sire's hollow cast,
my lips kissing wintry chrome,
away from rebirth.