Prayers, Poems & Prose

I dream’t a dream of seasons

That well keeps the passing of time

Till I woke to the splendor of my Soul

And left even the dream of time behind

The Meandering

Years I walked the earth alone
A Soul without a God, A Son without a Father
And on that journey drifting empty and unfulfilled
Nature my near only love and lover

The trees marked my footstep, but
Spoke not a word of it
The wind caressed my neck, but
Whispered not in betrayal

The moon kissed my lips, but
Murmured not of sweetness
The Sun witnessed the journey, but
Told not the tale

I wandered and wandered and wandered…
Until at last I came to stand in learned contented solitude
On the edge of a great meandering

And there I came to know,
And there I came to accept
Aloneness is the only shadow cast
For those who walk by the light of Spirit



It is said there is a prayer
That only God can hear
Sweet and soft and simple
A whisper, a sigh, a fallen tear

The words form not
A sound in rhyme
But each breath
Is boundless love and endless time

The Lord in heaven bends low,
To better hear the prayer
And angels gently tremble
To see him frozen there

Purer than the flute of Krishna
And sweeter than the harp
It is the lonely calling votive
Of the sadly broken heart

And though we may not know it
God is there to hear
And mourn the silent drops
Of each and every tear

I am the psalm
I am the  prayer,
I am the stars and the midnight air

I am the sun
I am the moon
I am the summer and the rain in June

I am the day
I am the night
I am the hours and the bird in flight

I am the song
I am the poem
I am the road and the long walk home

I am the wind
I am the snow
I am the forest and the trees that grow

I am the ocean
I am the sea
I am the spring and the mid-summer’s breeze

I am the wave that crashes upon the shore
I am all these things and so much more

When my feet fall heavy and body wearies against the unforgiving ground , I gentle lay my head to rest upon sweet thoughts like feather down

In the refuge forests of my mind, strong scented memories waft like pine, Of maypole dances and midsummers dreams and the passing of time swimming in streams

But youthful musings of a past greener day like all life’s seasons finally give way, to autumn’s turn and winter’s descent with the fall of leaves and the snow’s cold regret

So I take my leave of the safe wooded place, and come once more my choice to face, of work and rest of joy and grief of life’s simple pleasures and its final relief

Beneath a nodding hemlock tree I lay and looked upon this papal church today.

Its simple beauty boast of such renown, the clouds fell the mountain down.

But still a darkness came to me, not as loss of light or sun but by the hopeless thoughts I’d spun.

And so I turned on bended knee and prayed instead to the Hemlock tree.

I share with you the soundless words she gift to me my mother this ancient Hemlock tree…

“Your father is not in brick or stone but in the silence of your heart enthroned.”

I climbed the mountain inmost dark,
Silent, cold, and alone

And stood upon the peaks froth white
to look out on the world its friendless hue
And count the many whipping winds
Harsh, and sharp, and blue

From the south the winds are warm
But full of doubt cast near
They blow the dust of many lives
Of past regret and fear

The northern winds are brutal cold
And cut me to the bone
They howl of sins and pains
And treadings far away I roamed

Tomorrow’s winds come from the west
Fierce and strong and bold
But they hold no promise or kiss so sweet
And will not last I’m told

The sacred grace of eastern winds seems
Gentle, kind, and soft
They bind me to this moment pure
And carry me aloft

At last I awake and rise
Upon the current of the east
As soul melts into spirit
An ethereal and blissful feast

Abiding in that hallow place
Where absolute and alone
Held at last in God’s embrace
Finally I come home


When comes my time, lay me gentle down under the rolling hills and towering pine

Where the wind is fierce and crisp and raw and the morning dew sleeps wet upon the glades

There flows too a river nearby with waters that run deep, cold and true

On their way to the ocean foaming white and glistening blue

Mark not my passing with stone and words for they are wasted on the herds

That graze on the tall gold grasses in the valley below where once I ventured bravely to go

For each in turn comes our time to leave this realm of fate and grime

and when we go we need not look back of bliss and joy we will not lack

For God’s radiance I stand in splendor with colors that call the eye

Though none may cast a glance to see, I herald the vernal sky

But magenta’s fate is to fade away, wither and soon to die.

For that is glory in spirit state such blazing beauty brief to mystify

Fill to me thy song eternal
That I might hear the sound
Bathe me in the light of spirit
That the soul of me is found

Destiny cannot be denied
And life shall have its due
Though kismet is woven tight
Grace is ever knit anew

When clarion calls aloud
And to home I am returned
Though none may see that I have gone
In God’s embrace I am interred

I sat in meditation today when a great stillness arose from within me, taking my breath away and slowing the beats of my heart. With it came a great peace, full of light and surrender and joy. And there I rested for a very long time.

When my eyes finally opened, the world, my world seemed different; it was brighter somehow and more forgiving. It moved slower, appeared less sharp, and smelled sweeter than I remembered.

With this newly awakened awareness I roused myself and went for a walk. And as I walked, I saw the persimmon trees fruiting and the apples on the green apple tree growing towards ripe.  The verdant path floated beneath my feet and the yellow disc of the sun seemed fixed upon the azure ceiling above.

Then, it was as if I stepped into a great ocean current, surging within itself toward its source. It moved without moving, flowed without flowing, coursed without coursing and I lost myself in it. No longer was I in it or it in me, there was only unity. There was no beginning or end, no perceiver or perceived, no separation between soul and spirit; there were no boundaries at all.

By some means, I found myself standing in front of my home again with no memory of the steps in my strides, no sense of the distance in my journey, no time in the between.

It’s like that I think, when we finally find our way home; the path is past and forgotten and we only know the joy of existence being and the joy in returning home.



Does the flame tell the fire when to burn Or the breath tell the wind how to blow ? Does the flower tell the seed when to bloom Or the ray tell the sun how to glow ?

Does the honey tell the bee when to fly Or the tree tell the forest how to grow ? Does the blue tell what color to sea and sky Or the waves tell the ocean how to flow ?

Is not the flame the burning of the fire and breath the blowing of the wind ? Is not the flower the blooming of the seed and the ray the shining of the sun ?

Are not the waves the flowing of the ocean and the honey the product of the bee ? Is not the tree the growing of the forest and blue the beauty of sky and sea ?

Is not the soul but that light ethereal, and the knowing of truth to set us free ?

Is not the spirit indwelling only God the same life found in thee and me ?



I dreamt a most beautiful dream that I must share the holiness of

I dreamt of the rain coming down

And we stepped out onto the open plains

To feel it wash over our faces and bodies

And we could sing in my dream and sing we did

We began to sing and dance and praise

God for this perfect day of rain he made

Our feet stamped out a slide and pound rhythm

I looked down to see the dust on my feet become ochre mud

And we could sing in my dream and sing we did

With one voice lifted high and strong and that carried far

We sang Hosanna in the rain as we pound our feet to the ground

We sang Hosanna in the rain in strong voices that carried to heaven

We sang Hosanna in the rain as one with the Lord

And we could sing in my dream and sing we did unafraid

Then I awoke from my dream of rain and singing and stamping

And I was wrapped in a stillness and a silence

But the rain was still on my face as I cried at the loss

Of joy and harmony and the loss of the rain on my face

 But we can sing of God in my dreams and sing we will

My Dhurrie lies fallow, readied for the loom No filament of color entwined within the gloom

The weaving chair rocks to and fro unfilled Soul-less wood creaking friendless and unmilled

 Though faith there be strong scented in the pine That light comes dawn out of breath and time

 So once again I take my seat and fingers dance To weave the kismet throw of hap and chance

And as I pitch my painted threads to plait Destiny summons my spirit to illuminate

The Passing

I can feel the heavy night that’s coming

A black and lifeless cloud

A mist of pain wet with sorrow

Pouring down.

 I can feel the dark of sadness

as souls are passing in the night

A breathless mournful moment

Empty of the light.

I can feel the sudden joy of spirits 

Dancing in the round

A flowing spring eternally

Raining the unstruck sound