Meteorite

We burn intensely for our brief time,
as though the atmosphere of living
is too intense for these
transitional vessels
we call our bodies.

Parents and other relatives,
friends and neighbours,
strangers whom we have never met,
all pass in one fleeting moment,
leaving only an afterimage,
a cosmic afterglow,
on the retina of our lives.

To endow it with meaning
we create gods, and interpret dreams.
We sing songs, and create stories.
Some meditate, yet others despair,
finding anguish, not solace,
within.

Yet we continue to dream
and create; to contemplate
and medicate.
We dance our wild dance,
living in this moment,
this magic, tragic and fleeting
        *** flash ***
that is our sum total.

And when it is our time
to burn across that starry sky,
our afterimage will long be felt,
not for the brilliance of our passing,
but for its absence
in a darkened sky.

Come the Revolution

Come the Revolution

Over the past several days there has been an acrimonious discussion taking place on a CBC News forum over the refusal of the Canadian Minister of Science, Gary Goodyear, to state whether or not he believes in evolution.

Two terrifying facts that this discussion has brought to light are:

a. The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms states, right at the beginning, "Whereas Canada is founded upon principles that recognize the supremacy of God and the rule of law: ...", and,

b. The Globe and Mail poll yesterday (circa 16 March) shows that fully 46 percent of respondents do not believe in evolution.

Given that our present government has moved us, via the politics of fear, closer to a fascist state, with a much stronger morality-based enforcement industry, and a culture that proclaims "everyone in a uniform is a hero," I fear that, should we continue our jackbooted march upon this road, the fundamentalist mob will start rounding up all atheists, agnostics, animists, and non-Christians, citing the Charter as justification and praising our Kevlar-clad "heroes" as they taser us into submission before dragging us off to "re-education" centres where we will be forced to endure plastic-haired televangelists preaching at us with southern U.S. accents.

To quote John Stuart Mill, "No great improvements in the lot of mankind are possible until a great change takes place in the fundamental constitution of their modes of thought."

It is long past time for an intellectual revolution.

Silent Hill 2 - Music Box Fan Vocal Version + Lyrics

The Night That Music Died

On February 3rd, 1959, Ray Greene, myself and another friend of Ray's were spending the weekend at Rays's home in Whitefish, Ontario, just outside of Sudbury. I had the weekend off from my night watchman job at Algom Nordic, and Ray and his friend were working as cleaners at a Crawley McCracken construction camp at the new Elliot Lake Hospital site.

We were rocking and rolling at a local dance, when someone walked in and told us that Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper had just died in a plane crash. We were devastated...we knew the words to every song that both Buddy and Richie sang, and just loved J. P. Richardson's "Chantilly Lace." In true 50s' style, we pooled our resources and went to the nearest bootlegger where we purchased, and consumed, a mickey of Captain Morgan Black and a mickey of Tradition Rye Whiskey.

We stumbled back through the winter night to Ray's home singing the complete repetoire, albeit not very tunefully.

By the time Don McLean wrote about "the day the music died" in his 1971 song, American Pie, I had travelled far afield from the mines of Elliot Lake, and had lost touch with Ray. Rock and Roll, however, still lived on through several incarnations.

Rock on, Buddy, Richie, and J. P. Rock and Roll will never die (although presently it may be said to need a transfusion).

Suddenly Senior

Suddenly I’m old,
and this mind,
that feels the same as when I was nineteen,
struggles with that fact.

How did this happen?
I was just living my life,
dealing day to day
with the joys and pitfalls of our Path.
I tried to be a good friend,
a helpful neighbour,
a dependable father,
a sensitive lover,
and I suppose old age sneaked by me
when I wasn’t looking.

Oh, I am happy and content
with my life:
I wouldn’t change it
should some magic djinn
grant me that wish.
It is just that age surprised me
while I was otherwise occupied,
and I resent that
just a bit.

There are things left for me to do
that are more difficult for the elderly,
so I shall just have to try a little harder,
be a little more determined,
than the youth I thought I was.
I’ll continue to work out with Joe Weider’s help,
and take long walks with my friendly beagle,
and find excuses to run up and down stairs.
Watching my diet is fun,
and isn’t it amazing how much garbage
manufacturers put in processed food;
astounding how many chemicals
find their way onto our tables?

I’ll stretch my mind through contemplating
the Universal Balance.
I’ll try to understand why
so many of us just will not see
a larger Picture,
and work to make life better for all,
rather than blindly consuming, hating,
and seeking, rather than Enlightenment,
instant gratification.

I’m a senior now: I am old,
but that does not mean
I must become a neo-conservative,
and wear polyester trousers,
hiked up around my chest.
I do not have to abandon
my nineteen year old heart.

Tomorrow I’ll be older,
but in this joyous Now
I still am me.

Winter Dreaming

Winter Dreaming

I dream a dream that is my life,
and reality exists solely
within that state.

I awake each day
into a world that changes little of my Truth.
My pathway stretches before me,
but I am careful to examine
only those surroundings
that are defined by Now.
This Dharma-road may, I could surmise,
consist of a linear infinity
leading to Forever.  It might, instead,
be as Natraj’s flaming circle
of birth, destruction, and rebirth,
in which the old is forever renewed.
It may, however, be like
a Mobius Strip sketched by Escher,
leading me always 
over the same anguishes and ecstasies,
forever new, but the same.

In this Universe of immeasurable distances,
of unfathomable mysteries,
in which our feeble understanding
causes us to create
mad deities, hungry for sacrifice,
for punishment,
for obedience,
in return for their protection
from an eternal darkness
that even they
cannot understand,
I dream my dream.

I dream a dream that is my life,
and reality exists solely
within that state,
     and that reality is Now.

Existence as an Ant on a Mobius Strip

What if? Why not?
In our journey through an existence where so much is a mystery so vast that we cannot even begin to skirt the edge
of understanding,
a little imagination cannot be a hindrance.
To close our minds to what may be
would confirm our existence
as an ant
on a Mobius Strip.

Christmas Holidays

Grey follows grey,
cascading through November
into December:
washed-out days
falling like the pages
of those animated calendars
in old B movies
indicating
passage of time.

Rain and sleet
driven by persistent easterlies,
chiselling at the foundation
of human patience,
seeping insidiously
into our pleasant equanimity,
and fogging soggy reason.

Relief then,
as suddenly the Season
is upon us.
Friends call,
relatives visit,
and festive lights
create magical spaces
enhanced by holiday smells
of spiced wine,
and steaming puddings.

Familiar music soothes tired soul,
and the laughter of children
brings fond remembrance
of absent friends,
of departed loved ones
whose presence is still strongly felt
in this time of love shared.

The temperature drops,
and pregnant clouds deliver
a gift of pure
and silent snow:
a vignette of Peace
in a season of Joy.

Early November at Greyhavens

Autumn Morning at Greyhavens

The Barn Watches

Window Ablaze

Southwest 1

Southwest 2

Green, with variations of Grey(havens)

Barn Burning

This is one of those wonderful fall days, with drizzle in the air, the wind from the south, laden with the smell of salt and the far-off tropics. On the verandah it is like being on the bridge of a ship in a gale, plowing through a seascape of pines, hills, roads, and grasses.