Happy Holidays!

Before we get into our annual "taking the Christ out of Christmas" thing, I just want to say this:

If you are Christian and celebrate Christmas, I will wish you Happy (or Merry) Christmas;
If you are Jewish and celebrate Hanukkah, I will wish you Happy Hanukkah;
If you are just a crazed consumer that gets swept up in the buy-buy-buy of the season, I will wish you happy and easy repayment terms; 
If you are Afro-American or -Canadian, I will wish you Happy Kwanza;
If you have a special holiday around this time of year called Boukshaba Nidwind, I will wish you Happy Boukshaba Nidwind;
and what I am really saying to all of you is: 
have a happy holiday season, try to put aside your archaic tribal differences for a couple of weeks, and enjoy the company of family and friends, and make a sincere effort to love your neighbour, and to help those less fortunate.
When it is all over again for another year we can all get back to being our greedy, selfish, egocentric selves.

Happy Holidays, everyone! Make an effort to be greater than the pettiness that your tribe normally requires, and let a bit of love and understanding illuminate our brief time in the sun.

Go well, love, and enjoy. Peace on earth and good will to all.

Happy Things

Warm summer days and ice-cold beer;
northern lights that you can hear;
babies chuckling through a drool; 
that sixties sound from Liverpool;
the spirituality of the stars at night;
that orange and brassy autumn light;
these are things that brighten our way,
miracles that happen every day.

The soul connection lovers know;
the absolute quiet of fresh falling snow; 
the unabashed love in the eyes of your dog;
memories brought by a walk in the fog; 
the warmth of family, near and far;
the colour and smell of an Asian bazaar;
this magic happens constantly:
just open your eyes and you will see.

Whenever life would weigh you down,
just take a breath, and look around.
Positivity will clear your frown,
enhancing those wonders that abound.
It’s not all gloom, death, and despair;
don’t give credence to the night,
beacons of beauty are everywhere,
ensuring you shall walk in light.

Transition

When the cosmos at last recalls components it had loaned me, and the pull on inner quantum space of dark matter's gravity becomes far too compelling, I must make the final journey. Stay the requiem for those who care, don’t chant your prayers for me: my Heaven has been here and now, with reason my Holy See. I’ve savoured life with gusto, proud, and superstition-free. I’ve drunk of life’s heady wine, through seasons glad and tragic, but dealt with it all in my own way, reasoned, but idiosyncratic. I pass, having fully lived this moment of wonder and magic.

Stained Glass Reflections

Bits of bright cerulean sky
from summers of our youth:
jagged purple hurtful shards
when lies are passed as truth: 
yellow warmth of family,
comfort of friends and home:
dread scarlet of betrayal,
the grey of being alone:
indigo dagger of bereavement:
royal blue square of loss:
patchy greens of wet spring days,
and Autumn’s orange/brown gloss:
the glowing pink of a baby’s love:
dark green of love gone bad:
the amazing orange of growing old:
lucent yellow of all things glad:
together these fragments colour our lives,
and slowly form a picture
of who we were, and what we are
in kaleidoscopic mixture.

We journey through our lives with
this colourful maelstrom flashing,
as we stumble and triumph day to day,
crying, singing, crawling, crashing.

We cannot see the picture:
just too busy keeping on,
until one older morning
we awake-confusion gone.

Standing back, a little shaky now,
with Autumn sun shining through, 
we see splendid magnificence 
in the lives of me and you.

Farrago: On the Importance of Clear and Unambiguous Communication

You told me that you farngblat,
and would never let me snarg.
I spoke to you of biglefamps
that walumed in the jerg.

My friend told me his marvenkik
was frammed beyond norvak:
I sorped upon such giggenhap,
While theathing dear kanbak.

Now if you chance to winklemump
while jerbing with the karmple,
just fik to nab magorium
and disregard the brangle.

The 3D Pop-up Children’s Book

The view from my verandah this morning
reminded me 
of those children’s pop-up
three dimensional
story books.
If you could enter the book
between two of the panels
could you not have access
to a two-dimensional sideroad?

If our lives are like a 3D pop-up
just imagine the strange,
the wonderful, the terrifying
adventures that we’ve missed,
slavishly following 
the arrow of time.

We become stupefied by what may happen next;
by who we are told we should be; 
by where we think we must be going.
Could fulfilment not suddenly arrive
through the serendipitous exploration 
of the laterals, 
the mysteries and wonders
between the brightly coloured pop-ups?

In the 3D children’s storybook of my life,
I have explored the laterals,
retrogressing at times,
but the story,
the real, unimagined, unplanned,
and unanticipated story,
is not the original.
It is a construct in which I participated,
which I changed as the story progressed,
sometimes planned,
sometimes accidental,
but always engaged
in developing the lateral.


The book is different now:
some of the panels are faded,
with rips here and there.
Some brightly scintillate 
with lives of their own.

The tale is, ultimately,
for all its change, wear and tear,
about happy endings.
   And it is my story. 

On the Essence of Time

This is me, Now.
This is you, 
and this is your
Now.
I do this in my Now
that you may read it 
in your Now,
Tomorrow.

In childhood the long summer holidays,
in a younger world,
lasted forever,
all lakes explored
all roads travelled.

I have commanded Time
to slow,

and Time acquiesced.

The moss on Siva's flame,
appeared as moss on the back
of a Discworld turtle,
moving slowly through Forever.

And of all that ever was,
and of all that ever shall be...
this is me.
Now.

The Road to Moksha

The Path is long,
and I am tired now.
I remember signposts on the way:
long summer days, and bicycles;
grey hitchhikers' highways,
stretching into the unknown; 
looking for love, but not knowing her face.

So many winters, that lasted too long,
and so many queues, waiting for people
who would steal my time
to feed their quest for power.
Wise men who babbled nonsense,
and fools who spoke truth;
friends to whom the word 
simply meant padding in their address books;
dreamers who dreamed big
yet functioned small,
dismissing opportunities
as distractions.

The Path has been long,
and I am tired now:
I knew who I should be,
but in effecting change
I became more of me,
and less of whom I should have been.

I am peaceful now
as I rest here before going on.
I am content now
as those who love me
love me without condition.
I am tired now, but the Path goes on,
and Change still awaits.

Signposts on the Road to 42

Upanishadic philosophy, composed in Vedic verse,
teaches us we are all part of a cosmic multiverse.
Immanent and transcendent, in everything dwells a trace
of the force named Brahman, which is all time and space.

The gentle Buddha's teachings, shorn of dogmatic spin,
counsel us to focus on that strength we have within.
Enlightenment is the knowledge this amazing cosmic dance
is fleeting:  we accept our Now, and embrace impermanence.

Quantum theory teaches that the act of observation
may place one's Reality in different time, space, or location.
Born in the heart of dying stars are the elements of our creation.
The universe does not waste: death is only transformation.

Standing on my hill, overlooking quiet bay
I am possessed of the wonder that I live, here, today.
Embracing every moment and the magic that it brings,
the Answer is Now clear to me, and my Spark of Brahman sings.

Erosion

Erosion

Grey wrinkles on a pallid face,
eroded by the wearing pace
of life,
and the arrow of time.

Deep pathways carved by tears
for loved ones gone for years:
in memory
living proud and strong.

Captured on our aging skin,
echoes of love that dwell within
carve deep
our sense of loss.

Ancient canyons wrought by grief,
as time rushed by us like a thief:
a monument
to loss, and love.