—Truly righteous.  But...

No better than a mystic

Ah, divine nature...


Haqueian Verse


A mystic,

I think at times,

Being secluded,



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When will I Meet?

When will I meet,

The One I have long been waiting for?

Cries my aching soul like Lalon,

And as Jalaluddin Rumi becomes mystic therefore!


You are everywhere,

In the fragrance of the rose,

In the bountiful sky and seeking You,

Far and wide my heart goes!


Someday, somewhere when You I will encounter,


I will laugh like a mad man at each doubter!    

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Paha Sapa

How I remember you

My sacred Paha Sapa

A living breathing landscape

Mountains rising like towers

Rocky ridges the perfect altar

For solitary prayers and ritual

This divine earth evolving

Devolving, revolving

Always in a great majestic arc

The circle that marks everything

The circle symbolized by the moon

The sun

The earth

The planets

The stars

The seasons

Day, night, dawn, dusk

Birth, death and eternity

And your beautiful porcelain face

Your round eyes the shrine where I kneel

I rested quietly upon a stony ridge

Contemplating the meaning of life

Taking in the fragrant scent of pine

And listening to the rustling breeze

Stars glittered and flickered

Brittle in the distant heavens

The Milky Way finally rejoiced

As we were once again as one

Just beyond the firelight and glowing embers

Sparks flew gracefully like summer fireflies

A glorious ancient cadmium moon rose up

Ascending the quinacridone eastern horizon

Each passing cumulonimbus a brush stroke

The mercurial silver moon a  masterpiece

And now just listen..

To the frigid rapids of tiny streams

And the placid surface of rocky pools

Reflecting a myriad of luminous ancestors

Roaming freely across the incandescent heavens

Rejoicing just before the first light of dawn

As morning burns away the blinding afterimage

Of translucent ephemeral dreams of love

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The Mystical Epiphany

Long lost love...

The thawed earth cracked like brittle glass, beneath midnight footsteps, familiar strangers shattering such peaceful solitude.  You were light years away.  Gray cracked branches grappled like outstretched arms for the glittering March stars just outside the shadows of firelight.  The crescent moon rested gracefully in a beautiful and brilliant arc across a haunted coyote howling landscape like a majestic unfinished painting.  In this immense mercurial silence I thought about you and I, the hurt, the loss, the emptiness and everything in between.  The frigid breath of a spirit hunter painted the blank canvas of the Illinois sky like the flickering remnants of effervescent daylight .  The living night heaved it's regret, purging itself like weightless embers that float like shooting stars above the restless leafless valley below.  She said it's so beautiful, every mesmerizing sound, ghostly sight, and fragrant scent, her longing awakening my soul to a lonesome quiet mystical epiphany.  In the indigo shadows that remain of the waxing and waning night, I await the vermillion dawn, traumatized by this immortal coil, I unravel memories and thoughts, screaming at the decaying flames of the useless fires of the past.  You see, I swam across cerulean oceans blue, only for you, and now I'm drowning in this decrepit defeat.  In flowing golden fields under the half-light of late afternoon, I walk with you even though you are no longer here.  I climb the mountains and hills, slide down these mud soaked cliffs just for you, but you'll never see.  I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere, but never who you want me to be.

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The Perception of Unknowing

A crescent moon, through distant fields, it is finally the month of July.  Marshall County, fragrant pine and lonesome summer.  I miss my brother.  Dreams ascend like spirits into the silver midnight.  In the clearing, a séance among forgotten friends.  Day-dreams, vermillion skies, and indigo could never be, as good as you.  Why do you conceal, your thoughts like a distant shoreline, hidden among ghost-like mists.  Shadows uncoil beneath your eyes,  like a stranger I've never known, who are you, who will you be, who could you be?  Do you recognize me, in the gathering filtered light of dawn.  Dusk melts deceit from the scarlet horizon, sacred like the eastern sky.  Love floods the mind like oblivion, drowning consciousness in the metamorphosis of the soul.  I have known so many, so many to falter and fall, fade in misconception, deception, the perception of the unknowing.  But I have learned to ride, let it fade, let it go like a kite, like a comet across the Milky Way sky like freedom on this amorphous mystical night.


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Ah-Cum-Kin-I-Ma-Hut (The Forever More)


The open heart, my brother

Is like a luminous glowing

Spring flower surrendering

To the majestic golden embrace

Of the glimmering Hindu sunrise

I kneel and pray, honoring you

Under brilliant morning rays....


I feel your ancient presence

Under starlit heavens and constellations

Beneath this enormous canopy of trees

As the crickets and frogs quietly chirp

Praising you without words, distantly

Thoughts ascending upwards like smoke

From shimmering glittering embers

Of some radiant forgotten fire in a forest

Along the shores of a misty pond

The flame of youth, now so elusive

The great spirit, the everything

All that was, all that will be

The elixir of alchemy, the soma of India

The scent of burning sage across

Native American prairie

I am you

And you are me

The sacred, the mountains, sea and sky

Rest within, a magnificent totality

In this mirror-like reflection

On the silver rippling surface

Of a shallow minnow filled spring

That haunts me even to this day

Suffocated by cattails, cottonwood and birch

I honor you with thoughts, paintings, melodies

The poetry of kindness and love

In this I speak honestly, the truth

From now on and forever more

Beneath the bark and the tree

Underneath the surface,

Of what was once this earthly me


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Midwestern Midnight and Forgotten Saints


She devours ancient poetry, singing gracefully in bathrooms and empty stalls

To the lonely ancient flickering periphery of deceased stars

That float unconsciously above suburban rooftop shingles

Calling upon formless spirits and the imprints of the dead

Her ancestors finely speaking through cracked sidewalks

And Milky Way Galaxies dissolved by thunder and wine

Upon flowering fields of goldenrod and indigo

In the peaceful grace and stillness of Midwestern midnight

She kneels amongst the silence of early morning mists

Whispering up prayers to clouds that pass like freight trains

Thoughts of tadpoles, minnows, rivers, ditches and streams

Filling up her days like shooting stars and winding paths

And the endless traces and footprints of forgotten saints


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