Excerpt for The Light Shines In The Darkness by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Wisdom of the WindWalkers 3 0f 4

Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

Copyright (©) 2018 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada

Cover picture by: Kashfia Rahman

All pictures found on

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

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I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.



A Gothic Meditative Journey Into The Tunnel Of Fear

A Thought...

A Vision On Food And Hunger

As An Architect

Becoming God

Cycles Of Life



Exotic Dancer

Graceful Clouds


I Am The One

I Remember

If You Meet The Buddha On The Road Don't Kill Him

Living Dream

New Thoughts On Chaos And Order

On Artists And Prophets

Soliloquy Of The Lost

Spirit Wind

The Earth's A Magnet

The Light Shines In The Darkness

The Subject Of Sin

True Love

Voice Of The Soul

We Are What We Feel

What Is Compassion?

Where Are You

Kill Your Creator

Your Truth Or Mine?


These books represent a varied collection of remarkable "outside the box" thinking (and subsequently, writing).


If you are one of those trammeled and importuned by strong beliefs that won't let go, this could be your chance to break free.  I'm not asking you to believe what is written therein—I can't say I believe all of it myself—but it makes for an interesting "other than" perspective.  Reading these books can be compared to  painting by numbers.  You have this standard picture outline and between lines are colour numbers.  You match the numbers to the colours and eventually you have a painting.  It's not great art, of course, and everybody knows that but it gives you the impression that you did it yourself.  We all know that is how the System operates.  It gives us a number of colours and our life is laid out and numbered, from cradle to the grave.  There isn't much we can do about it, it seems.  It's the System. 


Ah, but there is something we can do about it.  We can ignore the numbers.  Use random colours and mix them.  If "3" is green, we do pink on one of the "3" sections and arbitrarily use orange on the next, and so on.  Pretty soon the System doesn't know us anymore and guess what?  We discover what real freedom can be.  It begins by breaking the rules; by daring to violate those imposed beliefs.  Here's one for you:  Did man ever land on the moon?  Of course they did, you will say.  You saw it on TV, or you saw the videos and read the reports and documentaries, right?  Ok, fine.  But that is not the point since landing on the moon or not did nothing to change the way people interact with each other.  So the point?  The point is to paint a different colour on the "moon landing" section of your life's canvas.  A "fake moon landing" colour.  Now really go into this idea.  Break the template here, convince yourself it was all faked in some studio, for whatever political reason.  Then proceed to prove to yourself that it was so.  Study this bit of history; look at the clues.  What happens in the end?  In the end you realize it doesn't matter at all whether they landed on the moon or not.  What matters is, you dared question it.


The material in here questions "taken for granted" ideas, sometimes seriously, sometimes with humour.


You know, it's hard to think these days, when everything is handed to us via TV and the Internet.  Everything tells us how to think, and does so in the blink of an eye.  We don't have to wait for the President's state of the union speech, or the preacher's rant on a given Sunday.  We Google! 


Can a mind atrophy?  You bet.  Look into these booklets and think about thinking.

A Gothic Meditative Journey Into The Tunnel Of Fear


It began as a deliberate entry into a gaping opening in the side of a low mountain.  I could hear water dripping from wet walls and feel the clinging cold dampness of the place.  The question I had to face was whether to proceed into this cavern, and to what end.  I could not know the end of it without the experience of it, so I decided to enter.


There was a kind of track made of natural crushed shale under foot.  It made a wet crunching sound under my boots.  As I went down and deeper I was surrounded by an increasing opaque darkness.  I had no fire or flashlight here.  Just my senses to guide me and a desire to know.


After a time of walking slowly down a gentle incline my eyes finally gave up.  There was no light to define the surrounding darkness.  At that point I noticed a new kind of light, surreal, like the light that has been photographed surrounding living things.  I could see without seeing.  And I could walk with greater assurance as I descended an ever-increasing downward incline.  The water still dripped from the black walls of this cave but now I knew this wasn't a cave but a tunnel.  It defined itself into a pattern of floor, walls rounded out into the ceiling.  


Smells changed.  Something I could not define touched my olfactory nerves - unpleasant.  The tunnel curved to the left and narrowed.  Now I was thoroughly engrossed in the thought of finding a reason for this thing to exist here, under this mountain.  The descent angle remained the same, or so it seemed, so I did not have to think about means to regain the surface.  I could walk back up the way I had come, and there were no other tunnels branching off to confuse me.


Just then the eerie light did reveal a branching tunnel on the right.  Slightly higher than the one I was following and with what appeared to be a slight upward incline.  I entered it and felt it.  Dry - much drier than the one I had been on.  Easy walking - no loose rocks.  Choice.  Should I change now and take this tunnel, or keep on the downward journey of the other one?  Something within me reasoned this drier tunnel would be a dead end, or take me back up and out the other side of the mountain.  I chose to continue down the original tunnel, ever deeper under the mountain.  So I passed the first test.


My mind continued to question the quest.   Who had carved these tunnels, and why?  Where was the King under the Mountain?  Where was the sound of hammers as dwarves carved out the hard black rock to find their precious stones, their silver and gold?


"What will I find in the tunnel?" asks Luke Skywalker of Yoda.  "Fear" he replied.  "Your greatest fear.  Do not take your weapons down there, they will only contribute to your downfall."  But the young, the rash, the foolish seldom listen to the voice of experience and wisdom.  He went fully armed into the tunnel to be  confronted by his arch-enemy, Darth Vader.  They fought.  Luke won and cut Vader's head off.  When he looked into the terrible mask, his own face stared back at him.  Fear gives birth to anger, anger to hate and hate to death.  There is no escape.  No escape.  There is only one tunnel.


Long ago - in the future-now-past, the dwarves also delved deep under the mountains.  They found untold riches and built magnificent halls.  But their greed drove them to delve too deeply and they awakened the Balrog, the ancient creatures of Morgoth Bauglir, the first dark lord of Middle Earth.  The dwarves were decimated and scattered over the land.  They dwindled and became afraid, secretive and full of hate for anyone who approached their miserable hoards of poor stones or iron.  Take heed, O Man, for your fate rests in your own bloody, greedy hands.  Remember the dwarves.  Remember the young Jedi's lesson. 


A palpable fear is what I began to feel as the air grew dank and warm.  Fear of what lay ahead.  Something not living -- of what I understood as "alive" -- was lurking deep down this tunnel.  I could sense it.  It had eyes that could see the minutest details in the dark.  That could see into the heart and find every weakness, every frailty, every shadow, every dark, hidden corner where residues of resentment, shame and guilt were stored.  That is what it wanted to feast upon.  The thing down there was starving for an orgy on human sin. 


I knew then it would never let me leave this place, even if I turned now and tried to run up that long incline covered with loose shale.  This was its world.  Its underworld.  It had secret passages I had failed to notice which now I sensed as flow of air coming from the sides of this tunnel - holes in the walls I had taken for simple crenellations.  These it used as shortcuts to waylay any creature that wandered this far.  It would be behind me now.  It could be many, was many. 


If we are to walk the darkness we must be certain that we do not carry darkness within our mind-heart.  Only the pure of heart can pass unmolested to enter the sacred place of sacrifice.  Yes, that's what had drawn me down this corridor of non-time.  I remembered what came at the end of this tunnel.  The place of sacrifice and redemption.  And I knew now why the beasts with the baleful eyes waylaid me.  If I passed, I would have a clear conscience.  Thus I would know that I could offer myself as a sacrifice upon the altar of fire at the end of this journey.  I could freely make that choice, and in doing so, I could call upon the great forces of spirit to grant my one wish.  I could not be gainsaid in this.  If I passed.


They knew.  And they came upon me to find my darkness.  To feed on my fear.  Fear is darkness.  I am so close to being devoured here.  I have no weapon with which to ward these starving demons.  I have no protection.  There is no place to turn, not even against a wall - they are all around me, salivating, snarling, growling.  "Give in to your primordial fear... give in and scream!  Think of the pain you are going to endure when their poisoned fangs sink into your flesh - scream!"


"Peace!" I said to myself almost silently.  This is why I came.  And I closed my eyes and slowly sank upon the floor of the tunnel.  Beings, as angels, took my hands and led me the rest of the way.  So did I pass the second test.   The third has yet to come.

A Thought...

On a summer afternoon

I stand nude

on pure white sand;

the wind blows softly

rippling the nearby waters

where I swam...

As the wind and sun

lovingly caress my skin

I exult in erotic wildness,

in the freedom

of total self-awareness;

I experience fully

the ecstasy, the joy, the peace

found only in re-discovering

how life moves, pulses;

how light penetrates and builds

every living thing...

When I return to the city,

choking in smog,

strangling in fear,

disconnected and dying by degrees,

I shall remember,

and remembering, I shall teach

and perhaps next year,

I shall bring someone else

to enjoy this peace

with me.

A Vision On Food And Hunger

I'm preparing to eat my dinner - a rather simple meal of raw vegetables, a slice of whole wheat bread and a couple of condiments. Suddenly I feel overwhelmed by a feeling of life connecting with me from some level I'd not yet been made aware of. Intense, powerful and without words - therefore not a thought process, but perhaps more primordial - or cosmic.

I "see" the food, but instead of inert items on a table and plate, I sense aspects of life. The food is alive, truly alive. It is communicating and I realize it has always been doing this. I feel "unworthy" of taking this life into mine. I am using this life to feed a body that refuses to listen; that insists on aging and that inexorably drags itself to death. What's the point of this exercise, then? I ask myself.

But perhaps that was the point: to realize how life interacts, feeds itself from itself, sacrifices itself to keep other parts of itself going, if only for a time. Does it know this? Oh yes, it does! The closer one comes to touching other life without first killing it and then destroying it and poisoning it through processing; or turning it into burnt offerings to worthless gods through the cooking process, the more one can understand the life cycles and their relationships.

Eating is not primarily about absorbing nourishment. Eating is a ritual of thanksgiving. The less one ingests of life as food, the more aware one is of the sacrificial aspect of eating. The more aware one is of this sacrificial aspect of life, the less one will ingest simply because it becomes clear the nourishment comes from the thanksgiving, not from the matter!

This brings me to the reason why the profit side of food production increasingly turns to processing; increasingly "junks" the "food" it offers. Processed food is not food at all, but poison. Dead substances laced with chemicals that stimulate certain glands, undermining the power of the mind to insert common sense into the process of ingestion. Foods, so-called, become nothing but drugs. These drugs create addictions. These create addicts. And addicts as we all know, no longer care about anything but the satisfying of their cravings. And that, of course is what increases profits.

It is difficult, if not practically impossible, to enter the sacred and to be truly thankful when ingesting processed or cooked foods. The element of life that should be present in the "food" was killed, destroyed, in the violence perpetrated upon life in the processing. All that's left are multi-coloured packages, piles of dead meat, dead bodies of vegetables floating in ooze and various kinds of disguised chemicals, pills: drugs made to look like food.

On several occasions I've had to go into popular franchised restaurants to install or repair equipment. Each time I was aware upon leaving that the smell of the place had penetrated my hair, my clothing, my tools and even my skin. At first, I thought they had spilled some chemical and let it go. But now I know: (Oh, you will say, blessed paranoia!) I know that somehow, they have discovered a way to spread "scents" in their stores that go straight to the taste glands; that activate the saliva, and not just while in the store, but long after you have left.

Last Saturday, the effect of "hunger" that began in such a place around 8:00 AM did not leave me until about 10:00 AM, after I had several drinks of clear, clean water. No wonder there are so many of them and they continue to attract customers. It's not their "food" offering, but their "scent" that creates the mouth-watering effect – the anticipated taste.

The question my spirit friends posed to me some time ago when I looked again at my food was: "What is "food"? And "What is "hunger"? These are not so simply answered. By my experiences these last few weeks, intent on discovering how much (and what) if anything, I should ingest to match the energy I use up in one day, I realized how much of what we call "food" is really nothing but a feel good thing, even entertainment! And much of what passes for "hunger" is just a way of coping with stress, a way of going into denial about real or imagined problems. Giving in to these things and ingesting them isn't eating, it's gluttony, pure and simple. And as the ancients observed and so elaborately recorded, giving in to vices leads to over-indulgence, debauchery and eventually to immorality. Cause and effect.

I intend to continue this "quest" for the place of balance between real hunger and the "food" required to satisfy this hunger without going beyond the actual need. More than ever, after this

evening's revelation or vision, my dream is to arrive at the point of perfect balance: no ingestion of solid / liquid of any kind. And if mind truly rules over matter, this is now entered on the possible side of the ledger, however improbable it appears.

As An Architect

A thought, a vision -

from a walk down a street,

or an encounter with someone,

or a walk in nature,

a breeze in treetops,

the call of a gull in a blue sky;

float around in my head,

until I get inspired

to write this down as best I can.

Then someone comes along

looks at my writing,

changes it, oh so slightly, or a lot,

and makes my visions; my thoughts,

clearer; come alive,

like flowers opening to welcome

the morning sun

then I understand how more people

can understand, can share

the visions given me...

I am like an architect,

who allows others to make suggestions,

to help complete the structure;

bringing my vision

into a greater, collective, reality.

Is there an easier way

to discover the fact of our connectedness,

our ‘one-ness’?

Becoming God

He observed a great log carried down a hillside atop rolling stones and he built himself a wheel. It eased much burden from his slaves and it carried the great guns of war to the crest of a hill overlooking his enemy’s positions.

He won.

He built a flying machine heavier than air and he flew above the ground. He built many more of them and found they were very useful, especially in fighting his endless wars.

He won.

He built a rocket to carry bombs, then a bigger one to carry humans. He flew into the deep black of space. He put his footprints on the moon, then on Mars. In weightlessness he built bigger, much more complex machines. He learned to fold space; to fly down wormholes and he saw wonderful sights in his galaxy. He moved to other worlds, peopled them and fought wars with ‘others’ whom he killed off or drove away.

He won.

Many worlds he despoiled for resources; slagged in wars; destroyed for the pleasure of the hunt. For no one would stop him and he reasoned himself master of space and time.

He won.

He pushed himself beyond the galaxy, into ever more alien worlds. He lived in his machines and they fought other machines until he won again. More machine than human now, he drove himself to conquer every place his sensors touched.

He won.

He did not feel the pain he caused to life for he had always ever yearned but to destroy and kill. He rejoiced that he had become an object of terror unto all of creation.

He won.

While on his way to yet another place to exploit or to crush he turned to look at where he’d been. He saw the shattered worlds there; the broken arrays of systems now black and dead in the stillness of space. He saw the smoky ruins emptying themselves in great vortices erupting from hells of his making.

He won.

He felt elation. He had become God. He could unmake the made, and make from the unmade. Every enemy had been conquered. Space, infinite space, was his to use at will.

He took a deep breath, the plex-mesh of his plasteel chest expanding with the effort.

“Daddy?” A hand tugged at his mesh sleeve. “Daddy?”

“Yes my son?”

“I had a dream last night daddy.”

“Tell me of your dream, my son.”

“I dreamt I had gone beyond this place. That I had flown through the bars of a great prison and there was a real world out there that we know nothing about. I dreamt that someday it will be possible for us to get out of here and live a normal life.”

The Father’s carapaced head turned and He looked down upon his Son with steely, many-faceted eyes.

He replied sagely, “Beware such dreams my son. They are given by the Liar. I make the worlds now. There is nothing beyond what I know; no worlds beyond those I own. I am the beginning and the end. The Alpha and the Omega. Do not become like your mother who would not believe. Believe or you too will die. My love will not countenance belittling or doubt.”

Obediently the Son replied,

“Yes Daddy, I understand and so must I make all understand if they would live.”

With one of many gloved probes the Father patted his Son on the head and thought, ‘That is my Son in whom I am well pleased.’

Cycles Of Life

Where do I go when this earth body

no longer sustains life?

Do I just cease to exist?

When my body is placed in a coffin

and buried beneath the soil,

am I later resurrected

within a god's leisure, time or need?

Do I ascend to some heavenly place

among or beyond the stars if I'm good,

or inherit my worst nightmare if I'm bad?

Who can tell me which is which, anyway?

I gaze from the city for a brief moment,

to look into nature's realm

and suddenly, I understand:

spring gently removes winter's mantle

melting snow into crystal streams,

brown fields change to green meadows;

spring bids farewell to summer's searing sun

and blossoms become ripening fruit

on the edge of meadows and lakes;

autumn brings out her palette of colours

as summer rolls up her pastel greens

and wild flowers end another cycle,

releasing the next generation,

turning their faces earthward in cooling breezes;

autumn blends once more with winter

and leaves gently cover the black earth

to become new soil for new life.

Yes, that is exactly how it is:

life never ends! Life is but change

and all, every living thing

just changes shape for a perfect fit

in every new cycle of season in time!


Is “democracy”

a contradiction in terms?

A short description:

Government of the people,

by the people,

for the people.

But who are the people?

Individuals, or collectives?

Collectives aren’t people -

they are groups.

If “democracy”

is ever to be what is claimed

then it must be

government of the individual,

by the individual

for the individual.

But how can that work

since “government”

is essentially a collective process?


any self-empowered individual

would have no need of



democracy is a utopian idea

that will never work

for as long as government endures

the people will be ruled

by elites with an agenda -

never will it be the peoples’!


(A tribute to love and courage,

to a young woman who died of cancer

at sixteen but left a profound legacy

of love shared)


the setting sun

casts lonely shadows

over rippled sands

where you last stood,


All is so quiet now,



another never-ending


light fading

breeze rising

darkness swallowing copper skies.

I think of dying

like sand consumed

by rising tides

and I ask:

Will there always be

another morning in the sun?"


across faded years

forever alive, forever now,

eternally recorded

in ageless songs

of surfs and winds and tides

your voice

returns to me

on the rising sea.

From every shore,

your gentle love grown cosmically

passing from time

to eternity

says "yes!"

Exotic Dancer

Crimson and blue she glimmers upon her stage;

moving gracefully,

undressing slowly

as men sigh at the sight of her,

so beautifully made, so temptingly shaped.

She must not think of this place as a hell

as a life of emptiness

to cling to for sustenance and survival

in the stench of stale beer and reek of smoke

as the only memories she takes

to her next gig: No!

She knows within her Goddess heart

she is a well from which men drink

to quench their thirst...

a safe, allowing place to feed

the hunger in their hearts...

With her nude beauty she satisfies

if only for that moment

the greatest yearning a man can feel;

the burning to see love, naked to the eyes:

a beautiful woman in her natural state,

expressing herself without shame

or burden of guilt: Yes!

This is what she must remember to keep her going...

what gives her the deepest pleasure;

what makes her hold on to the respect due her

for her selfless gift of love...

and this is the way I choose to see her,

my goddess upon her throne!

Graceful Clouds

Look up at the sky!

See the ever changing shapes

of clouds beautifully etched

greyish white against stark blue:

no money is required to see

sights that my words can never express;

to feel that peaceful, overwhelming power

which lessens stress and builds dreams!

Then I picture those who pay to see

a grown man gyrating wildly in a closed field

holding a piece of rounded wood,

trying to hit a small white ball

while all around, his buddies yell

scream and carry on as does the crowd

safely held behind a fence!

And now if clouds should gather gently,

drifting in slowly from the sea,

all would look up in consternation,

not in admiration,

and give loud vent to their anger,

for the rain might suddenly fall

and delay their rather silly game!

Such will never be able to capture

the essence of heaven's clouds,

the energy given in joy and peace,

the freedom to be, to fly or float

upon the air, over the sea

and best of all

their gifts are free!


A clear cut on a mountain side:

there are those who oppose

as there are those who agree:

protagonists in man’s number one game.

It’s all about fame and all about gain;

It’s all about blame and all about shame!

The cause would be better served

if we thought of those who lose their homes.

What about the precious life in the mountains,

birds, squirrels, insects, trees, plants, streams:

what happens when there are no trees?

No home for so-called wildlife,

and no roots to hold the soil?

If an apartment building was being torn down

to create work; to boost the economy,

what of the ones who called that their home?

Who’s possessions are destroyed?

Now they’re homeless: where’s the real gain?

Is that not the same as cutting down a forest?

Perhaps we shouldn’t stop the cutting of a forest

by blocking logging roads, or spiking logs,

nor by giving in to anger or rage,

but perhaps there is another way:

the way of peace, of love and compassion,

the way of empathy for all of life.

Thus can we show there’s a better way

to live.

I Am The One

The Bible was written by man

(it had to be)

not by some god up there

somewhere in deep space -

because if all those commandments

exemplify the best a god can do

it’s no wonder we’re stuck

with such impossible problems!

This space alien God

who won’t be seen and won’t be known

and can’t be shown

is not waiting to grant my every prayer

and it’s pretty clear he’s dead against

granting my every desire.

So what is left for one to do?

Against all I’ve ever been taught,

I have to say of me,

“I am the One.”

Yes, I am the one, the only one

with the power to change my life

when it needs changing;

to find the passion within my heart

to fulfil my own desires.

I have the power

to change my own thought pattern;

deciding how I see the world;

or choose to interact with you.

No longer a sinner,

no longer in need of saving,

I am just one who shares this space

with you.

Believe what you will

as long as you believe in you

the miracles cannot be far behind.

I Remember


Aging has its privileges.  One of them is we have something to remember - should we choose to exercise that prerogative, privilege, option.  It's free, barring the attached emotions, of course.


I remember a day when I was eleven, twelve years old and I received a "visitation" from a spirit being.  I was given some rather startling (but not foreign) advice.  The gist was, "If you would live a good life, learn to give freely.  Eschew expectations.  Do what you do simply because you know in your heart it is the right thing to do.  Never mind what others may think, or say.  Do this and you will always come up on top, regardless of circumstances."


To my great loss, I did not adhere to that advice consistently.  You could say I went at it in fits and starts.  I allowed "the world" to seduce me in many ways.  But like Hosea's unfaithful wife, I returned when I was in dire straights and "he" came to get me and bring me back home.  Or I returned home on my own, time and again.  I was never turned away. 


In 1979 - I was then thirty-two, I tried to cut the thread.  I was "rescued" by these same people, healed and returned to my earth life.  All of this was done by them with love and compassion.  I never understood it.  Why?  Millions die, why would these people care about me?  Why would they work so hard to make me see earth life from a different perspective?  What did they expect in return?


I have the answer today, and it makes me laugh. 


It's their chosen task, number one.  One of them drew the short straw and got me.  It's a work of "redemption" on their part.  They work hard because they are not after results.  They are after joy.  If they share their love, their joy, their redemptive energy, their healing powers with another they receive validation and empower themselves to also do greater things. 


Imagine the one (or ones) whose lot it became to guide Mother Teresa?  Gandhi?  Jesus?  Buddha?  Sometimes you hit the jackpot.  Undoubtedly they had good material to start with... and they were probably quite persuasive and infectious. 


So, I remember.  I "could have" had a quite different life.  Had I been allowed to follow my dream I would have become a Catholic priest - a missionary, of course.  My "vocation" (calling) was for Africa - in a number of French-speaking countries.  What would have come of it, of course, can only be conjecture.  I'm a politically-inclined person.  I would have gotten involved in the turmoil and probably would have seen my own demise quite early on.  Oh well, my mind's an open book and someone saw that was my subconscious plan... and they foiled it.


Last night I had a series of nonsensical "dreams" designed to create an endless stream of feelings without visual symbols to confuse the issue.  The process was to make me aware of "now" juxtaposed with that day way back when.  I remembered.  I saw the connecting line from then to today.  If I so choose, I am now where I wanted to be when I was twelve.  I made it.  That simple.


I made it without being "institutionalized" -- either as certifiably crazy, or within the bounds of some certified Religion or Political Party.  I made it - being thrown around from pillar to post, bouncing from wall to wall, nursing bruises, experiencing disappointment, frustration, anger.  By cursing at God and anyone else who may or may not be listening.  By getting involved in fringe operations such as anti-war protests, "saving" farmland, environmental issues, religion, Third World revolutions, politics... and working for 37 years (yes: life sentence, no parole) for one of the best known Multinational Corporations.  Married and divorced twice.  Children and grandchildren with whom I know I should have a closer relationship but it's not in my nature and I just don't know how.  Except perhaps by leaving them a legacy of what's possible.


And last night it all made sense.  I've known one totally sane person during this life: Mother Teresa.  That's my better answer, it always was: self-denial, self-sacrifice; servanthood.  Compassionate empathy - for all of life.  Choosing not to have a choice.  Walking freely, over grass, sand, broken glass or fire - with or without shoes.  Free to be full or empty.  Free to think my own thoughts and to experiment with them; to experience life on my own terms -- as long as it does no harm to anything else, including that which clings to me for life as a sacred part of me: my body. 


How easy it is to love your enemy when you live in such a way as to have none!

If You Meet The Buddha On The Road Don't Kill Him


The question has been answered,

yes, to my satisfaction:

all evidence points to this,

that life is meant to be a struggle.


So here's a warning

(from the serious laughing poet)

To all of you so happy types:

If you find your life is truly happy

then don't worry,

that too shall quickly pass.


Some blissless morning unexpected

will find you

trudging through life

as the rest of in-humanity

walking down the endless path

all must take

to ever and anon arrive at death.


You'll be looking at family photos

and wondering where it all went

as you dream on of good old days

so well remembered

though they never never happened

except in the feverish mind

of your wishful thinking self.


And should your teary ways

bring you to the Buddha on the road:

ignore Sheldon Kopp advice

don't kill the Buddha - no point -

he’s no more a fake than you!

Living Dream

This is my living dream:

to let compassion

move freely through me

thus setting me free

from the need to condemn.


like the wind

on the open sea,

I would then soar

above life's unpredictable storms

to be touched

by spirit power, strengthened

with growing awareness

and fed with courage.

I set my dream

as purpose in my mind;

I dream this purpose to reality

and watch it amaze me

as it becomes my life.

New Thoughts On Chaos And Order

Some thoughts, not necessarily pleasant, on the complex matter of order and chaos and the very serious question of that necessary balance in-between.

What is order? Let's say, that which is permanently set. No change possible in complete order. What is chaos? Let's say, that which continually fluxes, changes, re-mixes, without apparent pattern. What is balance? Let's say, a proper mix of both, that being what would make created life possible.

We all know about order and chaos, even on such a "chaotic" world as earth. But what do we know of balance? Not much, judging by what's going on. Without human life, earth maintains a kind of "improper" but working balance with its fields of energy, or life. I say "improper" because earth life supports the extremely distasteful, ugly and pain-filled predator/prey concept, as well as "death" to maintain its precarious energy balance. Still, despite the obvious pain and suffering this causes, over the millions of years biological life has existed here, it has held through great cycles of drastic change. It has held because each cycle of chaos was balanced by a cycle of order.

The coming of Homo Sapiens-Sapiens changed that. This particular human species has little understanding of even rudimentary creation balance. Whatever is "man-made" is not created, therefore issues obviously, starkly and always (!) from violence done to the natural environment. Violence is chaos of high magnitude. Violence done un-necessarily rates as chaos of the highest magnitude. Man makes things from "ripping" primary resources from whatever he finds handy, or whatever his technology (also a result of chaos) allows him to reach. Gases, minerals and wood form the base of this Earthian chaotic construction. Then come the endless growth of man-made chemicals that allow for the mixing of these primary "resources" to make more of the "things" that man desires. Add to that the fact that all these things are made with greed as the driving force, not from a desire to make life easier...

This explains why man-made "things" (be they structures, vehicles or amenities of all kinds) have so little life in them. Why they decompose, rot, rust and wear out in such short time. Anything that is built with chaos will disintegrate very quickly. Even though designers, engineers and builders instil some order into the things (or they couldn't even hold together for a moment) these order fields are weak and short-lived, though some craftsmen and artists have made things that have lasted many centuries - but that is only a long time by earth human measure, not by universal measure. The main "force" at work in man-made things is always chaos: the death and destruction that provided the base for the substance from which the things are made. Compare that to building a house on permafrost and painting the foundation black. Where will your house be after one summer? After two? Buried in the muskeg.

A "healer" is one who can see through the disintegrating energy fields and mayhap repair them. Whether a mechanic, a "techie wizard" or a doctor, it's basically the same thing: you have a certain ability, knack, skill or desire, and a natural affinity, to see "things" work properly and to get them back on track, so to speak. Mine is for things of metal and wood, although I'm learning to apply it to things such are electro-magnetic fields in computer boards and plastics - ugh! Such things are so removed from their natural source that they ooze "dis-ease" even when new. They stink. I can sense/feel/smell/see the chaos in a new car, sound system or printed circuit, for example. My immune system wants to turn from such things. Their "auras" are all wrong - like something born with a contagious and debilitating disease. There is no life in those things. I find little or no pleasure in even attempting to repair them because their energy "field" is weak, confused and leaves very little to build on. Anyone can sense chaos; can know when a particular development is from chaos. Just listen to a jet engine, or a car without a muffler... Just smell the fumes from great fossil-fuel burning engines, or badly-tuned cars. Tune natural ears to pervading "Orc-noise" of modern "music" and you can hear the screams of chaos in the discordant notes emitted.

Another point that comes to mind, and that is the question of military violence. The assumed "need" to conquer and hold those peoples and places that can provide cheap labour and natural resources. This also contributes greatly to imbalance, for all military efforts must of necessity, invoke chaos, and the force needed to maintain military "order" must end in greater dis-order. Though this disorder can be masked and controlled with artificially contrived fields of "order" - mainly consisting of lies on one side and repression on the other, these construct must, in time, fail. They fail mainly because the cost of maintaining them rises exponentially in time. Hence the inevitable failure [fall] of all great "cultures" and empires. The ancients had another way to teach about chaos and order. They called it vice and virtue. Chaos was vice. Order was virtue.

They made much of these in the days when human civilization was making great positive strides. That this is no longer the case says much about the decline of civilization in our time. Isn't it true that what was once vice has now been elevated to great achievement? Greed rules the planet today - the money game; the numbers game. Who are the great ones? Those with the money, or those who can get it. Rulers, be they presidents or CEO's, politicians, sports figures, entertainers, drug lords, medical types, lawyers, televangelists... to name a few. Where would these be without their money? I've mentioned other favourite vices of today's society: gluttony is probably second to greed. Pornography ranks high. Gratuitous violence. Xenophobia and racism. All these things are pure chaos. So it is no wonder that the world is plunging ever deeper in fear, hate and confusion. And this is what the "White Wizards" of chaos want. The New World Order, simply another name for planetary Fascism, needs this to destroy all remnants of common sense and natural order among earth humans. To establish itself as the only Power on this world. This has always been the goal of the Chaos Wizards, the gods, the so-called creators. Tens of thousands of years of brainwashing; of committing atrocities hidden behind "spiritual" laws; of programming and twisting every truth into lies; of creating havoc and confusion on earth: these are finally bearing fruit...

Or so it would seem. But without balance, their rule will be very short. Creation itself will overthrow these wizards and those who have bought their lies and followed them. Their path is planetary annihilation of the human species. Near the end, they will destroy billions of humans, seeking to keep only a remnant to serve as slaves, but still they cannot allow for natural balance, so must destroy themselves ultimately. And as they do so, I see them taking all planetary life down with them. Earth will be left empty, bereft of what we would call "life". If you are of those bound to earth and its vagaries, that is probably not good news. If you are from the cosmos and understand life in its broadest concepts, leaving a dying or dead earth will be sad, but no more than abandoning any other "thing" that has served its purpose and isn't worth fixing, let alone dying for.

On Artists And Prophets

For me, a very interesting question: What is an artist? Is there one particular answer to that? Maybe not, but I can think of one. An artist is someone who kept the child-eyes, or child-senses, open even as they grew older, even after they were hit square in the face by physical/material reality as if they'd fallen flat on a cement sidewalk. At least, that's how I remember it. You pick yourself up and you're "in." If you attempt to return to the child state, look out, you will be run over, mocked, beaten, labeled with a number of epithets such as stupid, lazy, blind, clumsy, daydreamer, useless and the list goes on. Pity the one who insists on remaining an artist after that experience! Get real, get a life, work, make you own way and get out of everyone else's. Get a job; buy a car, a truck; get married, buy a house, have kids. That was how it was then.

I see it's quite different now, but those who today would call themselves 'artists' while living at their parent's (or husband/wife's) expense, or society's as in, welfare or collecting government grants, are a different breed. They are either truly lazy, or good con artists. All that does is exacerbate the downfall of society, for how many parasites can the working segment of society carry on its sagging shoulders before the proverbial straw breaks that camel's back? Note: excluded from this are those who are truly sick, or disabled in some way and still want to make their contribution through some form of art. That's a given, right?

The true (I might say 'inspired) artist senses the world as no one else does. My friend "M" says that an artist is a creator. I'd say they are co-creators. They are not, strictly speaking, creating anything new. They 'interpret' existing conditions in unconventional ways. Somehow they can move beyond the reality-interpreting mechanism of the collective mind, of the soul programming. Not only that, but they train themselves, either with colors, sounds or words, to skillfully bring their personal interpretation, their personal viewpoint, into the collective awareness. Sometimes these non-conforming inputs strike a positive chord upon the collective and their works are accepted, sometimes even become famous long after they served their purpose. Yes, I am uttering that blasphemy: all art has a shelf life; comes with a due date stamped on. After that it is no longer art, not in the actively moving sense. To see it as such is to plunge into atavism--yes, what a blasphemy indeed.

Why are some artists works accepted and some not? I think the process of societal evolution is spasmodic. "Suddenly" something changes, then for a long time very little happens, or things tend to regress, then something else changes again, quite rapidly, only to level off once more. I think that truly "inspired" artists can sense these coming changes and they become precursors of that change, prophets, if you will. Sometimes, as we know, their offerings are not accepted. They die relatively unknown and then, when the time is ripe, these works appear and become a guide to change.

Those whose works are not accepted could fall in a few obvious categories. First, of course, are the copy-cats, the jonnies-come-lately, who mimic a previously successful author, painter, speaker, producer. There are those who are too turned-in on their own past, or their own personal problems and have nothing concrete to contribute to the polis; their reach limited to the few similarly walled in their micro-issues. Then there are those who are simply too far ahead of the times and when these times appear their works have not survived, at least not in ways that could put them back into play.

Artists as prophets? Always. Especially with the written word, and more recently, with movies. People who allow themselves to see beyond this limited, finite world to worlds beyond; times beyond. Particularly science fiction and fantasy writers. It is now trite to say, look at how many science fiction ideas have come to pass in one century! These people sensed the coming times. Let's go further: how many fantasies have been espoused by a world-wide 'movement' loosely called New Age? Most New Agers are, of course, people with more money than brains, surely, and most of their writers and lecturers are opportunists, of course. But what is the force behind it all? A desperate need for change. The old institutions are bankrupt in every possible way. All they can do is foist on the world more of what has brought it to these troubled times. People sense this. Talk to anyone: who trusts a banker now? A corporate exec or politician? A judge or lawyer? Even a doctor or professor or preacher? Hardly anyone. And why? Because these predators and parasites have exposed themselves to the world for the crooks, perverts and ignorant charlatans they really are. Bottom line, they're in it for the mortgage, not for the position they are using.

We have these mounting problems; we can sense them, even if we're not sure what they are, or how they are going to push the world, if over the brink, and if so, how far over; or if something will pull it back into the old muck and mire of past mistakes. In a previous essay I spoke of sin, and the fear of God. I purposely put in much to be misunderstood in that piece; makes people think when they get confused. Now imagine if that "fear of God" as expressed there were to resurface. Imagine a new wave of religious wars; of inquisitions, banishments, genocide—you know, all the things the Church is known to love imposing upon the world, gorging itself on the spoils, the blood and the power wrought by fear. Or, as goes the current underground rumble, the Soviet Union with a new and improved brand of Stalinist totalitarian terror rises again? How about Neo-Nazism taking over the European Union and America? These places, paranoid of "terrorism" linked to Islam are ripe for a totalitarian Fascist takeover. Whatever is regurgitated from the past, we can be sure of this: it will be exponentially worse than ever before experienced.

So, what shall it be? Whose voices shall we hear calling us to the future? I already 'know' that what we now have is doomed. Computer technology has been a lot of fun, but has given rise to more pain and bloodshed than pleasure by being married to the military-industrial complex and the necromancer's science of bio-engineering and genetics. The costs of this relationship have been hidden in inflated share value by pushing numbers across computer terminals and by raising taxes while lowering real income for workers. It should be no surprise to anyone that the billionaire CEO's are running to whatever government they previously bought in order to get their lion's share of State welfare before some of it gets back into the hands of those who contributed to it; no surprise at all. Their greed has caught up with them, though they still manage to hide their glorious corruption and crimes against humanity behind smiling faces and handshakes. Not for much longer. Each time they throw a wild party as they are doing right here with their Olymfix, they fall faster and farther. Eventually, as the song goes, all the King's men and all the King's horses won't be able to put Humpty together again.

Whose voice is now crying in your wilderness? Can you hear your artist-prophets at all? Can you turn down your TV, your radio, your Internet or boom-box… and listen?

From 1 Kings, Chapter 19, the Bible: (for context)

The Lord said (to the prophet Elijah),

“Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord,

but the Lord was not in the wind.

After the wind there was an earthquake,

but the Lord was not in the earthquake.

After the earthquake came a fire,

but the Lord was not in the fire.

And after the fire came a gentle whisper.

When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.

Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

And that would be the next question: Once we hear, and we go out into the wilderness to listen, will we know why we are there at all? For a hand out? Redemption? Salvation? Or will we have learned that there can be only one answer: "Speak, for one ready to serve is listening." In other words, I've thought about it, and I'm willing to put my own hand to the plow.

I haven't thought much of art, or artists, in the last decades. All I've seen is people splattering paint on canvas that would be better used picking up droppings in a chicken coop—and providing better 'art' in the process, or hell-bent brain dead noise makers who somehow end up on Radio or TV. The rest, well, if there be any “rest of it” it's all basically commercial art.

Soliloquy Of The Lost


I am lost, of that there can be no doubt.  No, not physically lost - or wait, maybe that too.  For who knows the coordinates of this planet Earth in relation to the billions of other worlds in this galaxy alone?  Certainly no one now living on Earth.  So maybe if we were to think beyond the fragile shell of our little cooling magma space craft we would realize, perhaps even with a sense of shock, that we are all lost.  Whatever drive system this spaceship used to get itself in its particular orbit around Ol' Sol, has gone, like the x-ram Shearing drive1, it was detached to leave Earth at the mercy of other forces.  So here we are... and here we spin... as we live our short meaningless lives and die hardly wondering why.


What does it require to know one is lost?  Two things.

One: I most certainly exist.  I am self-aware.

Two: I have no clue where this self-awareness exists. (In relation to the cosmos, that is)


But that kind of lostness doesn't bother me.  I'll die, leave this body, return to pure mind and physical location will be basically meaningless. 


It's the mind lostness I find oppressive lately.  I'm lost, mired, in expanded and expanding awareness.  Lost in the mysteries of life seen from the perspective of a small world within a galaxy that is no more than a speck floating in a boundless ocean of universe.  More, I'm lost in the myriad non-places existing in the folds of the time/space comforter.  I find no lasting purpose or reason for being "there" or is it "here?"  


Eons upon eons we have wandered the lost worlds, sailing the winds of creation across impossible distances... only to fall down into the micro and forget who we are.  What have we accomplished that we know for sure within our minds?  Oh sure, we know a whole lot more about our collective navel, but taking our cues from that is like reading every Harlequin pocket book romance ever pasted together and say, "I'm looking for the meaning of love."


I'm lost because the answers to the great questions refuse to form.  One moment I think I've got a handle of the nature of evil (for example) but what good is that if the source of it still eludes me?  So I'm off chasing new clues.  And what about love?  Once I knew a whole lot about love.  But I wanted to know more.  What happened?  I ended up reading dictionaries and the thesaurus.  I got tons of definitions, but no love.  Talk to me of compassion.  Of empathy, even.  Sure.  You can't fake those.  But love?  I've read how God loved this world and the people on it - no thanks.  I've seen many people fall out of love and the results - no thanks.  I've seen the kinds of things they sell in "The Love Boutique" - no thanks. 


What drives us to want to know?

Our nature. 


Why can't we know? 

Lots of reasons. 


Maybe, as many would to be quick to assure me, there aren't any answers, so settle for what those who know tell you.  Just believe.  Yeah, right.  Those who know don't know shit, that I know.  And they're scared shitless that the herd of sheeple will some day reach its maturity and admit this open secret.


Maybe it's the way our minds are wired.  Some parts of our awareness we have experienced, so we know.  But some parts are just information from islands of order floating about on a sea of primordial chaos.  Basically it's like going in a library where they just threw the books wherever, some piled on the floor, some on the shelves, no rhyme or reason for any of it.  So we pick at random, read, and wonder where what came first, what comes after, could possibly be.


Maybe it's so simple: the mind is not just a recorder and analyzer, but an "engendering" tool.  From what the tides and winds bring to our shore, we build new worlds.  Probably more often than we would think, those worlds are arks and once aboard, we forget to look for new shores on which to disembark.  We remain aboard our ark and make our home from its stores.  The sure formula for exploitation and oppression. 


The questions we ask arise from our labour. 


If our labour is self-absorbed, we slip into solipsism.  We become ants running about on a Möbius band and no matter which side we think we're on, we remain trapped on the same side. 

1. The x-ram Shearing drive is a sci-fi space-folding invention of mine for a manuscript entitled “T’Sing Tarleyn – The Antierra Manifesto” (written 2007 - unpublished)

Spirit Wind

It was you who showed me

how to achieve dreams

that seemed beyond my reach;

how you offered me the warmth of your friendship,

the shelter of your love.

Though winter's blues have returned,

I still think back to those passionate times

running free and nude in the warm rains of spring,

and the hot summer sun.

How foolishly I thought I could own you,

could lock your precious love in a treasure chest,

to be buried deep in the sand,

where only I could find it!

I know now that is why you left;

as I walk this shore in emptiness of heart,

wondering if you will ever return,

or find this letter of self-pity I'm sending out to sea

in that wine bottle

we emptied that last night under the stars.

Then Spirit Wind spoke:

“Leave the past to its memories.

The one you lost is gone: she will not return again.

Face the sunrise: sketch an image of a ship

from new dreams and visions blossoming.

Build this ship from tall trees

symbolizing the love you hold

within your heart.

Once you manifest this highest dream,

grab the helm with courage:

I, Spirit Wind,

will certainly fill your sails.

They shall billow out proudly,

setting you free to experience

a new voyage of hope

and the music in the rigging

will be your new song of love.”.

The Earth's A Magnet

It shouldn't surprise anyone

to be surrounded by positive and negative vibrations

while living in this colourful little world

spinning about its sun in fusion:

after all, the Earth's a magnet: it has

a positive (+) and a negative (-) pole

we call North and South, very convenient.

The human body is an electrical machine,

grounded to its source of energy,

and we're still talking of positive and negative

energy, aren't we?

What else can we say of our beautiful home?

it has a daylight and nighttime; hot and cold;

up and down; light and heavy; dry and wet;

male and female; open space and density;

life and death; the mountain top and sea bottom:

opposites attract, that we well know

so on our earth we should find

a great deal of attraction from all that opposition!

Let's meditate on that fact for awhile

and realize our warring and hate is but foolishness

which serves no purpose but to declare

to the entire cosmos we have failed to understand

the very fabric of our human life,

cursing the heartbeat of our mother: the earth

with our persistent ignorance of life's inverting laws.

All earth life possesses a positive and negative side,

never one or the other alone!

Yet in competition, are we not still trying

to prove that one is superior to the other?

The Light Shines In The Darkness


The light shines in the darkness,  

but the darkness has not understood it.

[John 1:5 – The Bible]


It is understood or believed

that before the beginning

there was utter darkness,

Chaos the master

ruled endless realms

of nothingness.


Weighted by gnawing emptiness

Spirit in thought overthrew

the bonds of darkness with light –

and what is that called light

but life become self-aware?


Light is revelation –

and the reality of things

that had always been

but unseen and unknown

even unto themselves

locked in the dungeon

of darkness’ pride –



And what is that called darkness

but utter ignorance;

the state of unknowing,

not being alive even unto oneself,

unaware, while and yet

always existing

in cosmic Pangaea?


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