Excerpt for The End Of Humanity by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

What the Street Taught Me 4 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 pictures by: Top: Benjamin Earwicker

Bottom: Mark Forman

All picture where found on

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.



A Dream Is Hope

A Most Unpopular Message

Be An Inspiration

Change Your Mind

Does It Confuse You?

When Is Death A Gift?

Evil In Society

Finding The Keys

The Sea, The Individual

Food For Thought!

Freedom Of Choice


A Very Sick Society

In Search Of God

In The Wake Of A Whisper

Let The World Change You

Let There Be Light

The Sea

The End Of Love

Life’s Path

Light My Passion


Life Is A Dance

No Tears

Overweight And Hungry

The World Cries

My Mother's House

Sunny Weather

The Simple Man

To Warm The Heart

Are Earthians Dumb?

Who Cares?

The Wind, My Friend

Why Leave Earth?

The End Of Humanity


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 Dream Is Hope

On a night like this

when the east wind blows

chasing those Autumn leaves

on the walks and streets,

I feel strong again,

walking briskly

the streets and alleys


hurried tapping of wooden heels,

voices coming and going in waves,

doors opening, releasing laughter

or cries

creaking of braces, chains and planks

in darkened construction zones,

purring of distant traffic

on Broadway, away...

As light and darkness share the street

as one by one streetlamps pass me by

I feel strong again

because in my heart

I still have my dream

and a dream is hope--

though I tramp city sidewalks,

overhead, there still remains

the swaying trees, the falling leaves

the wind and sky

and above it all,

the stars!

A Most Unpopular Message

Does "life" on this planet have a particular purpose? Is it one great big purpose which the whole human species works toward, or is it singular?

A good question. I'll go with the singular -- by choice, and maybe somewhat by deductive reasoning. As life spoke to me over the years, this inescapable message ground its truth deeper and deeper into my heart-mind:

That the only things that have value are those I take with me when I die.

That "dying" is not an option, nor would a wise person choose not to die from here (yes, I mean it the way I wrote it).

That giving is the only way to properly receive.

That self-sacrifice and self-denial are the two keys that open heaven's door (make of heaven whatever you will - it means that place where you think you'd like to go to if you suspect there might be life after death).

That unless these keys are liberally lubricated with compassion, they will become rusty with self-righteousness and selfish living and they will not open the lock on your heavenly mansion. You'll be out in the cold for a very long time.

That any good I am aware of that I can do, is a good I must do. Failing to do so is to commit a heinous crime against humanity and this world. I say this being aware that over 30,000 innocent children die of preventable causes on this world every day; their deaths directly attributable to the decadent lifestyles exhibited by the first class passengers on planet Earth in a vicious narcissistic cycle that is still on the upswing.

I hold the above to be self-evident as personal truths. I have not been faithful to this message and I am not condemning myself for this as it would be a waste of memory and space. If I knew how to make valid "vows" (ones that really stick) I'd vow, now and forever, to be faithful to the above. But all I can do is wake up, morning after morning and say, "Today I'll stick to it." and get ready for sleep every night and say, "OK, that wasn't my best material. I'm going to sleep on this and find some way to fine tune my moves."

I've tried the "confession" thing. I've tried the "make up" thing. I've tried the "promise to do better" thing. I've tried the "if only" thing. I've tried the "prayer for strength" thing. I've tried the "sponsor" thing (with people and with spirit entities)... Oh, and I've tried the "blame" thing -- you know the "The Devil made me do it" thing. And I've even tried the "cajoling God" thing, the one that goes like this, "Well God, if you help me achieve this dream of mine, look at all the good I can do with the money (power) that I will get from it -- and I'll give you the credit for all that I achieve."

Thankfully, none of those simplistic gestures worked. I only fooled myself.

So now, each day is back to the simple basic character building blocks I learned in church, school and books when I was a child. Back to what is probably the most unpopular message in the world today: self-sacrifice and self-denial with compassion (you can call it "unconditional love" if you wish though compassion has a much stronger flavour). To desire to serve before, or rather than, being served.

That takes a kind of power that is not found within any known systems, be they natural, man-made or divine -- though paradoxically can be read about in divinely inspired material - go figure! The power I speak of can only be found in self-empowerment. You see, the bottom line here is, you have to be willing to lose everything you hold as precious and necessary to life in order to comprehend.

It's a bit of a catch-22. If you are not willing to lose yourself in the here-and-now, you will not discover the real meaning of self-empowerment. Yet without self-empowerment, how can you lose yourself? And I certainly am not talking of losing yourself into a belief system or giving yourself up to a particular divinity, entity, or concept. In this, you believe, or trust, that whatever you give yourself to has the power to return your life to you in an enhanced form. That's easy.

I am speaking of losing yourself to yourself. To die utterly in order to live. Not just once, but daily, moment by moment, until you reach a point where "nothing matters" in any personal way.

It's a paradox. But then so is all of life when it is lived and not just passed through.

Be An Inspiration

A reminder to “me”:

Learn from observing things in life

that spark new ways of thinking;

let their energy flow to the heart

so you may become an inspiration

to all that surrounds you.

Grow from your own struggles,

from knowledge you have gained:

from these you'll understand

the acting role you have chosen.

Demonstrate to all

how to be caretaker of the earth;

how to nurture it through this transition.

Teach (but do not preach);

how to fearlessly unlock talents

that some may become an inspiration

to all who see their light, their love

shine through a waning darkness

the times truly are a'changing

but certainly not for the better.

Change Your Mind

I was out walking today,

wondering why I keep falling

into the same potholes?

Even when I go on a new road

there they are again: same potholes

as on my previous road.

Then I passed an old man;

I distinctly heard him mutter,

“Walking a different road

will not change your life:

the potholes you fall into,

you carry in your mind

and sow wherever you go.

If you want real change,

change your mind;

change the inner, not the outer.

Abandon old energy patterns

so new ones can form;

do this: you will see a new life

from new experiences.”

I made a vow to accept

what I heard that old man say

to put it in practice today.

But silly me!

Making vows is old energy!

Another pothole on the track!

Does It Confuse You?


(The Inquisitor on the last day of judgment:)


Why do you claim not to be that which you are?


What I do not claim is what I am, obviously

no need to claim what you readily see.  In your world

seeing is believing and (never mind your faith)

what you see, that is your truth.  As it should be.

But that is only your truth.  It does not have to be mine

and it cannot be: you are not convincing enough.


My truth, that's something else:  I claim, as you will say

that I am someone else, but that you cannot see

and it enrages you because you want the physical

me – to be tempted by, to brutalize, to condemn- (I

have been in your dungeons many times before)-

Now then, what you cannot see, that is my lie. (We

representing the balance of opposites.)


I ask you then, of what good is your faith

if it will not show you that which you cannot see?

I ask you, of what good are your eyes

if all they let you see is the obvious?

How then are you different from anyone else?


(Inquisitor:) you will not question my faith

with impunity, spawn of Hell's legions, and

as for my eyes they save me from confusion,

the confusion you sow so glibly with lying words.

Have a care: I have the power to put you to the test.


So? And you trust your eyes rather than my words,

is that it?  What other senses then

will you trust to deny my words?


(Inquisitor:) all of my senses, all of them,

they are true.  You are the liar.  The pretender.


True to you, yes, but is that all of your truth, then?


(Inquisitor:) yes, that is my truth, that which keeps me

sane and beyond the reach of your madness.


My madness, is it?  My madness?

Was it my madness you imprisoned

in your dungeons of dead ritual and arbitrary judgment?

It was your fear drove you, your mindless hate

your very own sad madness.


Remember the words, they were written

but yesterday, but a moment ago yet 

carved upon stone in ages long past and to be:

In the beginning was the Word.

The Word was with God.

The Word was God. 


You know the Scripture, you are the priest:

the Word became flesh and dwelt with us

to remind us, as always.  Just to remind us.

And now, however you twist it, it is reminding you!

It's finger points directly into your black soul.


Remember then, for those who truly believe

fear is anathema.  We are beyond your judgments.


(Inquisitor:) but not beyond my power--my power 

to put you to the test: You will be burned tomorrow.  

You will feel the pain of Hell in your mortal flesh.


Your hell, my friend.  Your little, so short-lived mortal hell

of man-made fire from wood or coal and choking smoke

and I will say to you from the pyre though you will not hear:

Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you;

bless those who curse you.

If anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. 


Freely I give you my life.  Take it.  You will not be held

in debt for that taking.  It will not be demanded back.


(Inquisitor) walks heavily away to climb the long stairs,

step by very long stone step to the top of weathered battlements.

Hopeless, in despair, he throws himself off to shatter

his illusions upon the rock from whence came the walls

of dungeons deep where he had sought to expiate 

in the blood of sacrificial victims his crimes, his sins.

No longer could he silence the screams within;

no longer could he ignore the cold steel peg

impaling his still too-human heart.


So it must be; so it will always be. And so, tell me

you who would teach history: who are the mad?

When Is Death A Gift?


The subject of death (Earthian human death specifically) stirs up much confused emotion.  It is not something most feel comfortable talking about.  Death and dying are complex issues, and there are so many kinds of deaths and so many ways to die.  Death, as any other great concept - love for example - is still not understood. 


Death may be sought as an escape from what appears to be an overwhelming condition.  It may be stoically accepted.  It may be seen as a reprieve from an ordeal.  Or it just becomes the inevitable, unavoidable termination of a life; basically a curse from which there is no escape.


There are those of course who claim to believe that death is the way to a new life, to paradise.  Be that as it may, I have never encountered anyone whose faith makes them so sure of their claim to "eternal life in heaven" that they glowed at the mention of their own death or that of loved ones.  Believers and non-believers seem to share a common fear of death.  Both believe it is a termination.


Well, for those who look at it within the above parameters, yes, death is a termination and a terrible thing.  The pain associated with it only makes it worse, not only for the one dying.  And in this sense one should always express compassion for the dying and those grieving the death.


Is there another way to look upon death?


How about death as a gift one gives oneself?  An award? 


To speak of death as a gift, one must first know the order of gifts.  What would be the first and possibly the greatest gift?  I suppose I must say, 'Life'.


The second greatest gift that must inevitably follow life would be awakening to self-awareness. (Some refer to this state as creation or being created, which is fine by me: I have no conflict with either proponents of creation or evolution as both have their obvious place in our process.)


Logical progression brings us to the third greatest gift: entering a new cycle of life as a self-aware being. 


But the catch is, if you happen to be living on Earth as an Earthian you can only enter a new cycle through death!


So that would mean that death, being the means whereby one leaves an old and completed cycle to enter a new one, becomes a gift.  How so?


If one has wasted one's life utterly, just going through the motions, believing whatever, following the crowds, booing and cheering according to the pre-recorded sound track then death can never be a gift -- just a sad end to a meaningless and failed life.  Just darkness, emptiness, loss and perhaps some vestige of hope that some benevolent deity one gave lip service to will be there to open heaven's doors, or to some place where good times will be the order of the day. 


As I struggle (present tense) with the concept of death as a gift, I cannot explain it except with a "parable" - an allegory. 


Imagine that you are a student in some small town in the State of Oregon.  You don't see much future for yourself there so you work very hard and throughout high school you graduate with honors.  Your hard work pays off and you get scholarships to a prestigious college.  Only problem is, this college is on the east coast, say in Massachusetts.  When you have graduated from your home town school, you must now decide whether to accept the scholarship (gift) and leave all that is familiar to you, moving to an alien world to encounter total strangers and enter into another aspect of learning that will mean even more work and responsibility because in college it's up to you whether you make the grade or not. 


Death, when entered into that way, is the scholarship that you earned so you could move into a whole new experience, a new cycle of life. 


So now I understand why my previous teachers, Lisa (El Issa) and YLea (El Ea) were so insistent on the practice of detachment and self-empowerment.  Without these, death cannot be counted upon to be a gift.  It remains a termination and whatever one believes about the "after-life" (now THERE'S a contradiction in terms!!!) one will simply reap what one has sown. 


As I pointed out to a friend today, if all I've sown in this life's garden were dandelion seeds, basically because they take care of themselves and require no work on my part, then what I reap will be dandelions.  These in turn will give me more dandelion seeds and wherever I end up "after" death, all I'll have to plant in my new garden will be more dandelion seeds.  Likely, whoever is in charge there will not think very highly of my crops and they will be destroyed.  I'll have nothing to show for my stupidity and laziness.  So?  Unbeknownst, I'll be returning to the same old, same old... and wonder why, after some time, it all seems so damn familiar.


Conclusion?  Death becomes a gift I earn for myself.  The great chance to move on to a new and deeper adventure. 


Some of the experiences that contribute to earning this incredible gift: self-empowerment through humility; through self-denial and sacrifice on behalf of others - compassion or selfless love; through detachment and allowance.  Through willingness to "go it alone" when necessary, and that will be more often than not.  Through discernment, or judgment without condemnation.  Most importantly, through an unfailing willingness to look deep into oneself and honestly face the ugliness there and enter into the struggle, yes, the life and death battle to clean up one's own hearth. 


There's a little word that has fallen out of favor in our "instant everything must be pleasurable" society, and that would be "sin".  An ugly little word.  I don't think that even in the great religious institutions they remember what it means.  Well, it means that if in some way, by thought, word or deed, I've caused harm to another (not just human!) to benefit myself (through selfish behaviour) when there clearly was a better choice available, I've sinned.  


Death can only become my earned gift when that problem is resolved.  So I'm being taught daily these days.  


I have been hesitant to share these things with you because they are very personal, never mind that they were difficult to put into words.  Yet who has not struggled with temptations, with addictions, wondering if it would ever be possible to overcome one's own tendency to err because of cravings, feelings and emotions?  I know now it is possible.  I know we can qualify for this scholarship if we be willing to exercise the courage needed.

Evil In Society

Are there people on this world

who take pleasure from inflicting pain?

Need one ask?

Two men pound each other’s flesh

in an arena

to the cheers of thousands

and money flows!

There are those who rejoice

at the thought of war;

bullies who beat up on the weak;

endless movies where the gun

is bigger than the gunman!

How does society in general

respond? Well, it’s alright

for adults to brutalize each other

but (says current wisdom)

children should not do so

in a school yard or on the street:

- it is not nice -

Why not, may I be so bold to ask?

Is it because no way has been found

to squeeze a buck or two

from this particular form of brutality?

The point of my asking?

Does “society” have a mind?

Does it have empathy?

Does it feel the pain it condones?





Obviously not.

Obviously another rhetorical question.

Finding The Keys

(Our World is what We make of it)

A long time ago I started my quest

for peace through enlightenment.

Like a newborn child

hungry for mothers milk,

my heart thirsted for the truth.

My first step was to remember

I held within the keys

which unlock those doors:

the door to freedom,

the door to peace,

the door to enlightenment,

the door to love.

My next step was to grasp

the concept I call keys;

to open those doors one by one

and gaze at the wonders within.

From this vantage point

it came to me

I had gained the ability

to change outside reality

from within and from this

simple perception

came creative force; a genie

ready to grant my fondest wish

(I still have to rub the lamp!)

The Sea, The Individual


    It is difficult to express a new thought about the sea.  The sea has fascinated mankind since... when?  Since "man" became aware and realized the sea was where he'd evolved from?  Or since the day the created human stood beside it and saw his first storm and his first sunset?  I don't want to enter into a creation/evolution debate here but the fact remains: most people are still fascinated by the sea. 


I am fascinated by the sea.


The sea is a living being, as alive as you and me.  And you can count on her changing moods.  She is charged with emotions.  From the standpoint of a single human life, she is an ancient being.  But she remains very much in a primitive state, for such an entity.  She is young, often angry and quite intolerant of other life forms.  If you would exist within her, or on her, you have to have adapted well to her ways -- she does not adapt to yours.  There are no individual drops of water in the sea.


What I find most fascinating about her is her soliloquy.  She talks to herself all the time and one is easily  mesmerized by her voice if one learns to still the internal dialogue and listen.  She murmurs, hisses, groans, thunders, roars and rumbles.  Rarely does she remain silent.  Is there some special message in that cacophony?  Or is it just the discordant cries of loss and despair from countless drops of water absorbed and disenfranchised within the flows of that great monster?


There is another sea I tend to sit and listen to, equally frightening, equally sad.  The Earthian sea.  The sounds of the great collectives that crash against one-another, grinding each other, never understanding.  Equally as brutal as the great waves crashing onto the ancient rocks, inexorably eating away at them.  Individuals ground between these monsters seldom realize themselves as entities that matter or can make a difference.  They are victims of movements beyond their control, beyond their strength to move out of their way, let alone master. 


Or so they believe because that is how they are programmed to believe.


I read a comment on one of my essays which stated: "I feel so guilty when I realize what is being done.  I wish I was more involved and would do more..."  The implied notion is that this disempowered person cannot do anything, or much.  And of course, within the sea that is true.  The sea does not allow individual drops of water to be empowered.  She swallows it all into her great hungering maw, her absorbing one-ness.  Not for the benefit of the individuals thus swallowed, but to sate her own blind, primitive need: mindless power.


From the visions of Al'Tara:

There will come a time in your future when those of you who remain alive here (Future lives? Future generations of your loins?  Matters not) will learn the ultimate lesson of the ISSA being.  You will repudiate all of your institutions, your collectives, your global madness.  You will come as rag-tag individuals, staggering out of the sea to establish your own, personal, little place upon the planet.  You will see your neighbours' campfires and you will greet them with only one thought: "Is there something of mine I could share with you to help you?"  All of your desires will be to help your neighbour, and to bless and honour the world you walk upon. 


You will have no laws, no government, no religion, no rich or poor, no injustice.  You will no longer seek to form power groups.  Not even families will matter.  Children will roam freely from house to house, learn freely, mate freely, create new homes freely.  Old people will be revered for their knowledge, wisdom and experience.  They will belong to all, your ultimate riches temporarily held in their frail and failing bodies.  When one of them smiles upon you and your efforts you will know you are being blessed.


There will be, in this distant future, constant rejoicing upon this world.  And man will live at peace with all of nature. 


Two things you will no longer experience: guilt and shame.  You will know, individually, through your own awareness and your ability to know yourself that even though you choose to bear responsibility for everything that touches you, and you should fail in some way, your efforts in the process are impeccable.  Any failure will not carry blame because your desires are aligned to the greater good, not to personal gain. 


It is not what you accomplish that matters but the state of mind you are in as you seek to do the greater things.  The state of mind you are in as you contemplate your dream, your vision, your quest, the path you have chosen as an individual to walk upon.  In self-empowerment.  In complete detachment.  In compassion. 


Let those who claim to have wisdom understand the true meaning of this vision. 


"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea."   [Revelation 21:1 - The Bible]

Food For Thought!

A tawny, scrawny ghost

silently lopes into a sleeping town

in an early, misty dawn.

Tired, hungry, searching

for a long-overdue meal.

A cat, well fed, well groomed,

with nothing else to do,

stalks a scratching sparrow

unaware of lurking danger

expertly concealed in slanting shadows.

The coyote takes the opportunity,

lunges... bites sharply – hungrily.

Indignant feline shrieks, to no avail,

echo along deserted streets:

predator and prey repeat nature's cycle.

The difference here today

is the lack of balance in the act:

The coyote doesn't have

a level playing field, you see,

for he’s made another enemy.

Artfully, he dances and dodges bullets

sprayed savagely in an empty alley;

miraculously he saves his bony hide,

his meal still dangling in his mouth.

Isn't this much ado about nothing?

Unlike the cat who only kills for pleasure,

the coyote was in need of sustenance:

Now I’m sure, being quite intelligent,

it would have settled for take-out...

if freely, kindly offered,

but it was kitty meat Tuesday again.

Freedom Of Choice

As autumn leaves drift in a gust of wind,

landing gently on the ground

or floating away in a nearby stream,

I went back to many years ago.

I was here, on this same bench

reading my Bible, and a young woman

came and sat beside me:

“Tell me,” she asked innocently

Do you really think God gives free choice?”

“Yes, it says so in my Bible:” I replied

she then asked:

“What if you were to be punished

and you were given a choice:

between getting twenty years --

(let’s call that “hell”)

or being set free to go --

(let’s call that heaven);

what choice would you make?”

“Heaven of course” I replied:

then she said “So knowing

there is but one reasonable choice,

how can it be called free choice?

Freedom of choice must mean

you can chose whatever you want

without fear of punishment.”

and I thought her eyes sparkled with mischief -

she smiled at me demurely I thought...

How many beliefs have I let go of since that day?

My heart is lighter, my life brighter.

I no longer cling to the Bible,

or any teaching that keeps people in bondage,

at the mercy of a god of fear and punishment.

As for the young woman and I,

well some time later that day

indulged ourselves in one

of those heavenly sinful pleasures.

and to my surprise (but not to hers)

the god of the Bible

neither did nor said a thing!



City streets can be colder than stone

when you're young, vulnerable and all alone

nor are they ever paved with the rich man's gold

when threadbare clothes leave you wet and cold.


She comes to a familiar doorway

somewhere in the night when she's lost her way

and remembers all the days of her short life

how desperately she'd run from strife

knocked on strangers' doors for protection

then ran away again from every nightmare.


The man at the desk knows her as she tosses her hood

approaches and puts her hand on the worn wood,

and knows the words she'll say before she forms them:

"I need a place for the night, do you have a cheap room?"

He smiles at her - or is it a leer?

and as he speaks, she can again smell the beer --

"I have cheap - forty dollars for a night at the inn -

and I have free if you'll let me tuck you in."

and his hand slips over her wrist

and her skin tells him, for the mill she will ever be grist.


He hands her two sheets and a pillow case:

she grabs but he says, "Easy, no need for haste."

Here's the key - it's three - o - four -

and don't forget - don't lock the door."


He watches her walk to the rickety stairs,

shoulders slumped, but doesn't feel her despair

and in her head as she steps on the first rung

she hears the lines from an old song she'd heard.


"Baby I've been here before

I've seen this room and I've walked the floor

used to live alone before I knew ya

But I've seen your flag on the marble arch

Our love is not a victory march

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah"

(from “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen)

A Very Sick Society

As a social psychologist observed, it is not healthy to adjust to a sick society, yet much of psychology attempts to do exactly that, rather than diagnose the society and offend the masses.

One obvious problem associated with becoming aware is a growing ability to see one’s environment, not as society would have one believe it is; not from within the blinders custom-tailored by the System, but as it actually is. At this stage you realize you are not supposed to be able to see what you see, or sense what you sense and the tendency is to retract from the awareness and retreat into a personal cocoon of helplessness or to condemn it all and live in a constant state of anger or personal depression. Oh, there’s one more cop-out bandied about: just say it’s all perfect, enter in a different cocoon of “it’s love” and the problems all go away. That reminds me of Rudyard Kipling’s ape chant: “We’re all right, and if we say we’re all right, then it must be true.”

But awareness is supposed to be healthy! It’s supposed to be an improvement over being manipulated, brainwashed, inducted, indicted, pushed, and controlled into a mindless agreement of collective ignorance. The problem as I see it is that ‘awareness’ comes in its own time and happens to some whether they are ‘ready’ for it or not. It’s just another of those things like Murphy’s law; like ‘shit happens’ and there you have it.

Well, one thing is, awareness is not irreversible. It can be cured. It’s not too difficult to plunge heedless back into the collective trough of mindless existence; of going through the motions of living without being truly alive; without knowing who one is, or why one is. It can be done. It’s just that I choose not to. Maybe its pure orneriness, I don’t know why for sure, but I know that the alternative is too horrible to contemplate now!

I’ve questioned many people with this very basic and simple question: what is your purpose in being here, in this life? I’ve followed that with another very basic question: where are you going when you die and what will you be there?

Rarely do I get any kind of meaningful answer, certainly never a satisfactory one. I may get the religious standard expectation (RSE index): going to heaven. But mostly I get this one: I don’t know if there is life after death and I don’t care. What matters is a good life here and now.

A good life here and now. If these people were the least rational they could never utter such ignorant words. This is a good life? Let me see. In the last fifty years I’ve observed this south-west Canadian society go from a relatively peaceful, hard-working and thrifty society into the wild abandon of heedless hedonism, caring for no one but the self, eating away at the natural environment and at each other looking for that elusive thing that gives instant self-gratification. As a result I’ve seen public social interaction values drop like a stone in water. I’ve seen men, women and children abuse each other verbally in ways unthinkable to the worst fictional inventions of a hundred years ago. I’ve seen a proliferation of ‘security’ apparatus, mostly to protect one-another from one-another. I’ve seen leaders of all aspects of the System become examples of the worst kind of greed and corruption. I’ve seen wars instigated and engaged simply because some power group could derive instant profits from it. I’ve seen the death-toll of the poor and dispossessed rise by leaps and bounds even in the face of increasing abundance for the few.

Here I’ve seen personal selfishness turn into deliberate law-breaking and seen a corresponding ambivalence among those of the “justice” system as to what to do, thus relegating justice to legal technicalities and shenanigans. The answer to criminal activity is: let society bear the consequences of its own debauchery. Prosecute only when there’s money or media to be had for the personal benefit of a justice minister, a judge or a legal firm.

This society has developed its own ‘wave patterns’ turning it into a veritable Sargasso Sea, attracting all the flotsam; the floating and fattening ‘sins’ promoted by the leadership, especially of those in the business and entertainment media. I see bloated, deformed bodies waddling around, or riding on power carts, filling their faces and dulled minds with poisons that give them that momentary feel good. I hear the psychopaths on their Harleys and in their boom-box cars, tearing through neighborhoods, their favourite times being in the night when people are attempting to sleep. Most of these individuals aren’t even remotely aware of the fact that they are anti-social criminals; that their acts contravene various municipal, provincial and federal statutes. And this because the ‘authorities’ we support with ever-rising taxes to uphold these statutes are quite content to draw their pay waiting for some media-worthy event to get to work. So another aspect of the downfall of this sick society is that being a professional doesn’t mean you can be trusted to do your job. It just means you can get away with not performing your professed job, or doing your duty, while charging more money for being where you are. It means developing a thickening armour of callousness to it all.

As the media-star twisted psycho, the Reverend Jonathan Worley said to his brain-dead henchman Emil Maas in the movie, “Dragnet” – “… and remember Emil: ever forward!” implying, of course, that they were on the way to the better and better life. If, as my Teacher YLea insists, it's "as below, so above" then I leave it to you to figure out what sort of heaven these hedonists can hope to inherit based on their accomplishments. That's the kind of thought my awareness is serving me at the moment.

In Search Of God

A man was walking through

the forest in search of trees,

and leaves:

he found nothing

and cursed his luck,

angrily dodging branches

heavy with life and fruit;

walking around giant trunks

offering him a place

to rest his tired frame

and eat a peaceful meal

in quiet shade:

he saw nothing.

Birds living in thickets

of thorn and alder

twittered and sang softly

in the air above his head

but he never looked up:

he heard nothing,

so intent was he upon his search -

but leaves and trees

eluded him.

His view of the world

he carried in a picture book

which was a great fool's

precious legacy;

he, himself, being equally

a very great and learned


God, sitting on the branch of a tree,

sighed sadly as the fool walked by

in his frustration

and she whispered into the air:

"There are none so blind

as those that will not see

and none so deaf

as those that will not hear..."

In The Wake Of A Whisper

The tundra’s sun rises

to colour rocky out-cropping:

will this place also

be raped and pillaged

for what resources

may lie frozen under the soil?

Will man succeed

in his bid to subdue and destroy

every living thing from this world?

Can man still make right

all he has made wrong?

Perhaps in the wake of a whisper

the voice of hope may answer,


But the heavy machinery

of drilling trucks and cranes

is moving in the distance

and I know deep within

there never was any hope for man.

It is but a matter of time

before the life-sustaining environment

finally collapses;

before man himself becomes

his own victim - and perhaps just as well

such a creature does not deserve

a world as beautiful as this.

Certainly I will miss

the beauty I see before me

but I know I have to go:

I see no point staying around

to watch the deliberate destruction

of yet another world

at the hands of insatiable creatures.

Let The World Change You

It seems quite obvious

hardships, pain and suffering

are for most the norm.

It seems equally true

that most who live in rich nations

are quite blinded to this fact -

unless the fact can sell commercial time

and it is splashed on the TV

or headlined in the newspaper -

Ignoring the plight of millions

cannot be so easy, can it?

Apparently, it can.

Just call it “cognitive dissonance.”

Call it lack of empathy.

Call it lack of compassion.

But really, it’s lack of awareness.

I met a fellow-traveller

who had seen many parts of this world,

- not the touristy-type places

splashed as bill-boards on ocean-fronts -

but places where everyday is a struggle

and each struggle, an adventure.

He claimed the people he met

in those skeletal places

changed his outlook on life.

It was there he saw compassion come alive

for the very first time.

It was there people showed him life

is neither about money nor possessions,

nor about finding happiness.

It was there he heard laughter as from a child -

free and sincere.

There he tasted food fully appreciated

and there he found

he could give thanks for life

for each day there is a miracle -

not of survival as many believe

but of joyful acceptance.

Let There Be Light

Christmas lights, merry lights,

decorate trees and homes;

I feel the search for happiness,

when the sun hides his face,

lying low on the grey horizon.

Now the Light of the Spirit

the Light of Christmas cheer

is called upon to hold the life

the Sun relinquishes for a time.

I say: find every possible way

to enjoy this festive time;

see the twinkling of coloured lights;

the excitement in a child’s eyes,

the natural greenery,

brought from the forest

to gladden the hearts of the old.

If your mind hums a Christmas carol,

remember to hum along

and if your eyes see two in love

walking hand in hand on a sidewalk,

smile and bless them from the heart.

For you were there once

and shall be there again!

Being happy may not be the solution

to the problems plaguing this world,

but it may be what is needed

to see us all pass more peacefully

into another year of life’s activities.

"The Sea"

His greatest remembered impression was of the sea, how it fascinated him. It was not only alive, but relative to the rest of his world, very big. It was always there and it had moods so deep, his heart was always touched by them. Moods that frightened him when he stood on the rocky shore and it trembled as waves many times his height would rush at him raging, then sweep back hungrily sucking every loose particle of matter they could grasp. Moods that calmed him when a silver moon rose slowly, painting a wavy trail of light over the waters of a windless night.

The sea had many other moods, not nearly as extreme in either terror or beauty, but moods he could identify with. He would strip and dive off a smoothly rounded stone and float among the debris, pretending to be but another piece of half-life the sea had found and tucked between her breasts to be put to sleep by the rising and falling of her tidal breath. He loved her deep laughter as she chased herself through crevices among the stones.

Yes, he loved the sea more than anything else he had discovered on his world. And he wondered why. What was it about the sea that was so attractive, even, and perhaps, especially, in her madness? Who was the sea? He knew if he could answer that, he'd know who he was.

He wasn't the only one who liked the sea. Many came, for as many reasons. They sat on the sand, swam in the cove, or took small crafts out when the weather was calm. He remembered once, asking another much like himself, what brought him to the sea. "My parents." was the reply. "No, I mean, what brings you here?" "I told you." "But, what do you like about it?" "I like watching other people, especially the girls sunbathing, or swimming. I like looking for stuff in tidal pools. Throwing sand at the anemones. And I like swimming when the water's warm enough."

He opened his mouth to ask another question, then stopped, realizing he was not going to get the answer he was looking for. He wanted to ask, "What calls you here?" but knew the other was not called. What he felt for the sea, these others did not feel. He was alone on this shore. Only he could hear the music of the great oceans all the way around his world. Only he could hear sea birds who glided far away from land, for months on end, crying, calling to one another. Only he could hear the whales telling their sad story. For they too had found they were alone and the sea could not protect nor save them.

For a new sea had come forth and was covering his world. This was not a sea that gave life. It was full of feet that trampled everything; full of hands that grasped, choked and killed; full of mouths that ate and ate but were never sated. The pieces of this sea looked like him and he would wonder at times if he was of the same material, but when he saw the mouths open and eating their own children, he knew then it wasn't so.

He knew the history of this new sea. It had begun as an accidental intrusion in a very recent past, had grown into an invasion and become a cancer, a destructive force without any sense of purpose. Nothing of his world was safe from the greedy motions of this chaotic mass. Not even the mass itself, for he saw it had no mind of its own, yet moved as if it was the only legitimate force on his world. It mindlessly absorbed everything it came in contact with, including parts of itself.

As he sat by the sea, he noticed the stars gradually fading from his sight. Less and less of them could be seen. They weren't being extinguished, he knew that. But they were using the sad blanket of effluents created by the cancerous sea to hide their faces from his world. Even the greatest stars, with memories that spanned billions of years, would no longer look upon his world.

He noticed the songs of the deep changing year by year. The whales' mourning was ending. The great birds no longer flew over the tossing waves for too many had died. And the stories brought forth from the oceans spoke of death; of rivers of poisonous waters draining from the lands, or oozing from broken ships. And the sea spoke of sands red with blood, of raging fires and billowing black smoke... and sometimes the fires burned over the skin of the sea and he felt her pain and it was his pain.

"What should I do?" he wondered. "What can I do? I have the language of the ancient sea, but not of this new sea. I do not feel its rhythm. I cannot enter into its moods, for they are savage, always at odds with one-another. I belong to the old way, yet have the form of the new. Why? Where are those like me? Are they all gone now? Am I the last? Or am I the first?"

The old sea, his mother, rose from her bed one last time and extending a giant arm to his perch, swept him within herself and holding him firmly, cradled him to sleep. For his old time had indeed passed and his new time had not materialized.

The End Of Love

...In the future...

I saw the sky of earth

no longer wore blue;

flowing from high mountains

the water no longer sparkled;

the calls of hidden birds

no longer echoed in the forest;

seas once teeming with life

stretched out, empty and dank:

It seemed there was no hope

in all that we are on about.

... I saw a silent earth

spinning in the black of space,

- bereft of human beings -

and thought wryly:

how strange to see

the “end of love”

come about so


Life’s Path

In the footsteps of the Cosmic breeze,

a soul has blossomed on flowers of rain

who now walks upon ridges of spirit cliffs:

he’s the one who knows, the watcher.

But below, where life’s path is still an arduous choice,

another cries for freedom but finds it not.

Here life calls for unceasing shifts in seasonal changes;

youth’s strength fails with Spring’s passing,

followed by sweaty toil in broiling Summer’s heat.

Comes Autumn’s cool but brief relief

only to be followed by more vagaries

and the uncertain hardships of Winter’s ice and snow

when finally one’s body is laid low.

One can go through these manifold changes,

finding satisfaction in accomplishments and survival,

yet remain quite blind to the greater flow of life

that could be found within an awakened human heart.

A life of pleasure, of angst, of passion, of success:

what does that prove, if all around

injustice and sorrow still rule under the passing sun

and under a moonless darkness, death

brings forth the blackest night?

Yes, death must come, a thief in the night

to steal away all that was accomplished in time -

others will buy the musty manuscripts

on which some great life was scribed or scribbled -

but who so lived will have no choice

but to return upon the wheel to try again, try again!

Each time hoping to find that magic key

that unlocks the door to freedom from

the very last spasm of fate’s desire.

Light My Passion

Looking back over my life,

I see you were the one

who provided the spark

needed to light my passion.

You inspired me to write


it would help me find

inner truth and power,


it would “light my fire.”

Looking back over your life,

I see oceans you have sailed,

mountains you have climbed,

deserts you crossed,

never looking back

to see who approved, or not.

You searched for the keys

to life’s endless riddles

and now I see you on the verge

of breaking through these veils.

Having found those keys

that many never find,

the passion in your heart

gives wings to your dreams;

your doubts fade away

and you discover freedom

the likes of which

even God

may still be searching for.

I thank you for your friendship

and the inspiration:

now it is my turn.


Do we lose things along the way?

We say:

I lost my hat; I lost my cat;

I lost my way!

All is energy:

it is quite impossible to lose


Other things or other lives

simply grow tired of us

and slip out of our control

for a time or for ever.

To be able to lose,

we must be able to own,

but where or when did we

get the idea of ownership?

No one can ever own anything

and life is full of surprises:

who knows:

I may “lose” myself before morning!

The things I own

likely understand the truth of it:

they break free of owners

and suddenly disappear.


Not for those who have learned

to think outside the box.

Besides, it's a lot more fun

than just tick-tocking along

stuck in the same old beliefs.

Go ahead, lose your mind!

Life Is A Dance


It's said that life is a dance.  In my experience, this is true, but it is not however a choreographed happening.  Every participant must learn to create and execute his own particular set of steps, dance to his own music, form his own words.  Each life dance is intensely personal.  That is not the toughest part to accomplish.  The most difficult aspect of one's dance is, once created, to make it dovetail perfectly within the existing 'Song' for whatever insists on being out of step will be disavowed.


There are those, of course, who never create their own steps due to fear, selfishness, laziness and neediness or combinations thereof or more often because they adhere to an exclusive belief that emphatically forbids personal expression.  They find it safer and easier simply to emulate whatever is popular; to follow the Piper.  Where large groups come together to dance the impersonal steps of whomever wrote the music, that is when life turns to death, for as life is intensely personal, so death is utterly impersonal.


There are systems - certainly systems of power - that require all participants to dance their choreographed steps.  Woe to those who dare otherwise as history demonstrates.  And yet to not dare otherwise is to accept the worse kind of death: the living death in which every movement, every step, is dictated by a Power over which one has no say.  In our world this living death is touted to be the essence of the good life, safety or salvation.  Conformity, whatever the price.


When the dance is a celebration of life, then the dancers are expressing their own truth.  But if it is a celebration ordered, demanded, organized or promoted by the system, then they are dancers in a 'danse macabre'-a dance of the dead.  So how is one to know?


That is like asking, 'How do we know when something is true, when it is false?  Is beauty in the eye of the beholder?'  It would seem a conundrum indeed, there being so many choices on the world's menu.  But perhaps it is not as difficult to figure it out as it seems at first, and I won't be the first to recognize this.  Mark Twain said: "Whenever you find that you are on the side of the majority, it is time to reform." 


That is the key to understanding or knowing what is true, what is false.  If a majority does it, believes it or supports it, it's false.  Turn the other way and go think your own thoughts; figure out your own way of doing things.  Listen to the voices in the Wind.  Each voice has its own music and forms its own words.  If you listen carefully to the voices you will note there are missing parts in the song and that's where you come in. 


Now you understand why the collective song is false.  It is mind-numbing, loud, vulgar, repetitive phrases making no sense,  signifying nothing because everyone who participates in it is barred from adding his own part to it.  It is rock n' roll and commercial country music.  It is a pointless, vain exercise in futility, a music video, a soap opera.  


Ever wonder what drives people to create graffiti on every available flat surface?  I won't speak for the graffiti in Cro-Magnon caves, for them it may have been art.  But in today's world it's a subconscious expression of anger at being denied one's voice; anger at the graffiti of the rich and powerful, the billboards and the ads that constantly assault the eyes and the mind with their lies, broaching no counterattack, no confrontation, no questioning of the right to impose empty values with such terrible force.


Ever wonder why there is so much 'other' stuff at parties beside the dancing where individuals are meant to come together to enjoy the close proximity of each other's bodies publicly and in a way permitted by an otherwise judgmental society?  Why is the so-called music too loud, the wording incoherent, often promoting violence?  Why junk foods, alcohol and drugs are 'de rigueur' to create ambiance?  Because the ultimate goal is not to simply enjoy the dance, the event is used as an opportunity for some to show off and others to 'score.' 


But life isn't about scoring, nor about winning.  It's not about walking away with the prize but about participating in an intensely, personally meaningful performance without end. 


I quote, this passage from Poul Anderson's book, 'The Avatar' - "Life is not a thing, it is a way.  It is a series of happenings, it is the evolution of patterns which carry information; it is growth and decay and re-growth.  Wherever the possibility of this exists, life will be."


An evolution of patterns.  Why are we not more eager to add our own pattern to the mosaic rather than meekly and dutifully obeying the masters of deception whose dance is nothing more than an endless commercial?  We must ask ourselves constantly, 'What kind of 'life' are they offering us?'  Then we must take our collective head out of the sands of time and after blinking at the unusual brightness of staring into reality for the first time, dare proceed into the unknown, dare dance our own, and totally new steps without jumping back into corporate denial to feed blindly once again at the corporate trough.



No Tears

An old man sitting on a bench

- and I -

both of us watching a sunrise

in Springtime- years ago.

He turned to me

and spoke of his youth:

My old man was a mean bastard

and I grew up hating the S.O.B.

- he said, looking at the sky -

My mother raised me.

She was a kind and gentle person

and I think she really loved me.

But you know what

- he said more quietly -

when my mother died

I couldn’t cry for her

and no tears would flow

but when my old man died

I cried

like there was no tomorrow.

Overweight And Hungry

Is it not ironic

that in this country

so many spend money --

lots of money!

to look like a third world person,

while so many there

struggle desperately every day

to stem their gnawing hunger?

Somehow the Jenny Craig's

Weight Watcher's,

and the 30lbs, 30days, $30Magic!

have so many believing

dieting's the only cure

to losing sticky fat

or most importantly

having too much money!

Either way you always lose

something in the end here

and need to come back

again and again.

A friend of mine

of practical

if slightly bent mind,

had this great idea:

open up weight loss clinics

in Haiti and Somalia.

You see? he said innocently,

it'll cost a lot less to operate,

and the effect,

instantaneous, if not permanent!

I wonder if his business

is booming yet?

The World Cries

Does the world cry

for lack of compassion?

Is the pain of the world

a cry for compassion?

Does the world seek

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