Home Group

 

What is it?

It isn’t a group of houses.

It’s a group of people

that meet in a house.

It’s people that meet

as a group in a home.

It’s people that come together

and become friends.

It’s friends that come together

and become family.

It’s a family that comes together

to share the good in life.

It’s a family that comes together

to help in the bad in life.

It’s a family at home.

It’s family.

The Music Comes.

The music comes

Among those

Who are not caring

Of the tomorrows

Today.

Magic

Magic

Believe in magic

children do

To children everything is magic

and magic is everywhere

For a child

it is a magic world

There is magic in the mountains

because they look so close

and are so far

There is magic in the valleys

where the rivers and streams flow

There is magic in the lakes and seas

where the fishes roam

how do they breathe under the water

no one else can

There is magic in the trees

that grow so tall

There is magic in the animals

as pets in the home

or as creatures in the wild

playing hide and seek

for those who peek

There is magic in the birds

that fly so high

singing their songs

to all that would listen

There is magic in the air

that lets everyone

and everything

live and breathe

There is magic in the clouds

way so high

so white and light

almost out of sight

There is magic in the sky

that dome of blue

that holds down the clouds

and shapes the air

There is magic in the stars

and in the moon

those lights that shine in the night

changing the land and the sight

all dark yet lit

There is magic in the sun

that great light in the sky

that shines brighter than any other

the warming light

that gives us green grass

and brilliant flowers

and so many other things

There is magic in the people

that surround one and all

people make the world go round

and round and round

There is magic in everything

and everywhere

There is magic in everybody

whether you can see it or not

children believe in magic

and so do I

Lines of Grace

Lines of grace

the painters pride

His innermost thoughts

His careful eye

revealed on a piece of canvas

Hours of labor

The painters heart

his loving soul

his skillful hands

combined on the piece of canvas

Years of life are portrayed here

not the painting

but the painter

pictured on the canvas

What kind of man is this

What kind of power

What kind of man is this?

Who shows me my shame

with every word he says

What kind of master this?

What kind of war is this?

That I can fight no more

That leaves me weaponless

and nails me to the floor

What kind of power

What kind of man

can make me turn and see

the way I really am

Oh tell me who

Where have my brothers gone

Why don't I see them about?

They’re all around him now

and pointing me out

What kind of madness of madness

Go on, let him in

he's only asking

for a simple job to do

and nothing more

They said

But looking back

I see this stranger had the key

to any door he wished

with his eyes and trust

What kind of master this?

What kind of man

Can make me listen to

the way I really am.

Not the way to be

What kind of man is this

Who shows me the way

The master of masters

who allows me to stay

Showing a new way

Loves Me

Can the trees grow higher than the mountains

In the land of free love and goodbye

The rivers ever flowing, fishes growing

And the God I love loves me

In the sky rides a gleam of white horses

And they glimmer clean in your eye

The bird of dawn is bringing

The simpleness of singing

And the God I love loves me

Will the trees grow higher than the mountains

In the land of freelove and goodbye

The rivers ever flowing, creatures ever lowing

And the God I love loves me

And the sun lies all around

And everything is as it must be

And winter lies underground

And the God I love loves me.

The trees do grow higher than the mountains

In the land of free love and goodbye

The rivers ever flowing, heavens glowing

And I'm with the God that loves me

In One Room

Don’t you feel the day is coming

And it won't be too soon

When the people of the world

Can all live in one room

When we all shake off

The ancient chains of our tomb

We will all be born again

Of the eternal womb.

Have you ever noticed?

Have you ever noticed what a great equalizer lying down is?

Everything is reduced to approximately the same level,

or on a more positive approach, everything

is raised to the same level.

The hips are elevated to the same exalted level

the head occupies at the best of times,

the hands and feet likewise.

The only thing that maintains a high altitude

is the chest, wherein lies the heart.

The body's equator is rotated from the waist

to a vague line delineating front and back

and neither reigns supreme because

it is so easy to confuse the two

simply by shifting the body.

Don't believe me

Please, hear what I'm not saying. Don't be fooled by me. Do not be fooled by the face I show. Because I do wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks, masks that I'm afraid to take off, and none of them are really me. Pretending is an art that's become second nature to me, but do not be fooled. For my sake and yours do not be fooled.

I may give the impression that I am secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without, that confidence is my name and coolness my game. The waters calm and I am in command, and that I need no one.

Don't believe me. Please.

My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask, my ever varying and ever concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence. Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear and alone. But I hide this. I do not want anybody to know this. I panic at the thought of my weaknesses and fear of being exposed. That is why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant, sophisticated facade to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows. But such a glance is my salvation. My only salvation.

And I know it.

That is, only if it is followed by acceptance. If it is followed by love. It is the only thing that can liberate me, from myself, from my own self-built prison walls, from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect. It is the only thing that will assure me of what I cannot assure myself, that I am really worth something. But I do not tell you this...I don't dare. I am afraid to. I am afraid that your glance will not be followed by acceptance or love. I am afraid that you will think less of me, that you will laugh, and your laughter will kill me.

I am afraid that deep down I am nothing, that I am no good, and that you will see this and reject me utterly. So I play my game, my desperate pretending game, a facade of assurance without and a trembling child within. And so begins the parade of masks. And my life becomes a front. I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that’s really nothing, and nothing of what's everything, of what's crying within me.

So when I go through my routine, do not be fooled by what I am saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I’m not saying, what I cannot say. I dislike hiding. Honestly, I dislike the superficial game I am playing, the superficial phony game. I would really like to be genuine and spontaneous, and me, but I need help. Help to hold my hand even when it seems to be the last thing in the world that I want or need. Help to wipe away from my eyes the blank stare of the breathing dead. Only you can call me back into life. Each time you are kind, and gentle, and encouraging. Each time try to understand because you really care my heart starts to grow wings, very small wings, very feeble wings, but still wings. With your sympathy and sensitivity and your power of understanding you can breathe new life into me. I want you to know how important you are to me, how you can be the creator of the person that is me if you choose to.

Please choose to. You can break down the wall behind which I tremble. You can release me from the shadow world of panic and uncertainty. So do not pass me by. Please do not pass me by. It will not be easy for you. A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls. The nearer you approach me, the blinder I may strike. It is irrational but desperate. I am irrational, not like what the books say about what a man should be, they say that man (as a species) is the only rational animal but I know that they are wrong. I fight the only thing that I cry out for. But I am told that love is stronger than the strongest walls, and in this lies my hope, my only hope. Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands, but gentle too, because a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder? I might be someone you think you know very well. I might be right next to you or behind you or across the room from you or someone you haven't even met.

 Yet.

Art is Love is Art

Love is Art

Love is Devotion,

Love is Sacrifice, 

Love is Joy,

Love is Pain,

Love is Beauty,

Love is Emotion,

Love is Expression,

Love is Freedom,

Love is Discovery,

Love is Revelation.

Art is love.

The Nameless

I have many names and none of them matter.

     Names are not important, to speak is to name names, but to speak is not important. A thing happens once that has never happened before. Seeing it, a man looks upon reality. He cannot tell others what he has seen. Others wish to know, however, so they question him saying, "what is it like this thing you have see?" so he tries to tell them.
     Perhaps he has seen the first fire in the world. He talks to them saying "it is red, like a poppy, but through it dances other colors. It has no form, like water, flowing everywhere. It is warm, like the sun of summer, only warmer.
     It exists, for a time upon a piece of wood, and then when the wood is gone (as though eaten) leaving behind that which is black and can be sifted like sand. When the wood is gone then it too is gone.
     Therefore the hearers must think reality is like a poppy, like water, like the sun, like that which eats and excretes. They think it is like anything that they are told it is like by the man who has known it. But they have not looked upon fire. They cannot really know it. They can only know of it.
     But fire comes again into the world, many times. More men look upon fire. After a time, fire is as common as grass and clouds and the air they breathe. They see that, while it is like a poppy it is not a poppy, while it is like water it is not water, while it is like the sun it is not the sun. And while it is like that which eats and passes waste it is not that which eats and passes waste. But something different from each of these apart or all of these together. So they look they look upon this new thing and make a new word to call it.

They call it "Fire"

     If they come upon someone who still has not seen it and they speak to him of fire. He doesn't know what they are talking about. So they in turn, fall back to telling him what fire is like. As they do so, they know from their own experience what they are telling him is not the truth but only part of it. They know that this man will never know reality from their words, though the words in the world are theirs to use.
He must look upon fire, smell it, warm his hands by it, stare into its heart, or remain ignorant. Therefore fire does not matter, "earth" and "air" and "water" do not matter.
     "I" do not matter. No words matter. The more words remembered, the cleverer one is thought to be. I can look upon the great transformations of the world, but not see them as they were first seen when man looked upon reality for the first time. The names come to my lips and I smile I can taste them, thinking I know them in the naming. The thing that has never happened before is still happening. It is still a miracle. The great burning blossom squats, flowing, upon the limb of the world, excreting the ash of the world, and being none of these things I have named and at the same time, all of them.

This is reality. The nameless.

Each Other

Parting with Strangers

A stranger is someone you don't know

saying goodbye to a stranger is easy

People you meet

in the subway

at the store

over a shared table

Who show you their externals only

coats

color

crust

And leaving nothing but an empty cup

to mark their passing

But we aren't strangers anymore

We've shown each a glimpse

of our souls

We've smiled together

lived and loved and died in the sight

of each other

Cried in company

We can never be

cut

pushed

pulled apart

because we are part

of each other.

stillness

 stillness

silence

calm and tranquil

the sound

the waves

beating against the shore

then the voice

breaking the stillness

crying out

but no one is there

no one to hear

no one to care

Familiarity

The blessing of morning routine

water, soap, razor, towel, paste.

Each morning you wake up

a slightly different person.

Not significantly.

But dreams

and the sleep time

rearrange the patterns

inside your head.

So what you see

in the mirror is

almost you,

and three percent stranger.

It takes the comfort

of routine

to fit yourself back

into total familiarity.

Here I Am

Here I am

And I’m all alone

No one calls

On the telephone

I look around

And what do I see

There is no one here

Only me

I am all alone

And it’s very dark

I sneak out the window

To the park

The wind blows hard

And the tree limbs wave

And I am right

Before an open grave

When I try to run

And try to flee

I know they’re out there

After me

I sit and cry

And I know that’s right

Because the sun comes up

The end of night.

Todays dirges

Todays dirges,

Are tomorrows hymns

In another key.

Sounds loud

Sounds loud

Lights bright

Working flurry

Many proud

Music tight

People hurry

For a Funeral

You go from us

Into a new beginning

We rejoice for you wishing you an easy journey

Into the light.

The winds will speak to us of you

The waters will mention your name

Snow and rain and fog, first light and last light

All will remind us that you had

A certain way of being that was dear to us

You go back to where you came from

And on beyond

We will watch for you,

From time to time.

Amen

Then Beginning

                                                                   He rests and he thinks

What will I be when I grow

Will I someday

Be rich and famous

What can I be like?

A man of words or one of action

Known or unknown

How might I know?

Time is old but never slows

In favor of a man

He sits and he thinks

About all that has been

Now an old man am I

And what did I do

What did I say?

Had I no end to aspire to

Where did they go?

Years gone by

How could I know?

How time would go

But now I can do

As I like

Seeking what I will

All that I might have wanted

But not for me

Everything comes to those who wait

Years do pass

As does life

Nearing an end

I thought life would come to me

But I make my way as able

Though I am still living

What has happened with life?

What is ahead?

In this short yet long existence

Certain future...more

Inevitable future...an end

And between

Nothing

Death is an end

Some, not many

Advance toward it

Seek it, want it

But not me

I will wait

It will come

But I will not go

Willing

Not me

Everything comes

To those who wait

Eventually

But no longer can I wait

Search I must

And hope to find

Life in the dust

I have always lived

But have never experienced

Life

I do not know

Nor shall I

Until death

End

Then beginning

Time

Professor Jones had been working on a time theory for many years.

"And I have found the key equation" he told his daughter one day. "Time is a field. This machine I have made can manipulate, even reverse that field."

Pushing a button as he spoke, he said, "this should make time run backward run time make should this, "said he, spoke he as button a pushing.

"Field that, reverse even, manipulate can made have I machine this. Field a is time." day one daughter his told he "equation key the found have I and."

Years many for theory time a working been had Jones professor.

Your Every Dream

Let your strength be your roots

And gentleness your stem

And kindness your leaves

For aggression is as out of order

As the sun controlling the earth

And roots showing above the surface

Are ugly and out of place

if you have the goods

you do not have to proclaim them

use them discreetly

As a gift, not to be taken lightly

Let your kindness grow

And your gentleness feed you

And your roots will support

Your every dream.

Home on a Kite

Home on a kite we fly

Home on a breeze we blow

Eyeing the folks below and

Watching everyone run

Each one heading for a different place

Watching everybody hide

Each behind a different face

Home where the days are long

Back where people are free

Home where all sides agree and

Everybody has a friend

And no one has to grab

Everybody shares the love

Giving everything they have

Forever your lamp will burn

Forever home

 Forever would that you'd learn

That you came with nothing

So with nothing you'll return

Home forever

You know you’re not alone

It’s only because you're not at home

That you feel so out of place

Forever your lamp will burn

Forever home

 Forever would that you'd learn

That you came with nothing

So with nothing you'll return

Home where all can sing

Back where the children don't cry

Home where you never ask why and

Everybody has enough and

You don't have to put on masks

Nobody has to hide

Because everyone already knows.

For a Childhood Night

Close your eyes and go to sleep

The night will soon be gone

There’ll be nothing here

When the light is out

That wasn't here when the light was on

If You Try

Close your eyes my child

Close your eyes

And smell the burning wood

The hanging pines have died

To tell you a story

Kernels pop in your mouth

And ...you can taste God

...If you try

I need You

  If you are not happy

I’ll cheer you up

If everyone leaves

I’ll still be here

If it rains

Don’t worry

If I can help

Please let me

I’ll see you through

Life is too short to be alone

We need each other

I need you

Life is

Cross the lines of time

Over scorching sands

Cross great sand dunes

Over sands bright and vast

Cross barren lands

Over bones very still

Life is

Peace

Peace

Is the serenity

of the Soul

The tranquility

of the Mind

The simplicty

of the Heart

The bond

of Love

 And the union

of Charity

Don't Love Me

Don’t love me

Because I’m here

Or because I show no fear

Don’t love me

Because you have to

Or because I study the books

Don’t love me

Out of sorrow

Or out of pity

Love me

Because I am me

I Do

I do

Many times I do

But sometimes I don't

Maybe someday

It will be

Now it isn't

Sometimes it is

Almost

Maybe I didn't

You never know

But you might

You never can tell

I might

You might

Someday

Again

Maybe

Sometimes I did know

Not now though

Later maybe

Tomorrow

Maybe

The next day

Who knows?

I don't

Sometimes

Now! Look, See!

Now! Look, see!

How she rolls off into a long low glide

Like paper in the wind

She swoops quiet

Down the invisible wave of morning air

She feels lazy in the sun

Lulled by the great clouds

She is beautiful

Like all my days

Art

The subject of art

when all is said

Is but the art of

expressing the invisible

by means of the visible.

He Was Devoted

 

He was devoted

to a world that turned him down

He was strong

stronger than sin, that made him frown

He was brave

to face the darkness of death

He was good

He looked and loved when love was gone

He was big

bigger than the world of old

He was great

For he walked to his death I’m told

Up

Up from the Ground

Crawling over the land

It covers the light, it covers the sea

Gradually it engulfs you

Like a cold wet hand,

With no escape

Then, off in flight

It creeps away

Never to stay by mornings side

A mist

Silence

Silence can be a communication

Idleness can be a productivity

One can go far while staying still

Life can be a death

Death can mean life

Who knows...?

What or why