Let Presence Be

Let Presence Be

Let me find willingness in unwillingness
Let me find happiness in unhappiness
Let me know clarity in confusion
Let me feel peace in frustration
Let me see no one in seeing someone
Let me find serenity in being overwhelmed
Let me absorb pain in releasing suffering
Let me accept change in the field of unwavering truth
Let me be me within the expectations of others
Let me feel free within the roles that I play
Let the fabric of life be a pattern of playfulness
Let learning unfold with ease and wonder in the midst of chaos
Let the middle come into view within peripheral vision
Let courage arise in the face of fear
Let striving fall as inspiration grows
Let trust arise in the face of suspicion
Let old habitual patterns be seen as the friends they once were
Let gratitude express itself in resistance
Let the mystery unfold with penetrating awareness
Let presence be

If I Could Paint a Picture

If I Could Paint a Picture

If I could paint a picture

I would paint it –

Instead of sitting here and seeing all the different ways to paint it.

If I could paint a picture I would paint a picture of my 9th grade art teacher sharing how everything is art and calling me a “Smart Ass” when I handed her a white canvas.

If I could paint a picture you would see a sister saying to me that I am not an artist because no one buys my pictures.

If I could paint a canvas it would involve a flash animation of infinite variation, with sound and light displaying and tweening each sequence with splashes of vigorous Knowing.

If I could paint a picture you’d be in it, and then again, and again because now you‘ve


If I could paint a picture I’d like to show you the mirror in your heart in each cellular division and transmutation lifting you out of any idea of the picture.

If I could paint a picture of myself the canvas would not be big enough nor small enough, it would be a burning canvas with a paint called no-thing.

If I could paint a picture, you’d see your pain and want to touch it with love and devotion. You’d caress your sore selves and see them heal in disappearing wonder.

The Edge

The Edge

Expose your wounds,

gashes and craters

to the elements.

Bathe in the frozen snow,

and scratch against the ice

with your swollen hands and feet.

See those bubbles of exasperating sighs


within your tense conflicting muscles.

Try and hold that repetitive pattern

of survival, and hope, and longing,

as your fingers leave the edge,

with not a fall from grace,

but into that dumb luck

of finding what you only

thought you never knew.