poems & fragments
I sit at the garden door and write
Amid trees, and the birds talk to me
In a confusion of soft songs Continue reading
Understanding how all our beliefs are constructed, how much we have invented on top of the base belief that men should rule, and yet feeling a sense of something leaping alive and aware from a bird, a tree, a nodding poppy; here I stand, a poet in search of a philosophy, a mystic without a god or a cosmology. What shall I believe? What shall I worship? I will start with this earth that sustains me, and yet is larger than me. The next footstep will be my beginning.