it is weird to be a grandfather
but no-longer a grandson
and probably weirder still
to be a great grandfather
but no-longer son
and maybe no-longer brother
and maybe no-longer husband
to have a son
that is a grandfather
as the cycle trundles

our identities both fade
into inconsequential history
and simultaneously thin
into time and future
until we are light as feather
and can go where we please
with neither baggage
nor fixed destination
and the wind that sung
in our no-longer childhood
sings to us again
songs of carriage and passage
and we must relearn
the old language we spoke
before speech

Jacek Yerka

listen to what living space
tries to tell you
the field intelligence
of our homes are usually out for our best interests
if we honor our residence
it has things to tell
that only places we inhabit can
say when we stop to listen
a larger script
with space between the letters
for a companion signal
it is good to have a home
as an ally
to extend our senses deeper into worlds

I can walk a well lit hall
as if bathed in shadow
I can cross a pedestrian street
while caverns of purgatory
yawn on each side
down the depths of hell
I can carry a conversation
while an ice serpent
writhes across my tongue
and imps of nearby tombs
tug loose sheets of fabric
from my hearing
so yeah
I can hear you, I can see you
just not like you think

my child

I’m gobstruck by infinity
radiating from this moment
threads and arcs of possibilities
sneaking up on it we might observe
as a child down darkened hall, peeking from a bedroom door
the selections made for us constantly
by our relentless thoughts
and judgments and feelings
with our adulting minds
…yet a few children stand in the midst of this bazaar
absorbed with arrays and paths of their own elective
in a smorgasbord of choice
one of the few might be you,


Of course there were rifts
from the beginning in
the fabric of things that
never mended the
way culture intended and
there were tides and whirlpools
both figurative and literal

one tide brought my brothers and I
out into the sacred
under a moonlit sea off Myrtle Beach
on Styrofoam “surfboards”
waves and stars and warm water
moonlight rivers on the ocean

a lazy whirlpool once trapped me for several minutes
in my huge inner tube early
in the leg of a 4 hour run on the Tama river in Japan
through rapids and beckoning beach parties
a paddle would have probably helped
expedite an escape

almost lost a friend on the same trip
he disappeared in front of me like a magic act
like some leviathan of the deep snatched him
I waited, paddling by hand in circles
debating diving in to try and find him in
that sinkhole or to wait a tad longer
meanwhile his hat whooshed up without him
a few seconds after and
he sputtered to the surface

I have been washed to sea
through ayahuasca, san  pedro, peyote, mushrooms, float tanks, trance states, out of  body, lucid dreams
I’ve seen sirens
I have addictive tendencies
that runs in my family, lineage and race if you believe the stuff about natives and liquor
but I’m pulled to altered states
more or less  daily… through meditation,vivid or lucid dreams,  path working during the day, edibles, ale or wine in the evening
feeble attempts to keep the riffs from closing
before I decide to enter

vino de la vida

It’s past witching hour
by far
In vino veritas
(y tambien, la vida no es tan seria como la mente hace que parezca)

enjoy life -but live it(!)
don’t settle
which means ~obtain your magic
claim your mojo
you die alone
make some choices
that only you are accountable for

escape a few beliefs
and a little indoctrination
free the mind a bit
and spirit more
you know those feelings
…your memory can reach that far back
to what you’ve lost touch with-in

in all the scurry
come back to the body
it’s not just a temple
it’s a playground of sensation, energies
pathways and forces
a nexus of power

ride these sensations into presence
only the body is always here and now
while the mind can spin endlessly in neither
anchor self in the earth
and reach the stars
or not
a thousand games
a thousand gems

Protect yourself and grow upright to the sky; that is all.
— Shunryu Suzuki


outside, gray skies
gray streets
gray gradient dopplers of swooshing cars
inside same gray
excesses the night before
leaving ashes where motivation should lie
hate to leave on a gray wave
or gray way
how does one melt these pewter talismans down
their leaden enchantments
using a glowing splinter
taken from the paw
of a creature made of fire
which owes me a debt
as best I can remember

… a gray wave and gray day probably spawned from a haunting poem
I learned in elementary school, though I don’t know from where. It went like this:

A green little chemist
On a green little day
Mixed some green little chemicals
In a green little way.
The green little grasses
Now tenderly wave
O’er the green little chemist’s
Green little grave.

the royal us

let go
limiting thoughts
gaslight thoughts
thoughts with measurements
thoughts of righteousness
thoughts of judgment
thoughts too small and too petty
Who. Cares?
Others give us about as much thought as we give them
Not collectively, individually
How much have you thought about person x?
even if person x is family or close friend
daily? how many minutes? a few seconds?
weekly? rarely? add it up
for those you love dearly, maybe hours
No matter
for many of us
perhaps all of us
we mostly think about us
to such relief!
usually nobody thinks that much about us
in particular
yet: we think everyone’s attention is obsessed with our
every move,
facial tic,
Dream on
…but make better dreams
…if you’re in the dreaming business
otherwise, let go of this self-importance
feel free to jump into the stream
of us taking nothing personally
the royal us