life tells me: go here:
here’s more beauty, wisdom, love.
I say yes, thanks, friend.
War memorials
dot the land from sea to sea
–our sad history.
Tall, well-fed friar
friendly, erudite, patient
shares his order’s light.
Medieval artists–
stone, glass, wood, theology
their work still standing!
Awareness remains
church bells chime out Its Presence
sunlight through stained glass.
Antsy companions
days and nights on pilgrimage
old routines want home
(mind horse wants stable.)
Yes, we’re all equal
but tourists flock to castles
for taste of Kings, Queens.
White Cliffs of Dover!
The “high ground” since Roman times.
Look out! Enemies!
Pilgrimage last day.
Should we do one more castle?
We drive past, full, drained.
Two Zen Garden Rocks
at home, too heavy to lift.
Far off, they ground me.
I am nature, and
I am the telephone wires
running through the trees.
Single red rose blooms
by the pool at the motel.
No one else is here.
Fly through Constable’s
clouds– dark green meadows below
Goodbye, Merry Ol’…
Nation states dissolve
the more nation states you see.
One big family.
Happy to be home
after long, deep pilgrimage–
brush teeth on own sink.
Pilgrimage back home.
Everything’s the same, but not.
Something in me woke.
My old ego hurts
when friends scoff at what I do.
Their ego hurts too.
When you bark at me
I want to pinch you. But don’t.
(Except in this poem.)
I can work from home
now that I’ve swallowed the world.
Everywhere is here.
