I was, where I am, when the snow began. Here, lost in reverie, remembering driving home for Christmas from the airport on a snowy night, after a long business trip — a memory triggered by this snowfall.
I remember the ruby chains of taillights, sparkling in the snowflakes, that floated to earth. Chains that stretched into darkness, over the horizon, pulling me along the freeway, home to you.
Exiting the interstate, I’d seek our country lane. I could make that left turn in my sleep. I’d envision every bend, every rise, every dip, stirring my heart. Finally came the drum roll of my tires, trundling the narrow wooden bridge, that spans the mountain stream — almost home.
Then parking, I’d turn off the motor, and crunch my way through fresh snow, as the front door opened. You’d come, bringing warmth — chai tea, and your loving arms.
Dark laid and down, with drum-thrummed head
steep-steers the black nocturnal nest
perversely born fantazury
fresh hatch this night’s menagerie
scream-bringing hoard of twisted truth
zoom-zooming in this blue-black world
called forth to gorge in ghastly feast
first stir, they roust then gore the beast
distressing visions overflow
stabbing with a brain-jolt pierce
disgusting curiosities
brute-flung to hideousity
jerk and lunge these soul-cleaved demons
death scratch-scratching through doomsday’s door
perverted serendipity
they swarm in horrorifity
flaying bone-toed my synapses
hell’s fleshless hounds devour my peace
mind-ghouls shake and shiver me
oh gentle morne — deliver me
“Wonder is the beginning of imagination, which begets wisdom.”— Socrates “The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge, but imagination!”— Albert Einstein
W hen I consider giving thanks, so much of what I feel seems laced with a tinge of expectation. I have so much in my life that falls invisible to me in the day to day. I feel, even in my 77th year, that I have much to learn about true thankfulness.
Perhaps growing up in this American land of plenty-plus-more, has dulled my sense of what it means to be mindfully thankful. Yes, I feel happiness at times, but is that thankfulness? I seem always in search of an understanding of that authentic feeling.
There’ve been times, like this past pandemic, that’ve drawn me closer to catching a glimpse of genuine gratitude. I have immense gratitude that my wife’s throat cancer was caught in time to give her hope for a longer life. I am grateful that my doctors caught my brain disease of the white matter in time to help me significantly slow its progression towards dementia.
Life delivers challenges, but I am grateful that my family has the great fortune of being able to seek and receive help and support to face these stumbling blocks. So perhaps what I am most grateful for is the realization that, while I am beginning to understand and feel gratitude, I still have much to learn in this matter — and that I am fortunate to still have the chance to do so.
do I know thankful
too much I take for granted
so much I should not
A golden sky-city
floats above the sea
may not be for you
it’s heaven to me
so come with me
and you will see
a most surreal
reality
every desire is satisfied
every night’s a fantasy
but you must do your part
here — ain’t nothin’ free
there’s a secret access
locked tight to most
but for the very special
there are private keys
those invited
have been given one
those not invited
they have none
take your forgotten self
elsewher please
to the inner sanctum
a golden stair rises
come barefaced and honest
no false guises
a palace of the carnal
a palace of rare ardor
a palace of hard truth
a palace of tough logic
a palace of rough love
a place of lush pleasure
a phantasmagoric treasure
