The Trackless Path

While my ambition slept,

I dreamt of a world 

Where naps were allowed.

In my dream,

I met the secret side 

Of CEOs

And Entrepreneurs,

The side they hide

From themselves.

And there

They were just as lazy as I,

Lazy enough to see the sky,

To feel the breeze,

To take a ride 

With the windows down

In the middle of the afternoon

Without a thought 

Of the bottom line

Nor even a concern

For what they'd eat

For dinner that night

Or the next.

In my lazy world,

The poets were praised

For their ability 

To create so much

From lazy days.

But I had no time for pride

That was too much work

For this head of mine.

And so I slept the day away,

A nap within a nap.

Shhh........

You'll wake that grind of mine.

Let him sleep.

He's mighty tired.

He needs a little sleepy time.

A month will do,

Or perhaps an age.

Wake him when 

The sun don't shine

For after that belated rest

He'll raise the cosmos

From its nest 

With all his cock and crow.

Until then,

We'll sleep away

And tell you all

To hit the hay.

Now take nap,

It's ok.

Forget about

Those bills not paid.

And slumber high 

Beyond the moon.

Where the sleepy wood fife

Plays a tune 

Only for ambitious souls

Who now must rest

God only knows

How long.

And do not worry

It's allowed.

As we seek enlightenment, we invariably discover that we must be saved from ourselves.

There has never been a time 

In the history of the world 

When people have felt more alone

Than today.

That doesn't mean that we are 

But it seems that way at times.

If you are alone, 

Remember

That loneliness is shared

With those as lonley as ourselves.

Believe in the lonely somebodies

Who must share the yoke 

You bear.

We are a clan you know -

A band of ones

Who long to love

But who instead

Must suffer.

But at least we suffer together.

I sit alone in my room

With each of you beside me.

What a comfort 

It is to know

I'm not alone

Within my wretched solitude.

What a joy!

I almost touch you there,

Yes. There you are,

Looking back at me 

From your solitary square.

Perhaps one day

We'll meet,

In the open air I think,

Where the bluebirds sing

And flit the wing

From branch to branch.

You won't say a thing

And neither will I 

Except perhaps 

From heart to heart

And even if our meeting

Is no more than a simple greeting,

I'll know you 

As one of mine

And hold you close 

Withing my mind.

You'll pat my knee

And we'll remember

Times when we 

Were not so blessed 

As we will be then.

In the meantime

At least

This poem we have,

A less romantic moonlight tryst

Between two lonelys,

You in your room

Me in mine

Until the time...

Until the time...

Asking is an essential part of a healthy economy. It supports the community's financial well-being and preserves the soul of both the giver and receiver.

God moves to bring about the miracle after we have faith and after our will aligns with His will.

It takes no machismo

To be a skeptic.

It's little more than nothing 

To disbelieve.

Would you be strong?

Would you stand upon the mountain

And sing the triumph song?

Then believe!

Show me one with faith

And I will show you

A thousand sheep

So weak

That they cannot be bothered

By conviction

Till it's nipping 

At their heels

With proofs so terrifying

As to drain the life 

From their already 

Dead corpses.

So, Why not believe?

Why not be the victor

And wear the crown of the mighty?

It's reserved you know

For only those

Whose sureness 

Stands the test of fire.

But we are weak

You say.

True.

So why not start today?

Build brick by brick

The tower.

There is no other way

To better tomorrows

Than through

The dark and mournful fictions

Of today.

So, don't give up

On what you cannot see.

Believe!

And when the sun

Pokes its head out

Between the clouds,

And warms you with the truth

You could not see,

Grasp it!

Hold it close!

And do not let it go!

It is the assurance

Of sunshine yet to be.

And that man

Who hordes such proofs will find

His hope, though hidden deep within

Will one day set him free.

Retreat seems to be the answer to the problem of outward evil.

All else is war...

It seems that we must forsake our ground,

Renounce our claim,

And prefer even to die

Rather than participate in a world where we see others as our enemies.

Have you ever been lost

In dreamy reverie?

Have your friends laughed

When they drew you up

Out of some misty waken slumber?

Have they chided you

For missing the obvious

Or for forgetting your location?

If so, then you are not unusual.

But there are some 

For whom the call of dreams

Speaks more loudly than the thing

Which others call reality.

It seeps in

Like an early fog 

Obscuring the priorities

Set for them by polite society.

And there they think they see

Just beyond the brume,

The world which others

Pretend to worship.

Some are foolish still, 

Enough to linger

Listening 

Deep beneath the scene

To the silence -

Daring it to speak.

To some it does,

God forbid!

And calls them far,

Far from home,

Far from polite society,

To the lands of legends deep

To harrowing quests

That threaten not only their lives

But their souls.

There they fight with giants

Not only the giants 

Of the dark woods

But the giants of their minds.

And there they must keep

A constant vigil 

Lest fears, like wolves, devour.

But they are not alone

In the land of dreams

For the spritely spirits

And the friendly forest folk 

Of the wood

Watch over the wanderer

With deep concern over every footfall,

Lest he dash his foot

Against a stone.

He is one of theirs

And they watch over him

Though he see them not.

Did you know

That there are some 

So lost in dreams

That they never return?

These are the chosen few.

And it is only those who travel far 

Who are blessed

To never come back.

The end comes for them

On a distant plane

Or in a forest deep

Or on a mountain so high

That it is forgotten 

By townsfolk 

Like you and I,

And then all at once, 

They disappear

To join the forest folk

In the bright glen

That is hidden 

Even from him

Who seeks it most

And the more from unbelievers.

And there they dance 

With spirits too real 

For human sight

In the splendor 

Of their vivid whiteness. 

And when they’ve danced

The newcomers dance

And feasted at the fathers table

For a moon 

And some for the passing

Of an age,

They return to the forest deep

And wander about

Seeking some fellow wanderer

Who is fool enough 

To dream. 

You’ll have heard

Of fairy rings 

I’m sure.

But now you see

The symbol in the thing.

It’s one eternal round you know.

To dreamer and the dream.

My thoughts on Christmas and traditions that promise other-worldly gifts of inward bliss - grateful reflections and an eye toward the true gifts of the unseen world.

Don't give up.

Hope is there beneath it all.

Hiding.

Thank God!