The tension
of wanting
and not wanting
to be here.

Where here is full
of what is next
and when
what arrives
what is next.

bad poetry

In the morning I look out over the Caldera
It was once all fury and fire
but meant no harm
now it is filled with the
Aegean sky
and water
and sleeps soundly
in its myth



I begin with wisdom bigger than my own

The Diver's Clothes
by Rumi

You are siting here with us,
but you are also out walking in a field at dawn.

You are yourself the animal we hunt
when you come with us on the hunt.

You are in your body
like a plant is solid in the ground,
yet you are wind.

You are the diver's clothes
lying empty on the beach.
You are the fish.

In the ocean are many bright strands
and many dark strands like veins that are seen
when a wing is lifted up.

Your hidden self is blood in those,
those veins that are lute strings
that make ocean music,
not the sad edge of surf,
but the sound of no shore.