Knocking on heaven's door

Those who knock on heaven's door
know how to open it

conceiving, building in that space,
painting, weaving, singing, healing

Some call their knocking change of heart
and what comes forth, amazing grace

In that place Spirit turns
words into wands

drums up sacred sounds,
dances on them, grows a world

Manhattan, I've loved you

from the moment I arrived,
I knew I'd been chosen.

I love your love, your savoire faire,
your wider skies,

your lights, theaters, fruitstands, harbors,
the magic of your streets in the air,

the tongues and colors of your people,
all your styles,

your open eyes,
all that you make possible.

My teacher
(for Minoru Kawabata)

He moved lightly
full of grace
a wisp of a man
almost without a body
teaching painting in New York City.

He was famous
but didn't seem to know.
He knew the world was inside himself
and that what he intended
most often came about.

Beyond wisdom,
he was loving
which appeared frequently
as unusual kindness.

He found what worked
on each student's board or canvas
and ways to bring it out;
creating his own kind,
we grew as artists.

Small children make great painters
because there is nothing
between them and God,
no ambition, he told us,
and said we should lie on grass often,
like Michelangelo,
and watch the clouds.

On bad company and paradise regained
(prose poem)

"Tis better to be alone than in bad company." George Washington

Bad company can mean loss of awareness, intelligence, friends....

But without knowledge (which is certainty, not data) we are ignorant, and in ignorance create suffering.

Some Fools will go to any length for knowledge, like the Greek philospher who jumped into a volcano, students trailing. A friend wrote: "I, too, would follow the hero into the depths, did not love hold me."

In legend an archetypal Fool may have divine dispensation to step where he will, driven by the creative fire of higher purpose.

Evolvement meant "undergoing" to the ancient Greeks; in their tragedies the universe seeks out and expands a hero's weakness until he sees its inner source, thereby transcending fate.

Avatars claim that in the dance of opposites the role an actor is resisting is the one he will star in next, slowly awakening to himself and the world he co-creates, his freedom to choose increasing.

My Father

Compassionate warrior, philosopher, poet,
my father showed chivalry to women
and good will to all.

I learned from him what is possible,
not what is common now;
he chose to be guided by honor...

when I need to discover higher ground
within myself, and hold it,
he is my beckoning star.

Letting Go

Out of the cave I called reality,
beyond the mere life of this body
the universe is disrobed.
There is no place to fall,
no desire to shrink.
All events are extraordinary,
though not all are social
in the changing light.

I see myself crawl out of mud,
hover over the sun
or walk down a street --
I can see everything I've done
pretending many roles.
I see myself
transform into a living cross
or a mummy wrapped in white
spiraling in space
if I choose,
as I've chosen before.

Beyond this mere life
I've traveled many roads
in the all-seeing eye
creating the world;
I was with Homer and Aesop,
in the water Christ walks on,
in hurricanes and harvests.

Don't say it cannot be,
that these and other things
don't or didn't happen;
I know what I know.

And here is my test for truth --
the exact consideration,
and what works:
beyond this body's walls
where I live
the machinery of bondage
in heaven and on earth
is vanishing.

No Dead Poets

They are not dead,
those monsters of light
who tickle my marrow.
Sometimes, turning a page,
I glimpse one
stroke the moon and
shiver with delight.