Tell You Then

Do you feel me thinking of you
I knew
A long time ago
But I won’t tell you yet
For fear of shattering your fragile cocoon
You, my dear, are about to break into flight!
But no one can tell the caterpillar
Held tight — trapped even — in his silken nest
His body liquefying, parts moving
(Unbeknownst to him
Building something completely new)
That soon he will burst forth
Into his own vibrant dance
Communing with the wind
Into the life he was meant to live
I will be there when you emerge
And I will tell you





I thrive in You

I come alive

Through and through you feel me and feed me

Truth’s breeze rushes like a ghost through my broken-open soul

I will never go back

I can never go back

A shattered soul is how the light gets through

Never believed it before

but now I do

Oh, I know

Life won’t be anything close to perfect

Or some fantasy of mine conjured up in the wish-making world of the ego

Begging, grasping, crying out for control always and endlessly

A defeat for the ego is a victory for the Self*

So I let my battered ego lick her wishful wounds

While the Self grows strong and conscious

Through my very own humanity and suffering

I have you and you, you also have me

Without one another we do not thrive

We just stagnate and exist

You, thrashing around in some kind of empty Glory

Me, without purpose

But together we cut through cement like feathered blades of kelly-green grass

Impossibly yet entirely

Tell me — what could be more meaningful than the transformation

Of another being?

In this moment of strength I say

The suffering is worth it

May I remember this in my weakness and may you forgive me

And accept me in All Forms

And may I do the same for You

Bound as we choose to be by this marriage of Awareness


Only as we choose to be

And I do



*C.G. Jung quote

Becoming You


This blanket made of Nothingness and Impudence

Woven with Depression and Resistance

Created just for you

Wrapped in it at birth

Hanging like a dark film over your shoulders

Under your feet

Must have felt like Home to you

This painful quilt of failures

So many excuses

It’s not that bad

People have it worse

And some do

And who cares?

I am interested in what happened to you

Tell me of your precious, unnatural cloak

Tell me how it’s home and you never wish to leave it

Tell me how you hate it and beg someone to rip it off

Let me know the fight in you

It’s not an easy feat

To start to choose the Unknown over Home

Even when home is unbearable

Oh the burden of a certain kind of familiarity


You are not the thing you wear

Nor whatever you were born into

You are underneath

Pure and unbroken

I believe

If we’d never seen the sun and suddenly it appeared

We’d fear annihilation — hide deep in our Darkness

Rather than welcome the soft warmth

So do we live from Fear…

Or do we Risk when it’s hardest to Risk

Who among us is brave enough

To take the cover off

Or — with new thread —

Begin again…

A blanket made of Happiness and Mindfulness

Woven with Compassion, Love and Peacefulness

Created just for you


Gift of The Madwoman

She is buzzing, buzzing, out-of-control

The dream-car screeches as she blasts rock n’ roll

Taking sharp turns at kill-me-please speeds

Some small, unheard voice inside of her pleads —

But the driver is sober.


She’s just fucked in her mind —

A pissed-off Beehive –

Roiling inside.

A clueless kid prods it with a long wooden stick

As if length gave him safety.

Oh, what a cruel trick.

Angering, angering…

On the verge of attack.

This horned mass of stingers —

No protection from that.

(The mere thought of it makes the Madwoman laugh.)

Revenge bubbles imminent,

The Beehive? It cracks.

Out comes the raging, buzz-buzzing mass.

She can’t see the road now –

Blacked out and Blind.

The child drops the stick —

He’s been stung from behind.

Swarmed like a piece of ripe, bloody meat,

The child who Tricked

Now becomes Treat.

The driver, she crashes —

Is thrown to the street,

Head cracks like the beehive

Death her final defeat?

As her life filters out of her…

The child —

He breathes.

For once she is dead

The bees turn and they leave.

But the gift of the Madwoman

Burns bright and alive:

For the Ignorant Child

Has now become