The Black Hat

A most difficult

and dark home life..

a small girl 

carried her burdens

to kindergarten class

each saddened day..

There her emotions

were released in

explosive despair..

fears and sorrows 

expressed in her

most anguished way..

The teacher in 

a recalled moment

of quick inspiration

found a hat

a black hat in a

costume drawer..

The hat now named

the brave hat..

and when emplaced

the little girl found

some moments of peace..

Then her peace spread..

Wearing the hat

worked its spell

on each wearer in turn

including the teacher

whose day then most 

surely improved..

Did the black hat

an identity assume

of those shadows

outside..

And become absorbed

in each inner sun...?

breathing

how is our

breathing placed

in our center?

retaining awareness

for a few minutes?

an hour?

all day long?

this new awareness

breathing our center

connecting meanwhile

in here and

out there..

new consciousness

simply breathing

aware

being breathed...?

a good death

a new recognition
how we lived death
in north and south..
in our self inflicted
all consuming war..
death now found
in history's foreground..

his gettysburg words
conceived and dedicated..
equality and death
each soldier remembered
their sacrifice owned..
his words our grounding
death's equality lives..

patterns have repeated
more wars
fires and floods
those september screams..
careful accounting
from chaos springs..
and we know now
each must be named..

we have strewn flowers
many memorial days..
his address recalled
we repeat
none died in vain..
a fearful delight
each life seen equal
connected
by their blood
and their light..

back then
each soldier's family
fervently wished
in their deepest despair
for their loved ones
a good death..
these all now seem
to us good
very good for all time...

Poem is based on recent PBS American Experience program,
Death in the Civil War, and a book, Republic of Suffering by
Drew Gilpin Faust...

paint splotches

a day

with contrasts faded

hazy smoke from

distant forest burnings

skylight diffused..

traffic at rushhour

a monotonous din..

such muffled appearances

invited a more 

exacting look..

white paint splotches

 accidental decorations

to a darkened parkbench

suggests here a distant

supernova explosion..

a motorcycle pistons' 

high pitch report

 self identification

in the traffic din..

an airliner's orange 

contrails laced the

gray cloudless sky..

then a sudden appearance

a haloed quartermoon

light enhancement

with circular glow..

yes contrasts seemed to

speak on this day

bursting the haze... 

snapshot

our conversations

contain both

light and filtering..

the words we find

express our meaning

one snapshot..

instantaneous filtering

of a clearer light..

our words are

moulded by gates

constrictions

words sometimes strike

rather than flow..

one snapshot

of who we are...

a tall stranger

a lifelong pursuit

to be free

enough

for expanded

awareness

in the place

 we now stand..

this seems our

foremost quest..

attachment grows

surreptitiously 

as a virus ensnares

covers and compresses

until we cry out..

if stillness is gained

a tall stranger

centered nearby

unnoticed until now

watches our torment..

watching 

is found quite

enough

to loosen the bonds..

new awareness locates

that fullness

we are intended

to find...

a snail's story

spiraling in

and then out..
in our hand we find

a galaxy miniature

spinning a special

 story..

our mind's eye

projects movement

an outward inward

exchange
now and always

 becoming the other..

but the shell remains

fixed as a map

the movement  

a soulful creation..

 a still point

on our shell

finally gives rest to

our eye..

in the stillness

 a  torus we find

a sacred movement

a new awareness

mapped for our

time..

discovery

as we write..

first the whiteness

of blank paper

imagining a fullness

of joy and distress..

the white exudes

a nothingness

brimming with energy

awaiting a word

the word emplaced

seeks direction..

to join with others

to rise and return

or to decompose

to fall and spread

colored differences of

new creation..

the path of this

lone word

seems quite beyond

a writer's choice

who in surprise

learns the chosen direction

by discovery...

tablet dances

a morning conversation

brought for those

of agnostic or atheist

 doubting persuasion..

an exploration of

stone tablet verses

so to experience

some secular 

everyday difference..

objections were tabled

citing limitations

much is left out..

that negative tone

we all know so well..

those shalt-nots
seem to prevail

in eight of the ten..

modern science

quite lately has

offered assistance..

producing a map

researching the brain..

two sides observed

left analytical with

 edges restricting

joined by right

expansive and present

 just out of sight..

left and right

interfacing

pulsating

might we say dancing..?

then to the tablets

with map in hand

left still speaks forthright..

but then a surprise

right is right there

in front of our eyes..

look once again

first in the listing

and once more 

see number four..

now we rely on our

newfound map

remembering the dance

those leftward shalt-nots

might others be named..?

each one is dancing

with a partner

one clearly not seen...

independence

let us consider

declarations of independence

as remedies

for election ills..

democracy has been

 deadened

by flows of money

reaching ego ends..

competing parties mirroring

yet exaggerating differences

knowing one and all

precious power the prize..

independence

allows consciousness to

arise at last..

good then is found

in left and right

 shadow enclosing both..

paradox rules oppositions

and detachment soothes 

the din of boisterous claims..

new freedom

brings new strength..

 money flows 

lose direction when

feedback polls confuse..

and democracy then

may flow with possibility

once again...

glimpses

it seems

our living purpose

is to realize..

no matter our

alertness

truth suddenly grasped

novel art expressed

new science discovered..

our steady state

in this moment

and in all moments

is that we remain

in slumber..

waking

is a soon

extinguished light..

a glimpse departed 

a glint in a flowing stream

an ocean wave at peak..

remembering

brings recycling

an expectation for

one more glimpse

and perhaps more...

reflection
on the words above
we no doubt find
a pallor of unease..
how might a
waking more enduring
 expand our moments
and our day..?
would it serve
 to ask about
those glimpses fleeting..
are they ours
alone...?

words

there are words

beyond understanding

and those

closeby with meaning..

then there are others

standing between..

these enable our lives

invite searches

promise possibilities

of everywhere finding

a connecting light..

these connections are

 overlooked often

found on borders

on our paths

unassuming..

but when gone

all disappears..

simplest perhaps

a connecting 'and'

a lighted circuit

showing anew

both this and that...

bird songs

a feathered message

for us today..

a hidden songbird capacity

for learning then forming

a song out there..

in our parallel plane

a gifted capacity to speak

but first a language

to learn

with toil and sweat..

the songbird and we

it now seems

 at once are

creator and creation

a mutual stimulation..
becoming our song...

near death experience

there are many on record

the caves

the tunnels

the blinding light..

a hesitation

on the line

between life and death..

so many forms of death

each with corresponding life

these deaths

a passing of day into night
a passing storm

dark passages

each exhalation..

in each of these

a transition is reached

life and death not distinguished

the tunnel becomes

is the light..

so we read the reports

awakening

to life's primary

signal...

the secret

one panoramic field

enclosing many

 these many are seen

glowing with full confidence

each one standing alone..

the one field permeating

the many

and the many
the field..

this is the

secret..

without which

separate fragments

take form..

corresponding to 

each and every

stress and pain..

fragments well disguised

awaiting

discovery of the

secret...

crying out

a time arrives

in each day

each moment

to locate the night..

discover in day

one brief suggestion

of night

one glimpse of sorrow

a sliver of moon

in bright daylight..

this is enough

energy and courage

to find the night

sustaining the day

and the day

the night..

in each moment

we discover a cry

of pain

of joy...

serving

working for others

makes one poor..
special identity denied
one's voice deeply hidden

inner beauty suppressed..

livelihoods are exile
protections are dear

yet servitude keeps rule..

a new time

demands correction

 straightening posture

a new discovery..

each of us stands

as connector
of many and one
one's voice found at last
exile ended
though we.. remain
here...