poetry from another dimension

spiritual life

the missing

image from indy files
now i know
space inadequate to
reveal the tug
of ropes of feelings
longing covert
subversive connections
numb oblivion
painful longing

potion of the ancients

elixir of transformation

seed of ecstasy

stretching of the heart strings

reaching through space
to feel the infinite you
igniting memory
launched across the ages
folded into a tiny
moment of


speech divine, a newark sunday morning

I’d like to speak about poems,

(and rain)

but ……..

betrayals and broken hearts

litter the avenues of  language

obscuring gifts (seen and unseen)

obscuring gifts (known and unknown)

words of mysterious origin emerge to

                                       unfold levels of meaning and aspiration

on THIS page

in THIS life

Transducing the sacred

Repopulating the planet

Seeding the future

With gifts of


pray ma


The weed has to grow for the seed to be extracted from

/*Deep dark archetypal playing fields*/


(yes uproot)


/*These crimes of betrayal*/

Lay down

Lay down

/*Seeds of the new world*/

Live here live here

/*let go those dark corners*/

/*emerge in light*/

The cosmic radio waves transmit

The preachers

The philanthropists

The con men

Go higher

Get elevated

Uplift uplift

Uproot and uplift

Find your mountain range

And live there, eternally asking



If they judge you

Let them go

They know not what they do

Ah, I see

They crucify the sacred in their quest for meaning

In the plastic graveyards of the shopping malls

This is confusion


The seed of disease

don’t let them

(Tell you that you should be different)

don’t let them 

(corrupt the seeds you are planting) for

Love and light

Do you trust yourself?

This then becomes the key

It always will be

And always was

The only key

a little light

arcs of light
panes of glass
dust moats floating
in beams

//**have you stopped seeing miracles?**//
the friend asked

[no, of course not]
i responded

sipping cappuccino
appreciating the brilliance
emitted from the friend’s mind
and through the panes of glass
speckled with colors and lines

[the basil flowers
in december
every time we
chant the names of god….
…among other things

we live inside
an avalanche of miracles

of late it has become apparent—

the residue of
miracles touted
ad nauseam
through these lips
for years
in this mind
the delusion
those miracles
just for me,
as if their existence
depended on my worth
and established it
value established
those who
could not see

and now…and now…
it is clear
these proprietary miracles
witnessed and claimed
not for me
but in spite
of me

dense though I may be,
the miracles happened

undeserved, not consciously revealed
or personally delivered

as a matter of fact
my existence is not relevant
to theirs
at all
they go on endlessly
without this unsung poet
shining brilliantly for outlaws
and luminaries alike
and so,
i turn my attention now
to my own foibles
that I might do some justice
to a world
where miracles are as prevalent as stars
in the sky

or dust motes shimmering
in the sunbeam
the air that we breathe
sipping our cappucinos

free thinking

how did i get this job?
i’m not holy
i never was holy
well yes we are all holy
but not holier than thou

i wonder
as images break down
and deeper authenticities
are revealed
who can tell really
what is happening

the image of the holy
is just that

an image

our attachment to
causes the fun of life to go

an image on the back of a milk container
“have you seen joy?”
or a sheet posted on a telephone poll
“lost: the integrity of wanton abandon”
or (may this never come true for you…)
the picture of ourselves
that we want others to see
its okay to have fun, you will still be holy

your first poop was holy to your mother

the holy image
my friends
for you to project your own

semi-charmed life

I prayed for wealth

and i dreamed that
the lord destroyed
the home and
the family
and the work that I called my own
had all but disappeared
i found myself in a land of plenty
surrounded by opulent furnishings
and glittering gems
with which to adorn the body
our bodies draped in silk
were maneuvered through time in space
in expensive machines
lined with the skins
of sentient beings

the table was full of food
but none of it was real
we could feel it
we could taste it
but it provided no nourishment
when people spoke to us,
we could not hear them
unless they were
telling the truth

and then I woke up
and found myself no longer
in the land of silks and gems,
but instead on a hard dirt road
wearing naught but a sheet
carrying begging bowl and walking stick
but this time
everywhere I went
people were singing
and they were speaking of love
they supported one another
through gestures of kindness
and happiness permeated the air
like a fine fragrance
our huts were simple
our needs were few
and when people spoke the truth
we heard them

and then I woke up
to find myself back
in my humble home
wearing a ripped up t-shirt
and a pair of jeans
with a small bit of food,
full of nourishment
and friends everywhere
speaking the truth

and i realized that the wealth i’d been seeking
had been here
all along

© 2010 exitsbyalice (because I’m not selfless enough for public domain 🙂