Monday, May 29, 2017



silently go to the silentest place
removing with reverent touch
the last obscuring veil   such
unmediated Light streams out
irradiating your thirsting soul

drink from this Holy Presence
which alone is flawlessly real
so an intimate companionship
wakes the essence of all-that-is
till not even a dust mote is dark

the joy we seek is the joy we are
love we crave is the love we give
curl in closer to hear the singing
the secret psalm of our molecules
the ringing music of the spheres!

all my words run away and hide
they can't define a seed so potent
holding the sun  moon  and stars
your face   my voice   our deaths
our births   the endgame of time

silently go to the silentest place
what you discover   is who you
truly are   that impostor the ego--
demolished!   now no one's left
only this boundless Communion


 This poem evokes one aspect of the Divine--"Hidden Transcendence." Here God is silence, emptiness, formlessness--a secret Spirit of Holy Presence at the innermost core of our being, of all being.  This Hidden Transcendence is the crux of who we most deeply are, our profoundest identity. Paradoxically however, we can only come home Here by disappearing! That "impostor the ego" must be demolished. After this happens, our imperious "I" has vanished at last into a transcendent "We" of boundless Communion. 

                    SHOUTING HELLO

something brazenly red is shouting "Hello!"
it's quite far away along the sidewalk as yet
next to a tree and near a parked car   I can't
make out exactly what I'm seeing   just that
it looks huge and round and outrageously red

drawing closer   I realize it's a giant blossom
I don't know what kind of flower   but exotic!
with five petals arrayed in a star-like pattern
a chartreuse pistil thrusts out from the center
there's a fragile black stigma flaring at its tip

what amazes me though--the blossom shouted
"Hello!" hollered from half way down the block
No   not using some humdrum human greeting
nor with any articulation my mind could grasp
it sent a scarlet semaphore straight to my soul!

now we stand here   face to face  (so to speak)
I feel shy   awkward   not knowing what to say
how can I fathom the inner motive of a flower?
but while out walking by myself today   I thank
this red blossom for shouting its joyous "Hello!"


   This poem celebrates the outer, incarnate aspect of Divinity--its "Immanent Glory." Only when both inner and outer expressions of Godhead are recognized as One, can we embrace our own wholeness and full potential. That exotic red blossom and I never could have communed with each other, unless each of us first was one with the Hidden Transcendence at the core of our being. One Is All. All Are One. We Are That!

Tuesday, May 2, 2017



I knock   knock   and knock at the door
of the new poem that wants to be born
but as it swings wide open there's only
Emptiness--Emptiness waits to blossom
to grow transparent on this page  in me

so I ask   ask   and ask of the Emptiness
"what do You want? why are You here?"
but Emptiness replies only with Silence
it seems Silence also presses to be born
born right now   at the center of my life

I knock   knock   and knock at the door
of Silence until it too swings wide open
and there in Silence's heart is Presence
nothing I can see hear touch taste smell
just utter connection   pure relationship

so I ask   ask   and ask of this Presence
"what do You want? why are You here?"
and the Presence says  (without a word)
"I'm the deathless Source of all you are
what's infinite and eternal in your soul"


     For me, starting a new poem is always an encounter with the Unknown. Unless I'm willing to face that Emptiness, that chaos of infinite possibilities in the world, and inside me, I'll never take the all-out, naked risks necessary to break through my ego's prattling, or the inevitable constrictions and evasions of language itself. More and more, this creative emptying opens me to unmediated Presence, that Eternal Source which dwells in the heart of Silence, and from Which all meaningful speech is born.

                     BIRTH THROES

drawing a blank   it's what always happens
right here at the beginning   without a clue
facing the blank page   everything possible
what's hardest?   wrestling with emptiness
what's sweetest?   dancing with emptiness
no barriers   no rules or limits   wide open!
such freedom's breathtaking   scary as hell
but I dive in anyway   taking crazy chances

now I'm splashing around in a huge ocean
trying not to panic   praying not to drown
the next line pops up like an inflated dingy
and I climb in   hold tight   gasp for breath
roller-coastering these mountainous swells
feels like they rise up in eight-line stanzas 
if I could just keep afloat for one more line
maybe I can weather this fierce soul-storm

gradually a vast wind subsides   the waves
slacken   here I am again   sitting in a chair
staring at the page   but it's no longer blank
there's a struggle marking it   a raw voyage
as if something naked and primal got born
I'm not sure what that is or why this ruckus
but I want it to live   flourish   grow strong
I want it to exfoliate in me as fearless love!


     This poem expresses its own birth throes from the bloody womb of the Unknown. It's a harrowing journey to a new world through the ocean of chaos and uncertainty. But isn't this always the way if any new, vital life ever succeeds in being born? Incarnation's not for sissies! To give birth to form, meaning, new possibility, out of nothingness and emptiness--isn't this the essence of the creative act? We must be willing to surrender control and put everything on the line, plunging nakedly through the storm of transformation. As Friedrich Nietzsche wrote: "One must have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star."


Tuesday, April 25, 2017



hanging out with Angels means deciding
making the choice   I can't be near Them
learn at Their invisible knees of wisdom
if I just run with the party-hearty crowd
solitude's the temple where Angels teach

better sport spiritual sunglasses though
Their Light's as blinding as the noon sun
it's not that we see Them   They see us!
see right through us   see straight down
to our bare souls--all shadows expunged!

our trouble with Angels is the intensity
of Their ardor   it's not like mortal love
stuttering   compromised   full of doubt
They love impeccably   They never stop
never cease Their service for an instant

not warm and fuzzy or cuddly and tame
Angels instruct with a fierce exactitude
They compel us to transform ourselves
painfully shedding our old brittle husks
we're dumbstruck   capsized by wonder!

once we feel such transcendent Intimacy
it changes us   we're pierced by Holy Joy!
our worst loneliness isn't for each other
it's to be cut off from the Eternal Realms
Angels illuminate our aching to go Home


     Whether we know it or not, there are more highly evolved spiritual Beings--usually undetectable by our five senses--who attend us, interact with us, teach us and guide us, if we're awake and receptive to their influence. But "solitude''s the temple where Angels teach." If we're not willing or able to go there--off alone, away from the busy, distracting everyday world--we're not likely to encounter Them. And if perchance we do, it's not likely to be a "warm and fuzzy or cuddly and tame" experience! Because Their gaze pierces straight through to the core of our souls, and most of us can't bear to feel so drastically exposed--even to, especially to!-- Divine Love. But how else can we be healed?

               SIDEKICK TO SOMEONE

       No words can express the abyss
  between isolation and having one ally.
                                     -- G.K. Chesterton

I'm the sidekick to Someone without a face
      Who smiles nonetheless
Someone silently walks beside me
                        although They have no feet
I'm the junior partner in a conglomerate
                   whose central office is Eternity

there's a cosmic laughter that's no joke
that star-quake reshuffles all my molecules
   a single seismic chuckle shivers my bones!

"Mr Self-Pity" snubs this Invisible Friend
"Mr Poor Me" squats with his tin cup
          begging crumbs from total strangers
meanwhile my Divine Pal juggles diamonds!

outer eyes are for scanning everyday things
   inner vision pierces straight to the soul
outer ears register human sounds and voices
inner listening flares open to Angels' songs!

I've got one foot still on the dock
                      the other already in the boat 
and the tide's going out       time to set sail
          just my Shipmate and me
                 time to dare the bravest voyage!

we navigate a foam-flecked ocean of stars...


   The alienating illusion is that we're all ultimately isolated. Consequently, we're always needy and longing for other humans to somehow fill the void of our chronic loneliness. But the actual, cosmic Reality is that we're never alone! We each indeed do have a Guardian Angel--as corny and deluded as that may sound in the withering blast of political cynicism and scientific materialism. Nevertheless, I know from overwhelming personal encounter that it's true. When I think I'm incurably alone, the master--or rather victim--of my fate, then I'm blind to the greater Reality. But when I humbly and gratefully play my natural part as "sidekick to Someone"--then I awaken to the life I was meant to live and the person I was born to be.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017


                                DARKER CRIMSON

a short piece   single cello   with keening violins
it opens my heart's wound so tenderly   achingly

a stroke of darker crimson as the sun slides down
the last longing glance from a dying lover's eyes...

to be a deathless soul   burning in a needy animal
any words   even this music   can only hint at that

all comedy   all tragedy   rocks and rolls around it
a kiss and bite   a laugh and howl   fused into one

if you encounter me here   my strip-searched self
explore with humility   from your own nakedness

then maybe I can bear to be touched   even loved
knowing you shiver to the same bittersweet music

a short piece   single cello   with keening violins
do you feel it?  does it break open your heart too?


     Is there any way to escape the pain, the grief, the dark side of being human? If so, I've not discovered it--nor has anyone else, as far as I know. Our living and our dying are ultimately shrouded in mystery. Of all the arts, for me music comes closest to expressing this--and when it does, the heart's wound I always carry does indeed open so tenderly...achingly. Yet I'm grateful for this pain, because it breaks me open, as nothing else could, to my solidarity and empathy with my brothers and sisters everywhere, and with all living things. There's no path to the mountaintop which does not first pass through the valley of the shadow...

                 THE WOUND

I'm trying to plumb it to the source
the lone spelunker rappelling down
a bottomless abyss   the deeper I go
the further I sink from air and light

I know it was ripped open by deaths
a sister's cancer   her mother's grief
my father's heart attack   other loves
suffered   lost   abandoned   betrayed

I know a scared child cowers inside it
who runs away and hides   who rages
at heaven   hell   this asylum between
whose trust in love itself was zapped

but it's huger darker colder than these
I plunge back in time   beyond one life
to where all Creation's agonies tunnel
my taproot drinks from primal pain

pain that's mine   yours   each being's
Earth's ravaging pain and every star's
pain of any soul spawned by Eternity
pain born in the outrageous cry "I AM!"


    The key to this poem is the last stanza, the revelation that beyond all "the slings and arrows" I've experienced in my life, there's a "huger darker colder" anguish which can be traced all the way back to the primal wound of birth trauma. I think this is true for more of us than we realize; it's the unintended impact of overly intrusive modern obstetrical technology upon newborns who were much more conscious, sensitive and vulnerable in utero than we're willing to admit. Writing this poem proved to be a personal catharsis, since after I completed it, that deep, underlying pain was finally transformed through creative insight.


Tuesday, April 11, 2017


                 AN OPEN SECRET

the limpid color of our gaze   that's why
we can't see it   the luminous silence of
our listening   that's what we can't hear

not cloud-obscured on the mountaintop
nor buried deep in the darkest crevasse
it inspires the revelation of each breath!

when we thirst it's water   clear and cold
when we hunger   it's fresh-baked bread
yet it's even dearer   simpler than these

we spend our whole life longing for this
a prize all our eager seeking can't grasp
but it shines in the searching of our eyes!

nothing tricksey here   it's an open secret
want to join the ecstatic ones who know?
empty yourself of self   become pure light


     We search out there, in the world, for what we want and need. But who is it who does this searching? Wisdom comes from evolving self-awareness. Consciousness itself is the great conundrum, one which even the most advanced quantum physics can't solve. One day we wake up and realize--we ourselves are the Universe, waking to its own Divinity! 

                    (for Nelson)

I'm smack-dab in the midst of it again
and it's smack-dab in the midst of me
is a mourning dove perching in a tree?
or does it call from the crux of my soul

those intrepid magnolias--they bloom
despite the frost   within me also they
thrum   so riotously awake!   as though
each spring obliterates all boundaries

which is why I get daffy over daffodils
how they flaunt their gaudy trumpets!
I take the same ridiculous risk myself
blaring the scandalous anthem  "I AM!"

then there's the grass--another prodigy!
it spears up through cold crust   reborn
out there   under an unscarred blue sky
and in here   where the sky never ends


    I've always been a spring junkie. It's my favorite season, although seldom the easiest. Part of me struggles to return from a winter dormancy which sometimes feels almost like death. Yet when I thrill to those first irrepressible signals of nature's resurrection--say, the magnolia's blossoms, a mourning dove's call, or the gaudy trumpets of the daffodils!--then the nascent, renewed life deep within me stirs, resonates and responds. I discover that the rebirth outside me, and the rebirth inside me, have converged as One.


      The two poems in today's blog, as well as the poems in the preceding two blog posts, are all from my latest book COSMIC CONSCIOUSNESS: Songs Of An Ecstatic Soul. It can be purchased at (feed "Cosmic Ecstatic Bob Savino" into the search engine). This book, as well as my two others--REPORT FROM THE FRONTIER and BLACK BUTTERFLY--also will be on sale when I read at the Lawrence Poetry Fair, held this Saturday, April 15, from 2 to 5 p.m.,  940 New Hampshire St., Lawrence KS.