Tuesday, February 9, 2016


                        THE PACIFIC
                           (for Matt)

at the horizon where sky and ocean meet
no boat or island    the pure curved seam
a conjoining of the elemental and infinite
I breathe it boundlessly for the first time

at the horizon where sky and ocean meet
I'm scoured clean    simplified   opened out
everything false and puny stripped away
the spirit starts shouting: Yes!  Yes!  Yes!

at the horizon where sky and ocean meet
to be obliterated is to be reborn    to know
nothing    the quintessence of all wisdom
dwindling ever smaller   I vanish into Joy


      Last summer I visited my son Matt in L.A., and we spent much time on the shore of The Pacific Ocean. This was only my second time encountering The Pacific--but in spirit, really my first. This time I absorbed the experience through every pore, and the above poem is one result. Another was a drawing I did a few months later, titled "My Pacific."


low    full    and dusky in the east tonight
ancient spellbinder    you compel my eyes
seducing my heart    even though I realize
you're just a barren cratered ball of stone

but that's only one of your countless guises
another--intimate companion of my soul
we talk when there's nobody else to listen
what passes between us   I'll never reveal

before oceans filled or mountains thrust up
you were there    when glaciers first froze
your shining glittered across their crevasses
shamans conjured your oracles--entranced!

this night it's just you   me   and the cosmos
beyond loving and loss    death and grieving
I drink deep from your well of what endures
time/Eternity    meet in our communion now


      The moon and I always have had a special bond. Most nights I look up to check where she is, whether waxing or waning, new or full. On this particular night there was a harvest moon, riding "low   full   and dusky in the east..." I was awed by her beauty, and felt an intimate communion between us.

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