autumn comes in leaves
cleansing cool skies
evening lights darkening clouds 
sun slipping down away
night slowly dawns

I cannot stop thinking 
death has fooled us
my wife's death
peeling away death's mask
revealing the benevolent Spirit 

I think it all a great circle
that being born neglects
dying ignores
beginnings endings
distinctions as any others

roundness without edges
circle of time of cosmos
nothing excluded holding all 
mother of all
world without end...

Letting go the world I knew
hardest letting go of all
world spinning fast
falling farther farther behind 

I must forgive those 
for whom the world is young
knowing a day will come
when their world will spin away

it's always been this way
we make the world our own
young take it in their hands
we are left holding memories

I wish and pray them well
ones I do not know
I was once as they are now
my dreams have drifted to the stars

heaven take us all to herself
mother comforting her children
tears wrapped in her arms
loo-li, loo-li lai lay, loo-li lai lay.

In October 1977 I bought a book
a paperback off a rotating rack 
at a Christian bookstore in Denver.
It looked interesting but,
it wasn't "Christian."
Still, for $1.95, I took a chance.
No chance ever paid for itself
a million times over as did this one!
No book before or since
has changed my life perspective
as did Annie Dillard's, 
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.

Annie died on September 15th
not two weeks ago.
I feel like I've lost a friend
a mentor in the spiritual life
who opened my eyes to a world
I'd passed by all my young life.
The world has been more alive to me
since the day I read those strange opening lines of her masterpiece:

"I used to have a cat
an old fighting tom..."

Other readers will know what follows.
What follows is a mesmerizing, deeply gratifying spiritual work that comes out of soul.

I wish you well on your journey
my fellow pilgrim!
You have made my journey
more mysterious, alive, and fulfilled .
Thank you!

Four years past an autumn eve
she left us with doubt
about death
it's meaning finality

She was received on her death bed
by beings who entered her realm
as if a sacred circle of living dream
from which awakening is death itself.

She left us with questions intact 
beyond investigation
neither resolved nor absolved
by religion creed faith.

We sit with death in our midst
wondering who it is sits with us
as our coffee cools our day begins
watch as morning bends into night.

3arly spring I stepped away
thinking soon to return
late summer finds me
far and farther

each season brings change
autumn will in it's own way
dying to self
required of the season

calming time to slow still 
release dying life
fluttering down and down
in a cool breeze

I want to rest now
gather strength for the Way
be ready for the next change
knowing it will come

may I not get in it's way
impede the progress of self
clawing it's way out of me
becoming who I am

Four years ago this day I did not know
my wife had nine days
portending an advent 
for which only she was prepared

she did not say
it is coming soon
my end is near
my life will soon be over

she did not let on what she knew
kept to herself words spoken
between her and emmisaries
sent to help her along

when her end came
she spoke one word - hello!
three times in joyful recognition
to ones only she could see

who had helped her
watched over her life
appeared in her dreams 
held her hands.

Time means nothing to Death
whose mysterious realm
only the dying can apprehend
whether their end comes swift or slow

being and time mean nothing at all
though we pretend they do
the dying know better
if only they could tell us before they go.

I do not know at all
that is how life is
trying to understand
I grope about in darkness

morning breakfast at Rosie's in Spokane
better coffee than I expected 
strange looking breakfast potatoes 
in walks a big muscular guy with his girl
heavily tatted black tee saying 
"Iron Rebel live your truth."

another big guy at a far away table
baseball cap sitting beside an older man
long time with his hand resting
lightly on the older man's back
comforting gentle loving
his father likely

we're all living our truth
however we have come to it
I'm sitting by myself
memories of the Montvale Hotel
where Carol and I stayed years ago
visiting a friend here
I'm back for his marriage
Carol would have loved this day
she is here with me to celebrate

living our truth
two guys sit near
one brings out a notebook
not words musical notation
they discuss how the music goes
ta da da tada over and over
musicians composers 
I don't know they are oblivious 
of my wondering about them
music seems to be their truth
at least a bit of it

two young guys come in
not with each other
with their mothers sweet
on my walk many couples holding hands
Spokane seems different than Seattle
living its own truth
perhaps born of the river
running wild through this city

I have to wonder what my truth is
what do those sitting at table
think my truth is guess
even in their merest glance
can I see another's truth
at Rosie's in Spokane?

we wear our truth on us
more than we know
clothes we don to start our day
simple gestures of our hands
who shares our breakfast 
how we talk or sing
couples with their children
you can see it in their eyes
faces tell so many stories
as much truth as in words more

long walk by the river
coming back to the Montvale Hotel
starting up the beautiful stairway
large party coming down
stopping to let them by
young woman all in white
passing I bow slightly -
"I bow to whatever it is you are!"
some laughter then, from her,
"The bride!"

I suppose this too is my truth
trying in my own bumbling way
to be thoughtful kind
not knowing what others think
could possibly be that guy's truth
neither they nor I fully know

"To study the Buddha Way is to study the self.
To study the self is to forget the self.
To forget the self is to be experienced by the ten thousand things." (Eihei Dogen)
 ________________________________________

Slow beach walking
sea and sky blue billows
...comes a fleeting sensation 
vanishing quickly as it came
being nothing at all
meaningless as waves 
toppling onto shore

I was not anything at all
calm eternal windblown
wave upon wave upon wave
morning to night
sun soaked moon lit
wave upon wave upon wave
perpetual
   
moment erased
in the instant of sensation
thinking it a thing 
to write about think about
penetrate it's meaning

human concept - meaning -
to be discarded as any other differentiation
separating one thing from another
all this time thinking meaning 
was all I wanted

trying to get the moment back
a waste of time
ensnare it in words
futility upon futility

It will come again
surprise me stay longer
allow sublimity transcendence
suspending moment into eternity

Here again I come to this long lovely shore
bringing my chair to sit up a ways
from where others run walk slowly
dogs in joyful romp and play! 

I feel a calm still loneliness sitting here
surveying the broad expanse of horizon
as if I could perceive the earth's round curve
stretching south to north
is it only an illusion?

Chill morning breeze surrounds
dune grasses sway gentle giving way to wind.

Morning sun rises at my back 
to see my shadow stretch before me
beach and surf brightened
beyond the placid ocean dark.

I can write nothing of sea shore
not better written by others
still I will try my hand
put words to what cannot be

I think of Dover Beach* ceaseless susurrus
pebbly beach noisy in surf
it's long withdrawing roar
eternal note of sadness
or Ozymandias* lone and level sands stretch far away.

I come here as I can
watch waves pound their way to the shore
sit still feel mournful regret
so much loss - my own this land.

We've been terribly shaken
wiles of men and cruel ways
trying not to look behind me
where America stretches back
to sweep of Atlantic blue.

Sorrowful to think how much is lost 
fear I have it cannot be regained
I do not know nor can understand
what I can possibly do to find it
when suddenly, in a burst of flight,
come a wild swarm of dragonflies
such as I've never seen, glorious!
an hour I watched dragonflies
wing thousands past 
southward autumn migration.

The dragonfly host gives me morning hope 
for sea wind grass creatures who will wing and crawl their ways
in directions all the endless horizon can hold
sun dawning on a resilient land.

My photo, Manzanita Beach, Oregon, September 5, 2026.

*Dover Beach," Matthew Arnold (1867)
*Ozymandius," Percy Bysshe Shelley (1817)

Some dispositions seem hard-wired
no point trying to untangle
calling them ancient twisted karma
doesn't help at all

human ways run deep
layered through primal life forms
fungi bacteria toad snake bear
burgeoning wild feral beginnings

neither cause nor karma can be held to account
when we all were boiled and brewed together 
as stars ignited out of vast primordial ether
creating as if God all we know of world.