Shuffle & Dance

Tiny hands and tiny feet,

Start to move, start to creep,

Wobbly arms and wobbly legs,

Reaching for a steadying edge.

And now more upright,

Now more sure,

The steps are balanced and secure.

Our walk already taking shape,

No turning back and no escape.

We move, we dance, we whirl and turn,

We keep on moving as we learn.

We do not know what day it comes,

When balance falters, sensation numbs.

Our dance less graceful and secure,

We falter where we once were sure.

And in the waning days of life,

We shuffle through the dimming light.

Remembering all that we have learned,

The paths we traveled, bridges burned,

Our feet now wrinkled, old and tired,

More clumsy than we may desire,

Have carried us, have moved us on,

Until the day our steps are done.

Five Years

Here we were this day five years ago.

Our hands all touching you,

As Odie kissed you with his cold, wet nose.

My fingers stroked your thick, wavy, hair,

which framed your face so perfectly.

My tears still fall in rivers,

their source in my wounded heart.

I want to beg you to come home,

but know you are already there.

Yes, you are at peace while I still suffer,

selfishly wanting you back.

There are times, deep in meditation,

I feel your breath with mine.

I know that you have gone beyond,

this dualistic world of samsara.

That you live on,

my Bodhisattva boy,

a dweller in nirvana.

All that you will ever be

Sometimes the pain of grief is deepest,

When I cannot tell it,

Cannot express it.

The aching blots out every thought,

Defies all words and meaning,

Strikes me dumb with shock again,

Grasping for any trace of you.

I cannot hug your photos,

And feel your beating heart.

I cannot fill your vacant shoes,

And cannot let them go.

I hold your shirts to my face,

But your scent is no longer there.

I sort through stuffed animals,

You held so long ago,

But their eyes are dull,

Their fur grown cold,

Empty of comfort, empty of you.

I want to scream,

“He was here, he was here!”

I want to shout,

Shake each person I see,

And demand that they know you,

That they attest to your time here,

That you occupied space,

That you filled a chair.

It’s still not right,

That you are gone, that this love I feel,

For now and always,

I cannot find the words,

To capture with any semblance,

Of all that you were,

and all that you are,

And all that you will ever be.


When there is nothing at risk,

And nothing to run away from,

There is peace.

But there is always something at risk,

Always something to run away from,

And therefore, no peace.

The mind is a master

At finding things to keep us stuck,

Like flies on fly paper.

It is sticky,

And once we are caught,

We struggle futilely.

So we must not cling to anything.

For it is in emptiness,

that we find peace,

It is in emptiness,

That we are free.

Your birthday

How can it be

Four years?

How dare the world go on?

The days keep passing,

Each one more empty,

Of you, my love.

How can your memory,

Still haunt my empty womb,

Still cause my beating heart,

To stop and stutter, stunned?

You are ever and ever and ever,

Within me.

Within each breath,

Within each tear,

Within my faltering smile.

You are here,

And will always be,

Despite the passage of time.

You are here, my love,

You are still here.

What is wisdom,

Without the admission of ignorance?

What is courage,

Without the admission of fear?

What is love,

Without the admission of hatred?

The dualistic world where we live,

Creates opposites,

Fooling us to fall,

Into confusion and fear.

And what is true?

It lies in the white matter,

The frontal lobes,

Divorced from the heart,

An entity of ignorance.

The animals have a secret,

Not having eaten of the Apple.

They do not linger,

In memories or dreams of the future,

But live breath to breath,

Without the plague of thinking.

Without the burden of suffering.

That is their grace,

Their freedom,

Which we are doomed to envy,

In this hallowed hall of thoughts

And self awareness.

Good people don’t

Good people need help sometimes.

Good people can get lost.

I know them,

I have listened to their stories.


I listen and hear their pain.

If listening is all I can do,

Witnessing their loss and sorrow.

Perhaps that is enough.

I hope so.

For their voices need air,

And their stories need hearing,

So they know they are heard.

May it be so….

Your hand

I can see it now,

So clearly,

Your open hand,

Drawing me nearer,



Unconditional love.


That bond,

Mother and son.

Drawn together,

With no thought of return.

You and I,


No worries of past or future.

Only now.

The perfect symbol

Of love and forgiveness.

Understood without words,

Given with no expectation.

A mother and child,

Nothing more beautiful,

Or perfect than this.

Such a gift.

From beyond.

So much gratitude

I can only tell you now..


Already gone

In futile despair.

Already lost

The days and nights

By your side.

The terror of not knowing how or when,

You would be stolen from my grasp.

From my trembling fingers.

Too late now.

Ashes all that remain.

And ashes all that lie ahead.

You, who gave me so much,

And nothing I could do to repay

Or make sense of your loss.

None of it matters now,

The days and nights by your side.

All that matters,

Is who I am now.

Endless giver, who stayed by your side…

It was a joy to be there for you.

And now you are gone.

My trials and sacrifices

Lost in the sands of time.

None of it matters.

For you are not here,

To witness, to feel the hand extended.

No, like everyone you are gone,

To a place I cannot reach.

Waiting, I hope,

For a reunion.

That will welcome me,

Some form of reunion,

That will bring peace and love,

That the mother is not forgotten.

Oh my love, how perfect our loss,

When joined in reunion.

We were once one.

We were once the beauty,

Of love and sacrifice.

Brought together by time,

And love,

And forgiveness.

The present moment

There is no future,

Nor past.

There is only the present moment.

It is here we are real.

Here we are anchored.

What happens later,

Is not known,

So cannot be forgotten or anticipated.


By all that is.

Freedom lies in letting go,

Of hope, regret.

Only now,

In all of it’s terror,

In all of it’s beauty.

It is here we must live,

As seconds tick by,

And nothing else remains.

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