Saturday, October 30, 2021


         Such a short, simple, and commonplace word – here– but so powerful in its suggestions for me. It implies the idea of ‘always and forever’, because here is always here, and will forever be here, precisely and continuously right where I am. It also suggest ‘only’, because here – wherever I happen to be – is the only reality. I can daydream about other places, but I’m always doing it here, at this exact place. All of this suggests the preeminence and prestige of wherever I am. If I’m sitting here, at my desk, as I am now, this ‘here’ has a greatness that can never be fully described or appreciated. Here, in this exact spot, be it at my desk or at the sink in the kitchen or on a trail with Delycia or sleeping in bed at 3:08 a.m., is glory and flawlessness. Here, in this particular place, there’s always thoroughness and satisfaction, if only I can notice it. Fulfillment will always be available to me today in the marvelous, heavenly here, which is anywhere I might happen to be.


If you go to Giving, Oregon,
you’ll see sharing everywhere.
The air lets you have a hand in its good life
by freely giving you breath for your body,
and sunshine divides itself equally among everyone.
Any wind generously lets all
the trees participate in it equally,
and peacefulness finds a way
to divide itself up among flowers and vivid birds
and even noisy streets and sorrowful folks.
When you visit here, you will also see
fun measured out uniformly
among the young and the sick and the old.
Even stores seem pleasantly amused
as they share their goods in Giving.

Here’s our chalkboard poem for yesterday …

And here’s my sweetheart taking a photo during our walk yesterday morning on Napatree Point (RI) …


Saturday, July 17, 2021

     Some friends of mine are occasional bow hunters, and I guess I’m a sort of hunter, too. My friends hunt mostly deer, whereas I hunt, in my sporadic and somewhat casual way, mostly goodness. My friends probably stalk their prey silently and seriously, and I sometimes do the same – quietly watching for signs of goodness, sneaking up on it, hoping to see it clearly in all its ordinariness and splendor. I know there’s a significant overpopulation of deer, making them easy to spot during hunting season, but surely goodness teems and overflows far more than deer, enabling me, if I’m sincerely stalking it, to catch sight of it everywhere. This world of ours is a goodness hunter’s paradise. There’s goodness in every face I see, every smile, every glance between friends, every hand offering help. There’s goodness, somehow or other, in every house, every car, every store, down every street. I sometimes set out on a lighthearted and lucky hunt, knowing I’ll see success within a few minutes, maybe just across the street where birds are bringing sticks to a new nest. That’s goodness, and it’s given to all of us to hunt and be happy with, no bows or arrows needed.     


a spoken-on-the-spot poem
made on April 12, 2021, at 8:02 a.m.
on the Denison Pequotsepos Trail

Bring me your gifts, 
bird songs. Shake up 
my life in a soft way, 
like our footsteps 
smoothly saying hello 
to the trail, as life 
takes its time, 
and the birds 
share their sincerity 
and the goodness 
of the great earth.