surfer chick


Echoes from Emptiness: tunnel surfer


I’ve been there
crouched low,
riding a tunnel wave

but it wasn’t in that
rolling roaring wetness

it was in this
ocean of Being


imagine my amazement
to discover – here
in this human form –
an aging amphibious


Image source unknown – if it’s yours, please advise!

tracing the unborn I


I write 27-01-44 when asked for my date-of-birth, yet the Life that took ‘first breath’ that day was never born.

It’s not exactly rocket science to come to this conclusion; one just follows the tracks of the genealogists a little further than the norm.

Where did the Life that animates this breath have its beginning?

How can I claim it began in this body-mind cocoon, fruit of the sexual activity of two other body-mind cocoons, whose unique genetic and phylogenetic imprints were systematically combined and passed on?  Or was it in the imprints of their parents?  Or their grandparents?  Or their great-grandparents?

The Life that animates each one of us harks back to the first cell-division.  We share ancestry.  We go back to the One.  We share – we are – Creation’s initial impulse to forge the miracle of existence from the void.

Time to put down the pen; this is all starting to sound too Biblical for a baby-boomer.


this emptiness is singing with life


pre-dawn paradise:
a softness in the shadowy light
slimmest sliver of peach in the east
kookaburra’s cackle piercing
the expectant marvel
called world


problems and concerns
issues and causes
that used to be upfront in mind
are weirdly absent
noticeably not-happening

the space they vacated is sometimes called the void
but there’s nothing null about it
no vacancy, no gut-gripping nihilism

this Emptiness is singing with life,
pregnant with potential

I cast about for a concept
and this falls out of my pen:
it’s the womb of all Creation