Through the night a storm fell a blanket of snow upon the spring earth. The winds are fierce and the little sparrow at the feeder seems confused. Or is it i that feels confused. Where is the sun that gave us a summer like afternoon just a few days ago. How can we know anything for certain and are blind beliefs sufficient enough to heal our lonely souls? The sparrow knows nothing of these questions to the whereabouts of our creator.

Papa pope died yesterday. Millions of people are making a big fuss over this. Millions of people whom have never met this man. What does he mean to them? A symbol of hope i suppose, but what hope can they derive from a symbol. Are people really that shallow to mistaken the wealth of an empire that their own Jesus would have dismantled as he apparently had done in his day. Where does all this insecurity come from, these beliefs drowning in the awakening of the beauty of the little sparrow at the feeder.

Pope John didn't know anything about our creator that he could impart upon me. It is totally up to me to see the light, the darkness. Where did all this insecurity and dogma come from? How long has it been since my last confession to some priest with a degree in theology from the sacred heart university of catholicism?

A long time since i found out the truth, a many a path has led me to this unknown earth in an unknown universe; i am my own savior, i am my own jesus, follow me and you shall find the darkness, and the darkness shall awaken you, you are not a word, you are more than thought, your belief is not of Jesus, you are Jesus, Jesus is buddha, all these traditions are lies, covering up the truth, the beauty, oh there, there is the little sparrow again, his feathers ruffled from the wind, he knows nothing of this, he's in gods land.

No other has taken me to the depths of my being, no other has forced me to see what i had failed to see. As it should be, if one is growing, i am forced to see the impermanence of it all. It is quite uncomfortable at times, this world without eternity, these thoughts doomed to destruction. The whole world full of death, this life set to die, an endless stream of illusions to observe. This thought dying unto itself.

Money, it all revolves around paying rent, taxes, poverty has it's claws inside my heart. Where could i be without this hindrance chaining me to mediocrity. This afternoon of springs last winters-wet-snow and gloomy skies and desperate thoughts hanging on to the last remains of your love.

Can we grow? I don't know. Is there hope beyond this air?

As one gets older one would think one would become happier. Most of us here in North America have it quite easy, food, shelter and tons of toys. How come we are not happy? What is keeping us from contentment? Everywhere i look i see sadness; it is often camouflaged with fine cloth, eloquent words, laughter, sweet smiles and generosity, but it's a lie. Meet these same people alone, in a cab, in a bar, in a hospital waiting room, at a funeral, see their grief, their deep sadness, their discontent with their whole life. They are confused, they don't know what to trust, their egos are inflated with fake strength, their weakness is apparent in their heart.

What can we do about all this? Who is going to save us? Who has created this mess, who is to blame? What religion is the answer, will science cure all our discontent, maybe electrical magnetic drug therapy, perfect clones. Who and what is going to save us from our selves? What is the source of all our problems? Is some indigenous life style the answer? There certainly were and are some ways that enhance contentment, but is that the answer? Is that what we are looking for? Could we really settle back into a world of no comforts that modern science has brought us, at least if we were not forced into it as with some form of an apocalypse.

Unfortunately there are many that would prefer to party and not be concerned with all this. There are others that want to change the world into their religion, their science. There are the greedy that their concern is just more power, money, material, land, water, whatever it takes. That is of the same mentality as those that want to hide and party all their life's, the only difference is that the other group has money and are addicted to over inflated egos of illusional power.

All the thinking in the world has not found an answer. There are many opinions and practice's that one believes will transform the world if only everyone would follow them. Is that so, is that even a possibility in this world or any world for that matter. How do we know what is right, what is wrong? One persons rights is another persons wrong. Is there any truth at all? I have not spoken the truth, i have not heard any truth anywhere, where can one find truth. The religions tell you to follow and believe their ways and the truth will follow. I have not found that. I do not believe the ones that tell me so. Everything within my thoughts have changed, rearranged themselves, evolved, transformed and still they hold no weight of everlasting truth.

Their is no hope of finding an answer, there is no thought that will save you from discontent, no poem, no ritual, no belief, no god. We suspect many things, but who knows, does anyone know, is there enlightenment beyond all this?

snow is gently falling upon the open field of my mind, no one is here, i am alone, i am not here, i am not there, i am not, i am, am

Eventually it all comes to an end, your thinking of this and that. Often it takes death to bring you around. That is why they say after death you find peace. One can die while you are still alive, so to speak. It is a long process, your thought has it's way of making you feel as if you know. What can thought know? It has many opinions, many theories, numerous mathematics to measure the immeasurable, but we are still left without knowing. Can there be knowing, true knowing, certainty, exactness in your mind. The crow knows, i can hear him cawing thru the air, the clock bell sounds in the distance. It is a certain time in a certain place uncertain in the ear that hears.

Spring is coming, the snow on the land is melting. Birds are building nests, people are walking in the streets. A long difficult winter is forfeiting its reign, it's sleep to awakening. Trees are sucking the breast of the earth, the breeze is gentler, life is moving.

The mind demands attention to uncover the dream of god. There is no way of seeing this with words, god does not exist in thought, there is no belief that holds her, no faith to welcome her, he is not that, she is not there. A child jumps over a puddle on her way to the other side, god assists her without knowing, there is no knowing here, just jumping, the other side is uncertain. There is no other side until you arrive and then the jumping is but a memory, a distance that does not exist, a measurement for building bridges, nothing more.

Is there a time when you can be free? What is freedom? Why do you not feel free now? Are you free when you have no thoughts? Why are you in such torment? Can you live without wanting anything? Do these questions enlighten you? Or do you just have more questions that make you feel trapped, contrived, or witty and smart?

The city lies there spread out like a snake glossy in its armor against the night. While she sleeps the dreams slide in. What does she want cuddled with her securities dead like a wall? Where are the promises half loved, the beaches never walked? What does the dance hold along the shore, is there any truth in those eyes buried in the sand? I came here full of you and I leave empty. The magic of your touch is simple now, the wave came, the land is bare, nothing left but the ship in ruins and a few seeds blowing in the breeze. The morning may come full, it may never be, just a glimpse of love from some ancient street.

It could have been foreseen and I think it was. I was just to blind to see. I wanted to see what I wanted to see. If I could have escaped, I would have taken the chance, but you were too strong when I needed you. You never promised me anything, you could not even promise yourself, you wanted love like a dream, something you could forget as flowers die. So there it is lying mangled in the mud, the caress you dared to steal, the dream you dared to kill. The morning came like nothing was, just a vacant memory on a forgotten shore, a barrier reef, a deceived belief, and nothing more.

People convinced of what they think they know. They carry their knapsack of scattered dreams smothered of routine entertainment rolled down a choked throat of opinion like a badge. What's in it for me the dead end schemes, where's a ditch to get sick in.

The young kid excited to know, truth sitting on finger tips, love twisted between their eyes.

It's a sunny late winter afternoon weekend in the streets, people going nowhere relaxed and sure. I'm sittin here observing my mind bend around the day, struggling smooth along the streets, curving through possibilities, stuck on nothing for time being as it is, holding loose, flowing as water does.

When you said, "I and I, one said to the other, no man sees my face and lives", I was dying along the side of the road, crows hovering over me like the wind.

Jesus walked up to me, lit a cigarette and passed it my way, "That for me", I questioned with my eye. "Sure is", I saw it in his grin.

'So you think you can get there from here', I questioned once again. "I don't know, there ain't no one here from there', I answered, and then forgot again.

'So this is what it's all about, right here in this', some knowing crashed upon me like a wave, flashed the truth, sure and sure and was gone.

I walked on sitting here with words, 'nothing to get hung about', saturday afternoon forever.

Jesus looked back, " that's natural tobacco, rolled it, grew it myself; used light', he said. Took his word as truth, smoked it right down.