Mysterium...

for Jhon Longshaw


...the root of the word mystery lies in a secret 
or hidden meaning, from the Old French mistere 
and the Latin mysterium, "A secret rite, a secret 
worship, or secret thing," and Greek mysterion, 
a secret rite or doctrine, and deeper to mystes, 
"one who has been initiated," in other words 
a mystic, where the sense goes back to the Old 
French mistique and to the Latin mysticus 

One who has been initiated into being connected 
with the mysteries, associated with sacraments, 
exhibiting outward signs of an inward spiritual 
grace, like the eucharist, being a consecration 
and a mystery itself,  in other words sacred, 
which is to be made holy, in other words to be 
kept intact, a thing that could not be transgressed 
or violated, but kept whole, from Old English hal

"Entire, unhurt, healthy," where health is equated 
to being whole, sound, or well, from Old English 
willan, "to wish" arising from will,  from Gothic 
wiljan, "to will, wish, or desire,"  from Latin 
desiderare "to long for, demand, or wait in 
expectation for what the stars will bring," 
(de sidere), to consider (from Latin considerare) 
the stars, what we now refer to as sidereal, 
from Latin siderius, meaning "starry or astral, 
of the constellations," from Latin astrum, star 

Old English steorra, Old Norse stjarna, Greek 
aster, Latin stella, performing the lead part, 
the starring role, a part or character one takes, 
the symbol or imprint on the soul, from Old English 
sawol, "the spiritual and emotional part of a person; 
animate existence, of uncertain origin, ancestry, 
or race; from Old French origine, and Latin originem, 
"a rise, commencement, beginning, or source through 
descent, lineage, or birth, from Old Norse byrdr

"Birth, descent, race; offspring; nature; fate," 
from Latin fata "a prophetic declaration, oracle, 
or prediction," the sentence of the gods, from Old 
English wyrd, "fate, destiny", literally "that which 
comes", Old Saxon wurd, which is also to turn, 
and bend, from Old English weordan, to become, 
and weirder yet from the root -wer, or versus, 
from Latin versus, "turned toward or against"

Weorthan, what befalls one should he dare, from 
Old English durran, "to brave danger; to venture, 
presume," to risk the loss of a thing about to happen 
by chance, fortune, or luck; once upon a time, all 
these things described were one and the same, 
and the weird thing today remains, that by turns 
of phrase, they've slowly been flowering back into 
secrecy turning once again into hidden mystery...  

Return To Sender

for Ward Churchill 


Frozen in abject terror
Flowing through 
Imbedded roots with
Skin curling blackened 
Away revealing red raw 
Ruin where once was 
A mask and never a face
Feel the wind for
The very first time
Then season the silence

With a sigh and cut
Out your own tongue
Hand it to the head of state
On a white napkin
Upon a china plate
Bow halfway with 
Feigned good grace
This has explained 
Such gifts as a voice 
Are a waste

March Forth

for Gareth Griffin


March forth into the unknown because we're all doing it anyway.

Consider being given nothing a treasure,

and no one can take your good fortune away.

Why do they call it The Present? Because it's A Gift.

Don't Leave It Unwrapped or let it Collect Dust

or abandon it tossed in the corner, nor from misuse allow it to Rust.

Accept it with good grace and see it's all that's yours to Keep

and All the Rest, even your face, the knickknack paddywack pieces of your home,

will peel away like leaves of flesh falling off the bone.

Funny how material things will only fade away

and the Nothing you've been given is Freedom here to stay.

March Forth into the Unknown, it's really all you can do

Clearly an adventure with Something to gain and Nothing to lose

Peel Away the Fears that have collected over the years

like so many cancelled stamps, and you will find

what you thought were the bars of your own prison cell

had only built up in your mind.

The high temperature of your own private Hell

you set to broil and switched on yourself.

And what of the Scars from your X-degree burns?

Go out at night and stare at the Stars,

and think as you walk how the Earth still turns.

Then when you get home, Take A Look In The Mirror

Straight through the Eyes to your Heart.

It still yearns, does it not, and beats every night

even while you're sleeping.

So March Forth into the Blue, smiling evenly,

Stepping through light, untying the knot to ease the rope burns.

Still your thoughts, close your eyes to the hate,

Let it all go in a slow dissolution, Escape from the mold clamping into the quick

that is selling your soul getting old quick and the trick is to keep moving

or the walls will close in and the hallways will whisper

all of your sins can slip between cracks, take root and grow tangled

all around you, a cocoon of comfort called homespun numbness

mistaken for the crumbling fortress of dreams

when really nothing is as it seems

because we See what we Believe and we musn't forget

if we want to leave this Scene March Forth into the unfolding brand new dream

you make up while awake; this is nothing to shake a stick at

if you're Sick of It make a Break for It Right Now There Is No Time

like the Present, and you Know Tomorrow Never Comes,

so Throw Sorrow Out the Window and pick up your feet

to the rhythm of the sound of your own drums.

March Forth with the Brave and the Bold and you might find

You'll Never Grow Old; Learn to Unwind with Clear Open Eyes,

Realize you are breathing The Sky!

Marching Forth without Fear will erase the bad years

Keeping focus on the Gift close at hand.

Pick it Up from the corner, blow off all the dust

and with Trust, March Forth and Make Your Own Stand.