one day one night

one day the stars looked down on you and gently 

kissed your lips

it was like watching a pond filled with water

where drops from rain

all the sudden


and rippled out to the banks

where water meets earth

one night when all the animals slept so peacefully

i could hear you walking

it was only in my dreams

but i knew the sound that your clothing makes when it moves

i could hear as you tried to be quiet

as you tried not to wake me up

one day i woke up a heard birds that i’d never heard before

i saw life in another dimension

beyond 3-D

sometimes it’s so different

i think how it would be to go bak

but i can barely remember how it felt

to float

vision to not give up

there is something else 

in the distance

yes, i see it

seems like i am far off

but it’s only a mental trick

a delusion

and i’m not buying it

partially because i can’t afford to

in the distance

is a vision of a bolder person

bright and shining




and i am that person now

and then

and will be

will become even more

than what i am now

I used to sleep

HYPNOS: I used to sleep. I used to sleep and dream. Dream about sheep. Just kidding — I never dream about sheep. Sheep are boring and expected. Still they are cuddly and innocuous little beings. Eating their grass. Baa-ing. Wandering around. Eating more grass. Laying down… what do you think a sheep thinks like? 

Do you think sheep have the same kinds of problems people do only maybe their gradiation is smaller? Like sheep has blue, yellow, purple, but humans got chartreuse, goldenrod, amethyst. How do you think a god sees? It’s… indescribable. You see, to understand it would be touching divinity. It would mean that you’d have to die. Maybe then you could understand. The dead understand a lot of things that the living don’t.

There’s a seed in the heart of the forest down in South America that is supposed to be THE remedy for sleep. It’s been 21 days. Even for a god, I’m starting to feel as though something is off. As if I don’t understand myself anymore. I was looking for ways to get this seed here, but of course, it’s near to impossible. 

First of all, you’d need a guide to even find it. But the guide doesn’t speak Spanish or Portuguese so you gotta find a guide for the guide who knows the language of deep within the forest. Second, the conditions have to be just right for the plant to flower and fruit, or so it’s indicated on these numerous websites that I’ve bookmarked. Apparently it’s a really stinky kind of flower that attracts the worst kind of bugs.

I’m afraid of bites… Well, I suppose that’s obvious though…

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite…”

“Good night!”

Good night. 

“Good night.”

I can feel the world’s people go to bed. And I’m going insane. People tell me “just go to bed,” but I can’t go to bed! I’m racing once I’m in there. Ready to go. Better than coffee. Better than any kind of drug. I’m like thinking a million things a moment. I have all these ideas like toaster with a side container to make eggs. Dog socks. A left-handed violin. Shoes that clean themselves. Jackets that turn into seat cushions. I could go on forever.

I could go on forever.

I could…

go on…



I need to sleep. The dreams do something with all these thoughts. The dreams know how to sort it out. The dreams point the direction. 

And I stop worrying.

I walk.

I enjoy my day. 

I remember what it’s like to laugh.

And the deepness of an instant.

I see me again. 

When I dream.

I miss dreaming.

what is it like?

More inspiration writing for the play that is a part of the San Francisco Olympians Festival on the god of nonviolent death, Thanatos.

Incidentally, I’ll be interviewed about the play along with Veronica Tjioe by fellow writer, Jovelyn Richards, who is the host of a radio program on KPFA, Jovelyn’s Boutique. This will be on Wednesday from 3:30-4:00 PM PST, so listen in or check out the archived interview later.

T: What is it like to die… what does it feel like for them? I don’t know… I try to make it painless, or at least, if there is pain, maybe I help them come to terms with it before finally releasing it. The process of death is both quicker and slower than you think. 

Slower because, as you know, every moment in linear time is one step closer to it. To me. Quicker because ultimately, it’s simple. You are here and then you are not here.

The actual moment? I don’t know if it’s painful. I would imagine it is because everything in life lives on a pain scale. But maybe I’m wrong about that, maybe the feeling of death is the opposite of the feeling of life. Maybe what I do is painless.

How would I know that I had died and that I wasn’t just dreaming? See, that is where Sleep and Death — the fact that we’re twins — comes into play. It fools people. It’s calling for one when you mean the other. When you need the other. 

Now that I have started to dream… Vivid dreams as true as day. I wonder what it would be like to live there instead of here. I wonder if my experience is tempered and adulterated by the feeling of waking. Disorienting light. Words that make no sense. Symbols. Birds flying backwards make no sense, but in the dream world it’s just another thing to notice or ignore.

It makes me appreciate the reality we call, “life” much more. Little things, like the way the sun creates a painting that no artistic genius would every be able to put together — every day. The way that water feels. The color of people’s eyes. The sound of footsteps. Wind. Did you know each moment contains so much to be in awe of?

I think some of them miss that.

If anything feels painful, it’s that realization. I could imagine that it’s heartbreaking, which is why all these souls have so much trouble remembering who they are. Only the truly strong would be able to hold even a little of that. It’s no judgement — the weight of experience is just too much after a while. 

And so…

the sea of flowers that covered the land

One day as she was walking, bright vibrant spots of color captured her attention. Looking around it was as though she was in a sea filled with bits of a broken rainbow. She realized they were hundreds of flower petals of all shapes and sizes. Each with their delicate silky edges drifting past her feet as she kept walking. She knelt down to see them closer, holding one in her hand and studying how smooth its edges were.

where did all the flowers come from?

She tried to see how far they spread across the land, but it was as if she had stepped into another world that somehow changed the rules. Like blankets of flower petals were just as natural as happening upon a tree. And if there was no reason she could find for this strange occurance, then she figured she would enjoy it as much as she could.

i’ll do what i’ve always wanted to do…

And with outstretched hands she fell back into the beautiful petals – all soft, light as air, delicate as they covered her skin. She sank back breathing in their perfumed essence. She closed her eyes and dreamed deeply, falling into a heavier – heavier still – sleep.

dedicated to practice

to showing up

to moving forward despite injuries or illness

to discovering something deep within 

hidden potential 

pure will

to never saying no 

to never quitting 

to not believing that the odds are stacked against you

to betting on yourself

to incessant curiosity 


to the space to experiment 

to experience 

to wonder

to waiting patiently 

to breathing normally 

to stepping carefully

to moving slowly

piece by piece

word by word

to untangling


to listening deeply

to hearing the words and writing them down

to acting in the moment 

to belief 

to faith

to the most infinitesimal movement that created an avalanche 

to having a resinous voice

to words 




baby steps 

that reverberate throughout time

to the ones who do it

to the ones who jump over hurdles to get there

never stop

to the stare that will never die

to the people who are there every day

don’t quit

face the darkest fears

and conquer them

to those who find love beneath it all

to those who find strength

to those who find community

to the bond

to the trials and errors

and try try again

to the moment when all is seemingly lost

but isn’t

to the point of no return

to the dream edging into reality

to standing on your own to feet

to looking forward 

to making it a better place

all of it contained

in the moment

to the practice of the moment

to practice  

the unanswered question

The man looked at the worn piece of paper that the little man had given him. He hadn’t seen this in ages. And as he looked at it he was still astonished that he was holding it his hands once again.

“How did you find this?”

“It was given to me…”

The little man grabbed his wrist.

“…and I was told to give it to you.”

On this paper was an unanswered question. It was something that the man had wanted to know for as long as he could remember. He had never given up looking for the answer, but at some point long ago, this paper was separated from him. 

He told all this to the little man that night as they sat watching the embers of the fire glow. The little man was silently attentive, half expecting, half gauging each response. 

Night had fallen quickly and before he knew it. He looked out realizing he would have to wait it out. The little man knew this too. He nodded and skuttled off to find a blanket for the man.

The man sat watching the fire. Looking at the old piece of paper wondering how it had made its journey here. 

Outside within the forest, he could hear a far off cry of a wolf. His gaze narrowed in concentration as he listened. He was familiar with this being’s cry and he knew its secret. Just as others knew his secrets and still others he knew too. As if endlessly reaching out, everyone was connected by something they knew about another, but would never tell. He looked back in the direction the little man had wandered off into. 

Now he knows my secret too.

And then a part of him became lighter, as if a heavy burden was lifted from his shoulders. His eyes drooped while watching the flames rise and hearing the wood crackle. 

He would need to find the being within the forest. This he knew. He would need to reach out to it as best as he could.

The little man returned with a dark grey scratchy blanket. The man thanked him for his hospitality. He had not slept in the village for a very long time, but it was no matter tonight. It seemed like before he had even finished lying down, and poof! He was asleep. Into the dreamline where he too, like the girl who found clarity from visions, might also fid solice in the images that played out in front of his eyes. 

around the corner from something unknown

“Where are we?”

The bird only cooed in response, looking at her with anticipation.

Something was different. Where was the river? Where was the forest? Where was the twinkling light of the sunrise in the morning?

No, this was a great empty hall and a hallowness — a sound she had never heard before. It was so quiet and empty. She felt palpably aware of being alone here. Golden tan orange walls. Shadows of light cascading upon themselves. Warmth seemingly coming from somewhere beyond. She could feel a light – something drawing her to it. It was as though every corridor, every hallway, lead her deeper – but was it closer? 

The bird hopped along after her. Sometimes flying ahead. Cooing encouragement. 

Does he know the way?

She quickened her pace following after him around twists and turns. Something was there. Something was nearby. The bird knew and she knew too. They turned down an empty corridor and up flights of stairs. Around a corner and there it was.

A garden within the center with a fountain and statues guarding each entry point. She looked into the faces of each as she passed slowly as if any moment the statues might move of their own volition. 

The sound was greater here, but something was off. She felt weak and felt to her knees. As she grabbed her head the world seemed to spin. The only safe place seemed to be the ground if she could just get there. The bird flew in front of her eyes and she looked at him it seemed like all she could hear was a high pitched screeching. 

She closed her eyes and quietly she listened to herself to make sure it was real. To make sure she was still there. A quiet heartbeat below the crash and chaos of the outside world. 

Ah, yes… 

And she opened her eyes. 

Breathing in grassy dew. Gentle ripples of water nearby. Wind though the trees shaking their branches. A coo from the bird. She sat up. 

Where am I?