Desert Verse (My Anecdote)


“I know nobody knows
Where it comes and where it goes
I know it’s everybody sin You got to lose to know how to win. Dream on, dream on”. – Steven Tyler

Life is a dream, life is a circle, life is a reflection, life is addiction, life is a desert, life is G_D, life is a dream….

I saw her when I was thirteen years of age, moving to and from, unspeaking she was, outside my window, and I feared her, for it was reasonable to do so.

The high desert takes on a different look at night. Two hours after midnight, it moves, loosening itself from gravity and man-made plans. It becomes unto itself, calling out to itself, creation unto destruction. It spins into itself, creating genesis, and revelation. Birth and death. Time, and sorcery. Addiction and recovery.

She whispers, the ripples in the clouds are just shadows, they part the light and the energy from the moon. I wish you my child, to be willing, to come in secret to my sandy womb. Your visit should never be in daylight, where the sun shows a broader point of view. Nothing done in shine has such a perspective, as the honor under moonlight I have for you. For here by tumbleweed you’ll know my secrets, witches’ signs, and shades under a distant moon. There’s never been a deeper well than this my desert, a synonym, for what is really you. She whispers so inviting through my window, at thirteen, years of age how can I refuse. I must confess I am in awe of numbers turning, my anecdote is the whole of something true.

And, So, I strip myself of clothes that hide my secrets, human cloth that presents my parents view. At two A.M. I run into the desert, fleeing to the ark that defines you. To the west of me Shiprock rides the sand filled ocean. A transport that floats under this lunar view. I think at first that might be my naked destination, first class in quantum faith to a world that’s new. Be still, be still my soul that searches night for such an answer. Be still whispers she that turns the clue. Looking skyward way, I see her guidance falling from the stars, Orion slew. At thirteen years of age I became the desert, shifting in the night within her view. Such a hungry boy looking for visions, rising to a place no other knew. All her glory in my life’s decision, to be true in faith for all I do. To be true in faith for all I do.

Sometimes now at two A.M. I wake up quaking, and I see her moving to and from, unspeaking is she, outside my window, and I fear her, for it is reasonable to do so.

Life is a dream, life is a circle, life is a reflection, life is addiction, life is a desert, life is G_D, life is a dream…. – 03.29.20 – דָנִיֵּאל

Heaven’s Gate (Surround Me)

The Acts of one!

He catches time in the palm of his hand, with his hair growing whiter where the old train station stands. The gleam in his eyes could be laughter or death, it’s all up to you, as you read the rest. The high land all around him rises to a rocky slope, filled with all sorts of angels, and lithesome tiresome ghost. In both of his hands rides specters of a kind, could be maps to salvation, or the gate that opens time. In the twinkling of an eye, he draws a certain plan, to take him up in spirit to where the Seraphim stand. For it stands here in Wyoming, below a certain peak, and when the eclipse covers nature, he’ll see the gate that he would seek.

Brother cries a certain essence, phantom, screams a long-lost daemon freak. Can you leave two sides of living, switch the train at certain speeds? Can you go to certain mountains, and claim them as your prize? He turns now quickly without breathing; says he, love is on all sides, for the heavens are all falling and with spells they must now rise, when heaven’s gate is found wide open, the loss I’ve gained will go inside. Today Wyoming is an answer, where the things lost go to sleep, to arise in all creation when the sun escapes it’s keep. And so, it is he deems an answer from the future he has lost. Why is it we seldom travel to the gates that have a cost? Does not the shield of all our valor, hold no reason without love, says he now to higher purpose open heaven I am not lost.

So, he treasures his arrival, and the sound of walking feet, leaving the tracks of his departure, for the grace that’s hard to keep. Goes he on without reflecting, through the gate to the rocky peak. Conquers he without bad feeling, slays he loss to not re seek. With his eyes cast not downwards, opened skies, no words he speaks. Just a thought that comes in passing, as tomorrow passes renewed, how can he survive the love that’s crushing, glowing holy all that’s new! Surround me! – 08-27-2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Ticket to Ride


She said to me,

Your tradition says you follow, think without your mind, place yourself into the furnace, suffer and be kind. Rebel only in civil ways, do not mark a cheek. It’s not so far a distance between self-ego and being weak. You seem to say it’s all about you with heaven to gain. You say you, want to make it through, masochistically blue, to the opposite flame. Why indeed it’s true how humble of you, perhaps simple not to realize when love is by your side. Your walk, you say has all the marks of someone saved and blind, not at all interested in that you have a ticket to ride. You say change is nonexistent in the straight path that you climb, and therefore your covered, even as it bends your spine. Well if that’s your chosen strategy, to suffer through this life, I beg of you, know it’s true, love is by your side and it can be, your ticket to ride.

Perhaps you might consider not following but walking side by side, may be fill your spirit with that ticket to ride, and don’t think of being a victim, nothing wrong with pride, raise yourself and know your virtue true, choose where you would fly. There barely is a reason, to not take your path in stride, open all your veils of disappointment, take your ticket to ride.

She said to me,

You think that loves elusive, you say it’s hard to find, maybe that’s true for a follower, when that loves right by your side. You intimate your so frightened of reality and life, your waiting on the hereafter to take you up that hill. Love can go on before you, but I say it’s with you still. Of all the worlds you’re not afraid of, why choose to fear the one where you live, that’s the one where breath is certain, that’s real faith to give.

Now maybe heaven’s a future, filled with gifts and myth, maybe when you draw your final breath, you’ll smile at what is. But why wait on the spirit, to move you when you’re still? Look to your side, maybe decide. Your ticket to ride needs, to be fulfilled.

She said to me – 03.29.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

G_D is Wyoming

His name is in Wyoming, inscribed in rock near the great divide, and often you may pass it when I-80 bends by twice. Through time and winters soul storms, those places where innocence dies, there runs a great contender, your hurt will be love’s guide. For high above the valleys, where the dirt does fly, when the winds come screaming, like an ego that’s been denied. Lessons in Wyoming, bard wire were Shepard died, looking for some mercy, the wilderness is unkind. In land that takes its likeness, from a lunar sky, harsh and barren in places, an American Judea find. Look closer in Wyoming, look for names and rhyme, listen to the sound of mourning from an open sky. G_D is Wyoming, G_D is Wyoming.

There are no doors in Wyoming, at least that you can hide behind, no cover of a savior, I imagine you know, the kind, for here in Wyoming a good sin can be found, right here in all this open, where rock and sky abound, and mercy comes from such a name, pronounced without a sound, gliding from the Tetons, bringing compassion down. And on some nights when no moon comes, a rare occasion in places bare, a sea of spirits rise, empty hoods white and wise, and as companions they stare at the sky, and pray for what’s not seen, Adonai, mercy please, and then for few who know, unless you’ve traveled that high road in pain, then you see. G_D is Wyoming, G_D is Wyoming.

Medicine Bow Peak speaks lightning from the other side, telling those who hear it say, it’s time, all of nature is tied, to a pattern diagram, intersecting to the head, earthly kings and queens will never find, what’s in Wyoming. Would you bend and say, take my fears away, travel down I-80, under darkened skies, ask for the intersession of the hoods that rise. Seek the mercy there, coming through the wildest air, and then you too will find, such a great wonder of time. G_D is Wyoming, G_D is Wyoming. – 01.17.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

An Unsettled Bed (Grace)


An unsettled bed is not where you belong, waiting in the fire for grace, for you are rightly made, it is summer and springtime your bed is self-made.

“An unsettled bed” (Grace)

On the corner of Conti and Decatur, she gives her own body, for something of a lure, to scar her pure arms with a track. To have strange tongues lick her and detract, all of those things she thought good. All of her spirit her soul is lost too, at least that’s all that she thinks. A compassionate G_D rises, she blinks.

Unsettled beds, make us hungry, make our hearts want something more, more, more, than we ever find. The mind, it comes it goes in pictures, the soul it settles to meditate on scriptures, but what, the spirit knows is whether it is life or already dead. White laced skin on covers, the lust of many, many others, and yet the game goes on and on, like children generation from dusk to dawn, and still we cry in surprise when it is not an elixir. Come lay your body upon a cold altar, you think it hot, but it belongs to another, and still this G_D he waits in sunlight, quiet, not loud, just patient might, and still we go we choose another, some animal, to comfort our aches, and ruptures. Have you not seen the golden calf, it looks like melting gold. Have you not seen your unsettled bed, why choose it, when, his highness wants you instead.

“An unsettled bed” (Grace)

He lies on a mat in the ADX, his passion broken by American tact, a small time dealer from the Brooklyn outback, he’s doing time in Florence, and the man breaks his back. All of his spirit his soul is lost too, at least that’s all that he thinks. A compassionate G_D rises, he blinks.

A psalm it comes in the shadows, mating it’s lyrics with our battles. Oh it sounds so sweet and pure, making our lives so neat the cure, but how we seek a better excitement. The craziness of unordered dread, the thought of blood upon an unsettled bed. Turn around, and turn once more, think yourself, once better once more, and still you go the way of another. Lost in self, and danger, it steers your rudder. And then it comes to you, when you awake, your lover animal, did forsake, your body, lying there, with the snake. It is an unsettled bed, a human depravity, that makes you sad, and still you must know there’s more. A light, that glistens your unsettled bed, and reaches within you, wants your soul instead, and you walk like the stars and the moon. Knowing such goodness your energy booms, for you are the rite of his noon. Awakened a better made soul of his bloom. An unsettled bed is not where you belong, waiting in the fire for grace, for where you are rightly made, it is summer and springtime your bed is self-made.

“An unsettled bed” (Grace)

They lie in cold prisms, and pickup bars, all American swingers, married with their scars, and when he cuts his arms, and she vomits in the room, the other swinging couple just laughs while they choom. All of their spirit is lost too, at least that’s all they think. A compassionate G_D rises, they blink.

An unsettled bed is not where you belong, waiting in the fire for grace, for where you are rightly made, it is summer and springtime your bed is self-made. – 08.28.2015 –
דָּנִיֵּאל

Far end of the Black (Cherokee Park)


“Some whisper holy, holy, but they lie. Some cry rapture sweet Pontifex Maximus, but they do not know. I lay in the secret places, where the wolves eat their meat, and I wait for you to call Lord”*.

I came to Colorado, to the park of the Cherokee, to wild places, to see the light, the fading light, and there was black. Into heaven I rose, into lonely lands, on my own I found memories of some things, tragic spells that I lacked. And those places, so high and free, those dwellings of stone, those places that seemed so black, brought me back, so high they were my friend, and they brought me back. I am a soul who has come too closely to what is not right, and by virtue, what is right, and here in these high places, where there is black, there is light great light.

So close to Wyoming here, so close to G_D, and yet he hides, there among the sandstone, and conifer, the pinon and deep shadows. My frown turned into a debt, my childhood scars, no one knows about, those frights, and glass defenses shattered by life. I cast them into that pool of sand, and it turns into black, while demons dance all along my back, my white, white back. And ruins they come, throwing their stones everywhere around, and it seems they place themselves on the meadow where I might never find my way back. Holy, holy I cry, turning to see there in the wild place, the far end of the black, the stones form around me tight, a place I might find. A path to breath in light.

I came to Colorado, to the park of the Cherokee, to stop what was black, to resurrect a magic of right. You see my fears, have made the one of the world something, lost to my sight. And it was cold, frozen beyond anything, close to what I had ever been told it would be. And the wind blew from left to right, from left to right, for all that is known, he is not, for he is foreign, hidden in a sea of compassion and darkness, waiting at the far end of the black, in light.

And he called me Daniel in the park of the Cherokee, his dances were waves of light, I Am, I Am, he gave me with liquid rays, that touch, that kisses me, at the far end of the black, at the farthest end of the black!

“Some whisper holy, holy, but they lie. Some cry rapture sweet Pontifex Maximus, but they do not know. I lay in the secret places, where the wolves eat their meat, and I wait for you to call Lord”*. – 08.17.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

*The Chronicles of Mihai – Daniel Swearingen
* Far end of Black – J.R. Richards