The Path of No Path

At about 1 am Pacific time on September 11, 2001 I was unable to sleep. As I awoke I was over come with powerful emotions and was then "opened" to a horrific vision that lasted until 5 am. At exactly 6:11 am I was awakened to the the sound of breaking glass, followed by extreme silence. Then for the longest time, 45 minutes or so, I heard the sounds of bright and beautiful bells. They were ringing all around me.  This first poem is from my vision, and the one after it is from my emotions and feelings from the next few days. This was for me, as it was for so many a very intense week in my life. May my experience bring you peace, insight, and love. I love you all, w- Poems follow ====== William, it's time to Wake Up William, they call my name Arriving one by one the beautiful Sound of tinkling bells fills my room An exquisite delicate ringing That only Angels make It is the Ninth month, the eleventh morning Nine – One – One, Wake up...

Fearless butterfly Gentleness consumes dragon Salmon swims upstream

Dab in the Middle Not a clue, I do not know. Do I pen a letter to Miss Manners, or inquire of dear Aunt Flow? With which spoon do I eat sorbet. and why is that of great import? From outside in I pick my fork. So many rules I must obey. One state, two state, red state, blue state one vote, two vote, red vote, blue vote Demo girls and Repo boys, why does  their nonsense rule our fate. Knowing what’s right and proper get’s harder every day. The microwave just beeped, as the newsman tell’s a whopper. My neighbor pilots a Prius, my cousin’s in her Hummer and a bicycle is just peachy for me. From big oil, please just someone free us? I don’t mean to create a flap, but speak my mind I will. But the hour is so very late. Time for  this curmudgeon's cookie, milk and nap.

(greed kills) When Reagan decided to feed the poor, what he meant was,  let’s feed the poor to the rich.  (greed kills) His Piss-on-the-Poor theory,  otherwise known as Tinkle-Down economics,  is just a fancy name for greed.  (greed kills) When those who have way to much, cry out keening, wailing, desperate for more; people die. (greed kills)

Still mind helps us to discover ourselves         What if we find only beauty inside? Allowing compassion to lead the way         Yields answers to questions not thought of yet Tossing a stone into the deep blue lake         Radical notions with each breath we take Change does not approach, nor does it vanish         In this moment, with each breath, I am change

Hiding the beauty, hatred divides us         Creating beauty, leads us out of fear To be gentle is to be powerful         Aggression is not the pathway to peace They tell us the dogs of war must be fed         This breed and their masters feed on our fear

We have chosen that hatred is okay,         because we are not happy with ourselves

William York Letters From the Earth Final Essay: Freedom 15 MArch, 2011 A Walk Between Worlds A great blue heron stands silently near the edge of a small lake. Partially concealed by a stand of pampas grass, she waits. It is not quite dawn, and the forest makes no sound. The sounds of last nights crickets and frogs have disappeared into the mist that hugs the shore of the lake. Gone too, is the screeching of owls, the night hunters, who glide silently overhead, patiently searching for that one mouse or vole that has been unwary, and is caught off guard.  Throughout the forest there is tension. Tension that comes from the coming change. Everything feels it. The time of the great sleep, the period profound and restorative rest, that great slumber called Winter, is nearly at an end. The silence, the crisp cold, the small patches of remaining snow, are but delicate appetizers, to the prelude, of the bountiful menu that is Spring. Change is indeed coming.  It is nearly the full moo...

Time to sit. Out the window Portland grows from partly sunny to mostly cloudy. Music that I like, but don't recognize plays through the coffee house speakers. Surrounded by other writers. Life is good. The hot chocolate, however, is a bit weak. Pine trees are pushed sideways and the flag pole quivers and bounces back and forth. The sky is shifting to ever darker shades of  gray. Today's sunny morning has turned into a more cold gray afternoon. Two women drink their coffee from large brown French-style cups that rattle nervously in their saucers, as the last few days events, and gossip are bantered about. The women are friends, but they sit far apart. Even a friendly touch between the two seems unpracticed and awkward. Animated and smiling, rich with gestures, she regales her friend; who looks downwards and scratches her head nervously. An odd conversational style, have these two. One leans in, to make point and the other leans away. Can a conversation be animated, yet st...

Collateral damage in the wake of a landslide Back wheels stick, bind, while front wheels stutter & twitch. Gnarled, arthritic hands tell a story punctuated by cracked nails and fresh bruises; she pushes her world in her own Safeway. Sweat from her matted hair slices its way down coarse & painful wrinkles. On my mega yacht, sipping the perfect Martini, stirred, never shaken. Bright sunlight refracts a single drop of water, slowly repelling down the crystal stem. Trickle down Reaganomics

Last Summer Sitting together on the banks of the Truckee My best friend Shelly, ageless wisdom beaming from her fifteen year-old eyes,  “You really can, you know, tell by the sound of it, that is, whether a stream is  happy or sad.” Sitting in silence together, on that warm summer day, waiting, watching  the sunset over Donner Lake.  Thirty-seven years ago. Shelly’s words, spoken in one of those timeless, powerfully subtle, almost deniably so, life altering moments, awakened me. I answered the ringing phone, and listened. A compelling conversation between me and the natural world. The writer, photographer; as witness, was born that day.  The deeper the passion  the more resounding the  crack  when hidden chasms  finally open.  That ominous,  hideous, marvelous rumbling crescendo  as the high mountain dam bursts.  Words and ideas  as free as the once trapped waters, gushing, swirling,  violently crash onto the p...

You Know Me, Right? Two pithy statements come to mind at this point in time.  The first one goes something like this “if you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention,” and the second, “if you didn’t learn anything today, you’re not paying attention.”  So in my head, when these two modern-day Koans mash together, I am left with the result that says, “if I’m paying attention, and I am, I have learned something, and what I learned is that I’m outraged about a great many things.”  Looking under the surface a little more deeply, at the subtext of my life and my own inner world, I find I am less than satisfied. My ideals haunt me. Listening to the news broadcasts, and talking with my friends, some of whom I’ve known for the better part of several decades, and I can’t help but think that those of us who helped create and participate in that original Earth Day celebration, and other important milestones of my generation, have missed the mark. The powerful idealism that shap...

The deeper the passion, the more resounding, the crack, when the hidden chasam finally opens. That ominous, hideous, marvelous rumbling crescendo as the high mountain dam, bursts. Words, as free as the once trapped waters, gushing, swirling, violently crash onto the paper.