Living for experience is living for yourself. Living experience is living for others.

Experience was a way of communicating between things that are separate, but having an experience becomes less important as we realize the intrinsic togetherness of all things. The realization of interconnectedness is living fulfillment, not experiencing fulfillment.

Rodney Smith, Awakening pg. 193

The Northern Flicker calls for his mate (but I selfishly assume it has something to do with me) from the lamp post. He calls and waits patiently before taking off, flashing a brilliant turmeric underwing across the street to the tip of a cedar and continues his search. The flicker is curious because it’s a woodpecker, but unlike most woodpeckers it is tan with black speckles on its breast. He has a white tuft that when he takes for flight, or hops around foraging, he looks like a bunny skittering for the bushes. His calls are finally returned, it seems, in the cedar across the way. And so his journey has found its completion, I have no clue from how far he came, how many trees he hopped from, how many lamp posts he drummed, to get to this stage of his journey, but it seems that he will begin nesting. No longer will he only forage for himself, only burrow for one, only to protect himself.

The flicker is declining throughout the US perhaps they have taken my attention, put me under a spell, so that I might do something to help their survival, at least in this part of the neighborhood. Or perhaps coming across these magnificent animals is a sign that things are changing, a shift is coming and all I have to do is accept it. Holding on to old concepts of self for so long that giving them up and shifting consciousness is messy business. The flicker drumming the arrival of change, the chorus frog singing his song of rebirth and renewal. All I have to do is listen.

I’ve been coming across this idea a lot lately…

The hero’s journey ends with the giving up of oneself for the sake of another, the letting go of the ego, and the giving up of one’s self, for the sake of another person. Is there a more difficult and beautiful thing to accomplish?

Joseph Campbell Episode 1 “The Hero’s Adventure” (The Power of Myth series on Netflix)

In This Round

To be read in the voice of Escanor

Stuck in this round, I shall nail this final nail in my father’s coffin, and bury him. Then I will finish what he could not.

For those curious Escanor (with a different link) is a character in the anime 7 deadly sins. My son has been watching this and so I have invariably heard and seen some of this show. I asked my son to tell me an anime character who has the deepest voice and he gave me Escanor.

As I believe in myth, I found it interesting to know that this character is symbolic of the nature of this short myth. The lion (which also is my astrological sign) is his sign as he is prideful, he was disowned by his parents and (like me) he wages a war within himself for power via (self) control. As I believe in myth, I also believe in the power of the symbolic and the coincidence that these symbols pop up in our life are no such coincidence at all, rather a journey.

Stories for Strangers

I watch myself  make up stories about complete strangers and willingly accept the stories as true. I wonder what stories I tell to myself about myself, and does that make me a stranger to myself?

Driving to work
on the first spring of my life.


These lines
In the sand
Drawing these lines
In my head

We’ll always follow script
Living inside
Up on the stage
We love it this way
American Made

And all the CEO’s sing:
Feed the wolf 
Feed the wolf
in you

Creating battlefields
We see what we want
Always up on the stage
American Made
I love it this way

And all the Evangelists sing:
Kill the wolf
Kill the wolf in you

Drawing these lines 
These lines
Drawing these lines
These lines

I’ll take what I get
Take what I get 
from you

All these lines
Alone yet secure
There’s me, up on the stage
There’s you, American Made
We love it this way

And all the Politicians sing:
The wolf’s out to get
The wolf’s out to
get you

These lines fill my head
Might as well be dead

Whose script
are we following anyway


During my lunch hour I did some walking meditation and happened upon a park. Licton Springs used to be a little bit bigger, and noisier, before the construction of the I-5 corridor. Apparently home to a natural spring, which seems to be the source of the small creek that cuts through the small park. But when one gets to the source of this natural spring they find a small sign commemorating its contribution to the community, as well as a concrete bowl for the spring to swell up in and flow from, nearly overtaken by blackberries and alder branches, and of course trash and other signs of outdoor living.

Under the cedar
Hidden path bends
Homeless encampment

Tomatoes (A Poem)

In honor of my home state of Washington legalizing human composting I dug up (hahaha) an old poem where I consider the alternative to burial or cremation, although I didn’t know it was a thing at the time I certainly was intrigued by the idea and the beauty it holds in it.


or https://crosscut.com/2019/05/dust-dirt-human-composting-coming-wa

If an heirloom tomato were

a body part,

might it be a kidney.

Quartered and sliced

aspirating a fine mist

seeds and juice spill

and soak into the cutting board.

A cherry tomato would be an eyeball,

of course.

The only difference between

the old me, listening to Led Zeppelin III

and me listening now,

is that I now have the wisdom to not

try to hit the high notes.


An over-ripened Roma

might be a thyroid gland,

or boiled and peeled it

becomes a swollen lymph node.

Slices become columns,

now juice and seeds are puddling,

columns into squares.

Of course the Beefsteak would be

the typical enlarged American heart.

Maybe when I die I could be composted

by the state, then They could sell me to

gardeners across the region.

My final act of charity.