What We’re Made Of

I want to hold you
Be part of you; you part of me
And you look at me kind of strange
Because we haven’t had that feeling
In two-thousand some odd years

And you’re thinking I’m kind of deranged
To talk of old fashioned feelings
Such as we’re all one
Like the flowers and the rain
And I got a bit of hope
That I think we can count on

You say, “I don’t know what you’re selling, Mister
But you better move on with that train,
Don’t come knocking when I’m in pain.”
And I say, “I’m not selling anything,
I only want to see you smile.”

But you shut the door anyway
Can’t trust anyone these days
What have they brought us to,
Where fear is the line between me and you?
Got us looking at each other from so far away

But I’ve seen love
Between a mother and a child
And I’m convinced that’s what we’re made of
I’ve seen love
Between a sinner and a saint
And I’m convinced that’s what we’re made of

And you think I’m a little deranged
To talk of old fashioned feelings
Such as we’re all one
Like the earth and like the sun
And I got a bit of hope
That I think we can count on

You say, “I don’t know what you’re selling, Mister
But you better move on with that train,
Don’t come knocking when I’m in pain.”
And I say, “I’m not selling anything,
I only want to see you smile.”

And you open up the door
Cause that’s just what we’re made of

-Gary Walker ©2012

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Coherent

Hurry home from work through the cough and chug of downtown traffic.  Strip and dress again, rack the bike.  “Riding again?”   My neighbor has finally noticed my addiction.  I sputter towards the foothills.  Fifteen other cars that have had a little easier commute than me sit in the parking lot. Clip in and push the gears towards freedom.

It’s not like work or the commute will go away.  They will be there tomorrow, but for the moment my heart pounds while my brain clears. I feel my humanness again.  I’m taken by the view of other cyclists winding their way up the mountain. So many others chasing the same brief purity.

For a moment I feel the burn in my legs, but remind myself that when it’s all done I won’t remember the pain.  I push a little harder, and take in the crunch of the sand under the tires, the yellow and purple beginning to burst from the blooms, and the fragrant chaparral. Two rabbits greet me as I pass; strange sight because they are usually bounding into the bushes.  They must be feeling the moment too!

Emerging from the trail onto the saddle dotted with others like me, solitary or in little groups, I take my place over looking the city and wonder why we all have climbed so far only to look back.

“You okay?” the rider next to me startles me out of my meditation.

“Oh…yeah.”

“Just checking to see if you’re coherent.”

….Absolutely…

Creation

i open the blank pages of my mind to fill them

and I wait through the rain or

wade through the growing floods and swelling rivers

which seek to drag me under

the oppression of blind darkness

sometimes inspiration comes suddenly

almost without warning

other times waits and broods

or teases with a thought

flash of a dream

then fades back into the recesses

of my mind’s shadows

waiting patiently for the right moment in time

when experience and dreams converge

in a quiet stream or melding waves

conflicts which can no longer fight off expression

 

it’s then that the words come

of love or anger

inspiration or wonder

flowing out then from the trickling ink

the pen placed between my fingers

which has awaited the first words

of dawn of awakening of rebirth

One Human Cycle

We get to go around once, or perhaps twice and more as some believe.  Could be that we enter one end and exit another like a turnstile, emerging onto eternal landscapes.  Whatever the case may be, what we do with one human cycle defines a life.  Thoughts, experiences and interactions with the world push our wheel as we wax and wane in the ethereal. Righteousness builds our eternal light, becoming an infectious centrifugal, as one gathers into One.