All, Ancient Wisdom, Poetry, Timeless Truths


They told me home is where the heart is,
So I roamed the world homeless and broken-hearted

One person,
You can let one person destroy you

But that’s not all there is to life -

For tonight I found myself under a rain splatted roof,
Unsure and at ill-ease

And no sooner had this feeling befallen me,
Than I had a vision:
Our Ancestors, under a night-sky – Wild, Scared, Free

And this gave me a memory,
A knowing deep in my bones -
A feeling that the world Itself was to be my home

And the ancients spoke, speaking:
“If you do not make yourself home in the world now, you will never.”

So tonight
I am alone -
But I am home

For ‘tho it may be just me -
I know right here,
This is as home as I’ll ever be

So, if you’re reading this now, know,
You are Home,
You are Free

All, Poetry

Part Dos

How could you not have anxiety in this society -

Two million advertisements telling you to buy this and you’ll be okay -
Buy this and you’ll be liked too

But no, Dear Boy,
You’ve been lied to

The horses do not whirr in the wind,
The city breeze catches no daisies,
And the old men do not smile and laugh at the cafe

The whole world has changed

And me -
Yes, what of you?
I was in love once too -
Okay, twice

But it’s been a long time,
It’s been a long time since somebody loved you -

I had a place in the world once though -
I had a home

I was young and perfect,
And she loved me -

Boy did she love me.

Part Dos

So where is she now
– Where is she now.

All, humanity, Poetry, Writing

Dear Boy

You’ve been searching for signs,
Looking to the colors in her eyes to see if you can find the missing pieces of your life

Because you know -

There is a song in your heart that no one else knows
And there’s a place in your soul where you rarely ever go
There is a sense of longing here;

A yearning for love
For the sweetest lust,
The great adventure;
The One True Romance

This is the sound of silence,
This is the unrelenting beckoning towards the unknown
Dear Boy,
This is the calling of a life that’s truer and closer to all you know

This is what the Siren’s call sounds like

She says:

Dear boy -
There is a rich inner world that you’re not living -
And there’s so much more to love than what you’ve been given
So don’t lie to me and say you’re not dreaming of a connection deep enough to cross this valley

The Siren’s call tells you that the inseparable distance between your dreams and her desires is closer than it seems

And this is space where you lie
And in public moments you tell yourself she is the one
Or perhaps you tell yourself She WAS the bridge and it’s been burned now
And in private moments you know

Because the Siren’s call promises so much

But Dear Brother,
She lives in you
Just as you will live in her forever
She is every woman
She is the beauty of your soul

Even the dark parts and the scars


Author note:

This was a difficult poem to write. It was difficult because it felt too close to the bone. And it sat in the cloud for two days unpublished. But tonight I found myself in an interesting introspection; I found myself thinking about artistic integrity, which quite frankly made me picture the visage of Taylor Swift or someone else equally ironic in the same conundrum. An artist in the most ironic quandary an artist can be in – and It goes something like this: “well, I want to express my art but I don’t know how much I can expose myself / but I’m also obligated to give this saying of truth.

This is all somewhat of a moot point now obviously, since I did publish it, but nonetheless insecurity was a large afterthought; however, I’m reminded of Joseph Cambell’s words that “the treasure we seek lies in the cave we fear to enter”, and this certainly would define the last year of my life. There’s been a theme of facing darkness. And that’s okay.

That’s okay.

All, humanity, MyFavoritez, Poetry

A Pum Pum

Barum pa-pum

Soft and nervous,
The heart scurries beneath the confines of your chest
Fearfully fleeing like a field mouse,
The pulse is at a Gazelle’s pace
And the mind gives it’s chase,
Pushing thoughts and words automatic

Rolling the wagon on down the hillside,
Fear pushing on down
Down towards to the unknown
Far, far from home

Faint and frightening
Beating off-beat with the eerie jeer of enemy canon fire off the family coast,
A-pum pum-pum

You try and sigh but the enemy is at the gate
So you breathe breathe breathe
But you’re seething fear -
Lungs tight as calf-skin drum

We all feel -

We all feel it
And that’s okay
It’s okay,
We all feel a pum pum
It’s just a pum pum
It’s okay,
It’s only a pum pum

It’s only a pum pum
…sleep now
It’s okay
It’s okay
It’s okay…
Sleep now

All, MyFavoritez, Personal Mythology, Poetry, Prose


This dock
It’s run through my life like a river

Spent every day in the summer of ’94 on it’s end
Treble hook in hand,
Hands trembling,
Squeezing bits of white bread together – bait for my bait,
Catching Smelt by hand,
Should have smelled my hands
Pulling Mussels off the pilings
Orange and black and slimy
(Took me 10 years before I could eat one in Gumbo or Paella)
I was 10 years old
Didn’t do much but feed the local baitfish back then; although I once caught a Halibut on a borrowed sardine from the bait well of a cabin cruiser
I yelled “Hook Up!”
And the old man from Jaws himself hopped to from boat to dock and helped me land it -
Eighteen-and-a-half inches,
Three point five short of legal
It was still the best day of my life
I ran home and told my parents
We barbecued hamburgers in celebration

Two years later I would be back on this dock,
Taking out a fourteen foot Capri sloop for a quick loop while the watersports boss looked on,
I told him I could sail -
In truth I had learned most from books – I had read every single book on sailing in my school’s library that year – even Kon-Tiki -
Luckily a neighbor’s 16.5 Hobie Cat had filled in where books couldn’t,
I knew how to tack,
And a tiller felt much more natural in my hands than a fishing pole ever had
I spent the next two summers teaching sailing,
In my salt water dyed khaki shorts and an aqua marine polo shirt, I loved every day at work

This would also be the stage for my first romances
My breath stops just thinking about those German eyes,
As pretty as a model ever was
Or the healthy boobs and thighs of a girl for whom I had returned after work in my swim trunks to sneak in the resort’s jacuzzi with,
I wonder if she remembers the boat rental boy
Kissing her in the hot tub was better than Disneyland -
I was 14 and there wasn’t a better place in the world for a boy to come of age

Four years later I was on my first leave -
The sailor boy had joined the Navy -
My crazy best friend of course had some girls who wanted to hang out -
I remember the moment I saw her
She was in the back seat and I stood at the window
It was probably instant
We walked from the valet through the lobby and to the dock
She had no chance -
I was the Navy Boy who had taught sailing
In ripped light-blue Diesel jeans and a white T
I was 18 years old
Sipping SoCo and singing Someday to her as we walked on the sand
I know the exact spot
“In many ways, we’ll miss the good ‘ol days – someday, someday”
– Prophetic words

For I did miss them four and a half years later when we broke up -
I used to come here alone at night,
G-d I missed everything so much
But we came back when we got back together two and a half years later
I took her to dinner at the hotel and we went out on the William D. Evans afterwards
I was 24 and back madly in love

And I’ve been here a time or three since
A booze cruise or two
And now I’m back here alone -
I’m 29
Writing this on my phone
Sitting on the walkway before the locked gates
Looking back on my fate
So thankful for this beautiful damn little boat dock

I don’t know what the future holds
But I know this dock will be here for me
Waiting for me to tie up to it
And I know it will all be okay
Because there’s still magic left in this dock
And there’s still magic left in these bones
So I’ll leave knowing I’ll be back to claim the dreams I planted as a boy
Dreams only this dock knows

All, MyFavoritez, Poetry, Prose, Real Life Inspiration, spirituality, Writing

Second Birth of The Soul

At a certain point every idealist comes to a crossroads, a place where he realizes he must choose between two burdens; he can either suffer the opinions of the masses, or he can suffer the world’s resistance to his own. He must now decide if his suffering – and his life – is going to be worth something. This is when he begins to delineate what he stands for, and in doing so – he finds that he has not only given his life meaning, but he has given himself his purpose.

For he now knows that to rise above the mire of the world, he needs only to give life to his passions – passions that until this day had lay in rumination, stirring beneath the ancient, unbroken soil of his soul. In this way, every heartbreak had opened him up, and every experience had given him the kindling he would now use to fuel his dreams. Dreams that no longer would rest in precarious wait, on the brink of an eternal sleep; dreams that would awaken to give light to the dark – showing all of the world it’s soul through his.

Lawrence Black, Nov 25, 2014

Volcano Keeper, Melita Safran

Volcano Keeper, Melita Safran

Post Publish Edit: Upon publishing this, I came to realize it was my 222nd entry.

Serendipity lives here my dear reader.

All, Ancient Wisdom, humanity, Meditating, meditation, MyFavoritez, Philosophy, spirituality, stoicism, Timeless Truths

Zoom Way Out

Imagine you are on a plane, reclining in your seat at cruising altitude – comfortably aware of the smooth, motionless flight. Now, imagine that below you, thirty-thousand feet beneath the fuselage where you reside, there is a single person going about their day. This single individual is the central character in their life – and like every life, theirs has it’s unique share of adversities and troubles and tribulations. And like every living individual, they are doing their best to face the challenges they must face; however, as is the case for all of us – their best isn’t enough to provide them with a secure and lasting sense of inner peace. So they, like all humans, live with a fearful heart; their inner disposition is subject to their circumstances, and like the seas – their inner world constantly stirs.

But from your vantage point on the plane, wrapped in the white noise of the jet’s engines, their problems are nil.

Yet to them, as to us all – our bills, our relationships, our hopes, our dreams, our fears – all of our expectations and dreams are the entirety of the universe. But they aren’t really, are they?

Yet still, we [humans] constantly find ourselves in a terrible way – anxious, worried, nervous, fearful, completely neurotic about our problems. Yet we are infinitesimally small.


We are even smaller than this.

This is one of the great paradoxes of life. Over 7 billion humans existing on one planet – each finding him or herself the center of the universe. And for the last fifty-thousand years our ancestors (Homo Sapiens) – an estimated 100 billion of them – have lived before us, sharing this same experience – hopes, dreams, fears, stress, worry; their lives were as real as our own. And today they are scattered like ancient leaves, their remnants either dust or fossils. And what was their worry worth? What good did their fears and their sadness bring? Their worries were a mental illness. As Marcus Aurelius wrote 2,500 years ago, “Socrates used to call the popular beliefs ‘bogies,’ things to frighten children with.”

Take a minute to get a true idea of our place in the universe. 

Tell me what you were worried about again?

As far back as the ancients, man was zooming out – mentally envisioning his place in the universe.

Observe the movement of the stars as if you were running their courses with them, and let your mind constantly dwell on the changes of the elements into each other. Such imaginings wash away the filth of life on the ground. Marcus Aurelius

Donald Robertson, of Philosophy of CBT writes on this, in the words of 16th century politician, writer, and philosopher Anthony Ashley-Cooper, The 3rd Earl of Shaftsbury:

View the heavens. See the vast design, the mighty revolutions that are performed. Think, in the midst of this ocean of being, what the earth and a little part of its surface is; and what a few animals are, which there have being. Embrace, as it were, with thy imagination all those spacious orbs, and place thyself in the midst of the Divine architecture. Consider other orders of beings, other schemes, other designs, other executions, other faces of things, other respects, other proportions and harmony. Be deep in this imagination and feeling, so as to enter into what is done, so as to admire that grace and majesty of things so great and noble, and so as to accompany with thy mind that order, and those concurrent interests of things glorious and immense. For here, surely, if anywhere, there is majesty, beauty and glory. Bring thyself as oft as thou canst into this sense and apprehension; not like the children, admiring only what belongs to their play; but considering and admiring what is chiefly beautiful, splendid and great in things. And now, in this disposition, and in this situation of mind, see if for a cut-finger, or what is all one, for the distemper and ails of a few animals, thou canst accuse the universe.

Shaftesbury, Philosophical Regimen, Deity, p. 19

Donald Robertson has also created this excellent guided meditation, designed to allow us to step into the same perspective the ancients enjoyed, viewing our life from above.

I publish this because this is the truth of our place in the universe. A universe that according to Carl Sagan, contains more stars than the total number of grains of sand on all of planet earth.

We are conscious beings on a planet; we are the echo of the big bang – we are the consciousness of the universe itself. We were not meant to live in a state of misery and fear. I submit this to you, my dear reader: we can transcend the petty – unfathomably small magnitude of our problems. We need only zoom out and see the forest beyond the trees, the stardust floating in the ether – a pale blue dot, on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

Carl Sagan: Pale Blue Dot

And if you don’t feel like zooming out – simply look at the size of the world.

Samsara Official Trailer

Do read this next: Nothing. Stardust. The Illusion of Thought and the Nature of Reality.