Sketch of Myself/Crack Open

Sketch of Myself/Crack Open

Crack Open the shutters…
Colors are on their WAY!

In Gratitude and Growing Love for two years of journeying with me through Sketch of Myself
Inspired by Walt Whitman poem “Song of Myself”


This Moment

This Moment

No words write themselves.
In a deep forest,
I stand…

Nestled in pines
embraced by ivy
covered by maple leaves.

Songs sung
in clicking branches…
the wind whispers through
and throughout.

I am held…
Looking up
a ceiling of blue
reveals I am NOT lost
in this forest.

In fact, I could not be more found
than I am in this moment.

A tiny feathered friend
breaks the silence…
a cacophony of notes.

This ‘piece’—written…
The words of her song

I do not know…

Words end here…

For now

Sketch of Myself/ Menorah

Sketch of Myself/ Menorah
Light the Menorah—
each branch
awaiting the festival Hanukkah

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

At a loss…

At a loss…

for words.

And, yet…they steep
from this pen

running over the cup
filling spaces all around
the saucer
the bubbling liquid
of fluid—
and vowels.

At a loss…
a bridge forms
allowing me to cross
the uncharted stream
of fluidity.

Rising inside of me
a tide—
from where it comes
I do not know.
Nor, does it matter.

At this loss,
I am finding what
flows from within the
‘spring’ I AM

Without needing
any longer
direction, ideas, thoughts, guidelines
rules—from others.

I trust what pools
from the hid-den depths
of my being—
treasure chests of GAIN…
gold fashioned from
the fire
cooled by the waters
dripping over me.

The sea
I have become—
Vast, open, timeless—
fierce, calm, soothing,
tumultuous, unending.

At a loss,
I step ashore
gather my breath
and jump back in.

The splash—
a single drop.
I am alive in all the ripples
finding rest in every wake.

Sketch of Myself/Silent Wonder

Tis’ the Season

Whatever ‘phrase’ you choose to extend—may it carry the message of our Universal ‘ONENESS.’
“We” have all been gifted with dwelling on this Glorious planet~~~
You are a part of EVERY shining star…

Gazing with you in Silent Wonder…


Sketch of Myself/ Silent Wonder
One branch
then another—

Each tender shoot
curled into the other
discovering a silent longing—
a resting place.

Forming a circle
—no ending
—no beginning
the pines hang
on a brilliant star.

Many would come to gaze
upon the site
and were changed forever.

May the season
find you ‘gazing’—
leaving you in silent wonder.


Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”



There is an art
to knowledge.

A blank page
suddenly filled with
colors, shadows, images.

A scene is displayed—
it carries ‘truth.’

A story revealed…
a simple glimmer
until another ‘matte’
is set upon an easel.

This time new shades
scatter the naked canvas.

I trust ‘knowledge’
to be like THIS.

If ‘truth’ ever be a ‘fixed’
held in a frame,
I pray I know enough
about knowledge to toss
the image into the flames
where ashes will rise
carried away by the wind

AND invite me to
long enough
and embrace the invitation

THAT knowledge
invites the creative soul
to discover
its ever growing wonder

never to be chiseled
in stone.

Stones crumble.

The gift of knowledge
is the ever-increasing
to strengthen, to surpass
all we ever thought
we understood.

Sketch of Myself/ The Direction

Sketch of Myself
No matter the direction—
discover the wind,
unleash the sails,
and go ‘in’ the flow.

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

A Call to Act

A Call to Act

A call
loud, emphatic, running on,
and on, and on.

A lowly other
sits quietly
refraining from ACTING…
taking the moments
necessary to gaze ‘into’
a window within.

Who are you?

Only you can respond—
filling in the blank.

Your actions can be
pure when you do not
re-create what the obstacle
before you is—the one you scream
at, protest—even jab.

It is exactly what is in the window…
It’s your MIRROR

Let your actions
be a reflection only of love.

Sketch of Myself/ Angels

Sketch of Myself

“Angels are among us
even in ‘stones’ they cry out…

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”



I woke this morning
the moon shining through my blinds.
I pulled back the covers
and reached for you.

I stepped out
under a sea filled with stars—
the twilight
sang love songs to my soul.

You took my hand
as a path revealed itself.
The trees bowed their heads—
their leaves
made music
guided by the winds.

I reached a meadow
and I laid myself
down—the dawn
began to paint the sky.

A brush stroke
dipped in pink
then a subtle hue of orange…
I sat wrapped in 
a green blanket~~~
dew drops bathed my skin.

Then, the earth
revolved to meet
the sun—that marble of fire
igniting the ceiling of heaven.

I sat long enough
knowing I never was alone—
the forest creatures
knew this song.

Listening to silence.
I found the sweetest prayer.
No actions necessary—
this sacrament required 
only presence.

I am not certain
how it happened
but, dusk
rose clearing the stage.

The curtain closed
lifting speckles
of galaxies
far beyond reach.

Then a miracle…
a feather
softly landing
in an open 

You are not ‘out’ there—
you are in the palm of my hand.

You the breath
of my being.

You are a miracle
and, I am one, too.

A Blessed Thanksgiving to one & ALL…
A belated greeting to my friends to the North who have already celebrated THIS day…
AND…to many of you who do NOT have this Holiday on your calendar…
Truly…each and EVERY day is a day of Thanks-Giving!
My heart filled with ‘gratitude’ that you join with me on Mondays & Thursdays in a collective community seeking ONLY love in the world!

Sketch of Myself/Freshest Fruits

Sketch of Myself
The freshest fruits
squeezed ‘justly’
can provide enough succulence
for all to
and be filled..

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Shadow Sides

Shadow Sides
In the darkness
our shadow sides

As we gaze in
suddenly ‘we’ are 

because we dare to enter
the hid-den depths.

Sketch of Myself/ I can ONLY Imagine

Sketch of Myself
I Can ONLY ‘IMAGINE’ what lies ahead…

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Love Notes

Love Notes

I Love You
like I have loved ‘no’ other.

In ‘all’ others
I am learning—
This is how I came to love you.

It has been years—
traveling through the “seams”
of seasons

—fading colors
—bitter blizzards
     draped in frosted flakes
—bouquets of lily blossoms
—the morning sunrise…
    each one a new painting
    done by the hands of Monet’

I Love you
who I can no longer name.

Perhaps, I will write-on…
trying because my words are 
love notes to you.

I know you read them.
You know from whom they are—

I do not have to splash any
fragrance on the paper…
flowery perfume—

certainly, you would know it 
was not I—

my love notes are draped in 
raindrops, bathed in dew,
sprinkled with sands from
the sea…they glisten in

and, sometimes
words lift
from the paper

flying in formation.

Ink turns to
wings spanning
across the sky
an echo heard—

I love you
    I love you

carry on

At times I think I hear
you laughing.

I close the notebook.

We sit together hand in hand
—the tide rolls in

writing a note in the sand


Sketch of Myself/ Spread Yourself

Sketch of Myself
Vision the moment
and fly to where
you have never dreamed
of going…
Behold the wonder

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”



If today
this life of mine
ended with a period….
I trust in run-ons~

Yes, my life has been a 
continuous tale…
peaks and valleys
jagged edges and sandy beaches—

moments of penetrating light
and deep rivers of hid-den darkness.

I have LIVED in it all
and in death (I trust)
I will hold the lessons
from life’s seasons.

Eternal resurrections
flowing into vast
How? In what form?
I am clueless!

Yet, with outstretched 
wings, I will fly on
to new shores

plunging into
lasting tides
transforming with
the ebb and flow
of sacred mystery…

Ah, the sketches of THIS
one solitary Life~~~

The masterpiece
born anew.

Sketch of Myself/ The Stones Sing Out

Sketch of Myself
the very stones sing ‘out’
hear the beating of the drum
the whisper of the fife
AND __________!

Let your song play-on
…the very stones
long to hear you ‘rolling.’

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself

A Costume of Changing Colors…

A ‘costume’ of changing colors…

Sketch of Myself/Hanging

Sketch of Myself


A simple day—
A perfect day to dry—
and be ready for wear!

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”



What is it?

What knocks on the center of this breast plate?
On this door?

‘Let me in, let me in!’

Who is this visitor
who raps emphatically—
not with force,
but with a tap
as delicate as a 
feather released from a
bird in flight,
flowing , with a swagger,
to the earth

touching the ground.

Yes, the ground feels, hears,
senses its landing
as does my being

and tucks this soft feather
into itself as if
it were ALWAYS there…

known, yet unknown.

In this hour,
in this pregnant silence,

 a creaking doorway

Here you are…


Sketch of Myself/ Love Untethered

Sketch of Myself
There is a love,
so un-tethered,
that it holds
no bounds.

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

What I know by Heart

What I know by Heart

The soft cry of a babe—
no words
yet, there is a need.

The howl of the wind
yet, it bends the 
creating a ballad.

A hawk
soars in the sun’s light
because it can.

Two old lovers
sit side by side,
hand in hand
watching the sun sink
into the sea.

The final farewell—
when the last touch
lives in the heart.

Sketch of Myself/ Beneath the Stain-Glass

Sketch of Myself
Beneath the Stain-Glass

The soft glow
the stain-glass shade
cast images
where dreams
are made
and yes…even
come true.


Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

The Rain Fell…

The Rain Fell…


Not possible…
it was once my thought, too.

the pools of drops rose
from the earth.

The flowers
dipped taking in the 
ascent of dew.

one after another
climbed an invisible

I knew not their reach—
I simply beheld
their flight
—a grand balloon
—soaring drops
—vapor vessels
beholden to nothing

yet, appearing
as if puppets
dangled by a string

Up, Up, Up.

I stood a long while
drenched in disbelief.

I woke
dry as could be.

Was it a dream?

The rain falling upward?

I’ll never tell.



Sketch of Myself/NOTES…

Greetings Friends,

Back with “Sketch of Myself” each Monday.  Many NEW ‘images ‘ are creating themselves…
Hope you’ll enjoy  these sketches as much as I do ‘penning’ them to paper.

For the many NEW persons who have joined the viewing…
If you’re wondering about how “Sketch of Myself” came to be, please go to  Click on BLOG, then “Sketch of Myself.”  This unfolding(almost two years) can be read and understood from its beginning via the inspiration of Walt Whitman.  The series of sketches unravel from there—


Sketch of Myself

NOTES…waiting to be played

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Why Walk

Why Walk

Once upon a time
my feet touched the ground
running like a gazelle
upon a smooth sheet
of star-lit waters.

This is no fairy-tale—
a part of me ‘broke’…
The break in the pavement
nowhere near the
enormity of what
was dis-lodged
in my inability to step.

A new flow
‘sprung’ in me
—a new rhythm
My spirit unleashed.

I ran—
this time on paper.
I filled the pages with
images, persons
mystical, mythical~~~ALIVE.

I shared them
visually and through story-telling.

I regained my steps…
I discovered a new balance
or was it a lost balance

In all the unknown
I sat beside persons
preparing for beyond.

I had been doing this a life-time
it seems—
but, now those persons
were kin to me.

I was not the ‘professional’
coming in to assist the 
grappling, the acceptance, the ______________.

I walked, and walked
tumbling, looking into the eyes
of these persons
who now live
each day
in front of me, out of reach
yet, at moments, beside me
as I inhale their delicate

I walk
because their faces
are the maps
that guide my steps

and sometimes I 
go off alone
to see

YOUR face
of me.
“The eye through which I see God is
the same eye through which God
sees me; my eye and God’s eye are
one eye, one seeing, one knowing,
one love.”

~~~Meister Ekhart~~~


Sketch of Myself/ Jewel

Sketch of Myself

The Real “Jewel”
is not adorned around your neck.
The rarest gem is beating
and no ‘price tag’ could label
the value of YOU.



The seconds, minutes, hours
and in between

the breath…

The years pass-on—
yet, the ‘gasp’

The ‘un-marked’ time…

The unknown
place called Home.

Sketch of Myself/Table-Set

Sketch of Myself
Table-Set…Everyone Invited

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Winnowed Away…

Winnowed Away…

Held by

The absence
of what was 
finds space…
in this emptiness.

A treasure
found~ beyond rubies, sapphires & diamonds.

there a life-time

the rubble removed.

The debris
now scattered~~~
winnowed away.

What lies
in this NOW


No longer 
needing to be named




Sketch of Myself/ Let a book ‘pic’ you…

Sketch of Myself
Let a book ‘pic’ you…

Discover the shelf
holding the treasure
waiting for you…

What will the pages say to you?
Allow the story to come alive.
Take a role of ANY character
or become each subject.

Can you relate to the message?
Can you fill in unwritten lines
magically giving life to a story of
your own?

When you have reached the last page
and closed the cover,

rush back to the shelf
and begin again.

A book waits to ‘pic’ you.

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”



No matter
how I run
or pause

You are there

Always quiet,

Especially when
my mind adrift.

You sit beside the

Every vessel carrying
each ‘thought’
floats on by.

You do not 
pull any of my ‘wanderings’
to the water’s edge.

You patiently
curl yourself
like a kitten
cradled in a blanket…
I almost hear your purrrr.

You leave room—
an empty space…
I settle at your side.

You laugh
as I pull myself


A song is being

Perhaps, it is 
a first time
I hear it spilling

Notes after notes.

It is beautiful really…

and the Rest

I have discovered
so gently—

It has given me the 
JOY to play-on.


Sketch of Myself/ A Dab of Color

Sketch of Myself
A Dab of COLOR

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

The Buck

The Buck

The night young.
The moon wrapped 
in black drapery.
It would be hours
before the curtains pulled
wide ushering in the dawn.

A soft wind
nipped my frosted face.
Stepping, I listened to
the soft echoes of silence.

In my pocket two
small apples…
I would place them where my
forest friends would nibble
on their succulent juices.

Suddenly, the quiet hush was
 a loud ‘strike’ and then
cries…I heard the hoof beats
pounding the pavement.

I knew
I ran, limping—crying!

The car stopped.
A small man stepped out—
phone to his ear, he pleaded.
“Come quickly, the deer jumped in
front of my car…come quickly
it’s in pain.”

I knelt beside the creature—
he wanted to get up with such
urgency but the hip was
severely broken.

He let me touch his soft head,
its delicate ears,
his long nose…his new antlers
just breaking through.
I spoke as if he knew my
every word.

The ‘gentle’-man knelt beside me.
He placed his hand on the buck’s
brow and said, “I’m sorry.”
The moment shall NEVER leave me…
The buck held the man’s gaze—
it was the most tender sight I
ever beheld…
The creature, solemn & calm yet in
horrific pain seemed to embody…
“You are forgiven.”

An officer arrived…
We moved the buck
as tenderly as we could to the
frozen bed of green grass…
I knew what was coming.

I stayed holding a “hoof.”
The shot fired—
I felt it go through my ‘hide.’
He clung for life.
A second shot—
his breath stopped.

I wept.

I would walk
soaked in my own tears—
my heart ached.
I could hear the cries of the
young deer in the forest.

The next morning
the moon was full—
I walked to the tomb.

Before I arrived,
a solitary buck rustled from
the brush…
he walked with a slight limp—

No, no it couldn’t be!

Then again…
everything dies
and finds a way to RISE again.

Sketch of Myself/ Docked

Sketch of Myself


Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

The Face

The Face

In the eye
of the majestic hawk
intertwined in the branch’s steeple…

In the delicate pines
a herd of deer—
we hold each other’s stare

and I am beholden
to the face of God.

In the faces
of each life
the image of You
speaks to me
like a hushed breath.

I bow in prayer—
the ground beneath my feet casts your pupils
in the soil.


Sketch of Myself/ “Sit right back & you’ll hear a tale…”

Sketch of Myself

“Sit right back & you’ll hear a tale…”

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Wooden Box

Wooden Box

A wooden box
with a long slender neck
whispered from a hollow center,
“Will you play me?”

Looking left then right,
in front and then behind—
No one was there but me.
Did I HEAR the wooden box
whisper, “Come play me?”

There it was again…”play me!”
Gently, I grasped the neck
mindful of the six slippery
strings longing to be caressed.
“Play me.”

Sitting on  an old tree stump,
I plucked what seemed a sturdy
vine~ “TWANG.”

The vibrations wove around tree branches,
cascaded through hanging leaves.
The sky seemed to reach down
and the sun held what became
a stage.

A pick in hand—
then another “TWANG”
—fingers danced between frets.

Birds chimed in
while insects made music
with their wings.

When the performance ended,
I picked up the wooden box.
Rising from the stump and 
walking beneath the stars,
I believe I heard the stump speak…

“I live on~~~thanks for playing me.”

Sketch of Myself/ Prayer

Sketch of Myself/ Prayer
       Some day’s
        prayer is
         an expression
         leaving me

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Flower Baskets

Flower Baskets

Three potted plants
perched on a white rail.

Someone ‘placed’ them
—arranged them and cared for them.

One day…
when the three plants thought they
were alone

they began a blossoming

The blue basket of flowers
said to the green basket of flowers,

“I could gaze upon you forever.”

The reply was soft, no words
only a gentle wave of buds.

The green basket of flowers turned
to the white basket of green and said,

“Did you hear what the blue basket
of flowers said to me?”

The white basket of flowering greens
did not speak.

Again, the green basket of
flowers repeated its question.

The white basket,
clearing it voice said,

“I looked at you and saw your
beauty and I was envious
so I kept silent.
The blue basket…which truly
bore no flowers saw your
beauty and could not cease
from holding a gaze.

Deep inside the blue basket
there is a beauty

The green & white baskets of
flowers turned to the
blue basket of what was

and spoke in unison,

“We SEE you
and hope we grow
in your ways.”

Sketch of Myself/Behind this wall..

Sketch of Myself/ Behind this wall…
                                                 There are beautiful walls
                                                    draped with windows
                                               allowing the fresh air to roll
                                                       in and sway out

                                       There are ‘entrances’ built within these
                                   walls— sometimes the doors remain opened
                                             everyone enters is welcomed…
                                                  no one is turned away.


Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Your Name

Your Name

The piece of paper
turned…back & forth, up & down
could not hold
the immeasurable span
of feathered drapery.

At first,
hid-den by darkness
the ‘unseen’ broke the night.
The wings flapped in perfect balance.
A metronome
ticked in the silent
beat of creation.

The Universe seemed to stop breathing
or it was I
covering my mouth to conceal
the gasp of magnificence
as my eyes beheld
the night’s stalker.

I froze in time.
Matter and spirit on display
harmonizing a ‘piece’ that
for now was not finished.

A tiny bird woven into
a thicket—
The owl would not receive its prey,
NO, not this time.

For a moment we held
each other’s gaze.
It seemed an eternity
yet, it was only seconds.

Did the night hunter
think I, too, after the same morsel
as it flew into the ‘staged’ forest?

I heard a branch break
in the thick shrub.

for now
the tiny bird.

The pursuer
will return.

Hungry enough
it will be filled.

THEN, I thought of YOU
who no longer bears a name…

You, who calls me
from slumber
casts me in the night sky
and reveals to me what
day cannot portray.

You are the pursuer
and this night
I am carried in your
talons (unharmed).
I hear the chorus
in your outstretched arms.

I am lifted
wishing the stage I am in
could hold a moment longer.

The world plays-on
my breath—
inhale & exhale—
Yah-Weh, Yah-Weh, Yah-Weh.

Your name
without speaking a word

in my very breath.

Sketch of Myself/ Sitting by the Sea

Sketch of MyselfSitting by the Sea

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Sketch of Myself/ There is COLOR

Sketch of Myself
                                    There is COLOR even on cloudy days…”

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

A Dark Night of a Soul

A Dark Night of a Soul

The water cool
splashing at the ankles.

The helm held
for the time being.
It is that which the soul grasps.

There are no controls—
no way to steer the vessel.

Direction is irrelevant
all earthly North—lost.

Yet, from this point
the one aboard the living cocoon
sways with the ebb and flow.

In the darkness, one hears the wind.

The moment quickens
water soaking the soul…
hands grip ‘no-thing’
yet there is a sense of holding onto Life.

From THIS center, all life

The winds cease…
wobbling now to maintain balance.

Which easier
to stand as the wind wrestles,
tossing in the unseeing


stopped as if frozen
held in place?

The soul rocks simply to stay afloat.

A light streaks across the black
A roar heard in the not so distant

the sound~~~a hundred hoof beats
stampeding in every hidden corner.

Hurled from the cocoon,
the soul bursts
the remains of the vessel submerged.

The soul—in a shattering
moment…a taste of freedom
elicits a sense of fear and wonder.

Nothing to hold/no longer held
—a gulp of water swallowed unintentionally.

The soul is alive.

Life is holding the soul
and the being realizes it
never had to ‘grasp’…
never had the soul
had to hold on

to any-THING.

The deep sea churns—
the soul drifts
and takes moments to tread water.

A deep breath in
the soul plunges and from the
port of the ‘being’ an
exhale expands as the
surface broken.

The darkness reveals a newness—
SEEING so many others
NOW floating alongside—free.
The soul is not alone.

The stars appear from galaxies
far away~~~
they, too, alive in the dark.

Ahead—the soul makes
out a landscape~~~
shadows of mountains,
arms of swaying branches.

One hand curls over into
the water, the other hand
follows the rhythmic motion.

When the soul reaches the island,
the arrival only marks the
beginning of the journey

the dark night of a soul
sails on and beyond.


The Ground

The Ground

The ground took me—
holding me by surprise.

I crawled upon the soft
mattress of its wet grasses.

My nails dug deep into its
cold dark soils—
muddy, unclean.
I felt alive.

Sparrows twirled
around my head
whispering love chirps.
Bees soaked the pollen
from the dandelions’ dander which
caked to my knees.

Passion rose inside me.
I rolled down a hill
holding onto every slivered blade of grass
laughing so loudly the
trees began clapping their branches.

Enveloped in the earth’s
crust,I was the golden nugget
I was the diamond needing not
to be cut.
Already, I was the ring
at one with the gem.

Darkness came.
I had no idea how or
when dusk slipped by.

Crawling all day,
I allowed myself to bed down.

Closing my eyes, I dreamed the stars
had rained down covering
me with a blanket of galaxies.

When I woke,
I rubbed the crusted
sparkles from my lashes.

Believing my dreams,
I lifted the LIGHT
drawing back the

A smile painted my
face…I knew
from whence
I came.

Sketch of Myself/Can you spare…

Sketch of Myself
      “Can you spare a cracker or two”

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Aloha…A Hawaiian Journal/ The Final Day IN this Guest House

Aloha…A Hawaiian Journal/ The Final Day IN this Guest House
September 18th, 2018

Beneath the shallow
the hearts of men

On the surface,
black tears
stain the rippling

A faint heart beat
can be heard
in the deep

It is not a mystery—
it is the ache of

—War that ends life
—War that destroys
creation’s splendors
—We ‘all’ die
when weaponry is
hurled in a manic way
attempting to destroy life.

The graves
tho not dug—
reminders of a history
never to be erased


a history
we must prepare
NEVER to happen again.
We must
allow a seed inside                                               
ourselves to
die and lie
dormant long enough

to blossom.

When we ourselves
allow this transformation
a relational dance
Most often unnoticed.

Dance now upon the waves…
hold these men of war.

They never saw what was
and even if they did
there was nowhere to run
or hide.

We remember—
how we ‘ALL’ lose in battle…
Both sides.

Open our eyes—
at least wide enough
to recognize
we are the same side
of a circular coin…

one day you may be ‘heads-up’
the next ‘tails-down.’

No matter how many
times you flip the coin
it still is…

One solitary coin.

Treasures lie
in the lives taken needlessly.

the ‘Pearls’ below speak…

“NEVER let this happen again.”
Dedicated to those who lost their lives in Pearl Harbor and to the living, especially our children, who will ALWAYS remember.

Sketch of Myself/ LISTEN

Sketch of Myself/ Listen
       “Let the ‘strings’ write the words.”

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Aloha…A Hawaiian Journal/ Day 12

Aloha…A Hawaiian Journal/ Day 12
September 15th, 2018

Class began…

It started before I arrived.

I did not have to go to
admissions to see if there was
room available…

this class was full—
but the depths were limitless.

I melted beneath
the surface
I tried not to make waves
I attempted to discover the flow.

For the longest time
I hovered.
I heard my breath
the snorkel attached to my mask
allowed me to fill my lungs
and release my breath
through an artificial port—

I heard the vibrations
of what came out of me
and especially what filled me.

Rays of sunlight
warmed the living coral bed—
Yellow fish
Black fish
Fish of numerous colors
swam by in perpetual motion.

Each fish ‘sailing’ its uncharted
path and moved as the current
carried them to and fro.

So simple—
fitting in this classroom.

The whistle blew
the class I attended—over.

I have discovered a new art
called, “Diving In.”

It is not frightening once
you trust
and believe in your own flow.

Cast yourself—
don’t allow a hook to keep you