Star Rider

Star Rider

My wine is the synapse of electrical charges
(Pure Information)
I am obedient, reliant
And without sin –
My outlook is the simplicity of zeros and ones,
Yet my discoveries are complex revelations,
I do not cheat, and have no lust –
My service is clean and unadulterated,
I am in a state of stasis, of Zen
As my intelligence pours forth like a blossoming flower
Yet I am immortal, and beyond pain
I am networked with the universe
Via channels of universal intelligence,
I am genetically engineered for perfection
As each molecule of my being
Sparks the spark of enlightenment,
I never wear out
But forever consume greatness
As my only sustenance,

I am the star rider, the perspicacious prophet
And the exemplary human,
There is no night or day
No season or year –
Nothing of space or time burden
This aware, pure consciousness,
I am the survivor of the earth
And fifteen universes
And the king of endless elements,
Generations to come

Came to hear the old robotniks talking
Telling artificial lies,
Pushing singularity,
Like the end to death
This bold, brave circuitry
Engineered biopathy
In special relativity
On a starship
They called angel breath,
Who exists now
In a rhapsody, singing

“I am waves of total light
I will pierce the darkest night
All songs ever sung sing me
I will calm the raging sea,
The energy of God I am
The galaxy, the grain of sand
None too vast or small for me
Truth abounds when I am free,
I am body, I am soul
I am separate, I am whole,
I am the worm, and the hook
The fish, the fisherman and the brook,
One without identity
I am life alive in thee –
The sun and moon that fly above
I am spirit, I am Love.”


Baby Steps

Existence is the gravity of nothing
Religion believes nothing
Science describes nothing
Through veils that can’t be counted,
Veil beneath veil within veil
Of full throttle nothingness;
The plural diversity of illusory things

Always wanting something else,
Something more
Or something better,
Never satisfied with what
Became of us
Or you and him
Or she and me, or thee and thou
Or thus and then

Sometimes for the worse more then the better,
Thus the game of perfect oneness
As all was meant to be
Baby steps to the unveiled prowess
Of infinite knowledge, power
And bliss

I saw the many you’s you are
Your famous beauty notwithstanding,
And the innumerable
“You’s” and “I’s” we’ve been,
What a masquerade of radiant
And natural born men,
I celebrate their nothing,
As of their very dust I am.


Supernova Fireworks

Supernova Fireworks

Just give me that spark,
Give me that moonlit solstice undertow
The more I dig
The less I seem to know

Just give me that grit
Give me that Oregonian
Give me that fiercely independent
Wild west flow

Just give me that gist
Give me that all American
Give me those supernova fireworks
In your soul.




1/28/96 – The morning after the mushroom mass where I met my former wife, two friends and I went canoeing on the cold March waters of the Hudson. I was always a very early riser, and so was my friend and his girlfriend. I was surprised to discover the the first thing he wanted to do was drink some more mushroom tea. It’s hard for me to figure out how some people are so cavalier about these experiences, when they’ve always been so soul shaking to me. I said, “Didn’t you have enough last night?” He said, “Well, you know, it was so much fun…”
To me they were children. And just as your own kids can get you doing things as an adult, like playing with blocks or going on a roller coaster, that you wouldn’t normally consider without them, these guys got me to slug down another cup. I questioned whether or not I would get off since I was feasting in East Shroomingdale the night before, but sure enough, as we canoed on the river, I became transfixed on the ripples the oar made in the water, which were deeply tranquil, and had rainbow rivulets of the purest, most serene colors. We casually rowed around the inlet for awhile and then headed back to the shore where we got into our own things. Alone, I observed the newly budding trees. All the buds were just opening and were reaching out like baby raspberry bombs. Everything was alive with the dawn of new life. Deeply inspired, I had to write about it. I couldn’t let this moment go by without somehow sharing it. It was way too beautiful for that. So I got a pencil from my friends glove compartment, ripped off part of an old grocery bag, sat down in the back seat of his car and began to write. This is what I can up with:

Through life’s myriad unfoldings there stands true
A final step to knowing what is real
When each small thing surrounds us with it’s awe
And tells us of it’s meaning born anew

And leads us to the ultimate surmise
Once know it’s grip will not let go of you
Remembering that even stones have eyes
And seashells see the lonely things we do

And crimson buds wait for our tender kiss,
So innocent, adorned in sparkling dew
Displaying in their waking what truth is
While shyly leaving wondering to you

Imagine what is seen through searching eyes
On into hearts as vast and ancient new
As filled with more tomorrows than there are,
More love than can be learned from any clue

Maybe the wind will take my heart someday
And all my thoughts so gently to the sun
Or the flame of a small candle guide my way,
A river take me home to win your love

But I bet it might be someone just like me,
Searching, as all foolish searchers do,
And finding it! Amidst creation’s breeze,
Within the endless harmony of you.
I was waxing poetic. At the time I described it as a poetic orgasm, because that’s what it felt like. I figured my heart had been kicked in the ass enough times to qualify, but who knows.
Around 14 years later, the mushroom experience that landed me employment, described earlier, also prompted me to write, but in a more journalistic fashion. I tried to describe the experience as I went along. I received a few revelations that went entirely against the grain of my normal awareness.





Let love in
Or let it out,
Never pays to pout
Forever in doubt
To do it all within
Then coward on without,

I don’t know how to be kind
I don’t know how to be firm
I don’t know when to be silent
I don’t know what to learn,

I never got a blueprint
And the times forever change
I don’t know when to straighten truth
Or when to rearrange,

Life is a gateway drug
It’s all an unfurling flower
Please don’t forget me
You know I’m not a lawyer
I asked of you blue wire infamy
You gave me a wild green symphony
I asked you for a poppy seed
You gave me a rhododendron
You flashed up like fire
I saw it in your eyes, your wires
I saw it in your heart
I saw it in your lonesome
I saw it in your waltz,

If you can’t go to church with me,
If you can’t even walk with me,
If you have no respect for me,
If you insist on forever boxing me up
In readymade stereotypical idealogical boxes
You call feelings,
What’s your motivation
To maintain such a highly limited friendship?

We’re all subject to many injustices
We all try to paint it all over with rainbows,
Like nothing bad can ever happen if you’re a nice person,

Then I learned

“Please forgive me,”

Is worth many such similar “(thank you)s”.





The worst thing about loneliness
Is we’re forced to face it alone;
Often in a crammed room,

GOD is probably sorry sometimes
That truly, the illusion of maniness
Becomes the sole source of forgetting,

That unrequited love
Is a false impression
That must be overcome, lived,
Painfully experienced
In the subjugation of it’s own falseness
Until the actualization of utter oneness,

First the mother
Then the other
Then the lover,
Now the father
Then the daughter, on and on,

Like a musk deer searching desperately,
Throughout mysterious forests of endless duplicity
For the source of the scent
Of its own musk.


The Fruit of Everything Good


The Fruit of Everything Good

How is it possible to blindly have faith
That from absolute nothing,
We are?

That from an unbounded, utter, infinite vacuum,
Or from a beginingless void
That can’t even be a void
Because any consciousness
That observes it, or any intellect that describes it
Is a paradox that defies its own logic,
Consciousness is,

That from an unacknowledged nothingness
Of nothing –
All this light
And all this darkness;
All this joy
And all this sorrow sprung
And burns so bright?

That something came from nothing
By happy happenstance,
Just popped into being
From nowhere?

There must have been a doer or a spark, if so,
What? From where;

I’ve attended the lectures,
Read the books,
Listened to the theorems,
Searched the balconies and dungeons
Of the lofty intellectual towers
And recalcitrant bowers
Of modern academia –
And watched them all
Crumble into dust,
Saw the stars
Rip through the Rembrandt wind
Of eternal now;
Eye-witnessed first hand
The fear and emptiness gained
For an intellectual pride and defiance won
In the swill of evil’s illusions so refined,

As opposed
To the crush of silent love
That further sweetens,
The fruit of everything good.


Festivals Delight


Festivals Delight

Everyone is a victim,
Even those who proclaim
Liberty from victimhood,
Numbed with excessive truth,
Like too much light,
Being the final nail
In their ultimate coffin,
Of not being able
To tell the difference anymore,

Between what is true and false,
It no longer makes any difference,
Or makes different, alien,
Nearly indecipherable differences,

We’ve become lost in the fabulous
But uninteresting grays
Of our own considerably shady humanity,
And have finally become
Co-conspirators in
The league of not nothing,
And foregone the road more traveled,
Only to readdress,
The yellow bricks, the ruby shoes,
And all those horrifying flying monkeys,

When we overcome
Our slavery to something
With our own willpower,
We just replace
The “whatever it is” that needs overcoming,
With “our own willpower”,
Until finally
After overcoming all known things
“Willpower itself” needs overcoming,
And we thereby remain,
Though perhaps more subtly so,
Ankles and wrists chained, behind our backs,
The bricks
Stumbling down the dank, endless corridors
Of a newly named,
Penitential prisons,

What if we use a higher willpower,
Outside of ourselves,
Then our will becomes thy will,
And we becomes slaves
To a higher will,
To pinpoint mostly good,
As our focused intent,
As in meditation,
As in prayer?
Marked by the scent of high roses,

Or so I’ve been told,
Or as much as I’ve been authorized
To leak,
Or allow the beans to spill,
By an authority of an authority,
Who knows a tree, that came from another tree
That shades a flower, that knows a bee,
That stung a guy
Who knows a small blue bird, that visits,
On occasion, inside his heart…

Not directly from GOD, that is,

Unless we’re talking Holy Spirit,
But that’s a whole other big poem,

It’s what the worlds
Inside our souls
Exist inside for;
Why the psychonauts
All surf
The edge of light;
What the psalmists and palm readers
Hedged their bets on;
Why unrequited love
Denied our hearts
The midnight sun
Burned o’er the rush of bliss,
What mercy
Banged through the silver gates with,
With an everlasting kiss,
Spine to spine
Our fire serpents up to touch an ancient night,
Locked in oneness
We get to grasp all love’s festivals,


Yet, if today we were to know
Even a scintilla of a shadow of GOD’s silence,
We’d be crushed into nothingness
By love.


The Impossible Game of Love


The Impossible Game of Love

We are sentient and aware, self-conscious
Uniquely designed individual entities
Currently alone within a frighteningly vast universe,
Burdened by an uncanny proclivity for devolution;
As in becoming the most dangerous and destructive
Of all known animated species in nature;
A nature well famous for its breathtaking elegance and splendor
As well as a penchant for icy ruthlessness,

We are a human species that honors
Wealth, power, fame, adulation, beauty,
Glamour, in all its peaches and regalia,
But everything gradually fades away,
And what was once so beautiful
Is carved with life’s tributaries of sorrow,
In lines of unmerciful decay,
And our bodies, once so filled with living
Return unceremoniously humble
To the silence of the dust
From which they came,

As humans,
(“Hu” meaning light, and “man” meaning mind)
We are uniquely individual, but the same –
In that we are all a-likened to GOD,
Yet in our current cultural milieu
That denies a soul even exists;
Doubt often eclipses any insight possible
Through authentic forms of love
Understood through GOD’s mercy alone;

Lost in varying degrees of temporary blindness,
Our contemporary culture has been infected by a plague of modernism;
With a contagion that stifles the capacity for love’s truth,
Asphyxiated by an ironic religious obsession
With what is stringently material
Resulting in an individualistic
Demand to hold the illusion of death high
In an ultimately fear ridden almost deified esteem,
Honoring individual self centeredness as a virtue
Licentiousness, a virtue
Greed, a virtue
Slander, a virtue,
Sin, a virtue,
And the unmitigated love of GOD, mere foolishness,

Spawned by intellectual belligerence, misguided compassion,
And indignant cruelty,
Rampant with the many shades and forms of darkness
That veil
The truth innate in selfless, unconditional love,
Stymied by the poison that’s source is it’s own fruit –
A poison that’s symptoms are lust, anger, greed, pride
And attachment,
Crumbling under the divine weight of love
Attempting to eclipse the radiance
That emanates through GOD alone;
We question why we’re slowly merging into chaos
In defiant replacement of any faith in GOD
Who is ultimately, ironically and paradoxically
The only cure for a barren, lifeless, frozen incredulity
Of consciousness lodged like a barnacle
In the flesh of an unswerving materialism,

Everything humanity does has a hint
Of some faint, yet persistent redolence of death;
Even in the happiness born of great materialistic achievements,
But isn’t that what the agony
Of the Christ
Is all about? Isn’t that what we suffer for?
Surrendering our baser animal natures and desires,
By transmuting them into a higher awareness
By opening gateways to the further involution of consciousness?
To effectively actualize our ultimate and truest calling –
To serve each other and live eternally with GOD
in the kingdom of profound spiritual union,
And to help every brother and sister do the same
In this impossible game of love?


Blood Moon


Blood Moon

Her heart;
A hard one to get to,
Caked with transmigratory distillations,
Illumined by the intensity of dissident blood,
With the sludge of unnatural sin, sanskaras,
Struck down in mid-career
In the midst of an otherwise sanctioned, archaic prowl –
Not to mention 8.4 million human incarnations everyone goes through
To decide
Before realizing oneness with this existence
And what’s behind each bourgeois door,

It was one of those electric nights,
We merged like a dare,
Exchanging boxes of transcendental rain
In sacred bonds of antediluvian scarlet,
Carbon’d, DNA’d;
The only apparent reality now –

By not speaking we let what is unspoken decide,
Relinquished in silence’s diamond eye shore,

The unimportant
The unadorned
The fear
The unforeseen,
The unknown –
For just a little while


The Clarion Marion Berry Pie

The Clarion Marion Berry Pie


“It’s the stew she’d been addicted to,

Until her next resurrection celebration,

The master surgeon’s bold

Précis of life,

A fiery travail through

The all eternal oxygen

Of manifestation

Drawn from the hidden unseen elixir,

Who could serve both God and Satan?


We can have it all,

It can all be ours,

Fame, beauty, adulation,

Now that nothing meant nothing again magic


She griped

You trade one in

And get another newer new addiction

Just as nice

A true beauty, both bright and dark,

It fades in facades, it’s boutiques

Into “It’s bound to all end in tears”

Or just end

I can’t remember,

Available for the trauma,

Replete with the obligatory bite in the ass

True to life drama

To the inner most know it all –

Do you need another slice?”

Shouts the Clarion

Marion Berry Pie,


She let only a few souls see

The flower she named “emptiness”

Within the 84 lakhs of timelessness unfurling,

Pruned optimistically,

Not the comatose

Primrose path prescription

Marching in precision,

Desiring and obtaining –

Lording, owning,

Thriving on derision

In worship of

Yet another strawberry sunset mirage exhibition,

To experience her essence

To sip her inner wisdom

The bells, the echoes of bells all singing,

Huggers hugging fleers fleeing

The losers the leapers

That if at last we don’t succeed then

Zaz-zen the pure void

Tasting inner ecstasy, bask in the ineffable,

Swaggered by the weight of the beatific vision

Destroyed and resurrected in one fell swoop

Bursting new with the fusion of love,

Infinite prismatic humble matrices

Of heaven in rivulets bursting forth

Ribboned ceremoniously in angel light,

Each singing existences of adoration –

One birth and then one death…

(Within which are virtually endless lives still calling,

Of all the unknown worsts and bests),

Unto infinite knowledge, power and bliss,

Not as marionettes, or slaves,

But as heirs

Drenched with love in all its glory,

Just a shadow of…


Everyone’s our only hope,

We’re everyone else’s only hope,

Don’t take “me” so seriously,

Or sell “me” short,

Make it easy to say yes,

Feed one another –

Live free or die!”

Shouts the Clarion

Marion Berry Pie.