Swimming In The River Lethe

If you recall vividly or recall ALL, you suffer from hypermnesia.

When a squirrel buries nuts, does it bury too many in order to make sure…

Forgetting is not an option nor is something more extreme, amnesia.

“I will find those nuts,” the squirrel swore…”didn’t have to plant too many.  I DO remember where my cache is hid.”

Perhaps we can refer to this squirrel as a diva.

Birds sometimes return to the nest they made the year before.  Do they come back to begin again or to sit Shiva for what is past?  Why do the birds return?

If you recall vividly or recall ALL you suffer from hypermnesia.

An elephant never forgets, sad gentle giants – to remember the pain as well as the pleasure – sometimes forgetting is preferable, a spiritual anesthesia, insensitivity to pain, turn the page, close the book, the moment is NOW.

Live there.

NOTELETHE is one of the five rivers in the underworld in Greek Mythology.  Drinking from this river makes one FORGET.  There is also a Greek Spirit of Forgetfulness and Oblivion – Lethe.




Standing in the doorway… short black hair hangs loosely on his forehead; his face is pale, his eyes full of storms…

 Sitting in the grass… long gray and white fur, a “puff ball” gray and white cat SAT looking up at the man standing in the doorway…

 Lightning flickered within the man’s storm-filled eyes.

 He didn’t move, but it was like he gestured, within, at the cat sitting in the grass.

 The gray and white cat quivered, almost imperceptible, BUT continued to watch.

 The man was standing in the doorway. The cat was sitting in the grass.

They considered each other for awhile.  Not a sound.

Later the man wondered why or how he did… it was spontaneous.




And The Answer Is…

A holy wanderer is the number SEVEN

choosing the road not taken its weapon.

The Red-Tailed Hawk’s a bird driven –

soaring high [thermal] resolute hessian.

I seek lonely knowledge as a haven;

problem not posed an unanswered question.

When needed a wolf seeks solo session[s];

skilled “meditation”, a lupus lesson.

A cat crosses a stream, searching, stepping,

perhaps to snare a fish, what a blessing.

What’s Behind the Closed Door?

Penetrating mist, fog, haze – similar

to untangling from sheer gray netting.

A black dog emerged, the fog – Cerberus.

Some mornings, I’m in a daze, slightly fazed.

Is life merely a phase we all go through?

Blue Jay stays, praise the ways the song always

infiltrating mental mazes, phrases

[supplementing my thoughts]

Inspiration is a blaze which reminds…

And I gaze at the red flower.

Sometimes the secret lays in plain view.

The Addiction

Can the Elixir of Life be drunk through Math?

Will the Geometry of your “room” suffice?

I say pick up your ruler and measure [!]

Glancing towards the blue sky, linear path –

Meditating on your toes not so nice –

Savoring the Wind is what I treasure.

Look UP or endure some psychologists’ wrath [!]

Sunlight, glittering gold coins, roll the Dice –

Contemplating green tree tops is PLEASURE.

Seeing what’s around me is my intent…

HALCYON, Definition Thereof

Walking across the sand, the beach, sunrise

Strumming the Japanese string Shamisen …

Silence, slight wind, daylight, a peaceful guise,

Tracking through threaded trees true dalliance

When heard the mythical Halcyon Bird Cries

Create serenity so champion…

To stroll: gray fog stirs mysterious highs.

Munch on a blue bell flower, Rampion.

Colorful Halcyon Kingfisher tries

To fill the daydreams in my garrison.


What’s with the bold hyper Hummingbird[s]?

Oh, they’re my loud and noisy Greek Chorus.

Rumble [bumble, fumble] wait the ground shakes!

Listening to the birds, the blood is stirred.

Methinks that my psychic skin is porous.

A tremulous spirit easily breaks.

If I soared like a bird would I be heard?

My voice will rise like the Sun God Horus.

In the early morn birds’ twittering makes

a predication or two of the day’s path.

The Letter Poem

(Petitioning the Gods to Reveal Themselves)

Dear Sir and/or Madame;

 I am not blind to the worth,

the wonderful, the extraordinary


“Too much handiwork, too much lymph

in the temperament is making us

fat and mean.”  (Emerson, 1855 quote)

We need to be simple,

To possess free and brave thought.

I have great joy.

I find incomparable things said

Incomparably well, as they must be.

Large perception can only inspire.

I greet you at the beginning,

Rubbing my eyes a little to see if

This sunbeam be illusion or fact.

It’s fortifying.

I’m encouraged to trust, to believe, BUT

I still yearn to see my benefactor!

I want to visit you; I want to pay my respects.

Please let me.



 If music be the food of, let’s say life —

What, though, about the wind or birds singing?

At heart, I prefer the center, the breath.

Prescription, there of, PLAY; pick up your fife.

The wind’s “ringing”, sustenance bringing.

When birds are soaring it’s my shibboleth.

Wind’s capricious, though, can cut like a knife.

At dawn, various birds are twittering.

The Phoenix (firebird) escapes from death.

Could meditation spur me to lose weight?