Dawn is Streaking Red…

Distant Pavilions

One of the prints from my show….

Raining like crazy here in Portland. The weather has turned and is it ever coming down. Off to work, I am ever running late.


On The Menu:

As If Translated By Babel Fish….

The Links

Koan: Life as a Pig

Dawn is Streaking Red: The poetry of Mike Hoffman

Koan: The Moon Cannot be Stolen


As If Translated By Babel Fish….


The Links:

Shifting Targets

Federal Approval To Travel WITHIN The US Soon???

Rights of Indigenous People

Giving the Devil His Due

Koan: Life as a Pig
One day, a old master had a vision of his next life. He immediately called in his favorite disciple and begged a favor of him.
“Anything for you master.” the disciple replied.
“In my next life, I will come back as a pig. Soon after I die, our sow will give birth and I will be the fourth pig of the litter. You will recognize me by a mark on my brow. When that happens, please take a sharp knife and end my life quickly.
Within the year, the master passed away and the sow gave birth. The disciple sharpened his knife and found the small piglet. Suddenly the little pig screamed “Stop! Don’t kill me!”
The disciple dropped his knife in surprise and stared at the little pig. “When I was like you I didn’t know what a pig’s life would be like. It’s great. Just let me go.”
Dawn is Streaking Red: The poetry of Mike Hoffman
I am pleased to share some poems from Mike Hoffman’s new book with you… ‘Dawn is Streaking Red’.
If you are interested in picking up a copy, they are $5.00 inclusive of shipping (US & Canada)..

You can contact Mike at: m_hoffman@fastmail.fm for your autographed copy!
Mike has worked on this book for awhile, and like him he kept it pretty quiet. I am pleased he has brought it forth and is sharing it with the world!

We Are Each Other (Meeting the Mother)
Gathering, in a safe cocoon

The little death, Mother of our Hearts

Weaves her way

Into every cell

Permeating and probing

It’s OK

To weep when you plant;

It’s your funeral.
Seeing to the molecular

Breathing beautifully, deeply

Trembling, minded sound

Wave upon waves

Magic melodies

Doing psychic surgery

Brimming, behind our eyes

Overflowing, into our Heart.
The source of knowledge

The magnificent elegance

Embodying principles

Of creativity and love

She is with you now,

And forever

As we carry, each other

Out into the world.

Overworked emotions

Overworked bodies

The gloom and stress

Of overworked society

It’s time for some merrymaking

In the bushes.
Let’s move what we can move

And shake what we can shake

Be kind to ourselves

The veil between the worlds

Is thin now.
Pay attention; tune to the Heart

Magic is afoot

In service to something

Hospice worker or midwife

Healing one is healing all

In a holographic universe.
Approach the unknown

Be unafraid to look

At the unseen worlds

Of myths and fairies.

Jump the fire

And dwell in the flame


By these sacred encounters.
Renegade perception

The power of open-hearted action

Gathering herbs, gathering power

Vernal sincerity

Because it’s absurd.

Intelligence in the background

Nature is in control

Cool dampness, vibrating delight

Early morning tears.

Be careful what you ask for.
Not willing to play the game

Unconcerned in the daily world

Your skin fits just right

Going from strawman to spectral

Undifferentiated perception?

After all, what can we really see?
A crack in the membrane

Everything glows

Splitting with the inferior

With language, communication by gesture

A polarity reversal

The body doesn’t lie.
Marvels abound

In little things, under our noses

Step out sweetly

Let the bottom drop out

A peculiar affair

Worthy of its temporariness

‘Till we go home for good.

Koan: The Moon Cannot be Stolen
Ryokan, a Zen master, lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut at the foot of a mountain. One evening a thief visited the hut only to discover there was nothing to steal.
Kyokan returned and caught him. “You may have come a long way to visit me, ” he told the prowler, “and you should not return empty-handed. Please take my clothes as a gift.”
The thief was bewildered. He tool the clothes and slunk away.
Ryokan sat naked, watching the moon. “Poor fellow,” he mused, “I wish I could give him this beautiful moon.”

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