East of the Sun | West of the Moon

" If you white men had never come here, this country would still be like it was. It would be all pure here. You call it wild, but it wasn’t really wild, it was free. Animals aren’t wild, they’re just free. And that’s the way we were. You called us wild, you called us savages. But we were just free. If we were savages, Columbus would never have gotten off the island alive. Our religion is all about thanking the Creator. That’s what we do when we pray. We don’t ask Him for things. We thank Him [Her]. We thank Him for the world and every animal and plant in it. We thank Him for everything that exists. We don’t take it for granted that a tree is just there. We thank the Creator for that tree. If we don’t thank Him, maybe the Creator will take that tree away... We are made from Mother Earth and we go back to Mother Earth. We can’t “own” Mother Earth. We’re just visiting here. We are the Creator’s guests. " Leon Shenandoah , — former “Tadodaho” of the Grand Council of the Six Natio

Years of navigating through land mines mean dread and caution hover close, even as we eat and socialize. One moment on solid ground, then in a heartbeat it's all gloom and doom.  All eyes swivel toward me. Noise level goes from chaotic cacophony to zero. My ears pop as I gulp for air. Locked in a bubble of building pressure.  dark weird wallpaper I view the living as dead and gone - analyzing their distinctive anatomy and facial features. Clinical and removed as these are filed away for future reference. Suspended in a strange soft cloud of too weird. 

Before time and form all was emptiness and there was nothing. There was only god who filled all the empty space with eternal and overflowing love. Bathala was god and Sinta was god's love.  Bathala wanted to transform the universe. Give it substance and form - reate elements and creatures. Provide a  world of play and delight - with  color and texture, sound and movement. Sinta loved this and together they worked tirelessly to make it so.  Luminas Art on Pixabay God took his energy and breathed matter into his creation - molding it like clay into many distinct forms. Love took her energy and breathed light into their surroundings - watching it soar and float all around.  Bathala formed the earth into a huge ball and filled it with all sorts of flora and fauna. Sinta breathed life and fresh growth into every new form.  God formed the Sun and Love brought warmth and light to the day. God shaped the Moon and Stars and Love made them shine in the now brilliant night sky. Together they

fling open barndoors of the heart pray fully surrendered whole self exposed to all the directions the sky, the earth the sun, the moon the whole of my being voice, gaze, blood, bones relish the relief Yayoi Kusama infinity room, NYBG Halloween 2021 all the while more is revealed ripples and waves circles and cycles language beyond words knowledge past wisdom in our veins the stories flow with every breath shifts and change gifts and choice the law of life for each and all beat as one savor the wholeness stripped and pared down full and heavy with bounty the wind sweeps hearts clean the soil transforms and gives birth we are born and live til we die we are made of all this savor the wholeness melt into letting go breath in the light breath out our love this we pray

It's been a year of being a grief doula to all too many friends and strangers who have lost a beloved. Young and old. Sudden or long suffering. The men die and the women have to somehow forge on.  What do I know about loss and grief? I knock on wood like some triggered spastic that I have yet to lose someone I cannot live without. I'm the one who's afraid of going to a wake. I find myself stuck in the threshold like some scarred quivering rabbit.  In the Orient where I originated we have the age old practice of professional mourners who diligently wail the spirit of a dearly departed off to the divine realms. Away from the living so we can grieve and live in peace. Never to be haunted by any lingering ghost of disappointment over some unfinished regret or sorrow.  A practice of countless past dynasties now imbedded in our DNA and mutated by new technology. For folks who love to celebrate with, song, dance, staged performances, and karaoke it's not so strange then that w

Being a broken record is the worst torture ever. Constantly repeating the same story - over and over, again and again. Deepening the grove with each round - digging deeper yet so struck. Tone deaf and out of tune - perpetuating  the same old sad story. So sick and sickening - this broken trail of dreams.  There I was, happy as a clam, devoid of any clue.  irritable, angry,  depressed So very happy it bordered on obnoxious. Yes, hell, yes! Everything in my life was working. A husband who loved me. He was completely gaga over me. Spoiled me rotten. Showering me with expensive gifts.  Taking me out for expensive celebrations. Travels booked to wild and exotic realms - stunning and awesome. A house built just so, just for me, just because. A temple raised for the worship of me, me, me.  Can't live without me. Won't go anywhere without me. Hates having to leave me. My most loyal and ardent fan. What did I do to get him so hooked on me? I love him dearly for all of this but even I th

Love it, hate it - New York City evokes extremes. Stunning senses and maxing us out with its all-out, in-your-face force and energy.  There's a new rendition of the song, New York State of Mind . It's got an impressive roster of top-notch celebrities and personalities singing snippets of the song against a backdrop of NYC's five boroughs.  Columbus Circle, New York City Created to help NYC get back on its feet – could they have done so with more care and consideration? NYC is like a cat running out of its god given nine lives.

Back before time, there was nothing all around. There was only the void — no space, no thought, no sound — nothing but emptiness, everything suspended in darkness. Nothing and everything touched, bumped, rubbed together, blew apart. Causing a huge explosion, and the universe began. In the giant blast our world was formed. A primordial planet filled with a great sea of water, above it stretched the vast sky. This happened so long ago its origins are lost to us. With all our advancement and knowledge we know not where our gods originated. Although their presence and and consequence in our lives are undeniable. KAPTAN by Kael Molo from AGLA, the Grapic Novel Kaptan   — supreme god of the sky and life. Maguayan  — beloved god of the water and death. Deities that were all knowing and all pervasive, formless, and boundless.  Soon came a daughter, whom they called Lidagat , the sea. Then they had a son, known as Lihangin , the wind. The sea and the wind grew, becoming close and tight partners

Vaccinated after a year in lockdown, I don't know what I expected. More freedom? Relief from the stress of threat and loss? Release from tension or pressure? Worrying about myself, others, the world?  Was it too much to ask for? Any of it? All of it? What now?  Disappointed. Defeated. Deflated.  my art - creation story: idea & insight

Belief in giant monsters eclipsing the moon and efforts to frighten them away are widespread throughout the Orient. Found all over Asia — in the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, Vietnam, Japan, Mongolia, China and India — these ancient stories were spread through trade routes with the expansion of the earliest empires. The folklore of Bisaya and Mandaya indigenous tribes of the Philippines tell different tales of a giant moon eating crab they call Tambanokano . Crab_king by noah-kh / DeviantArt Tambanokano the crab was the colossal son of LiAdlao, the golden orb of our sun and LiBulan, the silver sprite of our moon. They were two of four siblings born to LiDagat, the sea and LiHangin, the wind. Long ago in a tiny village of Buglas, the cloudless night sky was illuminated by a bright flash of lightning. Buglas is the fourth largest island in the ancient archipelago we now know as the Republic of the Philippines. As the ocean waves crash violently along the shore, smashing

Once the last breath of air is inhaled and I slip underwater, the world expands as my lungs contract. I lose all sense of time, transported to a different dimension. My skin dissolves and I am one with the ocean. Immersed in my element - water.  I dive down to the bottom as quickly as I can - no time or gesture wasted. Loose, fluid, relaxed - yet intent and focused to get to the good part and my main objective.  Pearl Diver  |  © StefanLins/Flickr Walking on the sea bed. Feeling the crunch of the grit and sand. Colors dimmed. First the reds go. Then the oranges. The yellows after. I float in a world of greens and blues in the light, indigo and purple in shadow.  Skimming past undulating seaweed. Zipping by coral and rock.  Pulling, Propelling. Projecting.  Purposeful. Primed. Primordial.  Lost in my overblown sense. Blanked out. No agenda.  Aimless and free, I dive as I please, in sensual pleasure. Poised on the brink of a precipice. What now? Time for more exploring? Or should I head

On hiatus when Trump got elected, now that he's been ousted I am happy to return. This time back I'm here to regale you with my fiction. Hopefully we shall all be regaled.  on the  Hoboken  NJ pier On February 2010, soon after I had just moved to Hoboken, New Jersey - the one square mile former island, now reclaimed and made famous by its most notorious resident, Frank Sinatra - I took a flash fiction writing class at the community college where I first met my writing teacher, John McCaffery .  Over a decade later, our main group of Hoboken writers still meet up and write together regularly. We have since evolved into a tight knit group of friends with shared histories. A few have published books as well - kudos to them!  I have none just yet though here is where you can now find the pieces I am working on.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I do too.