Driving in the Driving Rain
By Don Iannone

Driving in the driving rain.
Traffic clogged like a drain pipe
filled with crap--
the sort you wish would get out of the way
and let things flow.
Herky jerky drivers--
slowing down and speeding up,
remind me of hungry sandpipers
chasing tiny crabs at the water's edge.
In the car next to me,
a rotund young woman paints her face.
I can't shake the image of a moon-faced clown,
as I watch the woman circle her lips
several times with her bright red lipstick.
The skies clear,
but my mind remains cloudy.
A thick fog sets in,
and I lose sight of where I am going.
Desperate for a cheerful note to end on,
I think of the big woman painting her face, and I smile
thinking she must buy make-up by the gallon.

More Magic with a Paintbrush

Life Is Simple When You Are
By Don Iannone

Before the snow falls,
I shall walk barefoot
upon Nature's pastel carpet
of fresh fallen autumn leaves.
Just the right place will appear
for me to park my tired bones
and soak in fall's magic,
which hugs me as tenderly
as only a grandmother can do.
And before the sun sets--
just beyond the faded old barn,
I will allow myself to smile
in warm admiration for life
and its good to the last drop flavor.
And once the sun sets
and the moon rises full,
I can say with great satisfaction--
that I have truly lived.

Fall Magic
By Don Iannone

The glorious turning fall leaves
torture my sensibilities
with candy-sweet pleasure.
They leave me gasping,
like a diver submerged too long,
beholding the magical coral reef below.
They rip my heart out,
which goes chasing after whispering butterflies,
whose wings brush away lingering clouds.
And I thought early spring wildflowers
were hard to say goodbye to.

Captivating Fall Beauty

Thunder Bay
By Don Iannone

North of Superior--
a quixotic place called Thunder Bay,
where Native spirits roam restless
throughout the night, that lasts longer
than the longest day.
Deep still water,
without bottom, goes untouched
like fresh wild berries spoiled
by the early snow,
drifting away like mysteries exposed
to the piercing white light
of early afternoon sun
on waveless gray-blue water.
The truth appears,
like wind on water,
then dives deep inside me.
Forever I am changed.

Thunder Bay, Ontario
Late September

Full Plate
By Don Iannone

At times,
blessings seem to come
too many at a time.
More than we can really handle.
We wonder why--
as though there is some mystery
to how our life comes to be.
Every intention we put foward
eventually manifests.
Not always exactly as the picture
initially projected by our soul,
but sure enough,
the intention comes into being.
Be careful what you wish for,
the genie may fill your plate.

Red Covered Bridge

(Near Kokomo, Indiana)

Allegheny National Forest

(Near Warren, PA)

Smoke from a Nonexistent Fire
By Don Iannone

If you've ever watched something live,
you've also watched it die.
But not in the sense that living and dying exist
as independent phenomena separated by anything real.
There is no separate reality underlying anything.
It is all part of one.
You and I are but fictitious actors
on a make believe stage,
performing before an imagined audience.
That's all.
But if this is true,
what does this leave us?
We are left with our own impermanence--
our illusively fugitive state of being.
We live by believing
that our minds can know their own reality.
But what are these notions?
All are but consciousness
rising and falling in response to itself,
like smoke from a nonexistent fire.
And this poem--
has it not reached its end?
Yet your mind wanders on,
seeking more than is really here.
Rest in your unknowing, and there
find peace in your emptiness.

With Gentle Strokes She Paints
By Don Iannone

Fall hints
of her coming,
touching the leaves
with gentle strokes of color,
not unlike the painter
who starts out shy,
not knowing exactly where
her heart will carry the brush.
The masterpiece is complete, only when
her heart is full from giving.

Morning Glory
By Don Iannone

Looking east,
seeing
a glowing tangerine sun
rise through
thick late September clouds,
and finally
allowing
its fire to fade
and marble yellow and gold
throughout the perfectly still lingering clouds.

Doesn't This Make You Believe in Magic?

A Tribute to Anonymous Dharma
By Don Iannone

You think
you'd like to know
yourself

and the world
falling
in and out
of synch

with your concept
of who you think
you are.

Would you like
to get beyond
the concepts

and fall
into synch
with that
which lies beyond?

That's your true nature
and that's who you really are.

Allow yourself to be that.

Go: Dan Shimp's Anonymous Dharma

Poetic Glimpses
By Don Iannone

1
silver moon rides high
crossing crystalline September sky
hearts fill with glee

2
glittering stardust
nighttime extravaganza
all eyes turn upward

3
poetry
courageous words
words that en-courage

4
happiness
like smoke
eludes our chase

Growing Old on the Way To Dying
By Don Iannone

I watch her--
sitting quietly in her front porch swing.
Her breathing is labored,
and her hands tremble,
as they hold onto what life remains.
By my account,
the old woman is pushing ninety.
She looks remarkably peaceful.
Her thinning hair, snowy white,
blows in the breeze.
The old woman savors each moment--
as though each may be her last.
I think...she is living in the moment.
Makes me wonder...am I?

On the way to dying,
we grow old,
and we give back large parts of ourselves
to the well from whence we came.
It's the same well for all of us--
that we come from and return to.
Getting old isn't easy,
especially as our bodies slow
and our minds forget
at times where they are.
Then again, where can our minds be
but right here in the now?
On the way to dying,
we grow old,
and then,
we grow young all over again.

Cleveland's Emerald Necklace
By Don Iannone

Emerald necklace--
green chain of forest being,
draped like Christmas garland
around Cleveland's shoulders.
Rich, deep, magical,
yet at times captivatingly introspective,
like a dark green Freudian slip,
worn loose and hanging below
the city's gray and blue silk dress.
As fall approaches,
and the air chills,
the jeweled necklace transforms
from just emeralds
to rubies, garnets, and golden sapphires.
And in winter,
the forest is aglow in diamonds,
sparkling bright as stars
on a clear winter night.
Every city has its gems--
Cleveland has its priceless emerald necklace.

Turning Leaves Messaging Change
By Don Iannone

The leaves know their days are numbered,
as the sun visits them less often
and the stars play tic-tac-toe
much longer into the night.
All those earlier painting lessons pay off,
as the leaves meticulously bodypaint themselves
in rich hues of yellow, orange, red, and rust.
One last hug,
and the leaves let go,
as the autumn breeze lifts their spirits
and gently brings them to rest on the ground,
where they form a plush rainbow carpet.
The glorious fallen leaves,
like the sparkling snowflakes that follow them,
are God's messengers that change is our essence.

Old Dreams Like Rainbows Fade Away
By Don Iannone

Old dreams fade
in and out of focus
like vaporous rainbows
arching their backs in the sky.
My dreams of being anything
more than I truly am
are not far behind the rainbows,
losing themselves forever
in clear blue expectationless sky.

When Catalina Eyes Touch You
By Don Iannone

Soulful arisings overflow within me,
while standing before the sage-brown Catalina Mountains,
that stare back with soft reassuring eyes.
These eyes say "you are a part of it all,
celebrate this union, and
welcome the sudden transforming beauty
drifting through this very moment."
To call all this magical
seems to rob Tucson of its real feel--
so quiet, deep, beckoning,
and warm as the early morning sun,
giving the desert its rich colors and sharp shadows.
How can you deny who you really are
when something so powerful touches you?

Pure Magic

Up
By Don Iannone

Up...a direction
pointing to the sky,
where the sun, moon, and stars live as one.
Up...some place above
wherever you are in life,
including some place you've never been
but have always wanted to go.
Up...a feeling you have
when the power of the universe
fills you beyond all comprehension.
Up...the only place you can go
when you hit bottom,
and think there is nowhere else to go.
Up...an illusion creating expectations
separating you from being one with the moment.
Up...another very small word
that means nothing but everything.
Up...the opposite of the end of a poem,
but certainly the way
you want people to feel
after reading it.

It
By Don Iannone

So much can be packed
into such very small words
that seem to mean nothing
but end up meaning everything.
Like the word “it” that points
to something different
every time you use the word.
One time “it’ is the sunset
that just disappeared beyond the horizon.
Another time “it” is the work project
that is about to give you can ulcer.
Yet in another instance,
“it” points to that unidentified feeling
welling up inside you,
stopping you dead in your tracks.
One thing “it” is not is me referring to me
or you referring to yourself.
The only time an “it” can exist
is when you as the subject point to something
other than yourself as an object.
Got “it’?

Grains of Sand in Your Life
By Don Iannone

How far you’ve come in your life.
Bet you’d never have guessed
the amazing things you’d do,
given where you came from
and how you started out.
It seemed like so many things
were working against you,
when you struggled with your first grade reading,
and when you finished next to last
in fifth grade basketball try-outs.
Remember when you were six,
and how you cried that hot summer night
because you were too frightened
to sleep out in the back yard?
Now just look at you,
and the amazing person you’ve become.
Like the irritating grain of sand in the oyster’s shell
that helps give rise to a beautiful pearl,
your struggles make you who you are.
Give thanks for the grains of sand in your life
and the growth they spark.

"People only see what they are prepared to see."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Quick Glances Through the Darkness
By Don Iannone

1
Amidst your sadness, trust
that hope floats down
the wide and winding river of tears
flowing through your soul.

2
Silence creeps
through your being,
like a dejected snake,
filled with submission,
unable to escape
the darkness of its own shadow.

3
We sat in silence,
our hearts separated
by an uncrossable ocean of hurt,
deepening with the passing
of each fathomless moment.

4
Straight-jacketed hopes,
constrained by harsh illusion,
fade faster than shadows
in the late afternoon winter sun.

5
Empty words hold nothing,
and nothing comes close to words,
in our feeble attempt to describe
our inner god of self-understanding.

You Are Appreciated

Work has been very demanding,
and I find myself barely able
to feed the poetic stream,
but I do because I know I must.

I am truly sorry for not being
able to engage all of you as fully
as I have in the past.

Please know that I appreciate
you stopping by, reading my poetry
and leaving your beautiful thoughts behind.

Eventually, more time will appear.

My blessings to all of you,

Don

Short Poetic Breaths
By Don Iannone

1
Crisp autumn leaves
cool morning breeze
seasons change and so do we.

2
Refreshing desert oasis
rejuvenation at hand
give your journey a rest.

3
Nuggets of truth
tumbling in the stream of life
gold washes up on life's shore.

4
Falling leaves
life turns
a new season overtakes you.

Short Poetic Breaths
By Don Iannone

1
Location,
more than place
right mindset at the right time.

2
Like a mirror
art reflects
what lives inside us.

3
Navigate
around your pride
your truth lies deeper.

4
Death
cuts through life
the sharpest razor's edge.

Short Poetic Breaths
By Don Iannone

1
Browning leaves
crisp morning air
book your seat for winter.

2
Twilight
light to dark
many shades of gray in life.

3
Far off
inside you
truth is nested.

4
Very early morning
no birds
only silence sings.

"If you cannot find peace within yourself, you will never find it anywhere else."

--Marvin Gaye

Who Am I?
By Don Iannone

If you ask the right life question,
the right answer will come.
If you attend to this answer,
the right doors in life will swing wide open.
If you walk through these doors in trust,
your life path will take positive new directions.
If you head your life in these positive directions,
your soul will find its rightful place in the sun.
With the illuminating light of the sun showing you the way,
your deepest doubts and fears will melt away.
As you stand with arms outstretched facing the sun,
the gates of reality will open, inviting you in.
With gladness and thanksgiving, accept this invitation,
peace and love will fill every last drop of your being.
All this begins with the right question.

To fully understand this poem, please
click on this link and visit the Headfooters
Art Gallery website.

Headfooters
By Don Iannone

Perfectly imperfect circles,
with gangly arms and legs,
reaching out for love.
Simple ungraceful lines,
each living in a separate world,
on the same page of life.
Freshly poured pallets of color,
spilling over their boundaries,
not unlike the passion and fear
hiding inside all of us.
Obsessive, intricate etchings,
intent upon filling the blind inner emptiness,
suspended somewhere between the heart and mind.
Distorted images of childish joys,
submerged in deep pools of self-abuse and anguish.
Sunny faces hanging
with crooked smiles from dimly-lit buildings.
Puzzling gray paint smears,
hiding the endless inner labyrinths
the artist walks daily in search of sanity.
One-dimensional wild beasts, engorged phalluses, and
simple chairs made from broken branches.
Headfooters, outsider art, raw vision,
all glimpses of reality from imprisoned minds,
all jarring reminders of the fine lines in life for all of us.

Things We Depend Upon
By Don Iannone

Were it not
for morning poetry,
I may not see the magic
in my life.
Were it not
for the music in my soul,
I might lose
my poetic verse.
Were it not
for love,
I would surely
lose truly who I am.

Signs of Fall
By Don Iannone

Today a rust-colored leaf fell quite helplessly
from the large maple tree in the front yard.
There was no wind.
It was just its time to let go.
I listened as a stateman-like bluejay squawked nonstop,
forewarning us of swirling red-tail hawks,
who eyed the plump young morning doves, sitting in pairs
in the red cherry trees in the back woods.
The bluejay's shriek poked the air,
like sharp needles chisling colorful upper arm tattoos.
We found two writhing baby garter snakes
in the garage earlier in the week.
Both wore bright yellow necklaces--
the sort a mother gives her daughters
to wear at their debutante ball.
The flowers are enroute to seeds,
and their nectar runs sweet,
enticing full-bloom monarch butterflies
to cling much longer to their sticky honey.
Another Labor Day has passed,
and the kids stand in bunches along the road,
awaiting the golden rod-colored school buses
that carry them off to noisy classrooms,
filled with rosy-cheeked, wide-eyed youngsters,
who swap larger than life stories
about the summer that is gone,
like their innocence, once the teaching begins.
I long for a closer look at the fallen leaf,
but settle instead to let go of it,
along with my clinging to long sun-filled days.
My winter spirit is early this year, and my soul
is already warming itself by the blazing fireplace.

The Crickets' Autumn Song
By Don Iannone

Solitary crickets drone on
through the night's deepest hours
about fall's impending ascent.
They tell poignant epic-level stories,
which they will never quite finish,
leaving last lines for the winter sun
to write on fresh-fallen snow.
The crickets hypnotic chirping drowns out
the 12:07 am train, passing unnoticed,
except by the squealing rails, stretching
from one end of the night to the other.
Summer died suddenly, but gloriously,
like the fuzzy green caterpillar, who morphed
in one afternoon into a graceful butterfly.
The crickets just do what they do,
without being asked, or being rewarded.
For they sing in a voice heard by the turning leaves,
the fading grass, and swelling pumpkins,
who otherwise might miss their time.
When I was young, I was too busy
to hear the crickets sing.
But now autumn rises up in me,
and I ready for the winter sun
to once again write last lines
in the fresh-fallen snow.

I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone
By Rainer Maria Rilke
Translated by Annemarie S. Kidder

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.

Not Until
By Don Iannone

Not until I knew myself,
I stumbled headfirst through life,
believing my fall from grace was an omen
that I was free at last.
Not until I knew you,
I fell prey to my own lies and self-deception,
wishing you wouldn't rob me
of my last filthy remains.
Not until my ego died,
I thought having was living,
and you were mine--
all because I wanted to possess you.
Not until I hit the wall,
I thought I could fly forever,
and never pay the price
for following my foolish dreams.
Not until I saw the universe
with clear blue eyes,
I thought my world was it,
and nothing was beyond me.
Not until you doused the raging fire
that caused me to self-combust,
I thought the fire was my light,
and I was only alive when I was on fire.
Not until I discovered life was a full length mirror,
reflecting everything we are,
I thought I could close one eye
and only see what I wanted to see.
Not until the sun came up,
washing away the darkness in my life,
did I see none of it is mine,
and that life is truly a gift.

When A Dark Night of the Soul Befalls Us
By Don Iannone

Some nights,
the forgotten cemeteries we live near
come back to life,
filling us with ghostly tombstones
floating on thick dark clouds.
Not every night they come,
but certainly on long dark nights, following days
when the world seems more dead than alive.
Morning can't come quickly enough on those nights
when the cries of those in-between
haunt the bottomless valleys we live in.
And when the cries subside,
the stone silence echoes deep
inside the empty cavern filling us.
Until it's finally over,
there is no hope that it will ever end.
And once it has ended,
we can only wait again
for the grass to turn black with night,
and for the air to chill suddenly cold as ice.
It is only then we come to know
the true meaning of light.

In the Heart of the Night
By Don Iannone

There is a heart
that beats in the night.
It carries us into our dreams,
where our heart opens us
to the world of all possibilities.
There is a heart
that beats in the night
connecting us
to the boundaryless universe we call home,
but only know in our hearts.
There is a heart
that beats in the night
awakening our soul,
which exists in both repeated
and unrepeated vastness.
Listen closely to your heart beat at night.
It dreams of new possibilities you will become.

An Adagio on Becoming One
By Don Iannone

Nothing left to live for
until you strip away the illusions,
and tumble down the hill to the very bottom,
where you learn to start over again.
Nothing real to live for,
as long as you cling to faded memories,
jutting up like rugged mountain peaks,
cutting deep incisions into dark clouds.
Nothing meaningful--until
the rain comes,
and washes away the stilted memories,
carrying you downstream--all the way
to where a sunny calm ocean appears,
making you one with life.

After
By Muriel Stuart

When, on an empty night in later years
Thou ponderest over sorrowful sweet things,
While troubling with cold hands the muted strings
Of Memory's lute now silent in thine ears,
These words shall sweep with soft descent of tears--
Shall wound the air with sudden thrust of wings
Bringing the Past to thee as Winter brings
To naked boughs the colour April wears.
Thou shalt read over, in less fortunate days,
Forgotten pages till thy heart be moved
To sudden pity and to passionate praise
Of what thou didst not heed nor understand;
Letting the book drop from thy trembling hand,
"Once," thou shalt say and pause . . . "How I was loved!"

Rainy Night in Kokomo
By Don Iannone

From my stale-smelling hotel room window,
I watch the warm August rain pound Kokomo,
like a unbeaten prizefighter
pummeling the neighborhood sissy.
I hate the rain,
sometimes even more than raw oysters--
slippery disgusting bastards that they are.
Almost 9 PM and still light.
No moon or stars tonight.
Just heavy clouds pissing on K-Mart shoppers
madly dashing to their beater cars.
Have you ever really studied the carpet in a hotel room?
Not exactly the Marrakech Express.
All those grimy toe jams--
the sort you wiped on your younger sister
and made her cry when you were kids.
This place is pretty clean,
compared to some places I've spent the night.
I remember discovering dust balls
the size of African Bush elephants
under my bed in a flea bag hotel in Erie
not too long ago.
There's no privacy in a place like this.
The poor SOB next door
should either lay off the bean dip
or save his cherry bombs for July 4th.
No need for a wake-up call in this joint.

On the Soul

When the soul is plunged in the fire of divine love, like iron, it first loses its blackness, and then growing to white heat it becomes like unto the fire itself. And lastly, it grows liquid, and, losing its nature, is transmuted into an utterly different quality of being. And as the difference between iron that is cold and iron that is hot, so is the difference between soul and soul, between the tepid soul and the soul made incandescent by divine love.

Source: Richard of St. Victor - de Quattuor Gradibus Violentae Charitatis

Destiny's Call
By Don Iannone

Steadfast in your unshakeable self-belief,
Don't deny yourself your place in the sun,
Let go of whatever holds you back,
Follow the voice that calls.

Guard rails are for those resisting
the bountiful rewards of risk,
Replace your fear with love,
Follow the voice that calls.

Step past the weak branches in your tree,
Grasp its trunk and climb to the top--
of the world where your dreams live,

Follow the voice that calls.

Race in the direction your heart shines,
High above the North Star beckons,
Stretch your wings and fly,
Follow the voice that calls.

Making Space for Love
By Don Iannone

Make space for love
to take shape in your life.
Empty your heart
...so full of sorrow
pain and loneliness.
They are but mere clouds
the warm evening breeze
can whisk away
at your invitation.
You're never alone
when you're filled
with love's light.
Gaze deeply into your darkness
and behold the star-studded sky,
bursting with mystery and new possibilities,
waiting for you to receive their blessing.
Let love carve you into
a seamless ray of white sunshine
filling the world with hope
and warming all in its healing path.
Make space for love
to take shape in your life.

Reconnecting with the Tucson Part of Me
By Don Iannone

Long eventful week,
The sort filling your soul
with transforming memories,
Tucson, for now, is behind me,
but far from forgotten.

All returns in life
are about remembering,
Tucson was a fond return,
helping me remember--
a forever important part of myself.

Sitting in the slowly awakening Tucson airport,
early morning luminosity fills me,
My soul rises,
Cloud-like dreams drift away,
carrying me back home to Cleveland.

I long for an old part of myself
to stay alive forever,
Tucson is a part of it, and me,
But even more,
the eternal flame of youth cries out in my soul.

Timeless Reflection
By Don Iannone

Broken clocks,
Lost time,
Seeping like water
through any crack,
Running away won't help,
You can never bring back
what you never had.

Foolish little boy,
Sitting all alone,
Waiting for the clouds to pass
and for the sun to shine.
An old man stares through
the young boy's eyes,
seeing the shadows of life
about to appear
as the sun breaks free.

The old man knows the boy,
but the boy knows nothing of the man,
Even if they came face to face,
the boy would only see a stranger,
Just another someone
looking back from the crowd.

Clocks and clouds,
Sunshine and time,
Old men and young boys,
Shadows and strangers,
Only time will tell.

Kung Fu Tiger

More Gives Way to Happiness
By Don Iannone

Searching for more,
looking everywhere,
leaving no stone unturned,
traveling to far off places,
turning my life inside out,
hoping to find there is more.

Wanting there to be more,
discovering finally I am only
following my wanting for more.
Wanting nothing more,
having nothing left to want,
ending my wanting,
happiness appears.

God
By Don Iannone

Beyond whatever
we think in our head,
Not separate from us,
Everything and nothing,
An ever-present idea
that we cling to.

A Return to Tucson
By Don Iannone

Tucson,
Late August,
Rain,
Blistering sun,
Hot,
More rain,
Scorching sun,
Even hotter.

So begins--
the long
and almost lost replay
of earlier wild poetic adventures,
Just the sort of thing
for a hopelessly romantic 50-something
still possessed by good times,
fun friends,
and rock and roll.

Where did it all go?
The years,
The dancing,
and carrying on till two,
Pulling all those all-nighters
to write papers
and cram for exams,
All those candles--
burning out of control,
Wild flames--
shooting in all directions,
Tethered to roller coasters,
everyday was an adventure.

Life-shaping memories--
seemingly lost,
but then...
rushing back,
like the Columbia River Gorge,
while just standing there
at the sage-scented,
date palm-lined entrance
of the U of A campus.

I saw myself then--
back in 1969,
and now--
yes especially now,
My smile hasn't changed.
Deep down,
the same spark burns--
well into the night,
illuminating the path
I must follow.

All gray hair aside,
it's all the same--
inside me,
nothing has changed--
inside me.
And guess what?
I'm glad.

Meditation on Letting Go of Fear
By Don Iannone

Happiness, love, and peace
are my true nature,
Fear, pain, and suffering
get in the way
of my ability to lead
a happy and authentic life,
My life is what it is,
and I accept it
for exactly what it is,
My fear grows
from my lack of faith in the universe
to provide for me,
as one of her children,
I have the inner strength
to let go of the angst
that troubles my mind and heart,
I have faith in myself,
and trust the power
that truly knows within me,
I release my fear and suffering
and the wants and desires
that underlie them,
In their place,
I receive the abundant love
that exists
within the universe
and within me,
I give thanks for the
peace and tranquility
that exist within me,
I will use this peace
for the benefit of others
I encounter along
my path today.
Namaste!

Apples Born in Springtime Magic
By Don Iannone

The mighty apple tree bears the weight
of her plump spring blossoms
proudly and gracefully,
knowing they represent
living messages
sent into a future
that she may never see.

And thus, we the story of life.

The Habits of the Separate Self
By Don Iannone

We are in certain ways.
Habit defines the ways we are,
yet our habits are not who we are.

Look beyond your habits
to find true nature.
Look at what you do
in any particular moment you choose.
It doesn't matter which moment you choose
since all are one and the same.
Look at what you feel and think
in that particular moment.
Again, it doesn't matter which moment you choose.
If you look closely
you'll find them everywhere,
that is your habits--
those programmed ways of being
we imagine ourselves to become.

You lie beyond your habits.
That is the real you,
resting beyond all thought and conditioning,
and resting beyond you--
in the sense of there being a separate you.

You,
as you think you are,
don't exist.
Observe closely.
You will find nothing--
beyond what your mind creates.
Just mere illusions seeking permanence.
All are disappearing footprints in the sand
your mind has created
to give permanence
to the you that simply doesn't exist.

Your mind tells you
these footprints, and even the sand, are evidence
that you exist separately from all else--
as though there is any other.
No you.
No other.
No longer even any habits,
or footprints left to disappear.
How can that which doesn't exist disappear,
let alone leave any trace?

Say goodbye to your separate self
and all of its habits.
Say hello to the shared one
we all are.

Last of Summer Garden Moments
By Don Iannone

Butterflies
in blue-orange scarves
dance heavy
into the chilly morning air.
A weatheredly handsome warty toad
hiding under tear-stained leaves
readies himself
for one last quiet meal.
Impetuous black-eyed susans stand
like naked sailors on deck
waiting for orders to ship-out.
Summer nearing its acapella end
with head bowed in reverent stillness
gives last rites to all
that must make room for winter's eve.

Boys Playing by the Side of Road
By Don Iannone

Young boys playing their hearts out
before the late summer sun sets
and the stars take over the sky,
Boys filled with overwhelming eagerness
and untamed magic--
the sort only young hearts can contain,
Dirty-faced boys
lusting for adventure
in far away places
their hearts long to visit,
Boys pretending to be men
pretending to be boys,
But for now,
just young boys playing
along side a dusty country road
they pray will never end.

Poetic Brush Strokes
By Don Iannone

1
morning snowfall
...mind drifts
......peace falls

2
white birches
...snow-covered limbs
......inspiration takes root

3
rustling leaves
...barren tree branches
…...skies gray in winter

Seeing Another in the Mirror
By Don Iannone

When you look
in the cosmic mirror,
what do you see?
Do you see
the astonishingly bright star
that I see
when I look at you?
Do you see
the deep pool
of crystal blue water
bathing the world in love?
Do you see
the elegant beauty of your spirit
and the beauty you bring out
in others around you?
This is what I see
when I look at you.
My deepest wish is that
the mirror reflects the same
next time you venture a glance
into its surface.

Just a Poem In Between
By Don Iannone

What do you do
when someone or something
gets inside you--
you never knew you knew
and suddenly
they are a deep part of you?
What do you do
when something you've dreamed of
when you were asleep and awake
magically appears
from the other side of the mirror?
What do you do
when your fading reality
creates choices you don't want to make,
setting you adrift in the tide
washing you hopelessly out to sea?
What do you do
when a kindred spirit overtakes you
like a serene tsunami
and you are left drowning
in your own feelings
you never knew you had?
What do you do
when something beneath
your conscious mind
spills you into another galaxy
you are speechless to describe?
You write a feeble poem
hoping it will save you from yourself
and from what you might do
if there wasn't at least a poem
between you and this new reality.

Reading the Word of Kabbalah
By Don Iannone

I read the words
and they jolted me
like raw lightning.
I read the words
and they moved through my veins
as life-sustaining blood.
I read the words
and they made my heart dance
and my mind go blank.
These are familiar experiences
known to me
from somewhere long ago.
A place I have been
and still am.
I know these words
and they know me.

God the Verb
By Don Iannone

God without form
only as motion
creating reality
every moment
with cessation.
No beginning.
No end.
Only the perpetual process
of being to become.
The old kabbalist said:
"Imitate your Creator
and the mystery
shall be revealed to you."
Who is he any way?
Why is he speaking to me?
He then said: "One who understands
will understand."
I'm beginning to understand.
At least I understand there is a mystery
and that it passes through us
and there is no containing it
and there are signs all over
but some I can't read.
The old man disappears
but his words linger:
"Imitate your Creator
and eventually
you will come to understanding
and understanding will come to you."

Longing to Let Go
By Don Iannone

Some days your soul seems to wander,
in search of tattered memories and faded dreams.
Some days you long to retrieve your roots,
however twisted and convoluted they may be.
Some days you want your youth back,
the eager spring in your step,
and long days of just blissful play,
filled with honest imagination.
Some days you wish you could go back
and cut the painful ties holding you still
to things buried deep in the past.
Some days you long to be free
of all the addictions, compulsions, obsessions,
and even the dreams
that keep you from being truly free.
Some day you will care less
about all these things,
and surrender to the stars in the sky,
the carefree birds that sing in glee,
and the warm lapping waves
calling you gently from the beach.

Shadow Truths
By Don Iannone

In ancient shadows find,
the sacred and sublime,
where darkness reveals the light,
the heart sees with perfect sight,
without the one, there is no other,
seek the truth without cover,
walk the path where shadows fall,
learn to walk it very tall,
the shadows tell what sun light hides,
for there too truth abides.

In the Moment: Sunday 5:02 PM
By Don Iannone

Thin wind-swept clouds
grace powder blue sky
stretched overhead
like a sheer linen canopy.
Mind in spacious expectation
becomes pure sky
absent all form,
resting formlessly,
rising from here to there
only to fall again to here.
Expectation ceases.
Powder blue sky opens,
releasing self
into foreverness.

Your Traction Is Here

"There is only one time that is important-NOW!! It is the most important time because it is the only time that we have any power."

--Leo Tolstoy

Does this resonate with you?

"We stumble and fall constantly, even when we are most enlightened."

--Thomas Merton

Trust Mountain
By Don Iannone

Trust...
is a mountain
we all must climb
that gets steeper
as the issues
get more personal
and touch us
in our deepest places.
Once at the top
we see more clearly
that our apprehensions
are but mere apparitions
and that trust itself
is just another form
undermining our ability
to be one with all.

Ever feel this way?

"Then the time came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

--Anais Nin

Love but Do Not Deny Evil
By Don Iannone

In our haste
to bring love
into the world,
we forget at times
evil has its day.
Amongst us walk
those with hearts darkened
by fear and hate.
They will see your love
as weakness
and your openness
as easy prey.
Continue to love
and open yourself to truth,
but also
surround yourself with protective light,
and decorate your altar
with gargoyles well-trained
in discerning those treading
for the wrong reason
on sacred ground.

The Sevenfold Cause-and-Effect Method

If we have been reborn time after time, it is evident that we have needed many mothers to give birth to us. ...the first cause bringing about bodhicitta is the recognition that all beings have been our mother.

The love and kindness shown us by our mother in this life would be difficult to repay. She endured many sleepless nights to care for us when we were helpless infants. She fed us and would have willingly sacrificed everything, including her own life, to spare ours. As we contemplate her example of devoted love, we should consider that each and every being throughout existence has treated us this way. Each dog, cat, fish, fly, and human being has at some point in the beginningless past been our mother and shown us overwhelming love and kindness. Such a thought should bring about our appreciation. This is the second cause of bodhicitta.

As we envision the present condition of all these beings, we begin to develop the desire to help them change their lot. This is the third cause, and out of it comes the fourth, a feeling of love cherishing all beings. This is an attraction toward all beings, similar to what a child feels upon seeing his or her mother. This leads us to compassion, which is the fifth cause of bodhicitta. Compassion is a wish to separate these suffering beings, our mothers of the past, from their miserable situation. At this point we also experience loving-kindness, a wish that all beings find happiness. As we progress through these stages of responsibility, we go from wishing that all sentient beings find happiness and freedom from suffering to personally assuming responsibility for helping them enter this state beyond misery. This is the final cause. As we scrutinize how best to help others, we are drawn to achieving the fully enlightened and omniscient state of Buddhahood.

From: An Open Heart: Practicing Compassion in Everyday Life by The Dalai Lama, edited by Nicholas Vreeland

Silence in also conversation...

"He bore himself with naturalness and at the same time with dignity. His mien (i.e., bearing, appearance) was cheerful, smiling, polite. His eyes with a gentle benignity rested on my face. His body was absolutely still. He smiled and said, 'Silence is also conversation.' "

W. Somerset Maugham recalling meeting Ramana Maharshi for the first time.

following spirit
By Don Iannone

the eagle flies in bliss
...soaring and diving
......following spirit to the very end
.........a place we all come to know
............eventually
...............in one way or another
.................and at one time or another.

unencumbered by divided mind
...the eagle's choice is always clear
......there is no choice
.........only following spirit in the wind
...........only soaring and diving
..............and eventually landing
.................to watch, wait, and listen for spirit.

Beyond You
By Don Iannone

It's about you
and what you do
to get beyond yourself.
It's about your true nature
and whether you align with it,
and in so doing,
get beyond yourself.
It's about you--
giving up your front row seat
to someone else
who needs it more.
It's about you
forgetting everything
your ego ever learned,
just so you can remember
who you really are,
beyond who you think you are.
It's about you--
stripped naked
of all your thoughts and feelings
and resting in your own emptiness--
filled with possibilities
ready to come to life,
as soon as your attention
fixes upon them.
It's about you
letting go of you,
and in so doing,
finding true happiness.

Sweet Corn
By Don Iannone

Ripe corn.
Ready for pickin'.
Golden yellow
as the sun.
Sweet
as sugar
dipped in honey.
Silk tassles
dangling
in the summer breeze,
tickling fantasies
into submission.
Succulent kernels,
dripping whole butter
on taste buds erect.
Bursting forth,
redefining truth
as sensual pleasure.
And for this,
a year of stretching,
growing,
and finally
all this giving yields
ninety seconds
of utter pleasure.

Serenity
By Don Iannone

soft rays of summer sun
...float like yellow butterflies
......between the tall oaks
.........feeding warm light onto the sleeping calico
............curled up on the front porch swing.

Let the ancient sounds fill your spirit.
(Click on the link above and make sure
your computer speakers are on)

Why We Shouldn't Seek Our True Nature

By Don Iannone

Sad skies burst into laughter
as sun farts roar across the galaxy.
A lone dove watches in fascination
as an army of tiny black ants descend
upon a pile of fresh cow dung.
My sense of reality disappears
down the throats of the verocious ants,
leaving me to ponder the universe's true nature.

along a deep forest trail
By Don Iannone

penetrating
deep green
woodland forest
hemlocks and oaks tower
high above.
pine needle floor rises up
like an excited green phoenix
wild
beyond control
without reason
unrelenting
in her campaign to be free of all
even the golden-yellow sun
that trickles
through near impenetrable green.
there a new beginning erupts
like a galaxy of stars
naked
without expectation
only a heart to guide
its unfolding.
there upon the forest floor
a single seed falls
and life once again
begins.

Afternoon Lift
By Don Iannone

late afternoon summer breeze
...lifts fading spirits high
......like pastel rainbow kites
.........into awaiting cloudless blue sky

Processing Life
By Don Iannone

Shattered minds--
the sort therapists love
...and the sort driving
average normal people crazy.
What do I know about average normal?
Who even cares!
I think...it's not even worth the effort
...to strive to be normal.
Why strive for anything?
Of course, if you stop striving
...people will say you're not normal.
I say...you're crazy if you do strive.
Look at the normal people you know.
What are they all about anyway?
I suppose they fit the bell-shaped curve.
You know...that statistical aberration
everybody uses to point to mediocrity.
Cut to the chase.
How did you grow up?
Did you have an average shot
...at being normal as a child?
Were you normal
...like the other kids at Elm School
...or did you have a different take on life?
Forget normal.
Fuck it!
I hope you had
...a better than average chance
...of making it as a kid
...because all this unfinished business
...has a way of building up
...to a breaking point
the older you get...
a point beyond
...what the average normal person can bear.
What do you bear in life?
Normal or not
...we all have crosses to bear.
We under-estimate
...the weight of the cross
...most people bear in life.
Think about it.
I look at mine.
While it's growing smaller
...than it used to be
...it's still there.
It always will be
...in one way, shape, or form.
At least my cross
is coming into view.
For a long time, I couldn't see it.
I just felt heavy all the time.
I see yours
...because mine is in better focus
...and it makes mine look small.
While there are no scales to weigh
...the crosses bourne by any of us
...our hearts know the burden
...they lug around day in and out.
It's not worth weighing these things.
That's not why we're here.
Again, being normal isn't the point either.
The only thing that really matters
...is whether you find yourself
...amidst life's comings and goings
...and in so doing
...you find yourself.

Longing for Release
By Don Iannone

my soul longs still
...not from wanting anything
......but release
.........from the remaining duality
............anchoring it to this and that.
no permission required
...or anything else
......simply allowing
.........what rises to fall
...........and what falls to rise
..............without judgment
.................without clinging
.....................and someday without notice.

Cirque du Soliel.

See it. I'm very glad my wife bought tickets for us.

Will blow your mind!!!

Reality Emerges
By Don Iannone

stardust magic
...wishful thoughts flutter in blue sky
......actuality emerges from all possibilities

Heart Murmurs
By Don Iannone

silent majority
...speaking without words
......hearts whisper love

All's Not Well in the City
By Don Iannone

Abandoned hopes grow
like incurable cancers
in brownfields in the city.
Lifeless forms walk
downtown's empty streets
in search of make-believe shadows.
The clock on the square
is not only broken
but lost in time.
Factories once filled
with buzzing machines and workers
are graveyards where dog-sized rats
feed on rusted metal and scum.
Early every morning
even before you wash your face
the local newspaper pours raw acid
into the eyes of suffering citizens
who flip hamburgers for a living
and who worry late into the night
about how to live in a dying city.
Service is a thing of the past
in the remaining stores where you shop.
Nobody even cares enough to hope in a town
where good sports teams are moored to self-defeat
even before the season begins.
Political elections are nothing more
than depraved freak shows
featuring vampires and demons
sucking the last drops of life out of the city.
Everyone denies
in their own way
that we have a real problem.
It's a black spot on the city's soul
that is growing larger everyday
and only a massive exorcism can remove it.
So don't bother acting surprised
that nobody wants to live here.
That is just your way
of denying we have a real problem.

Continuing the Dialogue about Spirituality

I applaud all of you for sharing your views on spirituality. This is a good learning experience for me and hopefully for you. Thank you!

I would like to get your thoughts on this set of follow-up questions:

Beyond our various spiritual beliefs, how do we "embody" these beliefs in our everyday lives? How are we with others? How are we with ourselves? Are kindness, compassion, and empathy natural responses to what we encounter in our daily lives, or do we greet the world (including ourselves) with fear, distrust, jealousy, and anger? Do we carry a sufficient sense of our self around with us; that is a sense of self in non-egoic terms? Do we truly "feel" who we are? I find these questions to be logical outflows of our earlier discussion.

Click Here to Continue the Dialogue about Spirituality
(I responded to the wonderful thoughts all of you provided.)

Climbing Out of the Well
By Don Iannone

Is that you hiding
in the corner of your mind,
where shadows are darkened
by a single light bulb
dangling overhead?
Is that you hiding
in your own confusion and illusion,
wishing to be free,
but preferring to linger
in your own obliqueness?
Free yourself
for once and all.
Grasp the rope
dangling down the well shaft.
Pull yourself out
of your misery.
It's your own rope.
You created it,
like the obliqueness
that you followed into the well.
Your true nature awaits you
in the bone-warming sun above.

A Clearing Moment
By Don Iannone

Illusion slipping away
...like fading clouds
......in irrepressible sunlight.

Finding True Nature
By Don Iannone

Clear blue skies
...just above clouds imagined
......quietly washed away in golden sunlight.

Click Here to Continue
the Dialogue about Spirituality

Power of Love
By Don Iannone

Moved by a river of tears
straight from the heart,
flowing freely,
filled with compassion
for those who suffer.
No magic wand
to wave over the world,
but loving kindness
powerful enough
to still hearts
tormented and ruptured
by neglect and broken promises.
It's simple.
Just care.

One Last Wish
By Don Iannone

You have
...one last wish.
......Make it now.
.........Wish for healing
.............in the world.
................Wish for peace
....................in the world.
.......................Wish for love
...........................in our hearts
..............................to lift us all above
.................................the cleavages
....................................the differences
.......................................the fighting
..........................................the suffering
.............................................and all else
................................................that destroys
...................................................the foundation
......................................................of our existence.

...................It could all end.

Be That
Don Iannone

I am that.
You are that.
Be that...
without seeking.
Know there is nothing
to seek
or know
beyond that.
Truth will both lead
and follow you.

A Dialogue about Spirituality

So many of you visit here every day. I am grateful for those who come to read my words, leave their words, and also for those who bring silence. Thank you.

I'm wondering if you might like to dialogue about spirituality and your personal beliefs in this regard. I'd like to see you dialogue with each other as well as with me. If so, we could create a continuing thread to make this possible. Interested?

I will serve up some starting questions, but would like all of you to serve up your own questions as well. Please number your question so we can refer back to it. For example, the next person to post a question would use the number 2. Deal?

Question 1 (Two-part question):

1a: "What does spirituality mean to you personally?"

1b: "How would you describe your core spiritual beliefs and practices?"

Here are my starting thoughts on each.

1a: Spirituality means to me that I am a spirit by nature. All that I do is "spiritual" in this sense. There is nothing that I am or do that is not spiritual. I strive for a direct relationship with the Divine (God-Being) on a daily basis and in this sense follow the mystical tradition. There is no separation between me and God. Spirituality permeates everything I am and do. I see others the same way.

1b: I believe my spiritual essence is consciousness, which is shared with others and not separate. In my way of thinking, there is but one consciousness that is the universe. Mind, body, and spirit are not separate. They are one and I am one with all. Mind and spirit mean the same thing to me.

My worldview is panpsychist. "Panpsychism is the belief that mind, or consciousness, is omnipresent throughout the universe and is a fundamental aspect of the universe. Panpsychists believe the entire universe from the largest galaxy to the smallest sub-atomic particle or wave is sentient or conscious and are all connected parts of the whole. In other words the substance of the universe is composed entirely of "mind" or "consciousness." Source definition: Wikipedia.

I don't consider myself religious in an organized religion sense. In many ways, I subscribe to the Buddhist way of seeing and being, but not entirely. If I had to pick a Western "church" so to speak that I feel any affinity for it would be the Unitarian Universalist Church.

My life vision statement is this: "We are "here" to help others. We help ourselves by helping others. We teach what we ourselves need to learn in life. Life is really very simple once we learn to get beyond ourselves."

The main components of my current spiritual practice include: meditation, poetry, ongoing self-study, nature, giving to and sharing with others, and certain practices from Native American spirituality.

Namaste!

Kindness
By Don Iannone

Allow yourself
to commit
a random act
of kindness
today.
The results
will amaze you.

Reality
By Don Iannone

Reality is simple:
open to and receive
the moment
about to happen.

Miracles
By Don Iannone

Miracles happen
everyday of your life.
Trust yourself
to make one happen.