A Nameless Voice, A Voiceless Name

What is your name when you’re alone
When nobody’s there to hear you say it?
Do you dance and sing when nobody can see?
Would you ever dance and sing for me?

I have no name when I’m alone
But I have a voice when I’m silent
I dance and I sing when nobody’s in view
And one day I might dance and sing for you


Dancing with Shadows

Do you know that I don't know
Anything beyond light and shadow
No ideas, no thoughts
Just reactions

I chase my shadow
I run from my shadow
I touch my shadow
I lean on my shadow
I tap on its fingers
I step on its feet

And we dance
And we prance
And we dance

I can't see you watching
If I did, I couldn't care
Light and dark are now
All that I perceive
Not just the colors
But the things we believe
Ideas don't exist
And neither do you
Unless you bring it
Bring your shadow into view
Then I can dance —
With your shadow, not with you

Black and white
Dark and light
Are all I comprehend
But it's not so bad
To dance with shadows
Round the bend


My Head Is Wrong, But Things Will Be Alright

I did more today and in general this week than I should. Too much exertion. Too much work.

My skin burns everywhere.

The world is shimmering. There’s a background flicker. Then there’s orange and yellow shimmery spots everywhere.

My ears are ringing in a very high pitch that nothing can block.

My tongue is weird.  It’s poised for verbal tics. Poised in a highly unpleasant way. But there’s no words or noises. Just the threat of words or noises.

But there are words in my head. Or ideas, just before they get formed into words. They are flooding every which way.

My head is buzzing.

All the above things are connected together, part of the same whole.

So the words flicker and the flickering buzzes and the buzzing is orange and yellow and the orange and yellow are made of words and three words burn.

Please stop please stop please stop.

This is not me. This is me, lost. This is me, lost in the world of words. If it would only be quiet and still again I would be me.

This is the world I lived in made my own barged my way into no matter the pain, from the ages of approximately seven to twelve.

And then and then the words fell apart and everything was fragments and I was picking up the pieces.

But I was just that much closer to me?

At least now it is only minutes hours days instead of weeks months years.

I finally find it. .

I tell my mind to be silent, to stop telling itself stories, the lies we all tell ourselves about the world.




These things are not me.

They are outside me. Bombarding me. But the prickly burning ringing orange words are not me.

I tell them to leave.

They have no place in my mind. My home.  My life.

My brain does not need to accept this world of words, let it worm its way into my head, tell me how to feel, how to live, how to be.

It’s an intrusion into my life. Not a thing to aspire to or identify with.

But I have deep roots in places no words can go. And those give me an immunity to the kind of words that exist only to delude and invade.

Those words can’t touch me.  They can’t even see me.

If I reach down far enough I am made of clarity. I am made of joy.  I am made of strength. I am made of love. I am made of silence.


That’s what matters.



A Poem About Realness (1999)

In the center of the wood in tangled gnarling knots I sit
In every part of every tree I grow the waiting path
The light that filters through the trees reflecting colors dark and deep
The stars that glimmer through the leaves reflect me just the same

The roots that travel searching deep and ancient through the darkened soil
The smell of earth that tells you more than any sight can say
The deepened grooves inside the bark that guide you winding wondering
The stillness deepness permeates and holds within the path

The moss is dangling from the outer branches of the tallest trees
The higher branches reaching leaves and needles to the sun
The warmth and cool unearthened sound that makes the forest what it is
The paths they take all from one place which in all paths begun

I sing the song that comes from there and blends and sharpens in the trees
That changes still and stays the same and shines in forest light
That twists and turns and follows flying endless into from the path
Where travelers and wanderers may in the end find me

A wanderer might find the path in smallest roots and gnarling trees
The spaces in between the trees might show the path as well
The forest and the stars will show emerging patterns still the same
And if the forest brings you fear, then you have not found me

The ancient stillness of the wood reflected from and through my world
For at the center lies the path and in the path is me
However wild the wind may blow the movement of my path remains
For if you fear the forest’s edge then you have not found me


What can you see?

In the voids inside my mind
There’s an ocean, deep and dark
At the bottom of the ocean
There’s reflections of the stars

If you can see the stars
At the bottom, in the deep
If you can see the rainbows
That even the sun can’t reach

If you can see me dancing
Unaware of being watched
If you can see the world
Before a mind, before a thought

If you see distant reflections
Of reflections, of reflections
And if you can see the deep, the dark
The silence between worlds

If you can see the void
That stands in front of me
If you can see how full it is
And how empty it can be

If you see what it’s like
To not know at thirty
What they knew at three

But to know things
And to see things
That nobody else can see

Then maybe, just maybe
I can see you
And you can see me


You Can’t Hear My Silence

[Written in 2014.  Inspired by 2000’s “Hear Their Silence” rally.]

They told the world to hear our silence
Hear the silence of the mute autistic people
Who will never have a voice of any kind
Presumed, by them, to be all of us
Or all of us who matter
And they, of course, would speak for us
All of us
At all

I wish they could hear silence
I wish they could listen to silence until they heard it

Silence is
The gap between your words
Silence is
The void between you and me
Silence is
The place where everything begins
Silence is
The place where the universe hides
Silence is
Everything there is, and nothing
Silence is
Where I’d rather be
Silence is
Where you’ll find all of me that matters

But you’ll never hear my silence
Because you don’t know how to listen
To things you can’t hear


If I could reach through the computer screen…

lapis lazuli ball

I want to hand you a lapis lazuli ball
So you can lose yourself in the deep blue
And be dazzled by the gold specks.
I want you to roll it over and over in your hand
Gently nose it to feel its texture
And weigh it in your hand.

black tourmaline egg

I want to hand you my black tourmaline egg
So you can feel that unique texture
I want you to hold it while you sleep
And wake up to it, warm and slick in your hand

amber ring

I want to hand you my amber ring
So you can watch the sunlight turn it into fire
And watch the sun set inside it glittering red, orange, and yellow

I want to do these things
So that I can say
We share these sensory experiences
And nothing can take that away

I want to hand things back and forth
And clack them together to hear their sounds
And rub them on our cheeks
And brush them against our fingertips

Then I want to hand you things too big to pick up:

The warmth and smell of a granite mountainside as the sun heats it up all day long.

The liquid sunlight melting across the coat of a cat who embodies sunlight well.

The whole cycle of life that takes place in the soil of a redwood forest.  And the smell of that soil.

The deep rumbling sound of the Mother Tree when you’re curled up against it, surrounded by its invisible amethyst glow.

The feeling of lying in bed, but at the same time, being surrounded by a deep, glowing blue sky, as if pre-dawn or post-dusk. And listening to the music of the forest.  Listening with my skin, listening with my eyes, listening with my fingertips, listening with my nose.  Listening with everything more than my ears.  Being wrapped in the song of the forest and the stars and the trees and the soil and the fungus, all singing, all singing inside me.

I know you can feel the layers of sensory experience.  The layers of meaning that come before the meaning of mind.  The things we were meant to forget, when we learned to think their way.  The things we didn’t forget, the things that we retained no matter what we were told to forget.  The stillness, the silence.  The music in the silence, the growth and death and birth cycling endlessly.

I would hand you these things, if I could reach through a computer screen.  And I would take whatever you handed back, and listen to it sing its unique song.  And we could communicate the way we are meant to communicate.  By what came before thought, by what came before sight and sound, touch and smell, by the resonance in what came before.


In the Sea of Nun

You told me I didn’t know what water was
I told you, “There is more to the sea of Nun than you could ever guess”
But you told me words were the only way to wisdom
Do you know what life is like floating without fins or flippers to move yourself from here to there?
Do you know what it is like before those words you hold so dear?
Have you been blown around in the currents?
Have you had to make your life wherever the water took you?
I may have seemed like a sleepwalker to you
Without the parts you use to guide and steer
But part of me has always been wide awake

I sit alone, and time is gone
You come in, and turn into a blur of movement and sound
I am like a statue watching living people fly past
But when I’m alone, time stands still for me again

In between your words is silence
In that silence is the world
Beneath all your ideas things come together on their own

I am awake when you call me asleep
I have a voice when you call me silent
I can navigate where you see only chaos
(In the waters of Nun)

The lines are twisting underwater
I feel them spread and branch away
They twist around the corner
They wrap around me sideways
They double, triple, even more
They slide around and up and down
And still it all makes sense to me
Or maybe it makes me to sense
Either way this is my home
And there is life in the sea of Nun

One day I woke up
There was more than the sea
There was a strange place
I found myself there
I didn’t go there
Make no mistake
I just was here then there

How can I describe it?
You have always had a ghin
What is a ghin?
It’s what you’ve always had
I don’t have a ghin
Something else was built
But how can I describe the building?

You have a ghin
You can never know the steps it took
I didn’t build it
It built up like collecting dust
So the dust settled on me
More dust
More dust
More dust
More dust
Eventually the dust hurt
And more dust

And then a mound of dust
A mound shaped a little like a ghin
But it was not a ghin
I will call it a foom
My foom tried to be a ghin
It had not the. of a ghin
And the foom hurt
And the foom hurt
And the foom hurt
And you said “She is alive, she has a ghin”

And they all danced around
They looked at the foom
They touched the foom
They said “She is alive, she has a ghin”

“Where did she come from?”
(He pointed to the sea of Nun)
“Oh surely not there”
“Nothing from there is alive”
“Nothing from there has shape”
“Nothing from there is real”
“Nothing from there has a ghin”

They set me in the shallow water until I floated
They poked me with long sticks
They watched me bob around
They laughed

I felt the currents underneath me
They could not feel those currents
To them there is only chaos in the sea of Nun
They saw the part of me that was above the water
I lived in the part of me below

And they pushed, and they pulled
And I floated side to side
And they clapped, and they laughed
And the sea of Nun became my tears

I stopped moving
They threw a rope and pulled
I washed up on the shore
They formed a circle around me
Then they drilled me full of holes

They filled each hole with a different machine
And they whirred and they clacked
And I buzzed and I bounced
But the machines all fell out
So they pushed me back in the sea of Nun

And there I stayed and there I dreamed
And there the currents pushed me round
And there I drifted, there I slept
Until I grew flippers