Daniel's Writings

From the experience of walking in the UBC endownment lands


It is the place of dreams Where the light gives way to night Treading softly on moist ground All sounds are amplified The imagination works wondrous wild Manifesting visions of all kinds Creating illusions of fear to nip at the heels Animals, men and spirits all clamor to grab hold But none grasp tighter than the mind

Dante Alighieri stepped into the woods Not knowing what he would find

In the midway of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood, astray Gone from the path direct: and e’en to tell, It were no easy task, how savage wild That forest, how robust and rough its growth, Which to remember only, my dismay Renews, in bitterness not far from death.

He was met by Virgil and was guided through hell, purgatory and paradise. They stopped along the way to witness all kinds of suffering and joy.

This is the journey we take every time we risk the unknowable It takes us through the shadows of the mind To the salvation of our own presence The willingness to go through that which we fear most Will bring us closer to the source of our own truth The truth of who we are

Tonight I stepped in the woods Not knowing Allowing my feet to carry me Letting my mind wander along the path Until I could barely see Relaxing into the unknowable, un-seeable Trusting my senses, allowing my mind to run wild Observing fear and relinquishing its grip on my heart Breathing and walking through what is

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:42 PM

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This speaks to the multigenerational alcoholism in Eastern Europe and the world for that matter. written in the style of turn of the century Bolshevik manifesto.


Red noses, cold hands and flaming livers Grimy men guzzle caustic antiseptic from paper bags This petrol handsomely dressed up as a cocktail

It is the birthright beverage of a civilization This sacred Russian vodka

The lubricant of violence The poison water of hatred It is a slow, degenerative suicide for mind, body and soul It is disguised as a tradition It is the opposite of salvation It is the holy water of misery It is death and it keeps smiling at us As we hit ourselves in the head with it Again and again

Families blown to bits Children violated Wives beaten Men in shackles Lying cold and alone in the street Wetting themselves Spinning into the black whole of delusion Rotting from the inside out Just to avoid the truth of what is

The Russian tradition is not to feel the pain, of pain The cure to the pain isn’t found in distilled grain We must relinquish this spirit of insanity! We must break the shackles of this white death! Instead embracing life and the goodness of the people!

Smash your bottles on the cobblestone once and for all! It has caused enough death and misery! Long live life without vodka! Free Mother Russia from this scourge!

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:42 PM

What can say? Your writing is always incredible to me.

Deep, exquisite and inquisitive. Full of cutting edge truths and treasures of insights.

Thank you Alazarin! Thank you for posting!


Tune in and tune out White cord zombies with deaf ears The streets are lonely

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:56 PM

Very impressed with the Russian Vodka poem especially. Some great imagery and wordplay. ” Spinning into the black whole of delusion”; Great! I can relate to a similar tradition of drunkenness in Ireland and the British Military. Thanks for sharing.


In a cul de sac in Surrey I found what I hadn’t experienced in the holiday homes of America That it was more comfortable on the hard Hindu floor Then on any overstuffed Christian couches I walked out the door that night wondering why I didn’t feel bad Sadly I had been trained to expect the worst

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:56 PM


The best parts of last night were the ones with no words Deep presence moments A kind knowing gaze Emotional synergy Physical resonance Sweet understanding Sensual articulation Elegant form and formlessness

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:56 PM

Here is something I wrote after the evening that we discovered the power of “transparency”


Standing on the porch tonight Looking down at the wet green ground below I thought my eyes were going bad The earth was morphing, moving and dancing I caught what I perceived was a true glimpse of ever present manifesation Interconnected force of nature was swirling in light Magnificent wholeness was breathing in and out Appearing as one moment of universal creation My eyes were clear I could see the trees and the ground pulsating with life in unison

The moon was nearly full On this magical oddly warm autumn night Looking at the ground I was blessed with fresh clear vision Finally seeing what is always already happening Overwhelmed with gratitude I walked over to the hundred year old mighty pine Just to see if what I was sensing was a mirage Touching it I connected to the strength of its treeness Formless, I was immediately pulled into the trunk Through the bark I shot up past the branches to the tip top Spreading out I went down to the roots Surging together as one energy Being one as a tree, not two forms, just one not two or three The mighty trunk was eight feet around and still growing I was growing with it in shape and wisdom Energy exploded hundreds of feel tall and yards deep I stood transfixed holding on to the power of existense

Not for one moment did I feel like the “I” mattered There was no reference point to point to Or from

I had finally done it I disappeared And it felt really good

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:56 PM


A response to long distance love.


A Frustrated cry in the night Have you come up with anything romantic? Show me your love!

Passion fizzing out of a magic alabaster bottle The one that is corked with the memory of fond caress Passions packaged with patience Tiny fire fills the envelope of intent Put a stamp on it my love and wish it farewell

I can’t see it I can’t feel it It’s not the same Something changed The idea of who we were Melted in the light of now

We can remember the dream We can create a dream But dreams are not what is This is, what is

Life is here in what is It is where we live Like it or not You are here in here I am here in here This is, what is It is the “there” that causes so much confusion

You wanted to be an ocean of space away You have the ocean of space This is, what is

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:49 PM

As I read this poem I can place myself right in with this story. Its easy to let go into the words you write Patty

What I wrote for ‘Same Page’ was meant for ‘Dark forrest’ All your writing is good. This paticular piece resonates with me right through to my psyshie.

(in the vain of the iPod haiku) cell phone haiku:

crowded talking streets blinded head smiles turned inward do you feel the sun?


Held up by scaffolding Secured with duct tape Pushing against myself I can feel the tangled threads of the web Wrapped around my arms and legs I am a struggling puppet swearing at God

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:50 PM

this one was inspried from a Zen retreat this fall.


Open eyes just in time to see a golden leaf float to the ground. Open eyes into the darkness, behind the veil of eyelid.

Open ears to hear the meditation bell sound at the end of another sitting. Open ears to hear the teacher speak the words that sink the deepest.

Open senses aware that the one who is watching, may not be looking. Open senses to the truth that this intense feeling is not real.

Open mind to discover that it is so noisy in here that there is nothing to hear. Open mind to the possibility of allowing no mind to spontaneously occur.

Open heart, beating, glowing, feeling and expanding with each breath. Open heart energy from the chest, pouring through the arms and into the world.

I I am Open Opening Openness Openfulllessness Openness Opening Open I am I

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:50 PM


Where are my poems? Where are the poems I set free into the world? None of them have returned They were born and nurtured until they were strong enough to fly Then what happened They flew away Far away I can’t find them anymore They are on the page but they are somehow missing Released into the ether of spirit

I wait at my window with a deep longing Trying hard not to want them to come back I am all choked up inside I take another breath It’s OK I tell myself They are gone I can write more There is no end to them There is always beginning

Words manifest in formations Geese fly overhead In points of awareness So do these words They fly across the page Words of perfect awareness, not perfected Unfolding and released into being Hatching and crawling out of embryonic shells Covered birthing fluid Breathing the first grasps of air Seeing the first rays of light Making the first sounds of life Facing the intensity of form Arriving home Here

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:55 PM


Illusion calls to me I answer

Illusion says my name I answer

Illusion invites me to dine I eat

Illusion drives me over the edge I continue

Illusion lets me know that the ideas and images That illusion has been showing me Are references to an endless cycle that isn’t real

And I believe it

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:51 PM


Entice me to love you Call me and I will answer Be here and I will love you Can you hear my call for love? I just want you to answer There is nothing more than that To answer quietly That’s what I need to hear Longing to touch and be touched Through tenderness Touching grace Beauty transcending form Merging as two illusions into swans Floating along unaware of the goings on Feeling the synergy and connection Wing on wing intertwined in union Breathing in unison merged life force Unified consciousness of love

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:50 PM

This was inspired by a weekend Kirtan chanting workshop led by Gina Sala.


I threw a million pebbles Into a thousand ponds And it didn’t change a thing

Here you are in front of me Singing Love Reflecting stillness My beloved

Edited Tue, Dec 18, 2007 11:50 PM

I have enjoyed reading and rereading your words! Thank you for bringing this group together.

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