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We have been attending weekly meditation sessions with a few friends. During one of the earlier sessions, our facilitator guided us to the place described in the story – a lively steam, grasslands up to our knees and a wonderful forest of tall trees. I was frustrated by the fact that I never left the rock. Mulling over the session later, I was given this explanation by my Spirit… –

Just One of the Boys

With pant legs rolled up,

The boys waded into the cool, clear stream.

Summer had begun;

The adventures would start anew,

As they had year after year

Since before they had become teenagers.


One by one they left the stream,

Walking ashore into the inviting woodlands,

Tall grasses rising up to their knees.

Lingering, he climbed upon a large rock

In the middle of the stream,

As he watched the others slowly disappear from his view.


Feeling  somewhat contented, he wondered about his future –

What would be his true path?

Tears began flowing down his cheeks

Into the cool, shimmering stream,

Reflecting his adolescent face.


He tightly closed his eyes-

Visions of layers of himself peeling away,

As the tears fell.

To which of his friends could he reveal

His secret – sacrificing their friendships?

For even at his young and tender age he knew –

Once the secret was out in the open,

There would be no more adventures –

Just loneliness, more hidden secrets

More layers waiting to be peeled away.


Looking up

His friends came around the corner of the woods,

Questioning his decision to remain behind,

Sitting on the rock in the middle of the stream.

This summer – perhaps his last with them,

He would continue to be –

Just one of the boys.


Larry and I have been participating in regular meditation sessions every Monday night for some time now. After the loss of our friend, Randy, in Canada, this poem evolved from one of those sessions…. The references to ponds, frogs, etc. is a result of our last visit with Randy and Michael and a walk we actually took near their house. The other two men were my father and another friend Sam who was taken from us shortly after Randy died.

Into the Woods

Four men of various ages walked into the woods

On a brilliant sunny day –

Side by side,

They walked beneath the towering maple and poplar trees,

Passing the pond ringed with cattails –

Frogs croaking,

Herons standing ever vigil for an occasional fish

Calm waters on an otherwise normal day.

Reaching the opposite edge of the woods,

An incredible white light appeared filling the horizon

And, one by one, three of the men disappeared without a sound –

Only one remaining – wondering –


As he slowly retraced his steps alone.

Why had he been left behind (never a chance to say goodbye) –

How could he go on without them by his side?

Broken-hearted, he exited the woods,

Never looking back,

The memory of that wondrous day would sustain him

Through his grief.

His three friends had found eternal peace.

Having ventured into the woods on that fateful day.


He too would venture into that same woods,

And the four men would be re-united.

One of those things which is often heard, is that one needs one’s space! I believe that is a universal feeling. There are times, for whatever reasons, that in our day to day lives this is a necessity and not just a need. Some may use meditation for this purpose. Others…they go shopping…LOL. My daughter calls it “Me Time”. This poem was written on one of those days….

Two Solitudes

There are times in our lives

When we live in two solitudes;

One is the solitude of our

External environment –

The other is our inner self, our ego,

Which is the more complicated.

We can turn off, tune out

Those things we choose not

To see or hear  in our surroundings.

The inner solitude can at times,

Overpower us –

Creating havoc, unseen,

Except for those closest to us.

Some see it as ‘that time of the month’,

Others chalk it up to moodiness.

Nevertheless, we are alone with these

Thoughts and feelings,

And only we can process them,

As we must,

If we are to move forward

And leave the solitude behind!

Larry and I have been attending Monday night meditation sessions with our friend, Barbara, and some other friends. I am not sure where I was at the time,  or even what I was thinking, but since the thoughts permeating this poem are meditative in origin, I felt it was appropriate. I dedicate this to Barbara and our Monday Night meditators…

Harbour of Dreams

Within the psyche of most human beings,

Between adolescence and senility,

Exists a harbour of dreams –

One place, real or imaginary,

To which one can travel

Telepathically, instantaneously,

In times of stress or dismay –

A safe place, far from the moment

In which we find ourselves.

In adolescence,

It may be a place to which we’ve never ever been –

“Over the rainbow” as the song says;

As we age, it may be a place to which we have travelled.

In many instances – a place we’ve never ever seen,

Except in a movie or on television or the Internet.

Nevertheless, a safe harbor –

No rocks upon which to flounder,

No storms on the imminent horizon,

No threatening ‘creatures’ real or imaginary, in sight!

Harbours of dreams

Have both beautiful sunrises and sunsets,

And, in-between –

Calm seas upon which we can navigate

The shoals of life.

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July 2018
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