Windmills

Windmills on big hills are turning in turn

Lost in dry yellow is where they will learn

To stand understanding their season will come

Patches of green bringing hope of freedom

Windmills on big hills are turning in trust

Not always wanting but knowing they must

Push on through parched grass and bear it with poise

The sound of their turning, an unswerving noise

guitar jam

On The Other Side

I struggle to live always on the other side of the mirror

The place where you give everything and you fear nothing

Where your eyes are open and all your senses alive

When what you believe is how you live

Neither pain nor suffering can hold me down

No, they rather propel me and chisel me

Into this inverted bigger reality

Why?

Why let this happen?

Because a plan is set in motion and cannot be stopped

I can close my eyes and pretend I never knew

But I don't want to hide anymore

I want to live

In Hope, In Trust, In Relentless Anticipation

I want to be tuned in and involved

To Collaborate and Contribute

The other side is Real

More real than this concrete outer shell

Ginger Glazed Salmon (The Joel Way)

"What is the Joel way?" You ask? The Joel way takes it's sweet time bringing all the ingredients together to be beautiful with time. The recipe Robin Anderson passed on to me (Yaay for the Andersons!) calls for bottled ginger and freshly squeezed lime juice. I think you can buy lime juice already squeezed. Anyway, I bought ginger root and minced it along with the garlic. And I bought limes which I hand-squeezed. What an awesome mess!


And the finished product. Bam!

Step Off Your Ladder

Someone's been summoned to step off his ladder

To look straight into the eyes of people who matter

Words and posture, frowns and pointed finger

Causing shame and bitterness that lingers

Step off from your ladder, it holds you apart

It puts out the impression that you haven't a heart

See the pained eyes that desire relation

Walk with them and lead them from a servant's station

The Things I Want To Say

There are things that I want to say.

I want to describe. I want to bring light to what I see.

But I cannot say them, I have to let them be.

And so I am dim. I am silent and stirred.

What is felt is trapped inside me without spoken word.

I bear with and watch with my eyes half closed.

Damming up the river of things that I know.




Shouldn't I talk? Shouldn't I share? Shouldn't I show that I care?

No, I watch helplessly, all too aware.

Shouldn't I cry out and sound out the alarm?

No, I stay quiet, I do much less harm.



There are things that I want to say.


I look above, I look at precipices so grand.

Down through the clouds and across the swollen land.

There are things so beautiful that no man can contain.

Like a gentle soul or a single drop of rain.

Even now in writing, these things are diminished.

The best I can do is to be a speechless witness.