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    Bleu Oleander


    Cathedrals of the mind
    majestic temples
    adorned in pixel glitter
    and video extravagance
    sing with songs from the heart.

    Virtual cathedrals built by a master
    designed to still our inner theaters
    spaces of contemplation
    times of compassion
    space-time joined in play.

    Cheers to the cathedral builders
    whether digital or stone
    who in their wisdom
    have given seekers
    the gift of transcendence.

    Honoring PaB
    April 2013

    (Read by Aphrodite)




    Bruce Mowbray   


    There lies in every crude and common crag
    An opening through which to find and flag
    The cosmos down - in wordless wonder's wake.

    A brief hiatus, hole, or bonnie break
    That naughty Nature notches everywhere
    To catch our contemplations, unaware.

    And in serenely self-determined mode
    Each one of us will find herself abode
    Therein:  a hermitage, an inward home,

    Through which imagination's stallions roam
    Unbridled.  Nature made it so in every bind,
    Specific speckle, particle, and mind.

    A penetrating argument for Grace:
    That puny perforations offer space!
    - - - -
    July 15, 2010  - by Bruce Mowbray




    Calvino Rabeni



    I came here following

    a thread of rumor

    to find some others circling

    a pixel-thin pond

    this is the end of the land

    and the blue sea is before us

    they've found a place to wait

    where waves first think of rising

    nothing piled on nothing

    and with a little effort

    a little timing

    it is possible to stand

    on the downward falling side

    and ride.


    The wave shows the presence

    of hidden shores

    too deep and it need not rise

    too shallow and it breaks and drops the riders

    sometimes there's just enough space underneath

    for a good sustained run

    to solid ground.


    We nod "that was a good one,

    let's do it again!"

    and head back out to wait

    where things are just starting

    to be.


    (Read by Zen)





    in a place

    there is acceptance






    who am I

    what am I





    the whole



    of me

    of play

    of Being




    Eden Haiku                           


    When I landed on these grounds

    A few years ago

    It was November 2

    The Day of the Dead

    My mother had passed away

    Six months before

    And I was missing her


    Sitting in this circle of peace

    With virtual strangers

    Wondering about the nature of reality

    I had the feeling my mother was sitting there

    Among us


    And I now know she was

    It was her way of easing me out

    Of the emotional loneliness

    Which is my karmic knot


    Almost 5 years later

    I'm now mourning my father

    He passed away peacefully

    In his own bed, at home

    I was holding his hand in mine

    And I'm grateful to report


    He's now traveling to a distant star

    Whirling through new dimensions 

    Crossing many thresholds

    Into parallel worlds

    Sporting the translucent wings

    He was telling me about

    Between his naps and slumbers


    The silver cord snatched at dawn on March 17th

    Only 3 weeks ago

    I'm not fully aware yet

    That he's gone forever


    The pendulum clock

    Still is still ticking in his empty home

    When I go feeding and walking his little dog

    Who looks at me with teary eyes.


    Now my father is flying free as a bird

    Soaring the blue skies of infinity

    And I miss him

    And I'm grateful to share this with you

    On this 5th anniversary celebration

    In this circle of peace




    Eliza Madrigal


    A buddha brought Eliza to play as Being,

    to meet his great winged lion friends.


    I’m not kidding. His name was “buddha”


    She was just a few weeks old, and

    it was Valentines Day


    The two climbed into a large white balloon

    For an exhilarating ride, and soft landing


    The pavilion that night was full with

    the crackling conversation,


    of curious minds

    Sophisticated and innocent – both.


    Mingling together like aged familiars reunited,

    Peculiar and alive


    A host was named for Persian queen or talking bird,

    Introduced by a rugged, happy man with long red hair.


    And someone named BB asked questions at which she



    And stayed

    And learned to play

    To see inside of, what was happening





    There are simple lines between basic needs.

    A touch of a hand offers more than warmth; but textures, emotions, untold stories – both true and … just hopes.

    A look in another’s eyes tells more than color; but soul, sorrow, desires – both spoken and dreamt.

    A light breeze carries with it more than air; but scents, specks, creatures – both small and smaller.

    Breaking bread with another gives more than to the body; but spirit, connection, life – with both laughter and tears.

    Perhaps our encounters here draw lines … but open bridges.  


    (Read by Sun)






    We sit

    We talk

    We listen

    Side by side

    Together – being – creating – dreaming -

    •    everything imaginable - or

    •    sometimes - nothing much at all

    We are:   

    •    day to day companions

    •    explorers of the ordinary

    •    engagers of the extraordinary

    •    starry eyed dancers moving with the magic of the moment

    •    holding hands  - in the mystery :)


    (Read by Aphrodite)



    Pema Pera

    so vivid
    shades of color
    amidst veils of fog
    delightful surprise
    each new appearance
    each a new birth
    each gesture an invitation,
    a question mark,
    an exclamation mark


    (Read by Bruce)



    Zen Arado


     We sit by that flickering fountain, tiled blue pool,
     shifting patterns of people; fixed and regular
     planets; others orbit infrequently; and dark stars that,
     dissipated into oblivion, pulse silently in other regions.

    We peer into the mystic universe, never reaching
    solid foundations, only shifting sand - too vague,
     some said and left, but we tirelessly persevere,
     discussing, dropping, appearing, as presentation of being.

    We never solve the unfolding mystery of a reality
    whose curlicues expand into evermore complex patterns,
    despite the temporary, shifting rafts we
    cling to tightly, and bale out slippery doubts.

    We add new-wood notions to oak tree conceptions
    that grow vast forests of word leaves, then
    fade into flimsy wraiths that they always were,
    but unnoticed until we looked hard enough,

    by probing, watching, explaining, encouraging, sharing,
     listening, laughing, playing, thinking and talking.
    They yellow with age and tumble into a commodious
     chat log, a wiki-woven web of writings.



    Group poems created March 31: 1:00 pm    Pavilion


    Zon Kwan, Aphrodite Macbain, Wol Euler:                   

    A frog in a pond

    green splash

    dropping itself



    Aphrodite Macbain, stevenaia Michinaga, Bruce Mowbray, Wol Euler, Zen Arado

    Three breaths   

    Nine seconds

    precious now.

    Let go!                  

    Clings on.


    (Read by Zen)






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    Viewing 2 of 2 comments: view all
    Here are the links to Xirana's videos of most of the readings (General) (Eden) (Catriamonblue) (Korel -read by Sun) (Eliza) (Pema -read by Bruce) (Zen) (Bruce) (Paradise- read by Aphrodite) edited 19:11, 8 Apr 2013
    Posted 15:43, 8 Apr 2013
    Beautiful photographs Sun!
    Posted 15:18, 9 Apr 2013
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