Lake MerrittMy first poem.




Today is my birthday.

My mother loves this day.

She is so proud of me.

I wonder how much pain she endured in my birth

and how quickly it was eclipsed with love?

I came into this world head first

like most of us.

This was 37 years ago and yet

I still mark the calendar

and go through motions of celebration.


Today my friend died.

Not years ago, but actually today.

He laid down next to my best friend

and took his last breath of our atmosphere.

I wonder if he felt any pain

or if it was eclipsed by utter joy and reintegration?

I know my friend feels sadness, loneliness and left behind.


Do we experience any of this when we leave our body behind?

At what point do we inhabit our bodies?

It is in the womb,



At what point do we exit,

with our last exhale?


The one thing we who have been birthed

can all expect is our eventual death.

It is the one given in life.

Yet it is also something

that brings fear.


I am not scared.


Why should I be scared of liberation?

Of finding out what is behind the curtain?


Should we celebrate our death yearly as our birthday.

Does it make more sense to tune into the unknown

and become acquainted with it?

Maybe we celebrate birthdays as the realization

that we are that much closer to our own mortality

just not quite there.


Being remixed into source

that is something to be joyous about.

Being extinguished like the flame on birthday candles.


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