Essays & Articles
Technology, spirituality & the synthesis of ancient wisdom
Is It Thus
A blob of goo fell from companion tree,I thought he but sheds leaves or fruit,Can he by other than e
Bonfire
Wither these times that trudge and pass,The gruelling climb where every stepLeads to one even more t
A Pause
I hear Thy steps above board,Thy voice keeping rhythm’s measure,Too caught in the event’s roundIs wh
Through All
Fiercely kind and brutally benign,Confounding mind by benevolent design,To all Thy suffocating grace
Chide Not
How charming are the hours that arrive,Each a specimen that overtly highlightsAll that the human spe
Only Recover
Oh snuff not the voices of Thy errant sons,Thy brood reckless who never knew caution,They who walk b
O Bliss Herder
Unpeopled are the hundred roads of desire,Silent the hundred chambers of longing,Mute are all the sw
Process
How many selves yet remain to burn awayIn the pittance of a single self name bound,I wake to death o
Toddler Soul
What a pair we make, Thou the MasterAnd I the bumbling stumbling acolyte,Was there a contrast ever m
Harp Unplayed
From how many faces hast Thou peeredAnd lured my pain-shy heart to dream,Reticent to the stings I ye
Of Pride
My voice inward turned whispering accused,“Of pride, thy counsellor, I must speak,A subtle haughtine
O Soul
What dire fascinations has thou sought O soul,Wading into murk of earth like some maidenIn flush of
School Me Better
Deep is turn of the grainPaced by momentums not entirely known,Hence our wills come up vainTo herd c
Famed Dawn
A little repose for the battered nerves is given,The mind yet caught in the tremor of events,A new b
Ends of the Ages
What expense of thought and feeling have I sparedIn pursuit and worship of Thee who art yet afar?Ric
One Last Mercy
A mercy was the birth Thou hadst conferred,A mercy the twin earth-orbs to gaze on Thee,A mercy the l
Boon-Giver
What remains for our colloquy yet to beWhen is plain in a hundred brazen excessesThy transgressions
Our Remit
The storm is ThineAnd all that whirls within,To Thee we fervently submitAll that exceeds our remit.
Dost Thou Know
Are there withered moons pouring melancholy,As if from a worn beaker is poured stale wine?Are there
Victory’s Spoils
Does it befit Thee this all too human jealousy,Banishing from my person every cord mortal,Hoarding a