I, the dream of a god,

      an outcome of invisible hands

            at once performance and spectator

this precise instant

         this internal precipice

a newfound religion

      whose scriptures are written 

              in every one thing

where the god and the dream are the same

                  the cloud and the rock are inseparable

the sweet motion of transience

        coursing over the stream of eternal action

I, alone and united,

               one more spoke of divinity 

                  one more billow of infinity.





More Useless Poetry ?

Mantra — field of happening

Be. Let whatever happens, come to pass.

     To be: embraced by a field of happening.

There is nothing imperfect, even contradiction

   and desire – let it all come.

Allow motes of dust to float

          the heaviest pain to sink

there is nothing at all that does not belong –

     let anger and irritation play their part

but release them and go on.

Close your eyes and dig deep.

Study the phenomenology of thoughts

              the strange ocean of being

overpowering pain, elusive pleasures


              Be. Embrace the field of happening.


More Poems

More or Less

Twilight and morning are now irresistible   

    they hang above like motherless children 

there is no reason to believe in one or the other 

           all the insects swarm this local abyss 

fortunate, for us, all minutes randomly orbit an hour 

    anywhere is home, or else, unfettered lives would not be possible 

  reentering again a field of silences 

          morning or night or true or false 

were all excluded 

             an intimate void 

more or less… yours.

Zarathustra in the 21st century


What need is there for Nietzsche’s euphoria in language, for his excess in possibility and contradiction, for his telling of unnecessary things?  What do we actually need but a secure income and a full stomach in this modern world, perhaps a fancy car and the latest gadget, but beyond that, is it not completely irrelevant to look for more? So, in the context of the 21stcentury, where life is just life, when you are rich or poor, possessor or possessed, what urgency is there to plummet into the depths of the unknown? There seems to be lacking an insistence to forge other realities, to strain the last fiber of consciousness in order to erupt a newer self, a deeper “I”.  Isn’t Zarathustra saying that we are not only living (a passive image of passing time) but that in fact while we live we are creating…  



The question remains latently hidden inside our hearts, while we stroll in a “comfort-zone” age… what is yet to be born?



Beyond Language Homepage

La proporción

La tengo en frente,

     la abrazo con fuerza

es innegable que la tengo en mis manos.

Estoy solo en mi amor por ella

             esta cosa desconocida

que solo yo conozco en mi delirio.

Lo que siento…

     se escapa como la mariposa

que percibió un sonido extraño.

En la calle de al frente o cualquier otra,

      un asfalto cualquiera – con este dedo

la penetro y la calle se empieza a derretir;

       porque solo puedo amar aquello que se descompone


Y respirar – lo hago en trueque:

   un respiro por cada gramo de mi ser

que se vuelve ceniza invisible.

Hoy me di cuenta que soy un hombre,

       en proporción a la velocidad 

             de mi desaparecer.


There is no place to start

     a beginning point

an igniting flame.

There is a Rorschach blot  

             a streaming dream of structure

a finite accomplishment; 

          surrounded by infinite reach. 

 If you start from this,

      then anything is possible.

My chest can suddenly burst open, 

       and twigs may grow.

Impossibility is an illusion.

              A repeated illustration

of what’s real;

         keeps infinity from shining forth.




Useless Poetry

The Gap


I couldn’t lie

 or distort the truth

when I tell you that seven seagulls

–   not six or eight – I counted,

    took flight in the direction of the moon

and that the water was slightly offering an insult

  with its restlessness and simple undulations

I suddenly felt as at the bottom of a gap

    a precipice that links two different lands

behind me everything that is

  before me everything that could be

I was inside the great hole that separates the two

  and it didn’t seem fair to build a bridge

sauntering from fact to possibility;

      to cross this gap

I felt

  requires the courage of a climb –

to create a new fact

     demands a start from the lowest point

to climb up again in rags

    to emerge from the deep

after the torture of darkness has engaged with us…

only then can the gap be closed!