Author Archive

Phantasmagoric Love

Out your mouth
come butterflies
fluttering all around the flowers
in the sunlight
Out of your nose
arises the scent of roses
a narcotic to the senses
And your embrace
exudes the air
of a crisp Spring day
with its smell of fresh earth
to be sown
Whilst stars fly
from your eyes
piercing mine
down to my soul
Your hair
the silky fur
of rabbit
against my skin
As your heart
beats out
a symphony
enveloped in
the aura of
scintillating sunlight
on a calm sparkling lake
I surrender to
your arms
in an eternal embrace
I am yours
in the land of forever

The Magic of Moonlight


I miss the soft siren call

of the slinky moonlight,

the velvety voice of the moon

as she beckons to me

in the middle of the night

with her hypnotic magic

wielded in the wee hours.

I miss her enticing ways

calling forth

the howling of coyotes

echoing over the hills.

I miss the shadows

of the moonlight

as she luminates

the dark and empty road

and leaves behind a trail of shadows.

Cooped up in the city

nothing calls to me at 3AM

save little lights on

in the cubby holes

of the apartment house

across the street.

No slinky siren song sings

nor misty magic.

No coyotes howling here,

just the loud voices of drunks

stumbling home

in the harsh glare of streetlights.

“In the Hebrides of Scotland, it was common practice well into the nineteenth century for men to take off their caps to greet the morning sun and for women to bend their knee in reverence to the moon at night.  These were the lights of God.  They moved in an ancient harmony that spoke of the relationship of all things.  And they witnessed also to the eternal rhythm between the masculine energies and the feminine energies that commingle deep in the body of the universe.  The Celts were familiar also with the practice of being guided by the creatures.  The birds of the air, the fish of the sea, the animals of the earth had not lost their senses.  They were viewed as still being alive to the deepest rhythms of  creation and to the interrelationship between all things.”  (“Christ of the Celts” by J. Philip Newell)


In the Belly of the Beast



10 years spent in the “Dungeon” with this as a favorite respite from work…

Dedicated to Ashley Lily Scarlett and Richard Guest

Window Views no.1

Consciousness manifestsa in a plurality of private lives

20/20 Vision


Wordless in chilly New York City

 (5 degrees F)

Eternal Love


My blogging friend, Lauren Mokasdar, at has a BBC news story on her blog about how she found the love of her life and her subsequent life in India as an English wife.   She and I both believe in reincarnation and feel that our marriages to husbands whom we love so deeply, arose out of a relationship in a former life.  Her love crosses cultures and in so doing provides a fascinating story that is an inspiring celebration of eternal love. Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you!  

Love always, Ellen

Being in Winter


How higher they be
than me
for they know how
to just Be


in the present
in the Silence
so profound in winter
but in the forever now

I look fearfully ahead
towards a future of endings
and losses
of attachments
acquired over the years
none more strong
than our love

I used to know

how to just be
like a tree
when very young
now I seek to Be
as I was in youth

in rapture
not just in nature
but always
as the sheep
in the deep
of winter.

When I Say Jesus…

Originally posted on Embracing Forever:

When I say Jesus
in these poems,
I hope you don’t think
that I think
that I know
with any real precision
what I’m talking about.

When a stone
says yes
to one day
returning to
the shimmering heart of a star,
and the star says yes
to beaming that stone’s endless heart
through all of space and time,
and the gravity inside of every
pebble, rock, and speck of sand
becomes a continuum of Meaning,
it becomes difficult to say
just what exactly that
stone has become,
or what all those other stones
are really up to.

What seems most important,
is that after years of wandering
from town-to-town,
gathering in taverns
or caves by the sea
to listen to sages and saints,
after walking across miles
of starlit landscapes,
some nights torn asunder
by the tensions of possibility and custom,
others rescued from the void
by the touch of…

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ocean into a drop…

Originally posted on Known is a drop, Unknown is an Ocean:

drop-in-ocean1.jpgAll know that the drop merges into the ocean, but few know that the ocean merges into the drop.

~ Kabir

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Observation in White



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