Captivated and stricken,

there is a seed inside.

You’ve got calling and curse,

a straight desert road into the sun.

A blacktop grave,

paved but not sure.

Moonlight and stars,

they’re in your eyes,

filling you up with this romanticism

this drive that keeps the wind in your hair

and a song on your lips.

Reminiscent of the beats of old.

The soul of the nation rests in your chest.

The passion to live free,

to know, to hear, to play the song

that gets planted, sprouts, and buds

in the soil and care of a listener,

a poet, a preacher, a lover,

an artist and a musician.

Grow that tree friend,

get on the road and grow.

In Denver I saw a man cry, a local wanderer, a warrior.

Arapaho and wandering like the days of old.

Unlike like the days of old, modern demons

swam through the veins,

keeping bound what should be free,

yet, somehow not stifling the virtue or passion of the warriors heart.

In Denver there is a camping ban. No sleeping outside within city limits.

This ban seems to have existed since 1859, the beginnings of the gold rush.

The ban has been violently enforced (The Massacre of

Sand Creek) and resisted (The Battle of Red Cloud).

I saw the warrior and the wanderer struggle with the choice  to hide or fight for his

right to sleep.

I saw a warrior cry. I saw those tears transform and renew. I saw life swimming through the

warriors veins.Recently the wanderer underwent the final relocation,  a relocation that for once held true to the

treaty, no camping bans, no greed, no demons.

Just freedom.

For The Man Who Makes Coffee

There is a coming ice age
And we decided not hibernate
We face the teeth of winds
we survive
to prepare yourself for the bleak winter is no ordeal
a Gor-Tex here, a parka there
To ready yourself to prepare takes true skill

There is a man
He is an outfitter for preparation
For one must have the deluge in a paper cup
One must have the aroma attached to one’s nostrils
One must taste the words that give way to endless musings

If one is not going to hibernate

-James Bauerle

When time is stolen away by Psychology, Mathmatics and balancing budgets, a writer must turn to reading.

Here is an appropriate celebration of fall written by William Morris:

“The Glittering Plain”

Fair is the world, now autumn’s wearing,

And sluggard sun lies long abed;

Sweet are the days, now winter’s nearing,

And the winds feign that the wind is dead.

Dumb is the hedge where the crabs hang yellow,

Bright as the blossoms of the spring;

Dumb is the close where the pears grow mellow,

And none but the dauntless redbreasts sing.

Fair was the spring, but amidst his greening

Grey were the days of the hidden sun;

Fair was the summer, but overweening,

So soon his o’er-sweet days were done.

Come then, love, for peace is upon us,

Far off is failing, and far is fear,

Here where the rest in the end has won us,

In the garnering tide of the happy year.

Thanks be to the Almighty, a cool breeze made it’s way through my door this morning. Friends, Family, Coworkers and Acquaintances, did you survive the fiery summer? Is your soul burning, perhaps with love, perhaps with anger, perhaps with desperation, depression or joy. Have you let the fiery summer burn your soul or have you buried the embers below. If you have followed the flame to it’s source what have you found? Imperfection, Longing, Conflict, Love, Sadness or Confusion?This summer have you been able to avoid vice for a long enough period to feel the ache and burn in your soul? FEEL THE BURN.

Realization: no one escapes the fire.

It took quite a few years for me to realize that following Jesus was not an escape from suffering but a commitment to suffer honestly. I remember in a class called “suffering and the heart of the judge” that I took many years ago, my teacher was teaching us how to meditate on Christ and she spoke of the pain of longing. She said “you sit with this longing for as long as possible until you can’t possibly sit any longer and then you go and do laundry or something practical”. I’ve been running from that pain ever since. If only practical things like laundry could really help, maybe at first they help, but then you have to find something stronger than laundry, like maybe dishes.

 When we let the longing over take us, we are letting the Spirit of God have access to our soul, when this happens we can’t hide our brokenness, we can’t hide the fact that we suffer, and we can’t hide the fact that in our avoidance of truth/suffering/fire, we have harmed others. This is what I’ve found to be true: Honest suffering leads to honest celebration, or another way to say it is real pain leads to real joy.

Our local Enter the Worship Circle artist Tim Coons is coming out with a new cd combining his songs along with old American Hymns. Some of these songs have really spoken to Melissa and I during our time here in Colorado. Especially “not scared here” the second song on the sampler. Enjoy this teaser.

160 degrees. fine fine fine.

broken down into a million different pieces

pressed together so close that air cannot escape.

160 degrees forced pushed, pull the water through.

extraction. flavor. floral layers and chocolate. energy.

Good morning. 


It might just be that heaven doesn’t exist,
If our love doesn’t persist.
It might just be that our joy is paired equally with suffering shared.

The raven takes its place on my branches,
it’s keen sight
watching the going ons
below, above, and within.
I can hear its voice call
I can see the world spin.
More death, more life.
More still evidence of Yah
of God.
Oh my Lord, my God!
Where has your spirit flown?
Have you left me alone?
Return to my branches
bring your community.
If you must set me aflame,
I’ll try not to complain,
But it burns and burns and burns.
My eyes cry, cry, cry.
Love the fire,
Love the fire,
Love the all consuming fire.

I fell under the juniper tree,
where one can still see the stars
and still smell the desert.
A tree not so tall,
as to be arrogant.
Under the juniper tree I found my lot,
to love, love and grow old.
To die and birth again,
to withstand drought.
To carry ones death on
though it weighs down so.