My dog doesn’t meditate

It’s a dog’s life, right? Tawny thinks so.

I don’t see her meditating, often begging or looking humble, but not deep in thought.

She drinks out of  mud puddles, rolls in dead birds or dead fish,

And she’s nuts about rocks.  She tosses them on the sand and digs craters around them.

She’s sleeping now.

It’s rainy and windy at the coast today, but

She’s a water dog and she goes out to pee or dump or smell the smellls.

Maybe it’s her acute sense of smell that allows her to be mindful and in the moment.

Her only anxiety is when I get the ball and the flinger and head for the beach,

And then she dances, right if front of me all the way to the beach..

Is dance anxiety? Or the way to remove anxiety.

For her it’s cathartic

I used to have dogs that dreamed and legs a flying and muffled barks to accompany,

But I don’t think Tawny dreams. I could be wrong about that.

If she would meditate, would that mean she has chakras? Seven of them? A third eye?

I don’t know what she would be doiing with  them, she barely understands when I’m meditating; she just wants to be with me.

Does she have a sixth sense about this?

What is her vibration? 4th dimension? Her former lives? Has she always been a dog?  Was she a dung beetle before, or a prince? Does she have spirit guides? Or is she my spirit guide. I’ll have to think about this.

OK, I may be wrong. Perhaps part of her napping, like me, is meditation, guided or no?

I often wonder what she’s wondering about me?

I think it’s, “When are we going to play on the beach?”

-Small town boy


Today He was a Seal.

Today he was a seal,

Yesterday, a huge black bear.


Edgar the Glorius (he told me his name)

Guardian of the beach here on the Oregon Coast.

Edgar is a stump, charred by beach fires that didn’t consume him.

Left from who knows what tree, or from where, or why.

Now Edgar is my friend, and I go down to the beach daily to see how he’s doing.

The trip down to the beach, around Edgar and back is about the same distance as going around the park with my dog in corvallis.

Oh, yeah, my dog, a golden retriever, red in color, 12 years old, named Tawny goes too.

She’s not there to visit Edgar, she’s there to dig craters around the rock she threw in the sand,

Over and over. It’s easy to find my way back. Just follow Tawny’s craters!

But that’s another story.

Now just look at him, up close and personal.  The fires have brought out his best side, his history, his true grain, his inner structure.

Gaze a while and see the beautiful veins of his body now wasting as driftwood, each summer burned a little more.

Sometimes I will see tracks of his deer friend.

When he first came, he was not charred and had a tall friend acting as sentinal.  The little man on my walking stick stood in awe.

But this tall fellow didn’t have the staying power and though I would resurrect him when I went to the beach, I fear he fell victim to the beach fires or washed again out to sea.

This morning the tide was around his waist. This afternoon with a -1 tide, it was a football field away. I check on these things, daily. He is my landmark.

I was talking to him today since the tide was so far away, and I thanked him for the only seat on the beach.

And then I told him I would write about him when I got back to the beach house.

So that’s what I did.

Tomorrow I will read it to him, to show my respect and gratitude.

When the tide goes out again.

-Small town boy

PS Go back and look at him again.  See the black bear? 

The Moon and the Ocean

The moon and the ocean went out last night.

The moon serene in her beauty,

And the ocean turbulent and gregarious.

Said the moon, “Come to me my darling.”

Said the ocean, “I yearn.”

Together they danced the evening away.

The moon illuminated the night and reflected on the undulation of her waves meant to reach out to the sky.

And the ocean roared with a surging spirit bringing to life all that she touched.

Even those who viewed from afar vibrated with the pair of star crossed lovers,

It was said that it was vainglorious, stupendous, and egregious.

Who am I said the moon to merit such a lover?

Who indeed said the ocean, used to the moon’s periodic waxing and waning,

Causing her to ebb and flow with monthly menses.

You are the apple if my eye, though we are separated by distance and astrophysics,

And I love you and respond to your every phase, new to full, crescent by crescent.

(Though your eclipse nearly brought me to ecstasy,)

I frolic, unclothed, each month as you fill me up a shimmering on my bosom.

And you fill yourself as well, to your peak intensity, collapse in orgasm, and repeat;

You can see my wave caps and horsetails flash in the night in responsiveness.

But the moon in humble response says, “Nay, nay, fair lady of the deep.”

For it is I who in monthly cycles dim and brighten only for your sweet kiss,

Never to be.

Though we have been thus for eons, ages, and many months,

Our love does not diminish, lessen, nor conceal.

And so my sweet, let us continue the dance.

You on Terra, full of life,

And me high above you, your greatest spiritual guru.

Praise the heavens!

Praise the Earth!


– Small town boy

A cape is a bay with only one side

Sitting in Stimulus Coffee House and Bakery in Cape Kiwanda,

It comes to me, watching the cape, that a cape is a bay with one side.

I mean if it had two sides it would be Kiwanda bay? Right?

If Depoe Bay had one side, would it be Cape Depoe? Yes?

How many times did you find yourself confined on two sides, wishing it were one?

Would you feel less confined if you were restricted on one side only?

Would you be free?

How would you use your new freedom while still respecting the remaining confinement?

Is it still confinement if only on one side?

Should you escape to the open ocean,

Or build a jetty to protect yourself?

Sit, my friend, and ponder as you enjoy God’s geophysics and

A stormy day on the beach

Near Cape Kiwanda,

Home of the dory fleet.

-Small town boy

I am an empath

Whatever you’re feeling,

I’m feeling.

I treat you as you treat me,

An emotional echo.

I don’t do this on purpose,

But by nature.

If you unload pent up emotions on me,

I will unload mine on you,

Usually full of Love .

All I have to give, all I have in me,

Is what you’ve given me.

I am timid, but become brave with your gift,

Willing to stand with you, be an ally, be your Paraclete,

By sensing your emotions and mirroring them.

I am an empathetic

All I have is you

And Him.

– Small town boy

On Valentine’s Day I will give all my love away

I will give you love on February 14, Valentine’s day.

I will give love to anyone and everyone I meet, until it is gone.

I have love to give my family, lots and lots.

I have love to give my dear friends, oh so much.

I have love to send to those I once loved and still carry in  my heart.

My love will go to my dog, a golden retriever named tawny,

Because she is a love sponge and will take all I can give.

Love one another as I have loved you, so

I will love the stranger on the road, the homeless in the shelter, and those without.

But I have love for the rich and powerful too!  Even he  who  must not be named.

I’m not sure how much love  I have, but I will give and  give untiil I have none left.

How much do you want? You can help yourself to as much as you want or need, and 

Thereby help me to empty my heart.

When I was 75 I gave love notes to 36 people, telling them “I love you.”

But that didn’t seem to diminish the love I held on to.

I have loved my spouse for 45 years or more, and while it wains and wans, it is just as strong as ever.

Tell me  anything else that grows as you try in vain to give away only grows and 

Maintaains the fullest  level you can retain.

It doesn’t work to give it away..

It only diminishes when you keep it, as in a bottle, corked, and unable to go to others.

You don’t have to hate others to lessen the love  you have, ignoring, keeping them at a distance,

Spending it all on yourself or things or closing your eyes and your heart,

Will decrease the love you have to share?

No, not even that, for as soon as you hold another in your arms, your heart burns brightly again.

So try as I might, whether on Vaentine’s day or otherwise, There is no end to the love I can  give,

As there is no end to the love.

So dear one, I love you, and hold you in my heart, forever.



Love is an ocean

Love is an ocean whose waves glide onto the sand shore,

Where Sandpipers dance.

In my heart there are waves of love,

Beating against the driftwood of my ego.

Your heart feels the tide, awaits the moon, and

Digs in the sand, deep holes, three of them,

To bury your losses.

Now that you have detached, you can join me

In welcoming the tide, high or low, that feeds our soul.

Your soul and mine,

Whose joint love has created others, children, grandchildren, and great graandchildren

Who are islands in the sea of our love,

Protected by the shoals of coral we have grown around them.

Free to make their own dugout eventually and escape

To the sea

Where they build their own lives 

On their islands,

Because of us.

I am a nudist. Can you tell?

Have you seen me?

Have you seen me nude on the beach?

Nude doing housework?

Nude on a hiking trail?

Then how do you know?

How do you know how much it means to my skin?

How do you know that I’m happier?

I feel that as a nudist, I need to be nude, as much and as often as possible.

I believe in social nudity, not just at the nudist club where I am a member, but

In public too, with you.

I have been in countries where public nudity is accepted.

The accommodation to nudity in public is the same as in a private club.

One is not excited about anyone who is without clothing.

It is a common thing, and reasonable since we are all nude at sometime.

So come be with me when I’m nude,

And maybe you will want to too?

Or at least get used to it and relax,

Because you will be seeing a lot more of me!

In the dark of the night

In the dark of the winter night

I lay awake, thinking of you and me.

I remember sunny treks in the Rockies,

You far ahead,

Me watching thunderclouds.

I remember when the rocks around the fire

Blew apart.

Fortunately we were higher up

Picking dandelion greens and miners lace

For our salad.

I remember hiking back to our 4WD,

Only to find a dead battery, miles from a road.

But we also found a hand throttle, a hand choke, and a hand crank!

The 67 Nissan Patrol was well prepared for just such an emergency.

We drive that way, starting with a crank, until we reached Gunnison where they fixed it (though the generator would plague us for the time we still owned it).

What an adventure

That I relived


In the middle

Of the dark night

Thinking of you

And me.

Thanks for all the memories.

– Small town boy

Why can’t Christmas Gorilla go to the Beach?

The little gorilla loved Christmas at the beach, but he wasn’t allowed to go down to the sandy beach.

The little gorilla had on his red and white Santa hat, and

The little gorilla had on his bright red boxer shorts, but

There was a winter storm out there.

Rain and 13 mph winds out of the SSW.

The Christmas Gorilla didn’t want to get his special Christmas costume wet and sandy.

So, he sits on my desk with that look in his eye that Tawny (my golden retreiver) gets when she wants to go outside, eyebrows and all.

See what I mean? How can I ignore that silent plea?

This is Tawny waiting for me to take her down to the beach.

And that’s where the problem lies, with Tawny’s obsession.

Rocks. Rocks the size that would fit into your hand.

Tawny has a game she plays with these stones.

She finds a good one on the gravel road in front of the beach hoouse and carries it happily in her mouth the 50 yds or so to the sandy beach.

Whereupon she runs out on the playa, stops, and tosses the stone into the air.

And then digs, spraying sand out behind her like snow from a snow blower.

My grandchildren love this and encourage her.

She needs little encouragement.

She makes a crater, and then another one a little further down the beach, until a trail of craters is left behind us, marking our path home.

Finally, she carries her stone back to the beach house and hides it in the beach grass withher other stones and an occasional tennis ball.

She also does this in our backyard in Corvallis, until

We put in garden boxes.

So, how is that the little gorilla’s problem? Well let me tell you:

1 – Tawny gets sand all over the Christmas Gorilla

2 – The Christmas Gorilla wants to dig too

3 – Water (rain and ocean) are not good for a, pardon if I say it, a little stuffed Christmas Gorilla

4 – There are birds on the beach,  crows and gulls, that would like to snatch the little guy

5 – I’m afraid tawny, in her frenzy, will bury the little gorilla.

See, my arguments are well reasoned.

Oh, well. Let’s go.

– Small town boy

PS – to my Australian friend, since I graduate from both OSU and UofO (masters @ Beavers and doctorate @ ducks) my daughter says I’m a duckbill platypus!