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Unpublished Poetry Series: The Thunder-Spirit

  The Thunder-Spirit Night time--the orange Clouds withhold oncoming rain; Afar the thunder Lingers to oblivion: Restless are the ways That fulfill unspoken dreams Their lives amongst us, As time that summons passing As a startled bird To wake us in the moonlight Of a winter sleep. Douglas Thornton

Unpublished Poetry Series: The Field-Watcher

  The Field-Watcher When in the shadows of the passing day A seat is found, asleep in calm Soundness, as activity of the mind Cease, and the slow and wavy dreams Of reality vanish by timeless Art, he who observes the secrets Of the fast-forgotten world finds purpose Insensible to sleep, remnant Of future life.  The fullness of the stars Softly infuse the distant sky With rays of obscure light, the horizon Ever holds the dawn in glimmer. Douglas Thornton 2018

A Poet's Journal: March 4th, 2015

  March 4th, 2015 There was a swoop in the air and, thinking it the wind, noticed a flock of song-birds passing over.  It is strange to wonder then, how many times we may say something with one intention in mind, but provide suitable ground for other unconscious actions.  When the birds pass, they do not think they are the wind, nor even birds. Douglas Thornton

A Poet's Journal: March 2nd, 2015

  March 2nd, 2015 Large flock of ducks flies over so quietly that I only by chance notice them in the reflection of a glass table.  Almost all things are part of a world perceived in change and we find that they have been living and existing all along.  In the air they are, in the mind they are not, but which truly is their resting-place?  Reality is no less flitting than the movements of the eye. Morning rain and fog but soon no trace. Douglas Thornton

A Poet's Journal: February 26th, 2015

  February 26th, 2015 How rare to have body and mind on the same page!  It is not easy to do the things we want when we want to; the auspicious moment always seems to grow from inability and our inability from a desire for something more.  Imagination drags us through this lonely field, giving us our tasks, our worries, making the distance around us insufferable.  And so whenever I have something to do, it is very difficult not to get caught up in the imagination of doing it before it is actually done, working through it a hundred times.  I am not speaking of preparation or details here, but the simple idea of a future to come, and what that future might bring, and how we might handle that--this is the imagination, this is the gateless gate, firmly shut and too defiantly high to look over; this is the gate that never was nor ever has been a gate.  Yet it is richly adorned and so much a part of our inability that it seems better to look at and keep closed rather than pass right through

A Poet's Journal: February 24th, 2015

  February 24th, 2015 The question of effort always comes up.  Am I doing enough?  Am I doing it the right way?  Is this really how it should be?  It is easier to question than to do and even doing wrongly is most of the time better than doubting uselessly.  We often rely upon hesitancy to fulfill the effort required because we do not feel ourselves up to the task, or the time does not feel right.  Our projects and our plans gather strength the further they remain in the future; the closer they come to completion, the more apt they are to failure.  'Failure occurs near the end,' says Lao-Tzu because our effort has created something that was different from the beginning; we perceive the two differently so they must be acted upon differently.  Something the ancient poets used to speak of at the beginning of their poems, and even the Tibetan sages in their poems and prayers to theirs gurus, was a muse awakening, or the idea of something finding a bit of realization in something un