Life, Death, And Creativity

B4C0A454-579E-47EC-B306-E76CD25BDF24Life, Death, And Creativity

I do not know if creative people have a more difficult life because of the stress of the creative process or we just hear about the tragedy of their lives more often because they are in the public’s eye. When I think of creative people like Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Winehouse, Robin Williams, etc., I have to wonder if and how their lives are any more difficult than that of any other creative individuals, and yet we lose so much creative genius through substance abuse or suicides: Hemingway, Joplin, David Foster Wallace. What does creative genius do to one’s self image, one’s self esteem, so that individual has no other option than to destroy or end his/her life?

Perhaps living a creative life forces one to burn out faster. I mean how much can one person create? My friend Arne Nybak painted almost every day up until his death at 89. Without any judgement, I partially understand cases like Robin Williams. If I were in a situation where I could no longer do what I love, I might consider suicide a viable option. When Arne knew he would no longer be able to go to his studio and paint, he willed himself to die. I suppose I will never know unless I am in that situation. I believe I would chose death over being a continued burden to a loved one or to myself, but do I really know that?

When AIDS reached the shores of America in the 1980’s, we lost a large portion of our nation’s creative genius. I have a friend who at that time was a member of the Gay Men’s Choir in San Francisco. He tells the story of how the choir had to disband practices because at each practice they learned of another member’s death or infection with the disease. The emotional stress became too much to bear. He channelled his creativity into his business, but many could not find other creative outlets and their lives ended all too soon.

The truth is one does not know what he will do in a given situation until one is in it. Nothing really prepares us for life except living it day by day, situation by situation.

Thinking about things is what the philosopher in me does. When I have nothing to say through writing, I read. I do not pressure myself to write and I do not call it writer’s block (a negative term I do not use). It is just a pause in the creative process of writing, a time to breathe or take a break and do something else. I think society places too heavy a burden upon the backs of creative individuals but we also do it to ourselves in attempting to meet the needs of that society and often the needs of our own drive. Although it might lead to recognition, creativity is not about fame. Fame is so fleeting. Creativity is not. Our creative endeavors should not be driven by a greedy public’s demands. We are not only as good as our last studio album, or our last art showing, or our last book. There is nothing wrong with placing all of our creative energy into one project, one book, or one song. Creativity is not a production line.

In order for the creative process to not destroy the creator, we must control its place in our lives and not have it or society’s demand for more control us.

What Matters?

vcxa8286What Matters?

Ten things that matter most to me in this life are:

Love — It is the most precious of gift of all.

Nourishment — Air, Water, and Food — These are necessities. Life must have access to clean air, clean water and food to sustain itself.

Free Speech — Ideas must never be censored whether one agrees with them or not.

A Belief In Yourself — No one is more deserving of your trust and love than you.

Solitude — Solitude is refuge for the soul. Learn to incorporate it into your life.

Dreams — They are the windows into your life. Dreams do not always lead to reality, but they always lead to possibilities. Welcome them, even your nightmares have something to tell you.

Promises — Keep the ones you make. They are the foundation of trust.

Creativity — When you realize you are more than a creation — Create!

Freedom — To believe whatever you choose to believe and not be punished for that belief as long as no one is harmed because of it.

Death — It is inevitable for every living creature. Learn to accept and to live with its reality.

The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Book II Chapter One — Oliver Sacks

7A2F0935-3F80-4CE9-AC1E-D9B998A32827Book II Chapter One — Oliver Sacks

I am relaxing in quiet meditation in my cave, soaking in the waters of the hot spring. I have decided to make this cave my home-space and entertain my guests here. I will continue to use my office at the Inn for GateKeeper business. After all, everyone here is invited by me because each is a person I would love to sit down with in conversation over a bottle of wine or a pot of tea. One’s privacy is respected here and I do not wish to hide this view of the world from others’ eyes any longer. I do not consider this cave my home. It belongs to nature. I am just permitted to occupy it for a while, very much like my body. It is just dust on loan to me from the Providers. When I or any being chooses to leave the body to become spirit, payment on the loan is made.

The Providers created this Inn to allow invitees to function in an environment supportive of creativity through imagination. To mix, to mingle, and to share ideas and imagination without the confines of time. I was given the position of GateKeeper in a dream along with the task of inviting those individuals I would like to share time with to be a part of this creative realm. The problem is many of the individuals I wish to share time with are from different time frames in the creative development of the planet. This is not a problem for the Providers because time as we normally think of it does not exist here. There is only this moment.

I hear a knocking sound but because no one has ever knocked on the door to my cave before I do not realize where the sound is coming from.

“Socrates. It’s me, Oliver.”

“Just a second Oliver.” I quickly grab a towel and tie it around my waist as I head toward the door.

“Am I early?” 

“No. Your timing is perfect. Please come in. I was relaxing in the hot spring. Would you care to join me there?”

“Yes. That sounds perfect after my two mile swim upriver. You know Socrates, I have walked past to spot many times and I never saw this cave. Did it just appear overnight?”

“Well, yes. It has just recently become visible to the guests. It has to do with my quest for finding home. I realize it is not the walls or views that make a home, but what is created in the space within those walls and views that is the real home. It’s about space and what we do with it.”

As Oliver removes his clothing and hangs it on the rack near the stream, he turns toward Socrates who has already returned to the hot spring. “It might have to do with your identity Socrates.”

“You might be on to something there Oliver. As I realize the growing strength of my creativity and inspiration from these extraordinary guests, my previous dependence upon the physical becomes less of a factor in my identity.”

“We have, each of us, a life-story, an inner narrative — whose continuity, whose sense, is our lives. It might be said that each of us constructs and lives, a “narrative,” and that this narrative is us, our identities. If we wish to know about a man, we ask “what is his story — his real, inmost story?” — for each of us is a biography, a story. Each of us is a singular narrative, which is constructed, continually, unconsciously, by, through, and in us — through our perceptions, our feelings, our thoughts, our actions; and, not least, our discourse, our spoken narrations. Biologically, physiologically, we are not so different from each other; historically, as narratives — we are each of us unique.”

“It is Oliver that uniqueness of the individual I wish to discuss with you today regarding the creative process. Where or when is creativity borne?

“Creativity involves not only years of conscious preparation and training but unconscious preparation as well…This incubation period is essential to allow the subconscious assimilation and incorporation of one’s influences and sources, to reorganize and synthesize them into something of one’s own.”

“Is anything ever truly our own? Just before you arrived I was thinking about this cave. It is not mine. I do not own it. It is not my home. I fill only the space contained within, with furniture, light, guests, and memories.”

“All of us, to some extent, borrow from others, from the culture around us. Ideas are in the air, and we may appropriate, often without realizing, the phrases and language of the times. We borrow language itself; we did not invent it. We found it, we grew up into it, though we may use it, interpret it, in very individual ways. What is at issue is not the fact of “borrowing” or “imitating,” of being “derivative,” being “influenced,” but what one does with what is borrowed or imitated or derived; how deeply one assimilates it, takes it into oneself, compounds it with one’s own experiences and thoughts and feelings, places it in relation to oneself, and expresses it in a new way, one’s own. All young artists seek models in their apprentice years, models whose style, technical mastery, and innovations can teach them. Young painters may haunt the galleries of the Met or the Louvre; young composers may go to concerts or study scores. All art, in this sense, starts out as “derivative,” highly influenced by, if not a direct imitation or paraphrase of, the admired and emulated models.”

“In light of this revelation, I Socrates Black, doth proclaim the space enclosed within the natural walls of this cave as my own.”

Oliver cheers while they both laugh in solidarity.

“It is a huge leap for you to now make yourself, I mean your cave, open to observation Socrates. It takes a special energy, over and above one’s creative potential, a special audacity or subversiveness, to strike out in a new direction once one is settled. It is a gamble as all creative projects must be, for the new direction may not turn out to be productive at all.”

“Maybe it is my inner voice who guides these decisions Oliver. So far she has taken good care of me. I tend to land on my feet more than my head. I feel free of something. A weight, a burden. I do not yet have a name for it. I write about it the best I can.”

“The most we can do is to write — intelligently, creatively, evocatively — about what it is like living in the world at this time.”

“With each of us being unique as you say. What is our common factor?”

“I have been increasingly conscious, for the last 10 years or so, of deaths among my contemporaries. My generation is on the way out, and each death I have felt as an abruption, a tearing away of part of myself. There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.”

“I think you are preaching to the choir here reverend one. We have both lived our lives in our own way. I would like to think our humanity is our commonness, but it has not worked so far in bring all life together.”

“We are all creatures of our upbringings, our cultures, our times. And I have needed to remind myself, repeatedly, that my mother was born in the 1890s and had an Orthodox upbringing and that in England in the 1950s homosexual behavior was treated not only as a perversion but as a criminal offense. I have to remember, too, that sex is one of those areas – like religion and politics – where otherwise decent and rational people may have intense, irrational feelings.”

“That is very true my friend. Is death then the common factor all of life shares? And, if this is true, why do we fear death?”

“I cannot pretend I was without fear of death. But my predominant feeling has always been one of gratitude for life. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers. I say I love writing but really it is thinking I love — the rush of thoughts — new connections in the brain being made. And it comes out of the blue…In such moments: I feel such love of the world.”

“I too know that feeling Oliver. Love for all of life. Especially here and now in this place.” 

“From here Socrates I have been able to see my life as from a great altitude, as a sort of landscape, and with a deepening sense of the connection of all its parts.”

“That is why each of the guests here was invited. To share in the connectedness of our common humanity and I can think of no better why to do so than through the inspiration and sharing of our creative natures.”

“I must agree Socrates, but before we continue with our dialogue might I impose upon you for a glass of ice tea?”

“Certainly my friend. It will be my pleasure.”

A0F5BD02-358A-4E96-BBE5-27D2F168AE2C.jpegThe Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Book II Chapter Two — Gaston Bachelard will be published on Sunday, April 07, 2019.


The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Fifteen — Steve Jobs

5B46B378-4A12-4069-AE82-5810DB679B48Chapter Fifteen — Steve Jobs

I walk out into the garden. The white Easter Lillys are in full display swaying gently in the warm breeze. The small creek is full of tadpoles anxious to become frogs and turtles who bask in the sun on an old fallen tree branch. I notice Steve Jobs sitting quietly in one of the forest alcoves. He waves for me to come over.

“Good morning Socrates. What a beautiful day.”

Yes it is Steve. How are you doing?

I am well Socrates. Thank you. I have been completely free of any physical pain since my arrival… Socrates. May I ask you a question and will you answer truthfully?

“Yes and yes.”

“I know I did not want to die. No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. “

“That is all true Steve, but what is your question.”

“Socrates. Am I dead?”

I paused for a moment before answering because I realize Steve’s fragility, as he is newly arrived here. “Yes Steve your body is dead.” Before I can explain further, Steve interrupts.

“What of this body?” Steve pounds his chest. “It is solid and healthy. I am pain free for the first time in…” Steve stops in mid sentence. “How long have I been here?”

“Time is not measured here Steve so I am unable to answer your last question. You are in transition. The pain free body you have now is based on the memories of your body from when you were still alive. You are your same consciousness but in a transitional body.”

“The last thing I remember was being surrounded by Laurene and the kids. I tried to remain conscious despite the medications. Remembering that I will be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that I am going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking I had something to lose. There is no reason for one not to follow his own heart.”

“And that is exactly what you did Steve. You changed the world by following your heart. I had a similar experience myself during a recent heart attack. You realize nothing else really matters in the pursuit of your life. Everyone else is a guest in your life. You assign their roles and importance.”

“You can’t connect the dots looking forward but you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something – your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

“That simple approach to life is still true here Steve. We can only understand life by looking backwards, through it.”

“Where is here, Socrates?”

“This place is not a location. You are a guest at the Inn of Inspiration so you might continue with your creativity and expand upon your imagination. As you know all of the guests here are very creative in different fields of art, music, literature, politics, and science like yourself.”

“I know creativity is just a matter of connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really do it, they just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while.”

“You helped many creative individuals realize that truth Steve. You inspired and provided the tools for inspiration to an entire planet of people. You helped connected the citizens of the planet with the same interconnected circuitry you used in the tools you developed.”

“I realized when I got ill how my time on earth is limited so I refused to waste it living someone else’s life. I refused to be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. I refused to let the noise of others’ opinions drown out my own inner voice. And most important, I had the courage to follow my heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

“Exactly Steve, exactly.”

“One more thing Socrates if you don’t mind. How long can I stay at this beautiful Inn sharing time with so many gifted and talented individuals.”

“As I am the Gate Keeper here at the Inn Steve and you are here at my invitation, you are free to stay until you are ready to transition solely into spirit.”

“Thank you for your time and insights Socrates. I made plans to meet with Picasso and Adriana for tea and I see they are waiting by the lake. I would not like to keep them waiting any longer. Why don’t you join us. I understand Picasso makes a “spirited” cup of tea.

“Thank you Steve. It will be my pleasure.”


C800F41C-FEEC-4BDD-BB52-00B80B69269FThe Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Sixteen — Mary Oliver will be published on Sunday, January 06, 2019.


The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Fourteen — William Blake

6B92571D-D780-45F8-B526-7F5538A98109Chapter Fourteen — William Blake

One of my everyday joys is walking around the lake. The grey cobblestoned trail is the equivalent of the yellow brick road. It carries my body wherever my thoughts wish to take me. This walking meditation awakens me to the new and unfamiliar parts of my being. I asked the caretaker to extend the trail up to my cave so it might be easier to reach when it rains. This morning I am planning to walk it for the first time. Like my cave, the trail is only visible to me. To other guests it appears as dense undergrowth and forest. However, before reaching the new trail I see William Blake pacing in one of the wooded alcoves. 

“Good Morning William. I hope I am not intruding. I saw you from the path. We have not spoken for a while. How are you my friend?”

“Socrates. No, you are not an intrusion. I am very happy to see you.”

Socrates knows William is an intense personality. It is from this seeming endless energy his creativity is derived. 

William continues, “I am well Socrates. Thank you my friend. And you?”

“I am also well William. From my observation you seem a bit perplexed. Is there anything I might assist you with?”

“Yes, there is Socrates. I was wondering, as usual, about the duality of the body and soul. Although the body is gone after death, I believe the soul continues to live. I know that our deceased friends are more really with us than when they were apparent to our mortal part. Thirteen years ago I lost a brother, and with his spirit I converse daily and hourly in the spirit, and see him in my remembrance, in the region of my imagination. I hear his advice, and even now write from his dictate. People think I am insane.”

“I have had similar experiences following the loss of loved ones. The body is mortal but the soul is eternal. You are not insane William and no one here thinks you are.”

“Thank you Socrates for your support. I cannot help myself. In this mortal life I must create my own system or be enslaved by another man’s. I will not reason and compare, my business is to create. I wish to do nothing for profit. I wish to live for art.”

“And you do William. Everyone here is enamored with your poetry, your painting, and drawings. Your creativity is beyond the realms of mortal man. It comes from your soul.”

“I believe part of the problem is first the notion that man has a body distinct from his soul is to be expunged: this I shall do by printing in the infernal method by corrosives, which in Hell are salutary and medicinal, melting apparent surfaces away and displaying the infinite which was hid.”

“Your poetry does that as well William. It examines the nature of mankind and slowly peels away the layers of his existence until his core, his soul is reached. Your description of heaven and hell were instrumental in my understanding of mankind’s multilevel nature. We are not our bodies and unfortunately most of us lack understanding and appreciation of the soul’s role in our creativity and inspiration.”

“I think that is the problem I have with organized religion. It only examines mankind’s human behaviors and attempts to control his natural desires with outdated rules of morality. Men are admitted into heaven not because they have curbed and governd their passions or have no passions but because they have cultivated their understandings. The treasures of heaven are not negations of passion but realities of intellect from which all the passions emanate uncurbed in their eternal glory.”

“Once again I agree William. Inspiration and creativity come from the soul. You are an example of the creativity which is possible in man once he has discovered and accessed his own soul.”

“You never know what is enough until you know what is too much. I have not reached that point of my soul being one hundred saturated with the spirit of God yet Socrates. My creativity knows no bounds.”

“It is that spirit which is an inspiration to everyone here.”

“Thank you for your time and insights Socrates. I am ready to return to my studio. I am ready to record the undertakings of my soul. I know some think I am foolish but I do not care.”

“No one sees and records the soul’s creative processes better than you William.”

“I must only remember the tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way…A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.”

“True. So very true. My wise friend.”

5B46B378-4A12-4069-AE82-5810DB679B48The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Fifteen — Steve Jobs will be published on Sunday, December 02, 2018.




Directory The Writings Of Tao Writer

A – B

A Brief Encounter

A Busy Week For Savusavu

A Cup Of Tea

A Dialogue On God Part I

A Dialogue On God Part II

A Hotel Citizen

A Little Yellow Wagon

A Magical Christmas Morning

A Matter Of Time

A Measured Perspective

A Meeting With Myself

A Pharmacy In My Front Yard

A Room Of My Own

A Serendipitous Occasion

A Soul Reader – Oliver Sacks

A Speck Of StarDust

About Last Night


Acceptance & Forgiveness

Acceptance – What The World Needs Now


Alchemy Of Love

Alive On The Edge of NowHere

An Accident

An Interview With Myself Part I

An Interview With Myself Part II

An Island Perspective

April 30, 1999

Artist Of Life


Be Still And Dance

Being And Nothingness

Being In Love

Beliefs Part I

Beliefs Part II

Breathing UnderWater

Brothers – Hermanos

C – D

Christmas Time In Fiji


Date With Solitude

Day One

Deceit’s Tangled Web


Does Life Get Better With Age?

Donald Trump Is A Tyrant — Beware!

Dream Of Dying

Dream of Execution

Dreams Of A Kiss

E – F

Enlightenment – What Is It, Really?






Faith & Hope


Feasting On My Life

Find Your Own Shtick

Flags As Symbols Of Racism And Genocide

Foibles Of Fiji

Free To Be Me


Friends In A Different Realm

G – H

Go Wild & Bloom!




Gratitude II

Growing Old



Happy New Year From Ecuador

Hate – The Word

Here We Are, Again

Here, Dreaming Of There

Hey Nigger – The Power Of A Word

Home Coming

Hope A Parable

How Did I Get Here?

How Does One Know God?

I – J

I Am Here!

I Am Here-The Poem

I Am Not Me Anymore, At Least I’m Not The Same Me I Was

I Am Selfish

I Am…

I Know You Have A Beautiful Body

I Love Therefore I Am

I Remember

I Want

I Will Write All Day


If I Should Die Before I Wake

If I Were King

If You Had Ten Minutes To Live

If You’re Not Outraged…


In The Absence Of Time

In The Midst Of Amazement

Inside The RainBow



Invisible Hands

It Doesn’t Matter Who You Love

It’s Fiji Time

January 6, 2002

K – L

Keeping Memories Alive


Know ThySelf

Land Of The Free

Language — The Tower Of Babel

Layers Of Memory

Let Us Not ForgetJanuary 6, 2002

Let’s Not Say Good Bye

Letting Go

Life, Death, And Creativity

Life Under The Influence

Life’s Greatest Gift

Life’s Greatest Loss

Life’s Greatest Transition

Life’s Last Day

Life, Death, And Creativity


Live In The Layers

Live Your Life

Living In Different Worlds

Loja Mágica — A Wanderer Going Home

Loneliness And The Solitude Of Aging

Love Simplified

M – N

Mad As Hell


Manifesto For Living



Milestones Of Age – What Is Real?

Mix With The Infinite


Morning Dance

Mother’s Day


My Best Friend, Solitude

My Dinner With Kamal

My Father’s Son

My New Perfect Roommate

Never Kiss And Tell

New Beginnings

No Escape

NoBody But MySelf


O – P

O’ To Be Human

Of Love, Remembrance

On Being A Witness

On Being Human

One Word


Please Do Not Call Me African American

Preparing For The Unexpected

Proust Questionnaire

Q – R – S

Race And Political Posturing

Rape And White Privilege In America


Reading Poetry At Three O’clock In The Morning

Remember To Remember

Resolutions – An Assessment


Resurrection – Life UnMasked

Rollo Del Tomebamba I – Tell Me What It Is…

Rollo Del Tomebamba II – Cuenca Parks

Rollo Del Tomebamba III – Destruction And Life

Rollo Del Tomebamba IV – The Raging Waters

Rollo Del Tomebamba V – Silence

Rollo Del Tomebamba VI – Think With Heart

Rollo Del Tomebamba VII – Street Art

Rollo Del Tomebamba VIII – Balance

Rollo Del Tomebamba IX – A Dialogue With Anger

Rollo Del Tomebamba X – A Transitional Man

Rollo Del Tomebamba XI – Fitting In

Rollo Del Tomebamba XII – Parque Paradiso

Rollo Del Tomebamba XIII – Detachment

Rollo Del Tomebamba XIV – I Am Happy

Rollo Del Tomebamba XV – Inspiration

Rollo Del Tomebamba XVI — Time

Rollo Del Tomebamba XVII —  Sacrifice

Rollo Del Tomebamba XVIII — A Moment Of Silence

Rollo Del Tomebamba IXX — Colony Collapse Disorder

Rollo Del Tomebamba XX — Out Of Balance – Butterflies, Monkeys And Morphs

Rollo Del Tomebamba XXI — Beauty In Death

Rollo Del Tomebamba XXII— A Life Examined

Rollo Del Tomebamba XXIII — A Dialogue With Life

Rollo Del Tomebamba XXIV — “What If…?”


Room With A View



Say It

Seduced By Moonlight


Shooting Star


Some Wounds Never Heal

Song Of The Cricket

Stand Undiminished – The Essay

Stand Undiminished – The Poem



Sudden Insight

Sunday Morning


T – U

Take Me Death

Thanks Giving

The Artist Of Being

The Crushing Weight Of Good Bye

The First Time We Touched

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration  — Socrates Black

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter One  — Anaïs Nin

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Two  — Rainer Maria Rilke

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Three  — Emily Dickinson

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Four  — Alan Watts

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Five  — Simone Weil

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Six  — Simone de Beauvoir

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Seven  — Stanley Kunitz

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Eight  — James Baldwin

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Nine  — Henry Miller

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Ten  — May Sarton

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Eleven  — Ursula K Le Guin

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Twelve  — William James

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Thirteen  — Virginia Woolf

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Fourteen  — William Blake

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Fifteen  — Steve Jobs

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Chapter Sixteen  — Mary Oliver

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Book II Chapter One  — Oliver Sacks

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Book II Chapter Two  — Gaston Bachelard

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Book II Chapter Three  — Susan Sontag

 The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Book II Chapter Four  — Martin L King

The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Book II Chapter Five — Seneca

The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Book II Chapter Six — Albert Einstein

The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Book II Chapter Seven — Iris Murdoch

The Gate Keeper Of Inspiration: Book II Chapter Eight — Bertrand Russell

The Golden Age

The Grace Of Small Gestures

The Growing Racial Divide In America

The Hour Of Man

The Knock At The Door

The Last Time We Touched

The Path Of Uncertainty

The Ritual

The Road To Ecuador

The Routine Of No Routine

The Sum Of My Life

The Uninvited Guest

The View From My Window

The Wild Mushroom Omelette

The Written Word

There Are No Niggers Here!

They Just Don’t Understand Me


This Hollow Emptiness In My Soul

This I Believe I Know

This Love That I’m Feeling

This Time Alone

Three O’Clock In The Morning

Time As A Point Of Reference

To Dream

Unplug The Machine

Until Now

V – W


Want Ad

What Goes Up…

What Love Is…

What Matters

What Shall I Do Now?

What’s In A Name?

When Memories Are All That Remain

When Paradise Is No Longer Affordable

When You Get To The Mountain Top…

Where Do Poems Come From?

Who Am I?

Why Ecuador?

Why I Write

Why Is Life Worth Living


X – Y – Z

You Are The Fool!