A Tree of Comfrey and Pterodactyls

Last night I dreamt I encountered a giant tree of comfrey. I thought to myself, “Maybe that’s what I need.” It grew taller than a vine maple. I approached it, and found beside it a long limb reaching out of the forest wall which it was planted near; at the end of this limb was

The Vacation of Birds

  A door opens to bells: eyes turn toward the sound to see the awaited face emerging, at once the act of revelation, of birthing and becoming. The Word became incarnate, but what became the Word? The Word is like the body in this way: what is within us is beyond description, spirit yearning after

Cascadian Journey: In the Beginning

Last night I hauled out around the fire pit, and snoozed upon the sweet hard earth. No cushion– that’s how I needed it. (“He made him ride on the heights of the land and fed him with the fruit of the fields. He nourished him with honey from the rock, and with oil from the

Dragon Flood

I dream I am swimming in a green river who snakes through a sunny village. Many others are in and by this river, and we are rescuing the souls of drowned children. We hear a terrible rumbling in the hills. The dam has broken and a dragon flood is roaring toward us with obliterating force.

Circle Two

Dry leaves have accumulated in our circular driveway, caught in a pent-up whirlwind which cannot escape. ‘Round and around they are pulled in succession, convoluted blades scraping asphalt, one after another in consecutive milliseconds outside my window, dead foliage, once living, now carnage, leaf berating stone without relief.   O hear, it sounds like rain,

Candle Battle in the Haunted Mountain Teahouse

I dreamt of a Japanese-style teahouse built of wood and stone jutting out from the side of a darkly enchanted mountain. A harmless old woman lived there, the Keeper of the Keys. I and two friends were greeted by her in the tea parlor where we were served fresh-brewed strengthening potions in ceremonial cups, to

The Logician’s Prayer

This little ditty was written for three magical, enlivening, frankly beautiful and soulful philosophy classes I was privileged to be a young student in. Every day I absolutely loved coming to these classes, because they were instructed by Professor Bill Graves at City College of San Francisco in the months around the date on which

Reporting Live from Earth

  Reporting live from Earth: people were nice to each other today. A tattooed guy helped an old lady across the street, and she smiled. A soldier adopted a kitten who purred when the man nuzzled and kissed it. Kids played in Mexico City, lovers had sex, and a woman in Africa gathered plants in

All Is Not Lost

Sifting through stuff, I found just now a note written by my grandfather, Robert E. Valett. (His squiggly wizard handwriting is unmistakable.)   “The Golden Treasury of Poetry. Laughing Song, with bumblebee. Remember ‘The Blind Man and the Elephant’. What is an elephant? [Insert unintelligible squiggles here]. –Thick skinned hoofed animal. Elephant, rhinoceros, pig. Check

Wolf Boy and the Sacred Tattoo Girl

I’ve been keeping a dream journal for almost a year now. Usually my dreams consist of totally boring things, like flying and doing exorcisms and turning into animals. There’s also aerodynamic weightless martial arts and bopping around the cosmos and the usual nightly grind like that, but every now and then I get a really

%d bloggers like this: