Too Simple for Words

by Nick Andrea

It is That,
uttering this very mantra in me,
as me.

It is That One,
chanting now through me,
as me,
to Itself.

It is That Very One
thinking now in me,
as me,
the thoughts It wants thought.

Who is
really running
this show
after all?

The small one knows
no other way
to explain it than this. It’s almost

too simple
to put
words. In fact,


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The Boy’s Mother

by Nick Andrea

The dusking sunlight cascades down through the window, 93 million miles from the Sun, to illuminate this 6-year old boy’s face, as I sit here listening to him recall every vivid detail of his dream;

the account of his nocturnal escapade mesmerizes me;
he stumbles over words a nervous system that age does not need to know – “chrysalis,” for one, among others;

driven by pure curiosity this spirit-as-flesh – alive, aware, bubbling – is not entirely a real thing, that is to say, a separate thing;

but that what is seen is also the space between;
that space interests me more than the words,
which from it derive their context, as if it were mothering them;

each passing sound anticipates the next,

undying, it has been here since before Abraham;
the ground upon which the dinosaurs walked;
the ferocious serenity before the first explosion, fourteen and a half billions years ago;
will remain when this world and all other worlds perish, beckoning the next form into existence;

what is this timeless nothing,
right here, right now, the space between the one looking and what is seen?

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Space Shuttle

by Nick Andrea

I must be on a space shuttle,
in those trees, those hills, this sky
I see the cosmos;

And, I must be on a space shuttle,
in this oxygen coming through my nostrils
I feel the stellar sigh of a thousand dying red giants;

and, I must be on a space shuttle,
upon this dirt that I stand I see
nebulae – majestic, colorful, swirling,

and, I must be on a space shuttle,
in this sunlight cascading down from the sky in a river of gold
I see photons that have bounced around in that star right there since
before my ancestors started

yea, traveling at the speed of thought through a wormhole, I must be on a space shuttle,
in these signs, omens, these dreams I feel the
space-time continuum bending, like a rug
bunched up by a door a little too close
to the ground.

I, Cosmonaut Nikolai,
what am I but a
piece of fuzz arising from that doormat
with an eye to see?

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Hope Remains

by Nick Andrea

There’s one minute left, an eternity from here to there,
like, as they say, the moment before death, when one’s whole life flashes before our eyes.

Death, tonight, is the book exchange closing,
I delay the inevitable passage to the other side of That,

fall into the ground from which spring book exchange, book, life.

Upon this mirror, prose from some other penman appears:
a little girl;
the neighbor’s trash cans lining the street;
Mormon missionaries invited in to pray for father and little girl;
a bottle of milk sitting on the table next to a glass of wine.
an autumn breeze dancing a thousand fallen sufis into whirling dervishes (my addition);

Hope remains.

Posted in Culture, Encounters With Spirit, Expansive Blog, Fun Poems, Inspiration, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cosmic Evolution

by Nick Andrea

Society is evolving to a place where its businesses, systems, institutions, religions, even its art, will be founded in non-duality. That is, the well being of all life will be considered in decision making.

This universal sentiment was called, “Neohumanism,” by the Indian philosopher, P.R. Sarkar, and it refers to educating humans about their place in the larger context of the universe. Quoting Maria Montessori, Michael Dowd said, “If the story of the universe, of evolution, is the foundation of education, then children know who they are, where they are, and how all the sciences all fit into a coherent whole.” And, quoting Carl Sagan, he also said, “We are the local embodiment of a cosmos grown to self-awareness. We have begun to contemplate our origins, star stuff pondering the stars” (from his video, “The Great Story.”).

The ancient Greek concept of “cosmos” entailed a connection between this and that, that there was no separation between Arcturus, thirty-seven light years away, this chair I’m sitting in, and myself. I am not separate from the universe. I am, in fact, the universe that has become aware of itself. I am the trees, the birds, the fish, the streams, the stars; I am everything, become conscious of itself as a human being – everything, in a human body. And, it is this sense of oneness with all the other parts that allows me to live, work, and make decisions in harmony with all the other parts.

Like a single cell that is part of a multicellular organism, awakening to understand that to serve the whole is to serve itself, the neohumanist sentiment is the next phase of our evolution. When the dynfunctional institutions of war, polluting the atmosphere, poisoning humans and animals for profit, and gaining financially on the backs of virtual slave labor, have reached their breaking point of unsustainability – as they already have in many cases – we will build our new society upon the realization of universal well being.

Posted in Culture, Education, Expansive Blog, Inspiration, Politics?, Science and Spirit, Unitarian Universalism | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Two Peas in a Pod

by Nick Andrea

Israel and Hamas,
two peas in a pod,
can you not see
how interconnected is your lot?

Who struck first, now,
it’s impossible to say
and it wouldn’t even change
the murderous display

of unrestrained desire
for complete domination
economically, militarily, and every other way
of the opposing nation.

Ignorant, ignorant of their relation
blindly following ancient dogmatizations
of once mystical ideologies
intended to bring people together,
not create refugees.

And so now they miss
the plain genetic truth:
that the very same blood runs
through Ahmed and Ruth.

Thus the blood spills
out onto the soil
staining it red with life, land
where both’s ancestors toiled.

Israel and Hamas
two peas in a pod,
how much more life is to be slaughtered
before you see your interconnected lot?

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Whisperings of Transpersonality

by Nick Andrea

Whisperings of transpersonality -
in the voice of a friend some yards behind, its
sound waves riding on a single strand of molecules, from
there to here,
to reach
this ear;

whisperings of transpersonality -
in the sunlight there on the hay, a
river of gold traveling 93 million miles on an
unbroken bed of plasma, to
cascade down onto this precious terra firma, giving
life to all its

whisperings of transpersonality -
in the shrubs lining the
median between two lanes of highway, alive, as
appendages of one’s own body,


body. In

everything seen,
smelled, heard, felt – a
single thread – sentient, looking
back at the
looking out; a

creature, standing
here as one, a
sense organ for what is nameless and everpresent, “I”
am a punctuation, a
unique portal
into that which is
dual. Can

in this
word; can one

in this


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Dreams of Level 7

by Nick Andrea

Pieces of a life,

When did one forget
it’s one big caterpillar,
it’s sections connected by a single
of life?

The small mind forgets:
that it’s always been the whole, damn thing,
and dissects that caterpillar into pieces,
protesting, “Yes, but….Yes but….”

‘But’ is a word I’d like to
a word that divides a life. Raging

out of control,
intellect is so often a
burning up the forest of my soul,
the charnal grounds of which even my body doth show;

this illness,
deep, deep in the bowels
cannot easily pass what’s toxic,
for there is not enough rest,
not enough rest to
sense the cosmic. Never

divided a soul
went to sleep and dreamt of needing something.

Not good. Not bad. AND

What is this,
what is the wholeness of this moment,
the wholeness that already is,
has always been,
will always be? Who

is the “I” that thinks, “I need?” and


takes no prisoners,
where it comes from
there are none to take,
there is no dissecting of that
caterpillar of life;
connected by a single,

In that Heaven the
activities of life -
showering, singing, eating, sitting, playing;

even shitting;

are conduits for a
that comes
like a songbird’s tune
on the wind,

Not a future thing -
Can you hear it in the sound, now;
can you see it in this word you are no reading, now;
can you feel it in the breath coming through your nostrils, now?


Posted in Encounters With Spirit, Expansive Blog, Healing Poems, Inspiration, Intuition, Metaphysics, Poetry, Prose, Unitarian Universalism, Wisdom from Meditation | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


by Nick Andrea

A country gone mad,
60,000 screaming,
violent fans,
thick with desire,

Its people, en masse,
having revolted at the billions,
and billions,
and billions
to host these games,
when there were mouths,
to feed.

And then their team lost -
thrown down
by a measure of their own score

Seven is the number of divine truth
like lightning;
bringing down the tower of delusion,
arresting attachment,
illuminating all.

How poetic.

Can we
forget the Colosseum,
forget what distracts us from


save Rome
before it collapses?

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Hero’s Journey

by Nick Andrea

Entering deep into the Abyss
once again, once again
my own little cave
deep, deep within,

Uncertainty is the mantra, here,
but one thing is surely clear:
whatever is true to be seen
must, must come from within me.

Sorry, darlin,’ I’d love to have answers for you
to tell you it’ll all be okay,
that I’ll be back soon;
but, for better or for worse
this is the nature of the dive:
to put all we know in a coffin,
if need be,
to watch it die.

But, you can be sure of one thing:
that at the end of this hero’s journey
this hanged man will sing,
even though what tune it’ll be I cannot say -
if I knew that, I wouldn’t be writing this, today.

But, with a smile now this I’ll say,
it’s all okay,
it’s all okay.

Whither I emerge,
it’ll be my path, for sure.

Posted in Encounters With Spirit, Expansive Blog, Poetry, Unitarian Universalism, Wisdom from Meditation | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment