Dusk, May 9

by Nicholas “The Bard” Andrea

On a distant horizon this evening, earth meets the heaven speaking to me of things beyond;

a miraculous pinpoint appears against the periwinkle backdrop
the first planet to come out and dance in the dusk
reminding me, we are not alone;

she hovers there, just teasing me out of myself
with the words,”vastness, vastness” –
I didn’t know planets could talk;

and these rose-colored clouds painted by some unnameable artist,
they speak too, “There is something more than this,” they say,
“Look up! Look up to the unknown and the dissolution of your mechanisms control.
Lay down your mind to such unfathomable love”;

and these trees, though silent tonight, they also know what’s going on
it is so clear in the way they look at me –
so intent, so undivided, so present –

o, they get it alright
as do these crickets with their chorusing

and the winged ones now putting the finishing touches on their daylong symphonies –
choo! choo! choo!
reek! reek!
some cardinal papa is telling his son, “Turn that off, brush your beak, and get to nest.”

O! these May nights are more precious to me than gold
they beckon my inner flower to unfold
and I just can’t resist the story to be told!


O God
the light now fails and a curtain of blue is pulled back,
for the nightly show is about to begin

I’d better go get my guitar.

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Come and Get Me

by Nicholas The Bard Andrea

Thistles in my heart
I know nothing today, for past and future are the enemies of heartbreak
and writing from despair is the only thing that saves me;

Satana I have become – a being divided against itself,
these raging wars within having wreaked havoc on body and mind
ever since one first knew death;

the feeling, “I am separate,” is the substance of hell;

she said, “Don’t forget your desperation tomorrow,
for it will save you”;

but, I don’t want your figurings
I don’t want your techniques of perfection
I prefer to remain broken –
for only when the shell is cracked and the chick hatched
is flight possible;

give me a path of foolishness and surrender
give me a path of childhood, again
I don’t want to be the one in control
for, control is the adversary of destiny

but, make me the one beyond control
wild and unrestrainably in love,
a Sufi with his flute and lyric
under the desert stars and moon;

make me a devotee –
I want to leave everything behind, take up my staff, and follow you;

Oh, but when you come to the other side, bud you may not recognize yourself –

are you ready for that?

If it means stepping out of this ape (persona) I’ve built and worn for the past 27 years
to protect myself from the realities of the world

if it means no longer perpetuating the inherited patterns of
fearing destiny, avoiding feelings, and knowing everything

if it means growing my hair long and looking like a forest dweller natural and unprimmed-and-propered,
a child of the One behind the garden, never again to return to the tribe of the living dead

then FUCK

come and get me, friend
come and usher me to the land of the wilds
not just for me, but for my fathers, my mothers
my grandfathers, my grandmothers
my children
my children’s children
and all the others ancestors stretching backwards and forwards into eternity

let me conquer the world with that untamed looked in my eyes
let me be the child who won’t follow directions save for the call within is too strong;

let men in business suits fear me
not for what I will do to them, but, for what, in them I remind –
that they may fear the towers they’ve built upon foundations of bullshit and looking good
to crumble and fall –
they will;

make me unknowable as the wind
make me a priest of the Tao without robes
make me a child of the Nature that runs through all, even the most lost of us –
the Dick Cheney’s, the J. Lo’s, and all the others, who think they are SOMETHING
leading the charge of an age where so many have so little in (body, mind, and spirit);

make me a barefoot prophet
make me eat naught but locusts and honey
I give myself to what I cannot understand
I give myself to that which rides tigers;

I know not what you are, but I’ve been told that I have purpose
and it could’ve been a lie, for all I know –

but if it’s not, you’d better come
you’d better birth yourself
you’d better Christen this crown and play me like a flute

’cause my days are running thin
and I am dying a little more every moment waiting for the future

so, come and get me, Friend,
come and get me,
here’s my hand –

teytey malkoothakh
teytey malkoothakh.

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Pulsing Moment

by Nicholas “The Bard” Andrea

I saw you in her face, in the
curtains, in the
table, in
everything, looking back at me like eyes;

I wondered –
who is this playing peek-a-boo, using
these things as players to tell its tale
of interconnectedness and unending love?

A door shuts –
teeth are brushed –
people murmur in the back –

light reflects off closet doors
and the orange rocking

what is this that runs through these all
that speaks through this voice and
hears it through those ears

what is this THING
orchestrating a
Grand Synchronicity
that even includes “me”?

To be beyond mistake is madness
for a conditioned mind believes in a conditioned love

but madness, here, is good, complete incurable madness, for
infinite, unconditional love is the only thing that
nourishes body, mind, and spirit –

that’s right, kids, step right up, the light’s
giving it all away
abundance beyond what you could possibly imagine, it’s
God’s going out of business sale –

of course, God was never in business to begin with
but with your blinders you did not see;

but, “suffer the children come unto me,” he says –
and we are all still children, yes, unless we still believe in mistake –
but “let them come and do not hinder them,”
for to the ones with innocent mind belongs the Kingdom of all Abundance;

just ask! and thou shalt receive
and then say “yes” when that golden-haired angel
bonks you over the head with it;

madness, complete, incurable fucking madness
for a love that does not end

do it, sexy, do it
forget what they taught you in school
and just say yes.

Posted in Children & Youth Spirituality, Encounters With Spirit, Expansive Blog, Inspiration, Intuition, Journal, Love Chronicles, Metaphysics, Poetry, Relationships and Self, Sufi Poetry, Wisdom from Meditation | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Walk of Worthiness

by Nicholas “The Bard” Andrea

Crying clouds’ tears falling,
nourishing ebullient greens, magentas, and reds that bear witness as I walk upon the Earth and cry
“I am worthy!”

The devil scoffs, “And just who are you to receive such abundant love?”

I don’t answer, for Satana is a being divided against itself;

the one who doubts my value is the broken one;

I continue walking
one step after one step
the mind falling through these legs and down into the Earth which grounds me to the reality of One;

Oh, how I have been awakening of late to this liberating prompt:
let go of self-centered thinking;

this path is not for me alone –

I walk for my grandmothers
and my grandfathers
great grandmothers
great grandmothers

for my mothers, brothers, sisters, and fathers

my children
my children’s children
and my children’s children’s children;

I am worthy!
because they need me to be;



*”Satana” is the Aramaic root word for Satan, which means “a being divided against itself.”
**”Shlamaa” is an Aramaic word that means “peace.”

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The Most Important Part of Any Education

by Nicholas Andrea

The most important thing children need to be taught in school today is the truth of interconnectedness with all life. And, I don’t mean this as merely an intellectual idea, a hollow theory that can be forgotten just as easily as it’s ingested; rather, as a visceral, undeniable experience of such. And, if my research of the phenomenon is any indication, it is possible to do so.

How we do that will be the subject of a future blog post or book. For now, my thoughts center around using music and doing experiments of synchronicity to demonstrate the hidden threads that bond us all.

Feel free to send me your ideas, I’d love to hear them. Good day!

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Walk With Me

by Nicholas “The Bard” Andrea

These beautiful days must not be forgotten
they must not be left alone to be be outside on their own
but they must be played with –
the rocks, the trees, the kisses by the breeze
swans, lakes, and chirping chickadees

and cardinals flying to happily
leading my spiritual growth as is their job –
these are the real cardinals, see;

nature is my cathedral
as it was for my late grandmother,
in whose rose beds nature orgasmed in pink, red, and yellow
in the late afternoon Sumerian sun
which smiles upon her forehead in this infinite moment,
before that land became rife with destruction again;

I am told there is a never-ending birdsong around the Earth
as God’s Sun rises ever somewhere, and
our winged friends sing their praises –

why, we don’t have to wait for Heaven
the Angels are already singing in our midst
and continue their chorus even in the lands where
blood still flows upon religious grounds, where
material greed denies hungry mouths to feed
despite nature’s ability to provide
vastly more than each and every one could ever need;

so, my friend, she beckons
forget about that thneed
come out and play with me
pick up my rocks
hug my trees
solve the problems of today, tomorrow, and forever
by walking with me
come, friend, come
walk with me.

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Mysterious Grace

by Nicholas “The Bard” Andrea

This moment is always a practice of receiving grace –

even though the mind divided against itself
cannot believe that such mysterious, benevolent, loving, guiding
Presence is so freely given;

conditioned minds do not believe in fantasiac magic
but, Anita Moorjani says, “Peace is more like doing absolutely nothing” –

that it is not what I do – not prayers, not mantras,
not prostrative acts of humility – that earn God’s love
but, rather,
that I have the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven by virtue of what I am;

when Doing finds its home in that Being, something miraculous occurs, it discovers
a Mind within the mind (Enana)

that makes me lie down in green pastures
leads me beside quiet waters
restores my soul
and, guides me in the paths of benevolent truthfulness;

I have asked the Guardian Angel in my midst how I might find that Mind
and the reply:

breathing in the universe
breathing out the universe

breathing in the universe
breathing out the universe

breathing in the universe
breathing out the universe
until the next call comes;

repeating, ad infinitum.


  • Mark 3:25
  • Psalm 23:2-3
  • “Enana” – translated from the Aramaic literally as, “The I within the ‘I'”
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I’m Hanging Out with God Tonight!

by Nicholas “The Bard” Andrea

I came home from a long, hard day of work
desiring a simple, warm presence by my side
a soft touch, a sweet voice;

but the lady had other plans –
and I was left alone

but not alone
for, I’ll be hanging out with God tonight;

I’m always hanging out with God, tonight,
though, so easy to forget when that
gorgeous damsel sits by my side
crooning sweet nothings in this ego’s ear;

but, what for
can I depend on another human being –

that when chose to marry you, Enana (the “I” within the I)
I committed to accepting this
just right here, just right now


as the bread of life, trusting it is
just what I need, whatever its flavor
despite my propensity to repulse it
or savor;

I may have no successful relating
with that gorgeous lady I call “my partner”
unless this I understand –

that I’m hanging out with God tonight!

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It’s A Poem For Leaving

by Nicholas Andrea

It’s a poem for leaving, O!
it’s a poem for leaving, for
everything has a time and a season
and we don’t need a reason for grieving
it’s a poem for leaving, O!
it’s a poem for leaving;

you know, things may change
but they never actually die, just
shift form from one thing to the next so we can
find together a new way to fly

it’s a poem for leaving, O!
it’s poem for leaving;

to go with no regret,
to end

to feel the sweet longing of stepping up from one valuable thing to the next
to ascend

walking forward in truth
I shared myself tonight with you, forsooth
with childlike and trembling vulnerability
with integrity to me, for all of you to see

it’s a poem for leaving, O!
it’s poem for leaving;

tonight, I saw on her sleeve a heart
like I’ve never seen before
beauty, like a work of art, that
I never knew she bore

and that man, from that hard
man, compassion did I see
an understanding I have never known
that existed inside he

sometimes it’s the moments that feel like death
where we do truly see
the value and light that we all carry
deep in the underneath

it’s a poem for leaving, O!
it’s poem for leaving;

so easy to remember
the bliss together we did find
and easy to forget, that
there was a shadow side, which
to overly romanticize
the truth would be denied

but upon those negativities
we do not linger
for when change comes upon us
we choose to focus on the finger

of love that has moved us
through laughter and the smiles
that kept us flying high in rhythm
sustained us for a long while

and, what greater pleasure, I daresay
could there be
than to bring smiles from ear to ear
to strangers on the street

as did we, with by
the sharing of our joy
playing like innocent children
loudly with our toys?

Boy, oh boy, such
selfless fun it’s been
to play the drums
in rhythms wherein

the human spirit
is celebrated
beckoned forth
and elevated

oh love, oh love
how you’ve touched us all
which is why we stand here
with no ego, just awe;

now, speaking our truth might not be easy
but it is part of the flow
the river of life we don’t create,
contain, nor to control

but, to be human is to experience
bittersweet melodies
like the haunting sound of a bagpipe
playing sorrow’s remedies

it is a poem for leaving, O!
it is a poem for leaving, yes
but, nothing really leaves, because
nothing is ever unpossessed
by That Thing, That Thing that lives in our own heart
That Thing, the source, of all our human art

no, nothing ever actually dies, just
shifts form from one thing to another
it’s a poem for leaving, O!
it’s poem for leaving,
but not really, not really, my sisters and brothers.

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How Much Faith Do You Have?

by Nicholas Andrea

Desire, that is, the thought that I’m not enough
is what keeps me from the present moment –

if I try to change the world for myself, alone
life will up the ante with a bitchslap –

show me that I’m already getting what I need



moment –
how much faith do I have?

This morning
the irritation of her insistence on staying in the room –
our room, MY fucking room –
and continuing to do her thing
while I was doing my writing

became a bloody finger when I
grabbed my mat and stormed off, bending
my nail gnarly back
in the fury –

go, my friend –

how much faith do you have?

Desire is a veil that obscures the truth that
God does everything, even
the things that I think separate me from that being, that

provides for all my needs, that
guides every movement of my hand, every
step I take in the sand, every
breath, every breath
cannot even happen without that deeper command;

and so I sit, suspended,

off the edge of a cliff
by my teeth –



for the next breath to breathe me, as
life, itself, the same

life that guides the stars, the same
life that lived as the dinosaurs, the same

life that looks through your very own eyes right now;

tell me, God, tell me
am I really ok
am I really ok, God, just as I am?

And he answers –

“How much faith do you have, my son
how much faith do you have?”

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