Fireworks!
What lights up the sky on the Fourth of July.
What lights up our bodies during radiation therapy.
No matter how sick we are,
we must continue seeing the beauty of life,
and celebrate it with color and music.
Not every day is a picnic,
but each day is precious
because we know what it is to be alive.
Let’s remind ourselves that
we are more–much more–than our cancer.
Each of us is a uniquely beautiful fireworks display!
Peaceful place on the battlefield,
where cancer cells and chemotherapy go to war.
A restful and rejuvenating oasis,
where a wearied soul refills with life force energy.
A quantum shift in the human biofield,
where waves of possibility bring healing,
and not more cellular destruction.
Comforting a cancer patient with Reiki
in a chemotherapy infusion room.
Like each breath we take,
no two sunsets are identical.
Like the daily breaths we take,
often we take sunsets for granted.
Like each in-breath we take,
each sunset nourishes our spirits.
Like each out-breath we take,
each sunset helps us to let go.
Tonight’s sunset over the lake
reminds me to inhale the beauty of life
with each breath I take,
and never again take a sunset for granted.
Life and death–
Two sides of the same quantum coin.
Heads you win, tails you lose.
Call the flip.
Tails you win, heads you lose.
Call it again.
Life–
What our consciousness manifests
when we flip the coin.
Death–
What consciousness manifests
when we flip the coin.
Life and death–
Two sides of the same quantum coin.
Pay attention to life’s details,
especially the infinitesimally small things
that bring you happiness and joy.
Marvel at how quickly each moment passes by
with each breath you take.
This is the speed of life.
Experience the surprise in everything.
Don’t prejudge what’s to come.
Notice how no two moments are the same,
like snowflakes or grains of sand.
This is you—
An ever-changing wave of possibility.
I am thankful for my life–
just the way it is.
It’s easy to forget–
life is one great miracle,
and each of us has had the chance
to experience life’s wonder and magic.
On this rainy Thursday morning,
I am grateful for the rain,
and how it nourishes and cleanses the earth.
Without it, there would be no flowers.
In a soulful way, the rain reminds us it is okay
for us to cry tears of joy and sorrow.
Because of the rain this morning,
I can see the world reflected
in a single raindrop dangling
from the screen in my front window.
In this moment, I give thanks for the rain,
and the blessings it brings to my life.
The world looks different to us
with the awareness that
this may be the last time
we will ever see it again.
At these times,
goodbyes, no matter how grand,
appreciative, or reverent,
ring with lingering hollowness.
And memories, even the most precious,
become razor-sharp two-edged swords,
reminding us of what we will miss
and what we will never see again.
Even the deepest understanding
of reality’s impermanent nature
doesn’t prevent us from grasping at
what we love and what has given us pleasure.
In this moment, I am whole.
All parts of me are working together
to promote healing and well-being.
My body receives wisdom from my mind and spirit.
My mind is given nourishing embodiment from my body
and life force energy from my spirit.
My spirit permeates all that I am,
and it is the source of all my future possibilities.
With each breath, I am connected to God.
I give thanks for this connection and my wholeness.
Don’t punish yourself
with unnecessary prognostications
about the time of your death.
For your death, like my death,
will come soon enough.
Live as best you can,
for as long as you can.
Let love be your path,
and hope be your guide.
Now is your time, live it well.
Twenty-eight years ago on the twenty-fourth day of June,
we committed ourselves to a loving life together,
and off to France we flew for our honeymoon.
Our careers blossomed as our love grew–
Giving us the confidence
to our own souls be true.
Each home we’ve owned brought happiness and peace.
By our side, always kitties,
causing our love to increase.
To this day, I recall your ponytail bob,
as down the track you ran,
making my passion-struck heart throb.
Grateful we are for the people touching our lives–
Some over a lifetime, others just a moment.
Through all the ups and downs, our love survives.
With time we’ve matured, adding to our years.
The sparkle in our eyes still endures
through laughter, cheers, even some tears.
For each of us, I believe it’s fair say,
that the best in our lives has happened together–
Things we could never imagine have come our way.
I’d do it all over again…spend my life with you.
On this twenty-eighth wedding anniversary,
our soulful commitment and beautiful love renew.
When we die, we become disembodied spirits.
And the only thing we self-reflect in this form
is the encoding our souls have retained from their past lives.
We don’t remember our bodies or personalities.
Not our life events, people we knew,
or even the places and times in which we lived.
It’s not until our souls are re-embodied
that we may form faint and fleeting recollections
of our earlier embodied forms.
That’s the way it’s supposed to be
so that it’s possible for our souls to evolve
toward their own Divine perfection.
Hard to imagine
being dead,
since all we know
is being alive.
Hard to imagine
life after death,
since all we know
is being alive.
Hard to imagine
dreaming of things
beyond our experience,
but we do this every day.
Hard to imagine
when we’re dead and gone,
absent any reason to remember,
that our dreams will bring us back to life.
We can conquer our fear–
of cancer,
the pain it causes us,
and the prospect of death.
Our fear feeds our cancer–
making it grow larger than life.
Let’s make the choice
not to feed our cancer.
The starting point is
feeling our fear,
getting to know it,
then over time letting it go.
Cancer isn’t our fear.
Fear is what we experience
when we feel unprepared
to confront lingering uncertainty.
Reality is uncertain by nature.
Certainty is an illusion
that we hold onto
to stave off our deepest fears.
We have but this moment
at any point in our life.
Let’s work on living fearlessly,
breath by breath in each moment.
Hope is the ground we walk on,
the air we breathe, and
the water quenching our deepest thirst
for being alive.
Hope is essential for our healing,
and it provides the wings
helping us to fly,
and carrying us to the future.
Never lose hope
because it is the lasting gift
given to each of us
by our souls.
Cancer reminds us of our mortality–
That is the time when we run out of time,
at least in our present form.
When our bodies die,
our cancer dies,
at least in its physical form.
Most of us,
including those with and without cancer,
believe that a part of us survives physical death.
I was raised to believe everyone has a soul,
which either goes to heaven or hell,
depending upon the good and bad in our life.
I still believe that everyone has a soul,
but instead of going to heaven or hell,
the soul returns to the ultimate life source.
Also I believe the soul has many lives–
which we don’t really remember, or only faintly recall,
as the soul moves from one life to another.
I don’t believe our personalities carry over.
Instead, I believe that our consciousness
and our basic spiritual pattern carries over.
Maximizing the use of our highest spiritual potential strikes me
as a good thing in this life and all future lives.
If we do that, we can’t lose!
If we are not who we think we are,
then who are we?
We are that which comes before
who we think we are.
We are the knowing beings
that witness the unfolding world
created by each breath we take.
I am that, and
you are that.
Inspired by the spiritual teachings of Bodhisattva Dan Shimp of many places,
but always of the heart.
Her life has been short.
Her cancer journey has been long.
Her smile says it all–
We have a choice
in each moment
whether we accept reality
and live it fully,
or whether we deny it,
and live in illusion.
I choose to smile and accept my reality.
Cancer calls our attention to the small things in life,
like the simple beauty of watering the grass and flowers.
It reminds us of all the small things comprising our lives,
and why and how they are important to us.
It reminds us of the intricate details of life,
including the multitude of cells in our body,
and how misguided cells can grow and multiply,
creating malignant tumors in our body.
Cancer teaches us to constantly nourish ourselves,
like we weed and water the grass and flowers,
to bring about personal health and vitality,
and help the right things to flourish in our lives.
And when we are ready,
cancer can connect us to our inner wisdom–
those lessons our souls want us to learn
so they can reach their destinies.
In a world
where mind is the creator,
cancer isn’t the problem.
The problem is
what we think, feel and do.
How we live our lives,
the relationships we form
with other beings and things,
and how we see ourselves
brings us either health or illness.
Find your inner wisdom voice–
There lies your personal truth.
Listen past your fears–
They drown out what is true for you.
Look beyond your anger–
Which often is buried under your fear.
Set aside your desires and wants, and
listen to what your inner wisdom voice says
about what you need to become whole and heal.
Some days I think I can.
Some days I think I can’t.
On days I can,
Life seems so beautiful.
On days I can’t,
Life seems even more beautiful.
Cancer can be a powerful teacher,
if we allow it to be.
One lesson it teaches:
Healing is a shared journey,
with those we love, and
with other cancer survivors.
When attacked, self-preservation is our first instinct.
That’s fine, as long as we also have empathy for others.
What we think and feel has everything to do
with what happens to our bodies.
A lack of caring for ourselves and others
is a spark lighting cancer fires.
Our hearts are warmed when a far-off friend
expresses prayerful intentions for us
by lighting a candle in his parish,
symbolizing his prayer for our healing.
Each of us is a candle lit at birth by God.
And we grow in His favor
each time we use our candle to light others,
and dispel darkness in the world.
Each human cell, a storehouse of wisdom.
Unique among its 35 trillion counterparts,
Yet aligned with its own special star in the universe.
Programmed from the beginning
To play its role in sustaining the whole
Through oneness of purpose and action.
Without his vision, I might not know
Our universe is self-aware,
Or that consciousness is the bridge
Connecting possibility and actuality.
He challenged me to observe my thoughts,
But also intently listen to what I feel.
A loving bulldog in every way,
His undying will to blaze and mark new trails.
In our comfort zones, most of us remain–
Places safe, little threat to who we are.
But that’s not the way
To be the change in the world of quantum reality.
Not many men of science are so bold
To risk major rejection and assault.
That’s why a loving spirit is required
To not take so personal vengeful attacks.
Once we gaze through the visionary window,
We see a world filled with quantum possibilities.
Why not converse with your soul,
And gain its wisdom on what the future holds.
Most of all, his work reminds me of
Our amazing powers of co-creation.
And through the eyes of our soul,
We give shape to our destiny.
Note: Dr. Amit Goswami, a theoretical physicist by training, is a former professor of mine who made the world of quantum physics accessible to me. Dr. G is one of the world’s leading authorities on the scientific, medical and spiritual implications of quantum physics. I continue to follow his groundbreaking work.
Let’s try our best not to make unwarranted assumptions in life–
They block our natural spiritual unfolding.
It’s far better to allow open questions to linger
Until they are ready to answer themselves.
Each of us is a living question, and
We remain alive as long as our question lingers.
Our questions ride the cosmic waves of quantum possibility
Until they take form as an answer, and then they cease to exist.
Six years ago,
On the first day of December,
My life flashed before my eyes
Like nothing I can remember.
Things I used to take for granted:
My work, the kids, and my wife,
And even smaller things like morning coffee,
Those things that make up ordinary life.
For months I ignored the dull aching pain,
Till it spread across my pelvis, ribs, and lower back.
And then gave way to such sheer agony,
I felt my body battered and under attack.
My doctor ran the usual tests.
All were normal, but for one.
My PSA was way too high.
More tests were ordered to be run.
Within days, the wellspring of my misery known:
Stage III prostate cancer, which had spread.
In a flash, radiation, surgery, hormone therapy.
Without of course, I’d be dead.
Since that time, a celebration of life is held,
Come rain or shine, each first day of December.
Each year, month, week, and day,
We dearly cherish and prayerfully remember.
Let’s be truthful about our scars in life,
And how we got them.
They’re not just about our injuries and pain–
Our scars reflect how we’ve lived our lives.
Sometimes we learn more from our scars
Than the stripes we wear on our sleeves,
Or all the awards we’ve won.
Let’s be truthful about our scars in life.
We are capable of healing,
But not always in the way we hope.
Healing deeply inside is most important–
These scars tell the real stories of our lives.
Touching their skin,
Touching their soul.
Hoping for a miracle,
Knowing at least they find some comfort.
Feeling warmth with my hands,
Knowing life is the miracle.
Realizing each of us can give peace
Through our gentle loving presence.
At times, we feel our impermanence–
The sense we will not exist forever.
These times call for soul-searching,
Which begins with searching for our souls–
Both in the light and darkness of our being.
And then, once we make the divine connection,
We commence searching within our souls–
For hints, clues, and hopefully unmistakeable answers
About who we are, and what becomes of us
When our souls decide to continue their journeys.
Cut short–
Lives ravaged by cancer.
But for some, a grand escape
From deeper life suffering.
Many lives, not one,
Many voices, not just mine,
Memories beyond those I remember,
Thoughts and feelings across the years,
A wellspring of joy and sorrow,
Faces that have come and gone,
Glimpses of who I am,
Longings to be something more,
An ever-churning sea of possibilities,
That which gives rise me in each moment.
Each of us is unique, you know.
We live our lives, let them flow,
As though there is no tomorrow, and
Then our cancer tells us that isn’t so.
One thing you learn right away.
A new language is required to keep death at bay,
Which includes technical terms, Latin words and abbreviations.
Things you never imagine anyone would say.
Our doctors, nurses, and other caregivers
Never know exactly what cancer delivers,
And because their cancer language still doesn’t know
Life’s twisting, turning, overflowing rivers.
Berlitz can’t teach us to speak this tongue.
Requires a doctor, nurse, someone from a technical rung.
We cringe to words like malignant, spread and metastasis,
And words like benign and clear, Heaven’s praises sung.
For fear the language of cancer they may abuse,
Cure and healing, rare words that oncologists use.
Instead they dance, tiny delicate ballet steps.
Bolder terms about prognosis they refuse.
But late at night when I talk to God,
I spare no words in asking to be healed.
Anything else just a façade.
Bolder words I use as along the healing path I trod.
Jigsaw puzzles, missing pieces everywhere,
That patients, families, and friends share.
Some they finish, most they don’t,
Some too hard, so they won’t.
Oddly shaped interlocking and tessellating pieces.
Bit by bit, the perplexing mystery decreases.
Skilled puzzlers work first to build the frame,
While others treat all pieces just the same.
Some work the puzzles like their lives,
Trying this, trying that till an answer arrives.
While befuddled by the jigsaw puzzles,
Cancer causes them much bigger struggles.
For some, the puzzles distract them from their pain.
Others wonder about life on the celestial plane.
When finally the nurse calls their name,
In the waiting room, the jigsaw puzzles remain.
Whose life is that? I think I know.
Its owner scows with anger so.
Standing before the bathroom mirror
As life slips away, death draws nearer.
To himself, he introspects.
Thoughts he seeks and collects.
At times, he blames himself for all this.
The cancer and its hellish abyss.
On better days, he remembers
Cancer took many other family members,
Which in some small way consoles his guilt
That he himself sabotaged the life he built.
Beyond his feelings lies a reality.
A place where he can be free.
Another chance hopefully to start over.
And where cancer has no spillover.
our lives hang
by
a delicately woven
string
sheathed in life’s
promises
broken by cancer
cells.
Sunrise whispers atop the sleepy knoll.
An embrace we glimpse in the still morning air.
Sad you say, so little control.
Ardent travelers, through life we stroll.
From one day to the next I make my way.
Deeper places these whispers bring.
Clouds like islands in the sky,
And to them, I try my best to cling.
For just a while longer I wish to sing.
More sunrise whispers before I die.
Each day its share of light and dark,
And so much more in between.
Lasting memories sunrise colors spark.
From life, indeed death does embark,
And from embattled cells, cancer grows.
Without fanfare, or desperate provocation
By the frosted window, I sit watching
This morning’s holy creation.
And in my heart lies undying adoration
At the way sunrise whispers its sweet melodies.
Love is the rain
that cleanses,
refreshes and washes away
the non-essential in our lives.
Love is what comes most naturally to us.
Love connects us with something higher than ourselves.
Love is that piece of God within us.
What is love?
Love is our true nature.
Love is what makes us whole.
Love anchors us.
Love frees us.
We are love.
By Don Iannone
April 11, 2004
Dearest trumpet-shaped flower.
Virtuous mother of rebirth.
You remind us, ever so well,
of early springs, when
we were much younger.
Should we never forget you are the
white-robed apostle of hope.
Gracing all about you.
Your sweet scent lingers
far after you’re gone,
In you, we resurrect
our faith in something larger.
Something eternal.
Something magical.
Something infinite
that lives on inside all of us.
I remember as a young boy loving Memorial Day
because of the small parade in our town Martins Ferry
honoring those who died serving our country, and
the family picnic when family members usually at war with each other came together, and
how the holiday symbolized school would soon be out for the summer, and
how the sun lingered and dallied much longer
allowing us to play early and late in the day, and
how we felt eternal like childhood was forever
The chase begins the moment we enter this world, and
it continues till our last breath
Toltec wisdom says life is a dream, and
we are all walking mirrors—
Everything we think and feel is reflected back to us
through the great dream mirror of life
Some dreams are bigger than others, and
our biggest dream is who we think we are, which
contains all other dreams, visions, fantasies,
and life goals we chase through life
I believe the chase is born into us, and
so are the cosmic butterflies we chase
The ego is a giant volcano, spewing millions of cosmic butterflies
that fill our lives, giving us more and more things to chase
Making us believe we are getting somewhere, and
that we are becoming somebody, but
it’s all one big dream mirror, playing tricks on us
making us believe that the cosmic butterflies are real
Some break out of the dream, but
not without breaking the mirror
Most continue to chase their cosmic butterflies
even the special butterfly that chases away all the other butterflies
making us believe he is the only real butterfly we need to chase
The only way out is to break the mirror
From my new poetry book entitled Chasing Cosmic Butterflies. Check out a copy here.
last rites
low-flying kites
laughter, high-priced perfumes
sunset, night resumes
never lose sight
sunrise trumps night
looking back, moving forward
always truth marching toward
loose sky
gettin’ high
despite what’s not here
life’s worth it, cheer!
One hot and humid July morning in ‘69
Army green duffle bag in tow
I said goodbye at the Wheeling bus station
to Mom, Dad, and Saint Clairsville, O-hi-o
Two days later
courtesy of a forty-nine-dollar, one-way Greyhound bus ticket
I found myself standing in the scorching Arizona sun, wondering who I am
Didn’t take long for my hair to grow long—
Something like Carlos Santana’s black frizzy ‘fro
For a spell, time stood still—
the desert sunsets and Sabino Canyon stole my heart away
Joe Cocker, Buffalo Springfield, the Beatle’s Abbey Road streamed live
from every open dorm room door at Yavapai Hall
Missed the Doors at Hi Corbett Field, but
I was there inhaling the Canned Heat and more that fall
Life slips by—
just like the stealthful Greyhound did
during my fifty-hour trip from Wheeling to Tucson
People appear and disappear—
just like the Beatles’ lonely people
Tucson, now a memory, lingering
alongside past loves, empty beer bottles, and faded sunsets
Makes me wonder what is next
Every day I show you a picture–
Moments frozen in time, until
you cast your eyes upon them, unfreezing
them as newborn moments
Every day I show you a picture–
Something my eyes thought was interesting, and
worthy of copying for other eyes to see, and
bring back to life
Every day I show you a picture–
Something I wanted to hold onto, hoping
life could go on forever, but deep down
knowing life is redefined in each moment
Every day I show you a picture–
A way I can help you understand me, and who I am
as a soul peeping out, through a camera
trying to understand you
i love how the sun so matter of factly screams through the woodland forest,
setting the leaves on fire with gold and yellow hues and tones, and
how tree shadows are painted on the narrow leaf-covered path, carrying
us up the hill and into the pure white sunlight
and just beyond lies the bubbling creek, preparing itself for winter,
once all the leaves have turned brown and fallen to the ground, and
snowflakes dance between the naked branches of the trees, as
thin sheets of ice cover the lazy edges of the creek
and even on this brisk early november day, i can imagine
the forest’s quiet whispers and sighs, as the snow buries the crunchy leaves,
and etches white streaks on the zen-like tree branches, holding their position
until the sun once again sets them free of the clutch of winter
Poetic Alchemist 