Do Not Be Small

Do not feel small during your time upon this earth.

You were born with a soul and in being so born, are worthy of all love and all that is good, healthy and affluent.

Life was not created to give you meaning.  You were created to give meaning to life.

Your purpose is to serve your soul, to transform into its personality through all your thoughts and actions.

Your soul is less than no one’s.

Do not be small during your time upon this earth.

Be powerful.

Power to manipulate and demean is given by others, by the media, or by money and possessions. It is temporary and vulnerable.

The power to overcome all manipulation and demeanings is not given, but taken by you in living your soul.  This empowerment is infinite and undefeatable.

You were meant to be powerful, to be fulfilled, to be content in your strength.

Do not be small during your time upon this earth.

Wild Horse of Childhood

The wild horse of childhood reared up its forelegs

And kicked back the rage that rushed towards me.

I held on with trust and never fell off,

Never fell down there in the dirt.

The steady strong breathing of my steed quieted me, kept me above the foray on the ground.

But I still cared, I still saw.

I reached my hand down to lift them up

So they could be above it, too.

But they slapped my wrist and the flank of my horse.

It reared up its forelegs

And kicked back the pain that rushed towards me.

I held on with trust and never fell off.

My horse raced away, carrying me with aching heart

To a safe and peaceful place

Where I breathe strong, on the ground, near my steed.

And the world is suddenly mine.

— ( c ) St. John 2009

Courage Called For

Courage is demanded

to stare into the darkness of an airless tunnel of despair

where no light shines, not even at the end…

Courage is demanded

to be a door for fears and despairs to pass through,

and open you to your separateness…

Courage is demanded

in the airless tunnel of despair

that separates you from yourself…

Courage is demanded.

to become the light…

if only because otherwise there would be none.

 — (c) St. John 2012

Whose Eyes Do See Me

Someone tells you

You are smart

You are kind

You are good.

Seeing yourself in someone’s eyes like that

Is a wondrous thing…

When the eyes belong to someone

Who is smart

Who is kind

Who is good.

But when the heart behind the eyes is




It shatters your reflection like glass,

Pieces falling to the floor,

Shards beneath your feet.

Sliced and cut

Your soul bleeds as you walk away.

The only eyes that mirror a true image of who you are

Are your own.

— (c) St. John 2012

In Pain

Life has torn the bark from my trunk

And the leaves from my branches.

I am stripped bare and vulnerable

To life’s blows and cracks,

Bent and weeping,

Trembling under the onslaught.

I was once tall and straight.

I stood against the wind for others,

Buffeting, covering, protecting,

While life slashed and dismantled me.

What have I done?

I have stared a monster in the eye.

It turns its strength on me

And hacks at my trunk,

Searching for my life’s vein.

And all the while it taunts me with its power over me.

And so I stand alone,

Rejected and rejecting now,

Semi-dead and hurting,

Wounded and bare against this brutal attack.

But a new wind blows.

A gentler wind, a healing wind.

I look at the missing leaves and bark torn from my trunk.

I look at what is left of me,

Bared to me.

And now I see,

It is the best part of me,

The strongest part of me,

The infinite part of me.

The wind continues to caress.

I stand tall now.

I will thrive another day

To color the life that is before me,

Green and thriving,

Red, yellow, orange, and shining,

Loving and giving.

For I have seen my soul and know

It can never be broken or breached or compromised,

But will always be.

Stripped of all that I had,

I have,


Seen me.

— (c) St. John 1986

The Woodpecker in the Tree

Sheets of dry leaves rustle in the trees above me.  The breeze spirals them to the ground, making a sound like far-away static, coding a secret out to the universe.

Lasers of sun shine through the thinned foliage, warming my shoulders. The sky is bluish milk.  No clouds visit.

The leaves continue to turn and spin showers of color

as begins a dull, rhythmic whack…vibrating the stillness… over and over.

No one else is around and I am quiet.  Who, then?

A puzzle for the mind.  But the soul is calm and wise.

It aims my eyes upward and straight, zeroing in on the creature so like itself:  open, free, expressive, natural.

The red crown of the woodpecker pierces through the golds, browns and oranges, and my mind instructs me to chill out…the sound is only a bird.

My soul has a different opinion.  It is not just a bird, it is a piece of me, too.

I sigh in happy contentment with the paradox of mind and soul struggling to be what truly matters, and the woodpecker’s fierce intensity against the wood.

I would have had a headache by now if I had been the bird entirely.

— ( c ) St. John 2009

Music to my Ears

Toting thick slices of banana bread

Slices of hard and soft cheeses

Strong black coffee

And of course…always…my notebooks.

I nestle into my chair as

Two birds, at each end of the grove of trees

Call to each other in identically pitched notes.

A female cardinal came straight at me

Perched for a few seconds

Then sprinted off to the nearest tree and began to sing.

The air is full of the soft lilts of multiple birds

The screeching of the cicadas

And then voila!

No sound but light and quick vibrations as a hummingbird hovers near my leg

Dancing its flight for me.

A passing train sirens its hello,

A shout among the lowest of rumbles.

There is a whole orchestra tuning up for the day,

And I cannot decide if

I am the conductor

Or the audience.

— ( c ) St. John 2012