Tuesday, September 16, 2014


Gentle Reader,

What you’ll find below is an upside-down anthology of sorts: a journal of my frequent morning musings from January 2008 till now, in reverse order.

Much of what I write here is verse in traditional rhymed iambic pentameters, old fashioned in form but contemporary in topics and idiom. It asks to be read aloud so that the effects of rhyme and meter may be felt.

Sometimes I write brief prose essays, but even my verses are essays, or attempts, pursuing a line of thought to some conclusion, though more sonorously than those in prose: discursive verses, I call them.

In either case, you’re the reader over my shoulder as I write, which makes my writing different than when I have no audience in mind but only a vague urge to express. So I thank you for whatever attention you give my words and thoughts and feelings because you might so easily attend to something else, and you soon will.

To beguile you to linger longer, though, I’ve coupled most of my compositions with a photo or image I’ve taken or borrowed, which often corresponds with my words of that day.

Thank you for visiting here.  I hope you enjoy your stay and are moved to come back soon.

—Alan Nordstrom

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     Of course there’s no denying consciousness,
     But yet defining it’s another thing,
     And how far down it goes, we can but guess
     And how far up, there’s no determining.

     Perhaps there’s really nothing else but mind,
     And thought’s the source of everything we know,
     While all that’s seeming matter is defined
     By an illusion, a stunning, spectral show.

     Such is the view of an idealist,
     For whom reality is but a dream,
     And even if you loudly pound your fist,
     He’ll tell you such phenomena but seem.

          Well, I’ll suppose there’s ultimately Mind,
          But here and now it’s physically defined.


Monday, September 15, 2014


    Another word for dog ought to be hug,
    Which happens when we roll around the rug,
    Or when our little pup hops on a lap
    Or leaps into our arms with just a clap.
    At nighttime in our bed that little hug’ll
    Become between us a blissful eight-hour snuggle.


Sunday, September 14, 2014


     There is no better way to be inclined
     Than toward charity, toward being kind:
     To live that way we’re naturally designed,
     The progeny of an all-loving Mind.

     Yet those who seek to willfully divorce
     Their motives from the mandate of our Source
     Will find themselves then bound upon a course
     Leading to consternation and remorse—

     Or if not that, because their hearts are hard
     And they give their posterity no regard,
     Unwary that their fortunes are ill-starred,
     They’ll find their expectations all are marred,

          For there’s no better way to be inclined
          Than toward charity—toward being kind.


Saturday, September 13, 2014


    This consciousness that now takes residence
    Within my head, my heart, my mind, my soul,
    My being (if you will) must be immense,
    Connected fully to the Cosmic Whole.

    No matter how erroneously I roam,
    How wayward and bewildered is my course,
    An inward signal urges me toward home
    Until again I recognize our Source,

    For true and lasting happiness will come
    When once our consciousness has been attuned
    To resonate the universal AUM,
    For lack of which our souls will be marooned.

         The Cosmos is writ little in our being,
         A glimpse of which is ultimately freeing.


Friday, September 12, 2014

for Larry Dossey

As long as I’m alive, I’ve consciousness,
Yet when I die, my mind becomes inert;
Alive I can both flourish and progress,
But dead I am no different than the dirt.

So what is mind and how does it arise,
And when I die, where does it disappear?
Or have we simply failed to realize
That mind, that consciousness, is always here?

Indeed, there’s nothing other than One Mind:
That out of Universal Consciousness
All latent objectivity’s defined,
A motive no dead matter can express.

     One Mind abides throughout the universe,
     Whence all things first emerge, thence reimmerse.


Thursday, September 11, 2014


          A tyrant’s mind is woeful to behold,
          Fixated on the will to dominate;
          Worse yet, his heart is absolutely cold
          So no amount of misery will sate
          His lust for conquest and for prominence:
          No ego is more dark, no soul more dense.