Too Much Hatred (Goin’ On)



Too much hatred
Goin’ on,
Too many fingers
Being pointed,
Too few mirrors
Being looked into:
Too much hatred
Goin’ on.

Too much of this you and me,
Too much of this us and them.
Too much fear,
Too much loathin’
Dirtying up the sunrises
Messing with the rainbows.

Too much dogma
Being spouted,
Too much minds
Being closed
And locked away
By our own keys.

Too much evil
Goin’ on,
Being given
Too much power.

Too many walls
Being built,
Blocking our evolution
As instead we crouch
In fear and hatred and blame.

Too much reacting
Instead of being,
Too much judging
Instead of loving.
Too much excluding
Instead of evolving:
Too much hatred
Goin’ on.

The Angels
Weep for us
With our false thirst for rage
And self-righteous indignation
Fueling these empty wars
We wage against long ago brothers
Who are suddenly our enemies.

The Angels are singing:

Let their song
Be your song.
Let their song fill
Your troubled heart,
Let it nurture
Your fragile soul,
Melt your fear
And erase this hatred
Goin’ on.


© Copyright 2016 by John David Higham

Picture: Windfall Sunset (July 2016)

The Gift (One Year’s Poems)

PHL to SETAC to Sedona 3 20 16 926

With love
I have given
You, Dear Reader,
Glimpses into my soul;
Perhaps even
Glimpses into yours.
In these poems
I have celebrated
The joys of my path,
The trials of my being,
The depth of my spiritual love,
The evil I have evolved beyond.

What adventures
I have revealed
You have known
In these letters growing into words
Into lines into stanzas into poems.

Know, Dear Reader,
That these creations
Flow from The Universe
Though me
Onto to the page
Through you.

Thank you
For your eyes,
Thank you
For your words,
Thank you
For this connection
Via these letters, words, lines, and poems
Between the you and the me
In the waking and dream worlds
On our separate journeys.

Thank you
For the gift
That comes with
This poet having been read,
His poetry having been ingested,
His life having evolved into spiritual art.

I wish for you
The Angels
And the bliss,
And the abundance,
And the strength,
And the wisdom
That they bring.



© copyright 2016 John David Higham

Last March, Kathy helped me launch my blog, Empathetic Perspective. It has been a wonderful and crazy year in both my waking and dream worlds, it having been characterized by bliss, abundance, and miracles. To celebrate this part of my path, I was recently directed during a meditation session to give the gift of a brief individualized reading to each person following my blog. If you are following it and are interested in receiving this gift, please email me at for details.

Thank you.

I Saw You, Brussels (I Didn’t Know Where; I Didn’t Know When)


PHX 3 22 16 007 Final

These realities
Are woven into my path.

Decades ago,
I, an adolescent so afraid
To ride the elevator
To the top of a tall building:
“They’re going to fall down,”
I sensed of it
And it’s twin.
I cried decades later
That September day
When they were humbled.
When we were humbled
By those airplanes.

I saw you, Brussels,
A month ago;
I didn’t know where,
I didn’t know when,
But, I saw you.

I grieve for you
And apologize
For the evil ones
Who crossed your path.

“Should have,”
“Could have,”
“Must have”
Litter my path
As this awareness
Of others’ evil
Is something
I’ve only recently
Been directed to know.

What is my role
When such visions
Embrace my awareness?
This I do not yet know.

Such a quandary
Will be resolved,
I know,
When I query
The Inner Voice.


© copyright 2016 John David Higham

Last Night (I Asked the Angels)

Windfall Armenia MT 3 3 2016 313

Last night
Before slumber
Calmed my body and soul,
I asked
The Angels
Please grant me
More strength
Than I need,
Please grant me
More love
Than I deserve,
Please grant me
More patience
Than I’ve ever known,
Please grant me the persistence
Of the ocean,
The gentleness
Of the deer,
The power
Of the horse,
The spirit
Of the eagle,
The secrets
Of the lynx.

Angels, I said,
In this way
I will know and follow
My path
Through the sunniest day
And the darkest night,
Through love and war,
Celebration and grief,
Immersion and detachment,
Commotion and silence.

I then slept so
To find all the gifts
I had needed:
Nothing more,
Nothing less.



© copyright 2016 John David Higham


February 8 2015 Windfall 043 Final Final

Air dancing, air slamming me
Closer toward the ground,
Making me forget
How high I have flown.

Turbulence; my sweet foe
Twisting my wings,
Pushing at my eyes,
And making me gulp
For the very air
That pounds at my chest
And quickens my pulse.

Turbulence, fucking turbulence
Making me plummet,
Turning me from a glider
Into a stone,
I wonder: How many seconds
Are mine until I
Will be smashing
Into the ground?

Turbulence; too much air
All around me;
Not in my lungs,
Not under my wings,
But instead
Twisting, twisting, twisting
Bouncing me to and fro,
Like a crazed puppet
Tangled in its strings.

Turbulence turns me upside down,
Pushes me backward,
Wringing all life out of me,
Forcing me into a midair standstill,
For an eternal moment
Of hellish inertia.

Will I resume defying gravity?
Will I rediscover propulsion?
Can I again triumph over drag?
Will I ever again celebrate
The ecstasy of lift, of knowing
I am gaining, gaining altitude?

My little heart bursts in fear,
My little mind races with contingencies,
My little body fights, flees, freezes
All at once in a crazy destructive dance
As turbulence from within explodes, joining
Turbulence from the sky to erase my aerodynamics;
But still, I make myself flop fly
Without thinking,
Without feeling
Instead just being, trusting this new glide path
That has its own awkward logic.

Somehow, flight is mine again;
I seem to have broken invisible puppet strings
And again bounce and bound
Through the skies
And choose when to land.

I am air dancing,
I am air slamming,
Flailing and flying,
Climbing and diving.
Turbulence laughs at me, it
Appearing from and
Disappearing into
Thin air that flows
All around and within me;
Sky and I are again at peace.

© copyright 2016 John David Higham

The Tree in the Fog

Windfall Armenia MT 3 3 2016 003 FINAL
The tree in the fog
Cannot see the world it knows
Except when it remembers
The hills, the forests, the sky,
And the sun.

The tree in the storm
Cannot hear the world it knows
Beyond the wind’s roar,
The lightnings’ flash,
And raindrops’ splat
Against the ground.

The tree in the deep winter
Cannot feel the world it knows
When snow and frosty cold
Numb its bark.

The tree always knows
That it is a tree;
Its roots growing
Deep into the ground,
Its branches growing
Far up into the sky
As it turns
Sunlight and soil
Into food
So that it may endure
Fog, storm, and winter
When they come to visit.

Some days,
I am like that tree
When I am being visited
By such forces
And must remind myself
To remain deeply grounded
While also allowing myself
To keeping growing
Toward the sky.

© copyright 2016 John David Higham


Breath In, Breath Out (King of Wands and Skunk)

Tarot 3 3 16 002 Final

In the hours
Before the golden sun
Made itself known again to my eyes,
I sat in a Full Lotus
On my meditation cushions;
Breath in,
Breath out.

Breath in,
Breath out
Dissolved the litter
Of my waking world;
The bills
The commitments
The struggles
All faded
As the Inner Voice
Quieted my soul.

Breath in,
Breath out;
Two cards
I pulled,
Two directions
I know
On this day’s path.

King of Wands;
Embracing my strength
Embracing my confidence
Embracing my charisma
As I rule over my life:
Knowing that
I am today
The King of Fire.

Breath in,
Breath out.

Embracing my path
Embracing my self-respect
Embracing my charisma
Understanding other’s paths
Understanding other’s self-respect
Understanding other’s charisma
As equal to mine,
Experiencing each
The King of Fire.

Breath in,
Breath out
As the golden dawn
Evolved into blue skies
Evolved into stark white ground
I heeded these signs,
Thanked the Inner Voice
For these visions,
And flowed
Into my waking world.


(c) Copyright 2016 John David Higham