Excerpt for What Name Am I by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Title Page

Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

Copyright (©) 2019 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada

Cover picture by:

All pictures found on

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.


Title Page


Be The Teacher

Being Different

Endless Possibilities


Father Knows Best

In My Search

Running Free

Searching For The Key

Grandfather's Dream

Mentally Challenged

Simple Simon Seeking Change

Tears In The Wind

The Rock On The Road

The Unseen Side

The Golden Path

The Simple Man

To Change The World

Walking With No Soul

What Name Am I?

When Shit Happens

Who I Am

The End Of Humanity


These books contain a form of free verse poetry, opinions based on observation, and some humour and imagination, engaging the heart as well as the mind. A critical look at many current issues intriguing and plaguing man. Spirituality, interaction with nature and environment, social changes, dwindling resources. Well worn issues now, indeed. But the poetry and other works in these books gives this subject a different perspective. I daresay that here we can find a "higher" vantage point from which to look at ourselves within the cosmos.

Who knows but some of the ideas in the books may get you inspired to do that thing you always wanted to do, even if this comes in a very small way, to make your corner of this world a better place to be in. Who knows but you may realize your little corner is a really nice place to be in after all.

It's all about life, if at times expressing life "outside the box" as the saying goes.

Be The Teacher

His Irish flute still plays

gently through my silent mourning;

in remembrance of his passing

tears water my eyes

as rain on autumn leaves.

Yet through my pain

a channel remains open

as I remember these thoughts

he left with me:

"When the sun shines on me no more,

and the path you travel

seems pointless without this love

find the courage to close the door

on a chapter of life that for you

exists no more."

And these words he also spoke to me:

"A day will come for you to speak

to the world with your own voice.

You will write your own chapter then,

and from chapter to novel

your own life will unfold,

new and wonderful.

Keep in mind that dependency

is for children, for those

who mistake fear and laziness

for obedience.

Never remain anyone's student:

be the teacher, as you were intended."

Being Different

There are those who share a love of heart,

even if prevented from giving the helping hand

for whatever reason.

There are those who have the desire of heart;

like late wild flowers scattered

in meadows of dried soils and browned grass

you encounter them here and there,

dancing gently, adding color to Autumn.

In the hustle of Spring they go unnoticed

but when the dull shades of Fall cover the meadow

your gaze naturally turns to these brave hearts.

They could have chosen to be like everybody else;

Spring flowers gone in a week of sun or day of hail;

or grass: would a tired passerby notice

the brown stems lying on the ground all around?

Would his eyes find rest there?

How does one cause real change?

not from conformity nor uniformity.

It's not easy to stand apart from the crowd,

to blossom in Autumn

but some do this, not out of pride,

but out of natural purpose!

Endless Possibilities

I thought I'd forget all my troubles

hiking the high hills today -

but my thoughts betray me again -

turning my hopes to bitterness

until a soft voice interrupts

my internal monologue:

"Make your life a celebration,

not cause for regret.

Set a goal, a purpose, a direction

then enter every situation

with eyes wide open.

See your endless blessings,

the knowledge life has granted you:

put these to better use.

They will show you the beauty

of a cascading mountain stream

with a backdrop of jagged peaks

above scraggly pines at the tree line

just below the sun's slanting rays.

They will give you a sprinkling of fresh snow;

the feel of a shiver as a late autumn breeze

finds an opening in your collar.

Is this not the dawning of a new day

filled with endless possibilities?

Why should you allow yesterday's thoughts

to mar today's joy?

If you came here to find happiness

just for one day, that is all you will get

but if you discover self-empowerment

such happiness you will find

absolutely everywhere."


Father used to call me a failure

and when it came time for me

to face the "big bad world"

I looked upon myself as dumb, i.e.,

less intelligent then the rest,

so inevitably, in man's jungle,

I became prone to fail and did.

The tests we are given

in man's social systems

are designed for followers;

their so-called teachings

but instructions for yes-men.

No need to feel unworthy

if we fail these illusory tests:

they can never measure a person's worth!

What are they but a show

of "brainial" capacity

to store randomly acquired facts

spouting reams of mis-information?

What I have learned, I learned

at the university of life:

it may not contain degrees

or cost exorbitant fees

and the so-called smart may think it worthless

but everyone must ultimately pass

its un-written exams,

for in real life

there is no such thing as a failure.

Father Knows Best

My Father always used to say:

"I'm proud of you, my boy

that you have chosen to follow

the path I mapped out for you!"

Even though I had yet to decide

which way I had to go,

my father already had determined

my life's purpose:

to be like him, of course!

Pressured into such conformity

I found myself on an embankment

he assured me was strong:

it had supported his own ambitions

and would do the same for me!

That doesn't matter any more,

for in fear of letting him down

I crashed through the flimsy supports,

my life crumbling into instant ruin.

"You have failed me, boy,"

came the voice of disapproval,

"but worse, you have decreased

the family's social standing!"

I rose from this false awareness of defeat

to find my own path,

to live my own dreams,

no longer listening to the old adage:

father knows best!

Now that I have found my own identity,

making my mark while still learning,

growing and succeeding in my life,

my father again says proudly:

"That's my boy!"

In My Search

Out late at night, walking the streets

searching for pocket change

in aluminum cans, plastic, glass bottles.

In my search I see the police,

I was taught are heartless, uncaring people:

but tonight one policewoman chose

to show me where I could find

lots of empty beer cans...

Such a simple gesture,

yet leaving me glowing with joy.

Police officers are what they are,

the product of a society living in fear;

sometimes they get a bad rap.

They enforce a law; they play the system's game;

they hired on to referee, make sure the game

is played by the rules, and that

is what they get paid for.

If we don’t like it this way, there is a better one.

We don’t need rules, referees or a System,

to make us get along:

may I suggest what the policewoman demonstrated?

Unconditional love, no judgment?

Or... is that too simple? Too frightening?

Running Free

The 'awakening' process brings us

in touch with “Spirit guides” and others

appearing full of knowledge and wisdom

to set us on the path of power...

But there is a neurosis among humans,

the curse of dependency:

so when spirit people enter our life to guide

we grow to rely on them instead of our self..

How do we know we are really on the path

to greater understanding and love?

How do we know we are breaking free

of addiction to dependencies?

One day, driving along a tree-bordered road

I became aware I was running free

along the road, through trees and shrubs-

effortlessly loping, keeping up with the vehicle.

Then I realized the concept of being one

for at that moment I had indeed become

my own Shaman, my own Spirit Guide:

I had broken my human dependency cycle.

Searching For The Key

Millennia and the search goes on

for the key to healing:

a key we believe exists

but that remains hidden.

Perhaps as it is with the body,

so must it be with the planet

with the solar system,

with the universe!

Perhaps when that is realized

we can begin speaking

about healing.

How effective is it

to heal someone today

only to have death

claim them tomorrow?

Perhaps healing begins

with an understanding of death:

what is the cause of death?

Do we know?

We know death is not a disease;

nor is it a combination of such;

it can be accidental, slow or sudden;

it can be desired and chosen.

Death is termination

of bodily functions.

But why?

By what law does death rule?

Perhaps we need to ask

do planets die?

Do suns die?

Do galaxies and universes die

as the human body dies?

For if they do,

no healing shall we ever find

on this world alone:

healing must happen

on a cosmic level.

Is that the Key?

Grandfather's Dream

I feel Grandfather’s spirit

in the wind that moves the branches,

that flutters leaves of broad-leaved maple.

I watch the sun rise over barren land,

that was Grandfather’s farm,

a farm he struggled to keep;

by taking a job up north,

by surviving with so little, for so long.

Heavy equipment carve up the earth,

fill the tranquil air with industrial noise,

uproot the trees I once played in,

destroy precious streams I once waded

and washed my hands in.

They build a “gated community”;

a prison for the wealthy:

was this what Grandfather envisioned

when he bought this land long ago?

Ruthless developers connive

to leave the remaining family

with empty pockets and broken hearts:

was this the work of the universe

unfolding as it should?

I will remember the years

I was connected with the life

that was this sacred place.

I will remember the simple things

that awakened me to greater knowing.

I’ll drift away from here

to dream a better, greater dream.

Mentally Challenged

I was considered unworthy

to experience a "normal" life;

with my speech impediment I did not fit in at all,


TSK, TSK, TSK...what do we do

with the retard?)

among the robotic standards

of their pastel coloured world.

When someone is a slow learner,

has a speech impediment,

or looks unnormal or abnormal,

the regular ones quickly label them

retards and idiots:

they remember the warning pinned to their cribs:

"When encountering another not like you:


But now: look!

they've discovered political correctness

(from the point of view of normal, that is)

and have declared terms like retard and idiot

socially repulsive or at least, unacceptable.

How interesting: they were their labels, not mine!

Under the new charter of rights and whatever

my PROPER description is "Mentally Challenged!"

I just feel So Privileged, So Special!

I am being challenged by my incredible mental faculties!

That's sort of being like Einstein, I think.

(you know, the guy who wrote about an E

adding up to MC and a little 2?)

It feels just great to be recognized for what I am:



How would You like to work with idiots and retards

if YOU were a proud PHD?

Wouldn't you rather work with geniuse-suz like me?

Please, Mr. Shrink...

may I have another look at those ink-blots?

I need to amuse my Inner Child some more.

"Simple Simon" Seeking Change

I wonder: It's not so good

to remain too long in the same place;

better to move about, relocate,

if temporarily, if that means

tripping out of one's mind,

while the body lies dormant wherever:

Give me change, or give me death

or is that

give me credit and give me debt?

I wonder as I wander;

pull up a stump

in a different coffee shop;

walk down a different street,

take a different trail in the woods:

Could be, by wandering about

unusual surroundings

there is a good chance

to meet new people,

hear new ideas expressed,

enriching or amusing...

at least that's still free:

so why not?

Tears In The Wind

Tears in the wind

from life seen and tasted

in eternity

past the boundaries of earth

past the last signpost

of this universe,

I saw

(but what did I perceive?)


that I could understand


walking this vale of storms

of tears

in restless winds

--time's Autumn

weighs heavily on my heart -

a tumble weed

blown about

shifting sands

disheveled, naked, hungry

lifting scarred hands

to unsmiling copper skies

I cried to faded stars

out of my pain

"Tell Me Why?"

--I heard my voice carried off

in raucous laughter

the wind's laughter


through tears in the wind

I caught a glimpse of something,

unusual, fleeting, intriguing

and I called it compassion.

The Rock On The Road

The road I've walked

has not always being smooth,

perhaps no road ever is.

However, if we look

at every moment,

deep within each experience,

as if it were

a rock sticking out of the ground,

smooth or jagged,

depending on

the experience presented

we would understand!

We can walk around the rock,

jump over it or step on it,

or ignore it and stub our toes:

it's all a matter of choice

in discernment!

The Unseen Side

More than a few people

have made sure

I'd be well advised to know

"writing poetry"

is a dead end street:

well, perhaps, I thought

as I headed out into the hills.

I came upon a lost and wild trail

leading into the high mountains,

past sun-filled meadows,

and bubbling crystal streams

to where endless snows beckon.

Here one can let dreams

soar in summer breezes;

one can gently feel

every wild color

in every flower...

Here one can touch the sky,

kiss the sun goodbye

welcome the moon goddess

in robes of white satin.

Here, one can just be,

and here, feelings define reality

and words truly become

best friends.

How could I ever

regret my choices?

The Golden Path

I walk along the shore

of a fast-moving river,

the soughing of the wind in the trees

blends with the musical laughter

of the water...

I am thinking of ways

we could save ourselves

in these terrible times;

these horribly selfish times

and this idea comes to mind:

The only way we can

ever change our ways

is through willingness

to give one's life for another -

no questions asked -

living each day knowing

that this is the day

I am called to give my life

for another.

Impossible, I think,

utterly crazy,

could something like this work?

Then I hear a voice

from nature's symphony:

“if all were prepared

to give their life for another

no harmful things would ever be done

by one to another:

wars would be impossible,

hunger would end,

as would crime.

Your world would become healthy

and safe for all your children.

Is that not what you desire?”

I leave this sacred place now,

reeling from this revelation

and thinking that yes,

given those possibilities

I must be willing

to give my life for another.

The Simple Man

Birds call forth the rising sun,

rejoice at the dawning of day

and without any ulterior motives.

So does the simple man

lying in tall grass, eyes closed

wondering about all of creation,

feeling as one with all things.

But just beyond his idyllic view

the city’s polluted reality

also comes alive in the morning:

he weeps silently in his hunger,

wondering why man makes all things

more complicated than they need to be,

forever running through a pointless maze

yet seemingly getting nowhere.

Considered worthless and shiftless,

he doesn't play by the rules,

riding his bicycle down and up streets

collecting bottles and cans thrown away

by people who have no time to care:

he doesn't fit society's mould;

does not understand the clutter,

the noisy, harmful ways.

Sadly he rides on

though with hope he looks upon the city

from the top of a denuded hill

for in his sleep he has seen a vision:

the dance of life that rejects none

and he walks the way of love,

the only way he knows,

in understanding and acceptance.

To Change The World

Can one person change the world?

Can one simple idea?

There are those on this world

who bring about such change,

who live simplicity in joy:

quiet, steady as the stars

in the night sky - points of light

shining bright, not unto themselves;

There are those whose heart

is vast and open as the ocean;

of gentle word and soft mien,

a haven for those who hurt.

There are those whose mind

is like a mountain ringed with clouds:

whose thoughts are noble and wise;

who have the spirit of an eagle;

who remain graceful and free

in the face of adversity

You will not find them in the temples

nor in the high places of power;

their faces do not grace the TV screen,

or fill pages in magazines.

Lucky are you to recognize one,

wise are you to emulate one.

And how do you find such a one?

Just look deep within.

Walking With No Soul

(The Barefoot Pilgrim)

The underside of my shoe is coming apart,

so I go to the shoemaker's shop

just down the street in an old building.

He examines my battered sole

then says it will be a few hours for the repairs.

Fine I said, I'll wait here. I have no particular place

waiting for me at this time.

While he carries on fixing the various shoes

he tells me this little analogy that comes to his mind:

The sole of your shoe is like your human soul,

at the very least in placement.

As you walk upon it and wear it down

so does the owner of your human soul,

that would of course be God or some god

walk upon it all the days of your life.

As long as you have a soul

any god can walk all over you.

So here's a bit of wisdom from an old sole fixer

who's seen many a trod down, worn out sole:

give your soul back to God, son.

He won't be happy but he can't stop you.

Walk barefoot in spirit the rest of your life,

and learn what it means to be truly free.

You won't need any God to tell you where to go

nor will you need a soul-fixer priest to take your money

and leave you empty of mind, full of false hope.

So I decided from now on to walk with no soul

Who knows but this man may be right?

And how would one know if it's not tried?

What Name Am I?

Everything must have a name,

so it seems to me.

It’s the way on this little world

seeking its identity among the stars.

We name a tree, not individual leaves,

we name the sand, not individual grains.

Why do we place importance on names

in some instances and not others?

Human babies are named and catalogued

like butterflies on a collector’s sheet,

given an identity before they get a chance

to choose their own...

and thus the possession of mind and body

is assured: but does it serve the race

to pass on old names to new minds?

If we are to evolve, it would seem

that new energy must beget new names,

and as one grows and learns and changes,

so should the title that one bears.

We should decide at this point

is a name but a generic title, a hand me down -

or should it tell the world who I am,

as I pass by?

When Shit Happens

Late for work

and your shoelace breaks;

your car won't start;

you rush to call a cab

the phone inexplicably dies;

you chase a bus only to get thrown off

for not having the right change

and when you finally get to work

the boss says you're fired:

What to do when shit happens?

There is a place hidden deep within

where these things matter not:

where we know life is surprises

and synchronicity

and seldom is the meaning clear

of interconnected events

driving us up the wall.

If shit happens let it turn to fertilizer;

allow the energy to compost in the mind:

let it rot, without judgment,

for in judgment the process halts:

the 'bad' remains

as the immutable Murphy's Law.

Who I Am

Who can tell me who I am?

A god? A book? A guru?

A teacher? A boss? A shrink?

Someone in authority?

Experience has taught me,

I am the only one with that answer

for no one can ever know me

as well as I can know myself.

The system would rather

I never found out

I create my own destiny;

remain a docile slave

in a give and take situation:

I give, it takes, so simple

and so amazingly effective.

Can I be whom I'd rather be

if I never choose to discover

who this is I call me?

Only when I believe in me

can I discover I control

both my destiny and my life.

And this brings up the subject of names:

do I continue to pass myself off

under the pseudonym forced on me

when I had no choice?

Self-empowerment- that's what its about -

begins when I choose my own name,

not some hand-me-down label

someone else pinned on me:

I'm not a pair of jeans or toothpaste.

The End Of Humanity

An old man sat beside me

as I was waiting for the bus,

turned and said:

“Is something troubling you?”

Yes I reply, I am wondering

why people don’t seen to care

about the fate of their world?


I think, somewhat sadly,

(says the old man:)

“It’s like this with humans:

they’re sitting in a big SUV

heading straight for a brick wall,

doing a hundred miles an hour,

and all these people can think about;

all they want to argue about,

is where is the best place to sit.”

(quote from David Suzuki)

“I thought when I was younger

(continues the old man)

I could make a difference

on this crazy world

but as I get older

I am finding out there is no hope,

people are just too stuck

in old ways that no longer work,

old ways that really

never did work.”

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