Excerpt for Freedom Has No History 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: Top, Spencer Desmond

Bottom, Theresa Fisher

All pictures found on

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.


Title Page


Freedom Has No History

Guardian Angels

High Is The Hill

How To Believe



Inner Peace

Inquisition 2000

Self Empowerment

The World Cries

The Young Girl Who Asked Why

There Is The Desert

They’re Always Here

To Vote Or Not To...

Walking On Water

This Is Earth

Three Dogs



View From A Hill

Where's The Magic In Our Fairy Tale?


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.

Freedom Has No History

Where does freedom come from?

Does it exist in absolute form

or is it but an abstract,

a thought, an idea,

a state of mind:

perception or apperception?

Can it be won or lost?

Attacked or defended?

Can it be imposed on another?

Can the statement: "I am free"

be universally understood?

Freedom has no history.

It didn't come about

by preaching, teaching or marching.

It didn't happen here and not there.

It is but a relative concept,

understood in countless ways.

More changeable even than love:

a dangerous word, a two-edged sword,

and those who least understand

use it always as an excuse

to impose slavery on others.

Beware the one who boasts:

"I live in the land of the free!"

A well-fed slave utters such nonsense.

Guardian Angels

Their mission: compassion;

watching, bringing forth light

where darkness lurks

but is no longer desired.

They do not create reality

as some would have them do,

they empathize,



but never interfere

in one's chosen path or destiny.

Life is a learning process.

A chosen path:

in difficult times

it is not wise to beg or plead

for angels to lift us up.

Advice they can give,

and support, they may provide

but the walk

that remains our own.

Pleasant or unpleasant,

it isn't God who chooses

the path we walk each day

we do!

High Is The Hill

High is the hill

in the quiet night

as the fog lifts

and a crimson moon

gently rises.

Away drift the clouds

over the eastern hills,

soft is the breeze

through the grasses

and over my face.

Stars twinkling,

a bit of warmth,

from a low, flickering

slightly puzzled flame,

its smoke riding the breeze

into the mist above.

There is music

and gentle warmth

in the silvery night:

faraway snow glistens

in golden-flecked

moonlit depth of skies,

high is the spirit.

How To Believe

I gazed at the flowing river

on a partly cloudy morning.

In the stillness a thought formed:

"What do I believe in?"

"What do I really believe?"

The sun peeked from behind a cloud;

touched the still-wet sand

where I stood: a woman in white silk

appeared between land and water.

With a sensuous demeanor

and a smile that would light a night,

she extended her arms.

She beckoned me;

bade me lie beside her

in the dancing fire of the sun;

the whirling of the wind;

the whisperings of shifting sand:

she took me within the soul of her...

And just before she left

she said these enigmatic words:

"Believe everything.

Believe in nothing."

Those words were her only legacy

but I saw that if we believe "in" anything

we become trapped by that belief,

everything else becomes a lie to our mind;

but if we simply believe everything,

we empower ourselves to listen and hear,

and in the hearing is the love we seek.

"He who has ears, let him hear..."


Starve your

life's illusions!

Let them

wither away,

let them die!

Make room for a new way;

make room for a new day;

make room for a new you

for beyond illusions

stands a new world

waiting: look!


twisted from birth

the leg drags

painfully along

the climbing street

cold steel

pierces my heart

tears fill my eyes

--love is not blind--

Inner Peace

We speak much of peace:

we say war

is the opposite of peace.

Nothing is further from truth:

peace has nothing to do with war

and war cannot prevent peace.

Peace is only found

in the inner world:

not in the outer fringes

where life exists in chaos:

for all movement

of necessity

creates conflict.

Inner peace

is neither of body

nor of mind:

for it transcends

all thought, all matter

all movement in space and time.

Inner peace exists everywhere,

yet is nowhere.

Few there are as yet

on this small planet

who understand

the absolute concept

of peace.

Real peace does not end

movement (conflict) in time

for that is not its purpose:

it is but the final refuge

when conflict burns itself out

leaving no place to go.

Inquisition 2000

We who wish to die,

become the victims

of technology's inquisition;

our emaciated bodies,

profits for the System;

our pain,

payment for moral prudes


comfortably in false beliefs.

We become the tortured

chained without hope

to 'death prevention' machines,

kept in endless suffering:

and what is our crime?

Medical insurance and

the last of a few meager savings.

So I say: Inquisitors of technology;

physicians for profit;

let our pain-racked minds

finally rest in peace.

As the saying goes: set our spirits free;

let us return to life;

let us find our new beginning!

Self Empowerment

Walking by the mighty River,

I thought why do we so easily

give our power away;

put ourselves in vulnerable situations?

I could not find an answer within

but then I thought I heard a voice

as if from the River itself:

Self-empowerment's no big trick

if you understand power!

Look at me, my mighty flow:

how many times have I been attacked

been dammed, re-channelled, dyked?

My waters used, abused, poisoned?

But still they fear me in Spring

never knowing which way my power

will turn, flow and over-flow.

Yet know this: I bear no ill-will

to those who would control my ways

for I know they do so from fear

and sometimes from pure greed..

Remember this, when someone

seeks to take away your own power:

they operate from fear,

having no power of their own.

Understand the source of all power

and join with that,

then you can share power

when someone needs it:

it will not deplete nor weaken

for the Force will be with you always.

It will strengthen you, guide you,

and it will make you wise.

The World Cries

Does the world cry

for lack of compassion?

Is the pain of the world

a cry for compassion?

Does the world seek

an end to suffering?

- or -

Is the world’s suffering

simply part of “what is”

and not relevant

to this question?

Does compassion

engender itself from sorrow?

- or -

can the world know compassion

without its ever-present pain?

Can one still know compassion

without the presence of suffering?

would it still be needed then?

The Young Girl Who Asked Why


You were looking at the starry firmament

one night so long ago

and saw a star move

and what was that thing you did?

you asked: why? didn't you

and predictably did not get an answer

so what was that other thing you did?

you formulated a theory.


It took some time

for someone to discover and ponder

your little theory

test it

and prove you right

and does it matter

after two hundred years

that he takes the credit?


Of course not

it does not matter at all

because you have learned

and know

the young girl of long ago

who asked 'why?'

is almost the same person

who subsequently

proved she guessed correctly.

There Is The Desert

There is a desert: some have seen it

though none ever lived to tell of it;

a parched and pale brown-red tawny beast

its black spear-points as turned up ears:

the many-shadowed sides of ridged dunes

and that oasis, a chromatic glimmering,

in its unreachable immediate distance,

its icy-blue waters and green waving fronds

cries of bottomless, unfulfilled desires.

The desert stretches out in horizontal infinity,

ever thirsty, ever hungry, ever overtaking.

Shape-shifting its emptiness in illusions

it attracts its unsuspecting prey:

its believers, its worshippers,

riding the mirage-making death-breath of doom

under a pitiless sun in ever-widening vulture circles

lasting a thousand years and more.

These riding ghosts of ages past

stare sightless from shadow-black eyes,

their faces tattooed in lines of years,

as the desert sculpts their emaciated bodies

draped in flowing black shrouds

that only the desert can still see.

In a hollow place, and secretly

the desert ate their failing flesh

and drank their steaming blood

long before history was born:

it feasted and licked every grain of sand

of the sweet vanishing moisture

it felt on its scarred and parched face.

This desert will never know

the hunger, the thirst, of another:

not because that's nature's way

(not to feel, not to know, not to care)

but because of it's own perverse nature.

Yet in its mindless shame it hides

skeletal evidence of long-ago feasts

under smooth-topped crescent dunes.

and heaves pointless dry tearless sobs

under a mocking pearl-shaped moon.

They’re Always Here


No need to run to them or to seek for them

‘cause they’re always here for you – ever faithful.

You don’t see them, of course you don’t

Because all you see is them, there is nothing else

and you’re so used to them, to it all being the same

like the view from your tiny suite’s only window.


Of course they will eat you in the end you suspect

but they don’t mean to be either nasty, hateful or vile

‘cause if they were, you’d shy away from them

certainly you would, you’re no fool.  No, not you.

All you want is a good meal, company, some dancing

and dream some dark stranger will take you home.


They take your hand, your arm, whisper in your ear

the secret of life is just around the next corner

and you go with them, talking loudly, laughing

late at night, all you see is bright lights and good times

when they have you in their mind to pleasure you

time pretends to stop here in your funky underground.


The morning tells its own story in a blinding headache

but they’re here too, in the pills, the bottled water.

They’re already talking about tonight on the TV

and though your head is pounding and throbbing

you squint blood-shot eyes, try to hear their message.

Same as yesterday’s of course, but that’s as it should be.


Should I phone in sick? You wonder out loud

and the radio answers for you: come out and play today.

you put on the dress they tailored just for you, and the shoes

and as you sip their coffee you hear the street calling

their Siren song you learned long ago never to resist.

The door slams shut, you turn the key and promise yourself


“Tomorrow definitely, yes, tomorrow will be different.”

To Vote Or Not To...

Vote! vote! vote! vote!!!

the scampering madmen scream

from the TV's confused screen

and I too want to scream:

get out! get out! get out!

thieves, robbers, liars all!

I can't help but ask myself

why should I vote for packs of fools?

Is one set of clowns and crooks

better than another in your book?

Why would I want to play their game?

Do I only exist to give these arses

what's left of credibility

since they have none of their own?

I won't! I won't! I won't! vote!

I have nothing left to give you

thieves and scoundrels all!

Get out of my face and out of my life

and quit pretending you want to give me

something for nothing,

when I already know it is I

who always gives everything

and get nothing back: your endless lies

have reached rock bottom here!

In politics, there's nothing new

under anything at all...

Walking On Water

Last night I dreamed an impossible dream:

I had learned to make my body lighter than water,

thus I could walk on water:

so in my dream I decided to walk across a river,

to meet my friend the WindWalker.

Having reached a half-way point,

a speed boat swerved suddenly to miss me:

the bug-eyed operator shocked to see a man

walking calmly on water: he took me by surprise,

I yelled, “Hey, slow down: I’m getting my feet wet!”

I wonder is that foolish thinking?

There's another thought on the subject:

'Anything is possible' is a truism

but doubt is the builder of walls.

To break down those walls

thoughts are harnessed to dreams

and become tomorrow's reality.

Freedom of thought allowed to expand,

set off to flow like a river at break-up:

the mind itself must envision

abilities locked within from birth.

There is a key that unlocks all talents,

it's what I call freedom.

This Is Earth

This is earth

mother earth we call her

giving us sunshine and water

when we let her

that's less and less often...

This is earth

where so many

have sought endlessly

for the land

of milk and honey

found salt marshes and the stinger


This is earth

our cradle

"rock-a-bye baby!"

valley of sorrow and death

where heaven and hell

walk comfortably hand in hand.

This is earth

where the living die

and the dead live

where 12 million children

die without food -that's

32,876.71 child per day

give or take...

This is earth

where the leaders

create deficits

from our greed

to steal the food

of those who die

to pay them back, why  -

 - for dying? --

"This is earth" cries the prophet

to the crescent-mooned sky

among the stars his voice echoes

"Do not come here -

do not come near -

their ignorance so contagious

throbs in mortal agony

capturing all

that passes by!"

Three Dogs

A lovely sunny day in winter:

a green canoe upon blue waters,

the river free and happy for a time

the gentle wake of the light craft

matching the swirls from the paddle

deftly handling changing currents...

I push up the mellow winter waters

along muffin-shaped rocks

accompanied by eagles, ravens and gulls:

the breeze is light but with a bite

reminding me this isn't summer time!

As I look at the shoreline, wondering

three dogs come running along:

three beautiful wild dogs, one white

two dark, loping like wolves,

they follow along the shoreline

Eying them suspiciously, at first,

not knowing what to make of them

I guide the craft closer to the bank

and call to them, they come running

tails wagging, happy, full of joy!

I extend my hand and they lick my fingers

shake their heads and look at me

as if laughing at my confusion:

"why aren't you snarling and biting"

is what you're thinking, aren't you?

"Yes" I answer in my thoughts, knowing

they would know my thoughts anyhow:

"but who are you, dogs?" and I wondered

as the question was irrelevant,

we were happy, they running on the cliffs,

I paddling upstream to a sandy bank

I jumped down and they joined me

in a joyous dance upon the sandy shore:

we ran and jumped and played

petting, touching, licking, laughing -

oh, yes, dogs do laugh, these anyway

Then I laid down upon the dried up grass

to rest and take in some of the sun

and they too laid down and rested

as if waiting for me to make the first move:

I wonder still, who were those dogs

so friendly and free, one with nature

one with me, as if I were no longer human?


I see a vision:

A male shadow,

a female shadow;


outlined in pale moonlight

upon still ground.

Suddenly a song is heard:

it is the music of the stars;

the music of the spheres

coming to Earth

to awaken all that is asleep.

The shadows begin to tremble

to move to one-another

caught in the magic of the music.

Gracefully, they dance;

their shadows blend;

become as one upon the Earth.


Seek love


swim free

in blank spaces

between thoughts

the unfolding of life

is powered by it

young or old

require it

paradise earth

demands it

paint a new dawn

coloured in love

freely it is given

freely received


it must be given back





View From A Hill

In quiet contemplation

she sits on a high ridge,

overlooking a smog-filled valley...

She sighs: "Never! -

I must never stop reaching

for new highs:

for every moment lived out of time

reveals another step

leading ever upward

and if I'm not surefooted,

confident in my own stride,

I may slip and fall backwards

possibly ending any chance

of seeing my beautiful dreams

blossom as the flowers of spring

or the sunset on the distant horizon.

As a view from a hill,

I must allow my mind the luxury of change

for dreams are seldom remembered,

even less come true

in the foreshortened view

the too common view

from the valley floor."

Confident and surefooted,

she descends in gentleness

to test her new-found strength,

to share her knowledge

along the valley's tortuous roads.

Where's The Magic In Our Fairy Tale?


We seldom do get what we asked for. 

The fairy tales, we learn early to read them,

in hard cover, paperback or cartoon;

we watch them in movies or on TV -

black and white or colour

and how easy it is to flow into feelings

in sad and happy tears: and they lived happily ever



But we're not so good at writing

and the feelings we feel for each other;

the things we do for each other...

"To each other...?"

they're not made from our own fairy tales.

We do not live happily ever

after every event we encounter. 

I guess it's the effort it takes

to find the combination that opens the future.

Better leave that to someone who knows best?


So now I know this for a fact:

whether you write it down, or whether you don't

you'll certainly get all that you work for

and often what seems like a whole lot more

but still it won't be yours, the good nor the bad,

though you may insist on thinking so,

blaming and congratulating yourself

as you toddle along in hope of more, of better,

and less of the disappointing.


And this is the crux of the problem:

that working is fine, surely,

but hardly a one of us works for himself,

we all have a Boss. Doesn't matter who: 

He's the one who writes the book,

makes the rules, decides the pay scale,

tells us what works, what doesn't

and what the mission statement will be.


The Boss says He's seen into the future

and it isn't pretty, is what He says.

There's a lot of bad shit up ahead

(pardon the language) He says,

but if we work for Him no questions asked; 

stop trying to invent our own little tales

to make change where He doesn't want it

we'll eventually get past all that

to be happy forever and a day.

Well I remember the Wizard of Oz

and where did His magic originate

but in the heart of a young girl on a quest

and the dreams of her Quixotic friends?

So let me ask this: what good's a fairy tale

devoid of personal magic?

Man does not live by the needs and desires

of another.

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