The Journey Is Its Own Reward

Once upon a time,
In the land of dreams and rhymes,
There lived a little Symbol,
Beautiful and nimble.

Who always was between,
The Question and serene
Answer to the Question.
Her name we musn't mention.

She always did her job;
Even when it made her sob
With the being in-between,
The Question and the scream.

Sometimes she felt the Sun,
When the Answers could freely come,
And could then bask into;
The bright, warm, sunny glow.

The Symbol grew each day,
And always found a way
To allow the Answer dear,
To be heard and to be clear.

So for many years,
Through trials and many tears,
The Symbol was always there,
While silent and always fair.

And she seemed to sometimes notice,
That the Questions showed the motive,
Of underlying Truths,
Of different paths to choose.

Because the Answers dear,
Were never to be feared.
They were her hope for growth.
Questions and Answers, she loved both.

She was just like a hand;
In the brave, new, wise dream land.
Who held the two partners:
Questions first and then Answers.

So they walked both hand in hand,
Across the See and Land.
And up withering heights.
She calmed their terror frights.

For sometimes the Answered Questions;
Were hard to hear and so shunned,
By both or either party,
Who Answered or Questioned to not See.

And our, poor Symbol became;
Old and sick from the cold rain,
Of stormy, tempest weather;
When Questioner hated Answer.

But she always did recover,
And saw in calmer weather,
That even in the tempest,
The Process was for the best.

For the Question-Answer Road,
When with love and care traveled,
Always led them home to Truth;
To new Understanding and Soul soothe.

And it was in this Soul dance,
That Homecoming had a chance.
Because the Question-Answer,
Were really just two mirrors.

For what does one mirror see,
In another mirror's be?
Cannot she see forever there;
In his seeing here her mirror clear?

This is the Dance's wise Purpose:
To find the Way, for Soul to choose
The Path of Love, the Path to Whole,
The Path with Oneness as the goal.

And our little Symbol dear,
Who helped the Path become so clear
Smiled lovingly through happy tears,
That they found the Way past their Fears.

And though knocked down and lying flat,
Our Symbol rose somehow to tap
Into the Source of Light and Know;
To help them See, their Paths to show.

Thank you kind Symbol for your help,
For being there with no thought of self.
And they are forever in her debt,
Though she modestly hopes they will forget,

And just continue Seeing clear.
She loves that they transcended Fear.
And the Journey is its own reward.
Questions & Answers married is....

.... Love transformed.


















The Journey Is Its Own Reward
by Loveson G. Flower
6/28/97
Drawing by Loveson G. Flower

Ocean Is Deep

Dedicated to Halimah who's gift of heal-
ing helped me believe in my seeing.


Waiting for Halimah. Is this work on Ma?
Where is Soul leading me? Today I hugged a tree.
And what was that secret I told? Can I remember and be so bold?
To say the inner Truths out loud;

To see their light, burn away the cloud?
Which billows, pillows and finally goes,
Across the sky. It seems to die.
Do I want to fly?

Not off the roof top, of course.
That would be silly, stupid, worse.
But fly in dream land, in wisdom's endless sand;
Which surrounds and is below; Ocean's round, holy whole.

For Ocean is deep with creatures galore.
Some monsters, I suppose, but beautiful souls more.
Is my soul such an Ocean, my dream land's devotion?
Can explorers discover; health, wisdom whatever;

Their heart's wish does lead them?
Seems this is where I've been.
In these last days, coming out of my haze.
Some might call it crazy, or maybe even lazy.

But I see it's worth. It's the fountain not thirst
In dead, dried up desert. But lush, moist, green verdant.
It's a tropical island, where my Soul does send...

....me to home.


Ocean Is Deep
by Loveson G. Flower
6/20/97

Seed of Love

Love the Songs. They're not wrong;
Today. They're OK; In fact, great!
There's no hate. No need for glory.
Just tell my story or what moves us.

Perhaps a bus, from pretty maid;
Or what she said, that stopped my breath, a little death.
But later then, the breathing in, is sweeter still.
For I can feel, the Life flow in; to every part, even my heart.

Perhaps I'm whole, that lovely goal, that consumes me;
To be a tree with roots down deep,
For food to seep, into my stem. Alive my fem-
inine eye too. Male eye makes two.

Then up to branches, the nourishment chances,
To twist and turn. My love to burn, inside my chest,
To be my best. And then the leaves.
The green believes; in sunlight skies.

Just like my eyes, that light to see, to nourish me.
The gentle leaves, so often grieves, for weather's dew,
Dreams of water's blue. And when it's gone,
Leaves then turn brown, to fade and die, beneath the sky.

It makes me cry, and wonder why, the tree is I.
My hope for my, wholeness reunion. No more life shun.
I am like an acorn, or little wholeness born.
And hope that one day, horizon I can see.

But even if not, for whatever fate's got
In store for this me, even if not a tree;
I'm so grateful, that my plate is full
Of little wholeness seeds. Hope to follow their lead.

Whether tree to be,
Or in bird's baby's feed,
I am whole enough,
A whole seed of love.


Seed of Love
by Loveson G. Flower
6/20/97

Past Fear and Desire

Dedicated to Pat & Joseph Campbel who understood what I want to understand.


Medical boxes are like a lock is:
To keep someone in, to label the sin.
So labeler can, think she's being a fan
And ignore reality, that to say with such certainty;

Is to divide and conquer, and is not the real cure.
To find health within, from the Source which has been
The font of all Life, is the path from all strife.
And the pile of diagnosis, often is the opposite of Gnosis,
That inner awareness. One's own Truth in all bareness;
With all the clothes gone. Naked under the Sun.

To show everything, to let my heart sing;
Is a bit scary, of hurt I am wary.
That my songs will be labeled, in an attempt to disable
My growing and living; my sowing and giving.

Neither Fear or Desire, are safe and high aspire.
To transcend those creatures, would reach higher bleachers.
Fear makes us label: To pretend to know and disable
The phenomena unknown, the terror thus sown.

Desire does require, attainment and containment.
Keep the horse in the stall. Let's go shop at the mall.
Put money in the bank. Work like slaves to then shank,
Some stuff off the tree, and I'll define them as me.

But what if we can, say: "To Hell with that Plan?"
Go past Fear and Desire. Let go the terror to fly here,
And circle the Sun: a mandala to the One.
Find the power center. Let the Source be the mentor.

And not things or relationships; not resume' or cars or ships;
But simply be living Now, past paralyzing fears' & desires' bow.
Then in the Now to be, open my eyes to see
What Life is bringing me; and what Me is becoming see.

And this new, altered state; might be a state of grace.
Not jumping for a golden ring. But living, loving to sing;
With Life passing through my days; with head high above the haze.
Like the fisherman's line; help bring from under water to find;

Unconscious, dream wisdom; into present, Now kingdom.
And free from all boxes, all chains and all locks is
The Way for true health;
True Life and true wealth.


Past Fear and Desire
by Loveson G. Flower
6/15/97

When Student is Ready

Dedicated to Rob, the sculptor, my artistic hero. Who's heart is so big, he must give it away.


Waiting for Rob.
What is our job?

Can we see clear?
Sculpt faces and cheer
Many a soul.
Is that our goal?

What about Shadow?
Expose it and how,
Can it come,
Its whole sum?

Rob can create anything.
Paul can sell and can sing.
Is there here a partnership?
To advance heath on this trip?

To marry old techniques
With new awareness then to seek,
A further synthesis,
To help free spirits to find bliss?

I know computers,
He knows art for sure.
I am an apprentice.
He, a master, for the dance.

When student is ready,
Master will come.
Is this our story?
Is this the Sun?


When Student is Ready
by Loveson G. Flower
6/11/97
"Warped" cartoon by Mike Cavna, 1997

How Offender Remembers

Dedicated to those who have hurt others and for the love in their loving parts.


Powerful last day of Santa Cruz, Psychodrama group. I played the role of Sonya's Abusive father - and she expressed her anger, her pain, his (my) shame.

At the end, I found my own tears,
By asking her through the years,
If she could remember,
Not just my member
But other qualities.
Please, Oh please;

Don't forget my love,
Because of my shove.
Don't deny all the smiles,
Because of the bile,

That also was there.
The time had to share,
With all of my faces;
My meanness, my graces;

My offender, my tender kind places;
My ungrounded phases,
When I wasn't whole,
And got stuck in the shoal;

And couldn't find the channel,
To be whole like the plan; I'll
Say over and over:
Please don't run for cover;

Because I once was;
A shark who had jaws.
It wasn't all of me.
Just like the tree;
Who broke off her branch and fell on the puppy,
Before she could love & see,

That the rest of my wood,
Was more healthy and could,
Support you and shade,
And help us to save,

Our lives anyway.
Although puppy remembers that day,
When I came crashing down,
Acting like a clown,

And was not awake,
And did forsake,
The love I did have,
In my other part's glove.

So I feel such shame.
No excuse for my game.
Don't deserve your forgive.
Want to die and then dig;

A deep, dark, dank grave;
To hide how I behaved.
But before I go,
To that shame bungalow,

Please hear my last words.
I'm still trying to stir curds;
Of stale, mother's milk;
Into beautiful silk.

To say: I love you.
Though I know it is true,
I wish I could touch,
Your heart just as much,

As my shame for my part,
In wounding your heart.
Don't imagine you can hear me,
But perhaps one day you can see,

That the small little things,
Of running on sidewalks or of swings,
On baby's trapeze;
Or a tender, loving squeeze,

Was proof enough there
To persuade how much I care.
That my mistakes were heinous,
But my love shone through just,

Enough to convince you,
Not to stay pinched too.
And cut off yourself,
Like I have been shelved,

So that I'm forgotten;
My wholeness is rotten,
And impossible to mend,
Because our connection had to bend,

Past the breaking point.
Wish I could point...

...the way home.


How Offender Remembers
by Loveson G. Flower
6/8/97

Truth or Glory?

Truth or Glory?
Which is my story?
Am I a lie,
or does Truth make me cry?
Is Glory my aim,
only ego and fame?
Or can I explain;
in gentle, humble refrain:

What's my Truth?
What my questions
Have to do with my decisions,
With my heart-felt expression?
Can I be convinced of my devotion?
To not want applause,
to help worthy cause?
To not ask for ovation,
for my measly donation?

Because wounded heart
was broken from the start,
Who still looks for love,
in kind eyes and there of
Might try to find,
some love shown in kind,
For heroic acts;
and brilliant, found facts
That might help bring alive,
for love there to thrive.

So this little boy,
still wants to find joy,
By making it right,
to save her from fright.
And I love him so,
that little hero,
Whose intentions are sound.
Who only wanted to be bound
To love for a day,
and hoping it would stay.

But everyone must,
find their way through the dust,
And through their own fire,
and can't ultimately require
The white knight to rescue,
them from their own miscue.
And the best way to play;
the loving friend's way:
Is to just be a mirror.
Ask to make it some clearer.

Why are you in trouble?
Is this a reflection on your bubble?
Your soapy life's whole?
A detour from your goal?
Please tell me your pain.
Tell me once and again.
Cry it all out;
using screams, whispers, shouts.

But don't ask me to fix,
your problem and then mix
Me up with your father;
your poor, wounded mother.
Because then probably,
another wounded day;
Happens instead of awakening,
and then we're forsaking

This potential, last chance;
to actually dance.
And understand the pain,
and then perhaps gain
The wisdom to know,
how the merry-go-
Round works. So then,
we can jump off and send
Our love up the hill.
Truth....not Glory, by will.


Truth or Glory?
by Loveson G. Flower
June 8, 1997

Smiles and Smiles of Puppy Piles

Dedicated to the beautiful Puppies, Maggie & Jessie, who allowed me to be their human.


Puppies know, that's why we love them so,
About loving each other; of piling to smother
Each other with hugs, and kisses on mugs,
And wagging their tails, and loving their smells.

And waiting all day, for my little love say.
They give back their devotion; show freely their emotion.
Not like us scared pups, the human variety sour-puss,
That would secretly love; Puppy piles' dear, dear shove.

To make us touch them; lick, sniff, and kiss then.
And be totally present; and go past the hesitant
Fear of our schooling; to never be drooling,
Like Puppy's sweet kiss. Such love we do miss.

Puppies of all ages, are really wise sages,
Showing us how; to love and then sow:
Life living Now; to understand: "Wow!"
Now's exclamation. Way past hesitation.


Smiles and Smiles of Puppy Piles
June 4, 1997
by Loveson G. Flower
Photo Portrait "Maggie & Jessie" by Loveson G. Flower

What Kind of Person Am I?

2014 Lifetime Self-Portrait

Dedicated to all my parts, all the roles I've played,

and all the becoming I became.

I've taken some time to be alone.

Read all the heart songs - the rhymes in time,

Using beautiful phrases, upper and lower cases,

Twists of the words. Using what I heard,

At the end of the line,

To find out what kind,

of person am I,

Before I die.

For then seems too late,

to open the gate,

for flood to escape,

Without a peep,

From all the love,

From perhaps Above,

To flow on through.

And me be true,

To my real nature.

Not just be "mature,"

Or so grown-up,

But child-like pup, also.

For to be all parts:

The mind, body, heart;

The left brain and right,

The weak and the might--y.

To use my quick wit.

To be quiet and sit.

To meditate;

The quiet, lone state.

To travel the world.

To banner unfurl.

To understand fields,

Their wisdom to yield,

From many understandings,

And different ways of being.

For what is the same,

Of the different games.

Of Physics and Math,

The Engineer's path,

From Business School,

Where I felt a fool.

Because I was not linear,

My speaking not clear.

And to communicate,

Was the highest fate,

Judged in that place,

In order to ace,

The respect of the peers.

And hold back my fears,

That I was worthless,

Not worthy of kiss.

But it somehow seems funny,

That just like a bunny,

I jumped in and hopped,

To that new carrot,

Of learning to Sell,

Myself along the trail,

Of business pursuit,

In my fancy, gray suit;

With perfect, starched shirt,

And no speck of dirt,

To flaw the outside.

To impress all with pride;

Of who I was now,

I saw with a bow,

To that working fool.

Boy was he cool!

But Economics,

And all of those sticks,

That graphed the upswing,

Of my glories to sing,

Which fueled the growth,

Of career & then both,

Of outside & in,

When growth allowed us in,

To look inside here,

Not just drink a beer.

And turn TV off.

Turn off the scoff,

That thought I knew all,

And answered the call.

To look deeper still,

In Psychology's well.

So understanding,

Might take wing.

And we could perhaps know,

Where we should grow.

But of all the thirsts,

Of the best and the worst,

From sex to achievement,

From pride to bereavement,

From Geometry to Poetry,

From History to Mystery,

From Theory of Everything,

To actually to sing,

With physical voice;

And making the choice,

To leave career's plan.

To launch understand-ing

Faith from within,

Allowed me to win,

The day for myself.

Not allowing the death-

Wish to overcome.

And then the whole sum

Of all of my interests,

My loves kept abreast,

To aim for a finish

.... To find my heart's wish.

English-French Translation by (Traduction anglais-français par) Google Translate

What Kind of Person Am I?
by Loveson G. Flower
6/2/97

2004 Lifetime Self-Portrait

2004 Lifetime Self-Portrait: "Becoming" by Loveson G. Flower assembled for the 4th and final circle of becoming with dear friends at Allied Arts Guild in August, 2004.

français: Autoportrait de 2004 : « Devenir » par Loveson G. Flower s'est réuni pour le 4ème et final cercle de devenir avec de chers amis à la Guilde Alliée d'Arts en août 2004.