Cultivation of compassion

Those who share are not diminished.
Those who give, in doing so, receive.
In the place where all forces connect;
Dogma sows its’ sprawling seeds.

Compassion’s virtue blossoms
in the garden of the mind.
Cultivation of compassion
blooms into the throes of time.

Those who spread such love unyielding,
those who spread their love to grow
bare the fruit of all their efforts,
within the gardens of their home.

Nature of all nature’s shared
by all who bare this fertile land.
There is no separation between
the action and the man.

-Jerry Harris III

Awake to the dream

I awoke to a vision of melding light.

Ideals and sciences participated as rays of amalgamation, quantum gunk;

every possibility, compressed, in the particle reactor of consciousness.

The pressure of it all precipitated into endless strange realms, and eventually this, the hearth of imagination, birthplace to the stars in the yawning of the universe’s frame rate,

the rate of being.

It was all a fantastic spectacle of meditation, some advanced wave function beyond my calculation, birthing universes and black holes, spiritual renaissance, seeming more like the euphoria described as DMT than anything else I could imagine, and it all pointed to one thing, spirit, the source of intention, the eye of the mind, by which all things are seen, finally looked upon itself, the heart of the Ouroboros within its’ own teeth.

I once meditated into a haven of crystal plenitude, islands of pristine beauty where love was garnered for all, searching for nirvana.

I believed it to be there and craved to be nowhere else, but it was only later, within that flash of presence, as I saw every place and possibility that is, was, and would be, did I become lucid and finally see the nirvana that I had been searching for all along within the malleability of all things.

The precipice of all action stems from the light of intent, and within it; all principles, parallel universes, stories, and biographies are ensued. 

From the seed of creation; all forms sprout into the flowers of life so desired, and all that can be is, because of that very causality, intent.

The life pulse is shared by all dreamers;

the flash is the blood in their hearts

and everything else,

all paths, spectacularly melded together as one.

I know this from the unifying and undying flash feeling in waking light, and from it, I know that all possibilities await, that all things are different yet the same, together yet separate.

All riddles say the same thing;

what’s next?

-Jerry Harris III

The dawning of a brand new light

I forgot judgement.
I forgot fear.
In the blink of a new dawn;
my vision became translucent,
and everything glowed, effervescent and breathing, in the glint of my renewed sight and renewed faith.
Midnight paled in the wake of my shaping glance
as its’ scattered alley dogs dissipated into the cracks of concrete wilderness,
beneath crumpled tins and coffee stained garbage,
to reincarnate as emerald Iris’ and neon morning glories in a new world.
Morning had indeed come,
and I chose to march in dawn’s procession,
to march in my own funeral, dressed in untarnished white garb, as a pure expression of expansion and fearlessness.
In the mourning celebration and sublimation of the death of the old me;
I saw the very nature of Death change before my eyes,
from a strange shadow of night to something soft, the embodiment of light behind each moments’ passing.
I realized that everything that exists, exists in a state of constant birth and death,
a state of constant transformation,
to be tamed and harnessed so that great good may come of it
or to run rampant in disillusionment and disharmony.

-Jerry Harris III


I can see because I’ve seen.

I can hear because I’ve heard.

I can feel because I’ve felt.

I can run because I’ve crawled.

The more that I live,

the more that I learn;

the more that I am capable of…

The places that I’ve passed

and the people that I’ve seen

have reflected back into me in the most intimate way,

into what I was always meant to become,

and into what I am now.

Each moment, innately tattooed into the Akasha, has taught me how to breathe.

I have been created from what has been created,

and in that breath I, myself, have created too.

-Jerry Harris III

In between consciousness

Somewhere in between the spiritual and the physical;
breath from some other place can be caught to reveal the eternal air.
In between the now and nothing, in between the here and there, in between the ether of deep breathing,
when instinct takes over; the mind and limbs abide.
Heaven and hell lie within that abidance;
kingdoms of man, sacred temples of inner balance, tainted, cankerous gutters, countless dimensions beyond human comprehension, and the very scales of causality that all is weighed from
lie within that abidance,
within the power of choice.
The magnetic forces consistently pull, nebulae are born, neurons fire, atoms change in juxtaposition, empires and cities crumble while decisions are made and interactions happen in between.
Questions aloof.
Is the answer in algorithms or alchemy?
Is it in illusion or religion?
Is it in science? Is it in math? Is it in politics,
or is it in the culmination of all of these things and more,
in the swift force of being while being pulled by a grand, divine unknown?
Questions aloof.
We are all tested in the thick of these questions,
tested to survive, tested to thrive, tested to persevere
or to be defeated.
We are tested so that we may learn and rise together to create and find meaning in our intertwined and jumbled lives,
or so that we may shrivel in the fear of unknowing and choose to fall apart.
We must live within the ether of our actions, together as one, and we must live with the consequences and rewards.
We must live or die in every decision that we make, physically, mentally, and spiritually.

-Jerry Harris III

Causation (Gather)

From the far East to the far West,
from stretches, unknown,
out and beyond the furthest visible star,
forces have gathered
to paint a vision of the ages,
gathered to whisper your name.
Tiny sparks of electricity,
that float upon the eye and linger within each movement,
have gathered to scatter the waves of your being into the darkness,
to bounce off the walls that surround you and come back until you may eventually transcend.
The moment has gathered the power of your being to express the one truth of now,
the culmination of every now before it and every now to follow,
precipitated in the energy of a force,
the gathering of the unknown yet determined elusive.

-Jerry Harris III

Everything is the river; the river is all. (Ripple)

Striking, rippling reflections,

pebbles breaking through sunlight, 

peak through tumbling waters

as elusive, yellow spirits,

slick wets, reds and blacks, 

and slippery clears,

rattling within the ride of turbulence,

and glinting sporadically.

These striking reflections beckon below,

echoing around my feet,

to the place where my body haunches,

bending above the surface,

where I listen

to the culmination of time and space, 

to the culmination of all things.

It’s within the gleam of this moment that I’m self aware, 

that the depths of grains and liquids break into my very own depths, 

beyond sense,

like liquor into the blood,

that the echo of my eye meets that of the stone and water,

and together everything trembles upon the thin surface,

flowing into each other all at once.

It is within the gleam of this moment,

that I’m caught between and within everything that exists, and everything that doesn’t.

It’s within the gleam of this moment

that I’m no longer caught within my body or a finite definition of self,

that I am truly aware of the amalgamation of everything as one.

It is within the gleam of this moment

that I truly see the nature of all things rippling together

within a striking, rippling moment in time.

-Jerry Harris III

An idealist changes the world. A “realist” keeps it the same.

-Jerry Harris III


The cycle of movement is that of brevity.
The most beloved of companions are destined to meet, connect, and perish, 
though each memory is eternally kept and built on within the ether of all shifting.
Goodbye comes as no surprise, nor does hello when no one structure stands still for too long, 
no person, no name, no form.
Reminiscent disposition is all that sustains in an elusive ghostly form when the moment has come to pass and the glimmer of it is all that remains.
Yesterday, I saw a dainty yellow flower, blowing in the wind, and it reminded me of beautiful translucent eyes and of the flower that was worn behind her ear,
gone now,
but even sweet dandelions must too return to the Earth.
That floral scent remains, piquant, within the halls of my remembrance.
Perhaps it should remain so until it’s once more called upon to return to the stage of the Earth,
new, different, by flora blossoming with ripe petals and new coasters to ride into the wind, yet familiar and same, still of flowers, dainty and ready to be blown away, plucked, or perhaps altogether forgotten yet…
Nonetheless, love stirs within the blood of flowers and lovers alike like the winds upon those petals.
Each touch, each kiss, each breath imprinted within the stormy pupil, is brushed up against within every shaken stigma. 
Though each moment is destined to be fleeting; eternity surely promises all within the divine flux. 
The cycle of movement is, indeed, that of brevity, 
but all things, small and large, that come to pass, shall perhaps one day come again, anew.

-Jerry Harris III

New beginnings

New beginnings of the heart,
fresh and blushing as they bloom
like summer peaches ripe to hold,
welcome thirsting lover’s lips before they bruise.
New beginnings of the soul,
tingling euphoria, throughout the flesh,
like newborn eyes, open for the first,
reveal unspoken parts of the unknown whole.
New beginnings of the journey,
unannounced and unbetrothed,
inducing yearning like that of wolves in heat, throb as the heavy foot hovers above the ground.
New beginnings of the mind,
new beginnings of the breath,
new beginnings, through tides of temporary time:
each moment is a new beginning.
Each moment, new beginning.
Each moment,

-Jerry Harris III


I am grateful for the stars that shine upon you, my love,
for without them I would have never known your eyes and the tenderness of your gaze.
I am grateful for the burning fire that thrives within my loins,
for it’s light surely was ignited by passions of the heart.
I could not forsake the beauty of the song that I once heard you sing,
even though it now is far, and I may never hear it from your lips again.
Yours was a voice so sweet that it shall forever find me in my dreams.
It is engrained into my soul, and for that I never could be ashamed.

-Jerry Harris III

Encouragement to the Heart

I heard distant words

that met my soul warmly.

The heart played gently,

when encouragement was a delicate plucking of the heart’s strings,

subtle vibrations, incapable of breaking, 

only knowing how to strengthen in the heat of golden resonance.

Sometimes an unknown messenger was the player,

sometimes it sounded from distant shores,

or was read upon a scrap of worn out paper.

I know it well, and I’ve seen it in the first gaze from a mother unto her newborn, permeating in the waves of her stare.

It’s been felt in the careful push from a proud father to his son as he rides a bicycle for the first time.

I’ve heard it ring from the lips of babes and whispered by gray haired widows possessed in fragile self reflection upon their dying beds.

The vibration is always of the same harmonic, 

and I share it with you now in one simple but mighty word,

the most powerful word I know, 


-Jerry Harris III

Gentle breeze

Drifting through emotions,

like fireflies riding scattered pieces of the wind, 

leads to the place where the body ends and the soul begins. 

The shifting winds of disposition 

blow upon the scars of Earth

to clear pollution from the sky, and blood, and mind, 

to clear infections of indulgence, 

which seek to corrupt the womb of time.

Gentle breeze has been set out, 

to provide clarity and calm,

to lead those seeking the ever elusive place of soul 

unto their waiting destinations hearth.

Gentle breeze has been set out to cool the overheated terrestrial crust

and those who inhabit this fragile mold, ever thin layer of time and fold in space.

It is by this humble and gentle embrace that grace ushers in the healing forces, 

to take up the face of love 

and shape with gleaming, gentle eyes,

to guide winds and meditations that fuel the movement of the divine,

to guide we, who ride scattered pieces of the wind,

unto the ultimate place of soul,

born through the womb of time.

-Jerry Harris III

Love bite

She sank her teeth into me
and left her mark 
in ways that will not fade. 
She left intentions more than flesh;
she tasted me, 
and it was love on her tongue.

-Jerry Harris III

Heart of passion

I live within the heart of passion,

not letting dawning chance pass, remiss.

I love with soul of attraction

and abide the stars’ most divine writs.

I follow the voice within that whispers,

and I feel the gut’s wrench and the heart’s delight.

To stray is to go the path of silence,

which leads to the archaic night.

I may stumble, fall; my legs may lie broken,

but I’ll heal, get up, and regain my grip.

As I move on with a heart of passion;

each step I take will find its’ fit.

-Jerry Harris III