His father died when he was young.   From an early age, he traveled, seeking life's meaning, lived in an ashram on the Ganges near the foothills of the Himalayas, lived in a monastic order near Dupont Circle in Washington DC.   He now lives in Los Angeles where he works as an artist and faux finisher.

poems of Gerald Rhoades

Walking on a mountain ridge
the air cleansed by rain
the wind through the towering pines
like the rush of a mighty river
flecklets of sunlight
dance in the forest
each step 
the soft crunch of leaves. 
Now, 
surrounded by clamor 
I write about then
when words did not exist.

the ocean 
gives no thought
to the philosophy
of the drop.

You are made of magic dust
I hide a smile of delight
when I see you
I cannot explain why
the invisible power
is known only with the heart
one must rise and fall
with its rhythm.
I cannot explain why
it is the way it is.


Rest within the invisible center
the room with no walls
where time has no meaning
wait patiently
with faith and longing.
The secret is reveal by Grace
I can only pray
within the heart of the soul -
you do not need the whole ocean
you only need a drop.


I was given wisdom's eye
but all I see is how horrible I am
I must be doing something wrong.
Are there other types of effort?
I only know this one
Look at this mess
no one will read this poetry
the moon does not give a damn how its described
Some day, hopefully, 
all this will get straightened out.
but now I am bitter
I have banished myself
and seek the way home
yet am too proud in my misery
to ask for help.


Enter the gateway to satori,
walk on through
to the other land
where everything 
is exactly the same;
except you.


I dreamt I walked the streets of God
awake in the City of Love 
my inner vision clear and calm
the beauty in all aglow.
Above all, the eyes 
of those living there
reflecting back
the glory in my soul;
the realization
we both knew, beyond words,
we are separate, yet One.
I am the dying breath,
my Lord, the living one,
each breath, a lifetime, thus,
I pray my deepest prayer: 
I loose all taste, all claim,
completely forswear,
all things except the Name.


Predestination or freewill
can be argued forever.
God's will or your will?
Which is it?
Neither?  Both?
There are those who will elaborate for hours
until all are numb with boredom.
There are others who will say, these are just ideas.
A few will admit that they do not know.
I will tell you all I know:
the Master revealed the one true Name
and told me to put my attention there.
Life has continued to open
like a flower with ten thousand petals.


every time 
you read this
it is a new experience
even though the words
remain the same.

Copyright © Gerald Rhoades

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