Born in 1948 in the United States, his father died when he was young. He spent three years in Special Forces ( '68-'71) during the Vietnam era. Traveled, 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 was married in 1974 and his son was born in 1975 in Maryland. He lived in Miami where he divorced and remarried, then settled 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.


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
the only choice is this.
The breath within the breath
is found by not searching;
the way to heaven is heaven
the cool flawless liberating fire
within the heart of the soul -
You do not need the whole ocean
you only need a sip.


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.
When your prayer
and God's will
surrender to each other,
the door opens.


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


I shall go to the waiting place
and wait for the One of Perfect Love.
There is nothing else
once you see 
the simplicity of being.
All my efforts 
go to perfecting
my Now ness.
This statement confuses many.
DonŐt be.
The One 
who created us
is perfect.
It is Magic, mind-boggling, beyond conception.
What do we do now?
We wait.
We wait for his look.  
We wait for his look.
We wait for his look,
and revel when it comes.
Revel.


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