The unfolding, p.1
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       The Unfolding, p.1

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The Unfolding
Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

Copyright (©) 2017 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada

Cover pictures: Top, Marius Kraemer

Bottom, James Robertson

All pictures found on

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.



A Trail Of Vermillion Blood



Essence Of Love

Falling In Love

Fisherman's Friend



Look Upon...

The Majority Is Always Wrong


Dear Miss Liberty

My Quest


Of Tragedies And Horrors

Overweight And Hungry

Plodding The Mindless Maze

Poisoned Earth

Precocious Passion Passed (A Lament)

Primordial Passion





Return To Paradise


Rich Text

Roads That Go Nowhere

Roots Of Love: Passion

Sacred Dance



Shadow Beings

Soldiers Or Murderers

South Side Innocence




Summer Skies

Surprised By Joy

The After Life

The Big Bang Theory

The Dispossessed

The End of Humanity

The Eternal Dream

The Fools Tax

The Forgotten Ones

The Future Of The Hunt

The Ghost

The Healing Room Of The Heart

The Village Idiot Box

The Immune System

The Last Train Out

The Military

Early Morning

Empty Hands

Fields Of Dreams

To Change The World

The Unfolding

To The End Of The Universe

To Vote Or Not To...

Tv Ads



The Woman In The Park



Angel Anger

A Life Is Freed

Before the Owl Calls my Name


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.

A Trail Of Vermillion Blood

There's a trail of vermillion blood

freshly painted in the sand - and

for a brief moment the wind holds -

still, silent, perhaps in awed recognition

of a billionth blood-bathed sacrifice

by some nobody of no consequence

needed by the map-makers

to draw a thin red line of destiny

in the desert map of man's desire.

Anyone can follow the map now:

follow the red lines of history: roads

have grown, following man's desires

long after the leaves fell from spectral trees

under sand where nothing grows

since the beginning of time.

The very first red road you recall,

they named Abel: it led to the land of Nod.

It was there they built forges for tools

and cities made of taller buildings

for lives trapped by shorter years.

There are so many red lines now,

criss-crossing each other, confusion in time,

not by the substance used:

the blood is as real as ever, of course,

but by its corrupting weight:

the map sags, bowed to ripping.

Have you ever bent down and listened,

ear to the surface of the painted desert,

there, in infamy, heard the death-rattle

of man's billionth child sacrifice?

Another thin red line worms its way

a hundred ways from the back country

to where they continue to build the ever-taller city,

firing the forges churning out weapons

programmed to seek and destroy the sacred;

to blacken the skies and hide the stars:

the stars must be hidden - their light

too often troubles man's dreams

with imaginings of possible change: that's

a no-no. The culprit (there is always one)

will be punished. (Of course, is there another way?)

It isn't man's fault, any of this you see,

for he was told long, long ago

that maps were essential to life

and the most important highways

to be drawn in bold red lines - for thus the Lord

would find his way when he returned.

Thus would he know of man's faithfulness

and payback time it would be

for those who failed to draw out and pour

the stranger's blood upon the holy sand.


let us prey,

for the Lord draweth nigh.

Would we have Him find us idle?

Bring the blasphemer, the holy sacrifice!


Alone, of necessity,

for who could understand


the mind of the seeker?

Only the seeker.

The park is still green

and the wind rustles the leaves

in the afternoon.

Gulls still circle the pond

where goldfish stagnate

and friends still sit on benches

gossiping, wondering,

shaking their heads

at all this foolishness.

Alone, of choice

for without letting go;

without turning from the old

the new cannot materialize.

The quester knows this:

deliberately she turns her back

on all she has received,

all she has accomplished,

all she has gained,

all she thought she was

(or could ever be).


the end of a passage

the beginning of a new.

No one follows you

for the eye of the needle

is the passage of one --

one way only --

would strangle the unprepared.

No return fare: no return.

Detachment: preparation;

Loneliness: freedom.

Death: resurrection.

There are no short-cuts --

the sun must set.


Walking as in a dream,

restless of thought,

I think of compassion:

what does it mean to be compassionate?

I saw these words

in my mind:

“Would you know compassion?

It creates the unease of sorrow;

opens old wounds;

creates total confusion.

It turns the world you know

completely upside-down.

It demands a change of mind

about most things,

especially those cherished.

On the flip side

it brings a lasting healing

that is felt within.

It gives meaning to the word "Peace"

and at the end of the road

cleansed of old addictions,

freed of old attachments,

no longer wallowing

in the suppressed ugliness of the world,

it will show you the path of joy;

yes, even more:

it will show you the Golden Path.”

Essence Of Love


What is it we call “evil”?

That which some call “wrong”

but which is enjoyed by others?

That which some abhor

but others find necessary?

God is Love, some say,

yet a law of God demands death:

death by stoning no less

for a woman who gave birth

out of wedlock

and abandoned to her fate

by the man she loved!

To some, this is barbaric;

to some, this is a necessity;

to some, this is vindication.

How should we see this?

Horrible? Normal? Honourable?

It depends on one’s point of view.

How can we know what’s right;

what’s wrong?

Simple: through a sense of empathy;

we feel what we inflict on others:

within months; perhaps within days,

gratuitous violence would disappear.

Something to ponder.

Falling In Love

They say it's Oh! so nice to fall in love

with one who melts your heart;

who makes you feel desired

and wanted in every way.

Yes, maybe it is, Oh! so nice

if he or she is free

from previous engagements!

How often I have seen this thing:

Yes, they fall and one significant other

is forgotten in their moment of passion

as lust rises like a tide; ebbs just as surely

leaving its strange but familiar stench

in some no-wo-man's land.

Now comes the time for reckoning:

the lies flow easier every passing day

until that other notices the change

and asks: and always the same answer:

“Why would you think such a thing?”

But as the lies become smoother,

the conviction is equally less.

They always know; always find out

and the denied pain hits as a slap in the face.

That is the way of things.

Humans sell each other

to each other: for sex; for a song;

they lie together; lie to one another

for a promise neither can keep

but by an untrue self: time we grew up;

stop making silly
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