Santa Cruz Good Times

Oct 07th
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The Poems of Dane Cervine

ae DaneEditor’s note:  Dane Cervine’s poems have won, or been finalists for, awards from Adrienne Rich, Tony Hoagland, The Atlanta Review and Caesura. His work has appeared in a diverse range of publications, including The SUN Magazine, The Hudson Review, anthologies, short films, animation, newspapers and online. Cervine serves as Chief of Children’s Mental Health for Santa Cruz County, and has a small private practice as a therapist. Visit

How Therapists Dance

Washington DC after a conference,

we head into the urban night

led by the jive-talking white ghetto boy

raised in black foster homes

bent on showing us the town. We

wander from night club to bar,

a mix of Black, Asian, Latino, White

earnest saviors eager to party, to strip

the mind of diagnostic prognostication,

to revel. Eventually, one by one, our group

slips back to the hotel till I am alone

with a young black woman who says

I want to show you one more place.

Down an alley, she leads me to a club

where I am the only white face in the joint,

and while she is gone to the bathroom,

the owner saunters over, asks how I’m doing,

says if you have any trouble here, come find me.

And I am suddenly more alone

than ever, till my young friend returns,

looks at my anxious face, smiles, says

this is what I wanted to show you.

Enlightenment Is a Bitch

At first it isn’t so bad—a taste of ecstasy,

the world covered in honey. Even snails

scrawl the names of Buddhas with their silvery trails.

But then, too much. Pears become unbearable,

wet white flesh so tender one could perish

contemplating the first taste.

Meditation becomes oddly redundant,

attention now like water, absorbed in tree-root,

plumbing; even fire hydrants with their red

stubby arms become mandalas, and worse,

the police siren revving its wail behind

my slow-moving car sounds like a mantra.

Even my wife’s complaints about me finally

sound true. I just bow. Kiss her slender hands.

Carry the garbage outside, but damn! The moon!

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A Ritual & Initiation

The Pope has come and gone, but his loving presence ignited new hope and goodness in many. While he was in NYC, China’s ruler arrived in Washington D.C. East (China) and West (Rome), meeting in the middle, under Libra, balancing sign of Right Relations. The Pope arrived at Fall Equinox. Things initiated at Fall Equinox are birthed at Winter Solstice. The Pope’s presence was a ritual, an initiation rite—like the Dalai Lama’s visits—offering prayers, teachings and blessings. Rituals anchor God’s plan into the world, initiating us to new realities, new rules. The Pope’s presence brings forth the Soul of the United States, its light piercing the veils of materialism. The Pope’s visit changed things. New questions arise, new reasons for living. A new wave of emerging life fills the air. Like a cocoon shifting, wings becoming visible. The winds are different now. Calling us to higher vision, moral values, virtues that reaffirm and offer hope for humanity. A changing of the guard has occurred. Appropriately, this is the week of the Jewish Festival of Sukkoth (’til Oct. 4), when we build temporary homes (little huts in nature), entering into a harvest of prayer and thanksgiving, understanding our fragile and impermanent existences. We are summoned to reflect upon our lives, our humanity, our nature, our spirit and each other. Offering gratitude, becoming a magnet for others. We observe. We see the needs. We love more.
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