Hello Dear Fellow Spiritual Sojourners…hope your trip is going well.

Long time no blog…

Ran into circumstances that forced me to practice what I preach (ugh!)

I am reminded that spiritual values are actually felt… thought you might appreciate this reminder.

“The universe is fondling you in ways you can’t possibly imagine.”

We don’t often think of the Universe fondling us exactly…often as not. the “fondling” can feel like rusty Brillo pads rubbing up against our psyche…that is, if we feel anything at all. But most all of us do long to feel good…and in a higher conscious moment to actually feel “the goodness” itself.

Be that as it may, if you stop for a moment, you can actually feel the fondling going on. And if you need some help, here’s a poem I wrote over thirty years ago. I was driving on Highway 70 from Denver to Steamboat Springs when I was struck by…well…I think the poem says it…


by Errol Strider

I want to be touched.

I want the barren, cold hardness

of fear‑chromed sensations

to be transformed

Into willingness,



And velvet, soft burlap nudging me.

I want signs with their opaque hard letters,

stranded in two dimensions

to become infused with Softness,

with pliable space.

The Present

to be filled

with cubed transcendence.

I want the shrubs left alone,

the trees to sprout and fly

sometimes in winter

And I want the snow to kiss me more often than it does.

I want the suckling.

I want to suckle the real universe,

to find the nipple of god,

place my lips on it,

caress and hail Him/Her/It…

To no longer be deceived by irrelevance,


or theft….

My own,

Stealing me from the Now

Stealing myself into Time

and its singular vision

and linear dryness

Away from my corrugated self.


I want to get off this bridge of polarity,

To arrive in Wonder

beyond this dotted reality

like halftones in a newspaper

This patched perception I call “my world”

trying so hard to misguide me

unkempt and concretized

defined by barbed wire thoughts

unwilling to unlock its waiting arms

or embrace my pre‑pubescent self

with seminal fluids.

Instead, I’m swallowed by some old dry sterile wind

bouncing off lifeless textures on the road

plaintfully asking me for a lift

or at least a quick feel.

I long to stand naked in a real breeze

with virgin oxygen to unmask myself

and reveal my ignorance gyrating

hoping it will breed….




and Saturation with all natural ingredients.

So, I lie in this fallow field

with my seeds in my pocket

waiting to plant myself

waiting to be unearthed

waiting for harvest

to reveal the sprouted essence

of my unquenchable Desire


© 1980 Errol Strider

Errol Strider, Artistic Director
The Laughing Heart
(415) 459-4512