A Sacred Place

This will be my last posting from the recent collection Free To Be Me. I wish  to thank all the visitors who stopped by to read the poems, liked a few, and commented on some. I won’t be posting but on occasion as I am going on a sabbatical to work on my second novel. I am also going to take the luxury of time to visit all the sites I have been remiss in responding to with return visits.  Spring is here, time to sit in the garden and write.

Spring 2016

A sacred place

There is a sacred place for everyone including

you, where there are mountains in your rocking

chair time, and from where you sit you can see

as far as the spirit wanders and the eyes amaze.

A place for you where the sun remains anchored

to the universe, the world revolves and falls

backwards into the waiting arms of the full moon,

into a safe space, where your thoughts become one.

Where you can stand astride the earth, stretch

your arms to tether the polar caps and captain this

giant ball of atoms as it hurdles and spins through

matter, creating a wind of possibility combing your mind.

In this your sacred space, the sky envelops you.

You are part of all that you see, and in the distance

a silver horizon drawn on a white canvas, slowly

disappearing into canyons of your mind, searching deep

into your soul, where you become a part of every possibility.

Here,

the visible boundary is the luminescent aura

of all that surrounds you, where in the remnants

of rainbows you go gently embracing your spirit,

letting yourself believe in you.

FREE TO BE ME Free To Be Me. Available on Amazon & Kindle

There is a sacred place – Audio

 

 

There is a sacred place for everyone including

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you, where there are mountains in your rocking

chair time, and from where you sit you can see as

far as the spirit wanders and the eyes amaze.

 

A place for you where the sun remains anchored

to the universe, the world revolves and falls

backwards into the waiting arms of the full moon,

into a safe space, where your thoughts become one.

 

Where you can stand astride the earth, stretch

your arms to tether the polar caps and captain this

giant ball of atoms as it hurdles and spins through

matter, creating a wind of possibility combing

your mind.

 

In this your sacred space, the sky envelops you.

You are part of all that you see, and in the

distance a silver horizon drawn on a white canvas,

slowly disappearing into canyons of your mind,

searching deep into your soul, where you become

a part of every possibility.

 

Here, the visible boundary is the luminescent aura

of all that surrounds you.  Where in the remnants

of rainbows you go gently embracing your spirit,

letting yourself believe in you.

 

 

Searching For Self

 

There is something about the spoken poem that takes the words off the page and sends them into the universe.  They become, like the old favorites, where we may not remember the words, but the melody lingers on. This is my second poem for adding voice.

 

 

we all want to believe

that what we do makes a difference.

wanting the work of the hands

to be guided by the mind

and nourished by the soul

wanting what we do to be who we are

there’s always a hitch or two.

one has “to know who they are” legitimately,

yet “who do I want to be” always gets in the way

I was told I had to be, I couldn’t be

words as far away from the truth as yesterday’s news.

Try this, spend a day being you

not who you ought and want and need to be

just say “I’m me

the goddess of my imagination

the author of my wit & wisdom

the fire beneath the smoke and mirrors

that often hides the satisfaction, the peace of mind

that comes from knowing

and feeling good about yourself

could be you feel unfulfilled for a lack of doing,

that you should be doing more than you are

consider the tree other than growing

holds the earth together with its roots

consider the flower other than being beautiful

pollinates the world

possibly it’s not “who do you want to be

but, “how do you do more, be more you

Angel Lessons #5 & #6 & #7

This series of “Angel Lessons” was inspired by Andy Lakey 1956-2012.  He was best known for his 2000 paintings of angels, created between January 1, 1990 and December 31, 1999. He was a prodigious painter, focusing on original works and has been collected worldwide.

 

there are no coincidences

 

you will happen upon

a moment in time

when all the universe

is handing you a line

 

somewhere deep inside

the dormant recesses

of your inner self

you will say “that’s not mine”

 

and maybe, just maybe

you’ll act upon

the guidance you receive

 

the message plain and simple

 

“the path I need to travel

is the one in me, I believe”

 

 

giving

 

life could well be spent

learning to receive

 

yet giving

is a lesson in itself

 

flowers would never grow

without water

 

trees would be green with envy

without sun

 

and what an empty world

we would be

without the giving of life

 

life could well be spent

learning  to give

 

life in the moment

 

today I died a little bit

but how wonderful was it

 

waking in the light of morning

breaking into my dreams

 

drifting out of noiseless slumber

into a cacophony of bird and bustle

 

crystal light

shattering the shadows

 

and feeling good about being

alive for the moment

 

when was it that I first learned

to love myself?

 

not yet

then when

and why not

 

now is just the right time

no the only time

in this lifetime

Angel Lesson #3 & #4

words have wings

 

a letter forms in the brain

a chain reaction

originating in the heart

and trampled by a dominion of thoughts

 

a word slips between two lips

rushes upon the universe

in a wind of wonder and surprise

 

something happens

 

the word becomes a butterfly

of caring and sharing

leaving a blush

on everything it touches

 

or something sad to say

leaving everything

in the world

a touch darker

 

 

visualization

 

because light

as we know it

leaves a shadow behind

we so often focus on the memories

of what could have been

 

sadly we seldom see

nor do we realize

how beautiful can be

the vision we command

of our reality

 

when we realize all that we can be

first touch enters

then light

 

what we make of it

is neither wrong nor right

 

our choices are so really simple

we can wonder in daylight

or wander in the night

Angel Lessons #1 & #2

love and compassion

 

if you allow darkness to enter

love and compassion

will lay upon the bottom of your heart

in a silt of silence

 

caring will dwell

on the extremities of your senses

 

if you open your eyes

and let the light that enters

be a reflection

of who you are

 

the blood will flow freely

in the warmth

of everyone and everything

you touch and feel

 

 

the power of prayer

 

joining in a chorus of angels

I am able for the first time

 

to place myself

in the very pistil of my flowering world

 

I am, just now

blossoming with age

 

for I speak of all that I want and need

and give thanks

for all that I receive

In-Between Before and After

 

On return from my adventurous teaching experience in Mexico my first posting is a rather lengthy poem playing off the works of some of my favorite authors: Lao Tzu, Eckhart Tolle, Venice Bloodworth, Deepak Chopra, and Marianne Williamson.  I look forward to catching up on all the wonderful blogs I had been following.

 

 

a wind it is said is

the manifestation of the Tao

 

it is everywhere and nowhere

it is visible only in how the world responds

 

in itself, it is of no substance

it is noticeable in its’ absence and its’ presence

 

Lao Tzu might say

 

If on the wind is carried the consciousness of humankind,

what will can change the direction of the wind,

for there is but one consciousness, and many ways unconscious.

 

Somewhere in the thinking, the non physical human element gets lost.

What would cause be without the shouting mind creating the illusion

that it alone, restrained momentarily by silence, in effect,

can change the face of the wind.

 

You can not hide from the wind nor leave well enough alone,

unless you box yourself in, bury emotion deep to the bone

 

limbs of trees creak and stretch in the wind

like old dry arthritic bones waiting for the moment

to snap. then, not a stir nor a whisper,

the willow weeps in silence

nothing moves when the wind lies down

 

then the rustle of air

that hustles from tree to tree

bush to bush, leaving a wake of

momentary silence in its path,

a precursor, of what’s to come.

everything not tied down shivers

 

Tolle might say

 

We seek the familiar, for in the re-creation of what is known,

comfort in the knowing, at least, regardless the pain,

what is, remains in control of the mind.

 

Leaving nothing behind fills the present moment,

no room for the unknown, nothing to interfere

with the past-future continuum, the safe zone

protected from the winds of change.

 

what is it really?

a breath of fresh air?

can you taste it, smell it, touch it,

hold it in your hand?

can you capture it

hold it down, change its direction, chase it down?

can you see it

other than a response to its presence?

 

you can hear it

you can feel it

with the wind in your face

you know you are alive

 

Bloodworth might say

 

You look out your window and winter has appeared as if out of nowhere.

In your mind it is cold and bitter, wind swept sleet whipping parallel to a 

dullgray wallpaper, and you buy into it, a cutting chill down the spine.

 

Time to change your condition in life.

 

Inside where it is warm and of comfort, enjoy a mindless moment.  Listen to the music of wind chimes, and the branches of the apple tree tapping on the windowpane. 

 

Time to change your mind about life.

 

 birds dance in the wind

circle, hover, dip and dive

in the wind they thrive

they play it

 wind moves water

 

Chopra might say

 

If you are who you have been, mesmerized by memory,

you are not who you think you are, for thoughts today

crowd the way to an understanding of who you really are.

When the wind stops, not a breeze, not a whisper of thought.

 

Silence is the songbird harmonizing with the soul,

it is the sound that carries with it the in-between before and beyond.

 

Life renewing itself is the wind that calls your name, 

catching a glance in mirror of a momentary you,

a reflection in passing

of the essence that remains.

 

 wherever it comes from

wherever it goes

it always runs; hot, cold, brisk and bold

soft, sensuous, subtle, uncontrolled

yet consistent with this whirling dervish we stand down on

the wind swipes upon it ever eastward

scurrying in front of a tailwind in search of dawn

 there is nothing that stands in its way

in its path everything bends and bows

wind is change

for nothing stays the same

once the wind passes through

 

Williamson might say

 

Beyond the pale,

a parting of the mist

a whisper of a breeze

in the open window

curtains dancing

 

experience becomes a choice

in how we perceive

each and every change

a moment subject

to the winds of time

or simply, another miracle.

 the invisible hand of sunlight, the spirit of motion

scrambling from the sea, over the mountains,

across the deserts and into the plains

an unseen force affecting the motion of life

 

the wind can roar like a train passing

through the brain, or whisper

like a fat cat purring in the sun.

 

it can blow the seeds of discord and conflict,

or in a cool breeze,

on a hot day,

carry with it

the promise of rain

Join with me in prayer

 

I wish to add my voice

to the chorus of angels

that predicates the assumption

the resurrection

the wisp of a wind of hope,

at times surreptitiously,

at times vociferously bellowing

the possibility of change

for the better

a bed to sleep in

a meal to enjoy

a night without fear

a day, may it ever be so

that the light enters

stays awhile

and slips away

leaving behind the laughter

and the joy of a better way

to live a life

upon a bulbously blue

better then before

floating in the void

ball

 

 

Poems from “In-Between Before and After

Until Someone Listens

 

the gardener

standing beside your garden

glass of wine in hand, hose on the hip,

systematically watering row by row,

ignoring the pending summer storm

 

Nurturing denial, leaving nothing to chance,

you kybosh forecasts and the farmers almanac,

and have, absolutely, no use whatsoweather

for the unpredictability of the

New England mountain air.

 

Seeding, cultivating, coaching life

out of rows of knee & hand tilled soil,

how wonderfully you make it all part of you,

passionately so, reflecting your inner beauty.

 

Mothering the earth comes natural to you.

It is quite amazing how you

become absorbed in your surroundings

knowing perfectly well

it is all an unconscious illusion,

and I in my simple vision

of what a moment in time would look like

if all the blessings of Tao

were to blossom within me,

see you gardening

and enjoying every minute of it

 

 

Poems from “In-Between Before and After

By Chance Alone

 

By chance alone, or by design

layer and layer we build upon hopes and dreams, buried in

a thin slice of ash and bone the rains pound down,

the sun bakes, new growth comes to the alter where

God calls home

 

If we accept the inevitable return to where we have

come from, sooner or later it will sink in, this wheel

of fortune we are on, that unless we step aside

and choose to observe the spin, we’ll be here, now and then,

again and again and again

 

Can there be randomness, a Divine purpose, or

just the way it happens to be, a breath of life, disappearing

the moment light rises above the mist of a mountain of darkness.

in a shaft of brilliance illuminating the center of the universe

becoming in the wink of an eye

a target

 

We have but three choices in the current understanding

of cosmic probability, in this peculiar field of whys

there lies out of necessity and contingency

God, omnificently

Just is, naturally

and the Observer, silently

 

 

Poems from “In-Between Before and After

The Pendulum Swings

 

 

the pendulum swings

for that is what it is

and with it,

ups and downs

that never end,

Poe knew,

and so to,

every dreamer and schemer

that ever put pen to paper

 

comes a time

to fine tune

when the fork will slow

to the vibration of a single note,

 

what the Poet wrote

when penning the universal scheme

in balance,

the in-between

in this lifetime

the experience is the dream

 

 

Poems from “In-Between Before and After

Discovery

 

Laughter has a way of dying out.

Even the echoes, short lived as they are pronounced,

dissipate in afterthought and contemplation.

 

Living is as moody as not.

The body, fraught with ins and outs

ups and downs, frenzies information,

often on deaf ears, still hearts

 

In a silence that allows

the wings of hummingbirds song, an aberration,

an anomaly, a message misinterpreted or ill conceived,

 

a dying on the surface of a living lung

expresses itself

 

What baffles the body, at times, undermines the spirit,

yet the bodymind intention is everclear

the essence of some sensibility

so out of place, so foreign in a private space –

is there, and wants you to be aware.

 

you of course

in due diligence

open to an attitude

a latitude of listening

must want, without fear

to be willing to hear

 

you understand

that what is received by one cell,

what enters the vast emptiness,

is complete in every sense.

 

you know this now,

what is everywhere is within hearing,

for nothing enters

and is not heard

 

you know now,

as you have always known, though unaware,

a single thought born in silence

emerging like the wings of a butterfly

unfolding from a crack in the universe

flooding your body in mindfulness.

 

 

Poems from “In-Between Before and After

The Ever Expanding Universe

The ever-expanding thought

ageing exponentially to the speed

of what is perceived to be the length and breadth

of a whimsical me

 

caught in a lie that the pause

is where we aught to see ourselves

grinding to a halt of inner piece and harmony

stopping the unstoppable slowing down

as if down inward under standing,

where that subtle bandit gravity

holds us to a single thought,

is the be all to the beginning and the end

 

notwithstanding the theory of everything

where light and dark dance around

a single thought that holds it all together

we are drawn to ever seeking inward

while the universe having peaked

in all possibility

fills with dark energy

sweeps away the knowing

leaving behind the emptiness

of that which never was

dimmed to loneliness of space without time

in ice will the bones of universal harmony

come to rest, no matter,

in spirit and in jest

Poems from “In-Between Before and After

Entering the Gap

 

So it is that we are here for a reason

this journey we all share

is not to search for, no grail to pursue,

no hidden agenda, no secrets to unveil,

nor need we sacrifice a single breath of wanting

other than who we are

in this a haunting life of doing and being

 

I am the reason, as you are too – one by one

we come and go, never really letting go

 

I am consciousness defined

in an image so inclined to repeat itself

turning over and over and over again

in fertile soil, folding and folding again

the flesh and bone that gives seed to thought

in a never ending cycle of bloom and spoil

 

and so it is

we are here to make a difference

in some small or gargantuan way,

tripping over the illusion

of time consumed by a moment in time

to come to the only conclusion

 

I am here to witness the silent, the subtle,

the essence of reality.

 

 

Poems from “In-Between Before and After

Openings

 

You keep trying to figure it out. 

Keep writing your own story

trying for the perfect ending…if this happens…if that happens

I’ll…if I do this then…if you say that then I’ll…

 

listen to the Ego telling you what to do. 

It’s the great prelude to trying to control

the situations that might be. 

Believing that if you could only

handle everything that comes along,

pre-empt all possibility,

analyze all potential obstacles

in a moment in time down the line,

figure it out ahead of time,

 

as if time

had a beginning and end

and you could control the outcome.

 

One minute you are walking on water,

the next you’re hanging upside down,

and what was a perfectly positioned smile

turns into an in your face frown. 

  

 

One minute you’re taking a breather,

with a sigh of relief you sit down,

before you know it,

you are six feet underground.

 

What gives?

 

Your brain and your mind are a duet of a kind

working here separate from what you know to be true.

 

Manipulating the future is like altering the past.

 

You need to be joyful of memory

and open to what comes along when it does,

knowing it will unfold in its own time in love.

 

Learning to be true to yourself is being aware

of the dichotomy of life,

the past and the future,

the wrong and the right,

love and fear going round and round

until an opening occurs and you embrace it.

 

 

If the way is open before you

And you can’t see it – is it open?

 

If the way is open inside you

And you can’t be it – is it open?

If the door is open

And you can’t go there – is it open?

 

If your shadow is behind you and you can’t turn around,

is the past open to you?

If the river flows beside you and you stand your ground,

is the future open to you.

 

What you bring to the embrace

is your perception of who you are. 

If the vision is one of love,

 

carries with it an inner awareness

that all possibilities are there for you,

trusting you are here for a reason,

then the way is open for both the shadow and the light.

 

 

When the door opens

and in walks surprise,

let it enter unsurmised

 

when the door opens

anger may appears,

let it be a part of you

needless to fear

 

when the door opens

many things believed in

may simply disappear

all the order in your life

may rearrange

and everything or nothing

may never be the same.

 

when the door opens

stay, still time

manifest the child

be open to your self

let love radiate from you

and nothing will enter

your life but love

Having been unfulfilled for so long

 

Having been unfulfilled for so long,

you would think prosperity

would knock on your door toot-sweet

 

You listen,

going inward,

beyond dimensions

your triumvirate brain

comfortably

elevating past

the fourth floor

of your imagination,

into the mind field

of multiple dimensions

you know are in you

all around you

 

Yet nothing happens!

  

You wait,

in the heat of the afternoon

while birds whisper

in the shadows

of limpid leaves,

tinged by the slightest breeze.

In the stillness

you wait.

 

It has already happened!

 

Wake up to the knocking at your door.

It has always been right there.

You just have to be aware.

A blessing or a curse

 

I wonder if it is a blessing or a curse

this understanding we label

so rightly and wrongly

joyfulness and sadness.

 

The happiness that we feel tempered

only by our unwillingness to let it go,

the sadness by the framework

we have come to know.

 

We own our own happiness

yet we are in constant denial

that we alone command the smile.

 

We know of no abuse

beyond the shadows of our soul

yet wrap our minds and hearts

in the sadness of others.

  

Inventing heaven to flame

and hell to smother

the fires of our desire

to live in the moment

between joyfulness and sadness,

to be both in our understanding

yet aware of one and one another.

 

No matter how your feelings respond

you cannot assume or mother, beyond

the being there to console another.

be-aware, that is your only role.

No one is to blame

 

It’s what you can’t see

the visible outside awareness

threads that hold the material together

Faith, Trust, Belief in other

the fabric of the quilt of warmth and caring

in the sharing of a moment in a lifetime

 

Somewhere deep inside you there resides and remains

everything you have lived with, everything you contain

 

It’s your genetic code for all you have to do

in order to sustain momentum,

living out, completing,

and satisfying your creation

 

given no more than a name to a journey,

on a path blinded by the light,

through darkness traversing alone

 

A journey of loving each and every solitude

and convoluted refrain

as if it were an only lifetime

 

Everyone you loved,

the stars in the universal game,

are simply what it’s all about,

and no one is to blame.

It is

 

It is a difficult road to travel without a doubt,

full of hardships and obstacles.

It is going to take a long time, maybe forever.

Separations will be painful, full of loneliness and grief.

The future at times will seem like a black void

that sucks in all the misery and woe you can think of.

 

It is going to be BLEAK! BLEAK! BLEAK!

 

Turn it around.  Turn it inside out and upside down.

It is all about believing in you

What you ask for in the name of love

will always come through

 

In the presence of love

you no longer need to harbor

in the space between day and night,

the dimming of the light

the shadow world of wrong and right.

 

In the presence of love you know straight and true

that you are part of everything and everyone,

 

your life has meaning.

No longer bound, nor demeaning

and you know just what you have to do.

 

In the presence of love

you no longer doubt

the world about you is full of miracles. 

As your vision clears,

the first miracle you see is you,

open to all that is possible,

now, this day and everyday

knowing there is so much more –

all that you imagine,

all that it is.

 

Put it out there. Shout it out!

Feel it, believe it,

know it will be the way you want it to be,

then let it go.

Waking To Nobodies Home Anymore : dVerse

A poem for dVerse :Those Pesky Questions of Identity. Possibly questions 1 and 3

 

Everybody knows about the hole in the bucket.

It’s where reality, as you think you know it,

the visible world on the other side

of the plate glass window of your mind,

slowly leaks into the emptiness

of time and space.  Until one day

you find you have arrived in the here and now,

and the bucket’s empty.  You have entered the void.

 

How is it that the illusion of happiness,

the lingering smell of sweat and damp sheets,

the cocoon of comfort wrapped around the male brain can,

in the course of a conversation, over a cup of coffee or

sitting on the edge of the bed, turn into an aloneness

without substance, an accumulation of a lifetime of togetherness

with nothing to hold onto.

 

Nothing tangible, nothing real remaining,

except in the mind, where thoughts  like shards of shattered mirror

reflect the residue of breakfast Christmas morning,

pregnant days of mythical contentment and satisfaction.

 

The sun through a shadeless window,

a mattress on the floor in an empty room,

the temptation is to fill the void with what the sentient body craves

memories of touch, vibrant, smooth and gentle,

a breath warm and softly caressing

what you assumed you possessed.

Waking to nobodies home anymore

means you are left to your own rewards.

 

this worthlessness, this fall from grace, is man made,

the soul silence of lack and loss,

and can never be regenerated, only replicated.

A knock off gives you that warm and fuzzy,

But nothing fills the annulled,

the dark matter of relationships,

for it has always been there and, ignored,

in the blinding light of romance.

 

There’s a groove in the CD,

right where the heartache begins.

Time to buy some new music.

 

This time make it something you like.

The sound of your voice in the morning

affirming you are okay.  For nothing real

can happen until you are satisfied

with the face in the mirror,

with how you feel about yourself.

 

It has never been complicated,

if you can’t cook, stay out of the kitchen.

If you don’t love yourself,

leave romance well enough alone

Earth Day – All That I Can Be

The Love Embrace of the Universe, the Earth (Mexico), Myself, Diego and Señor Xólotl - Frida Kahlo, 1949

The Love Embrace of the Universe, the Earth (Mexico), Myself, Diego and Señor Xólotl – Frida Kahlo, 1949

 

only ever one glass of wine

no matter how beautiful the pair might seem together,

each crafted individually exquisitely unique

engendered with a particular essence

a minion among snowflakes, crystals, stars

yet nothing about us uniquely other than

one person, an individual cell, a single being, being human

one body, one mind

one soul of an old and scarly cat,

smugly contemplating tolerance

everything we love expresses how we feel

about this organ of water and air

this mind of matter and darkness

this exposed soul of a universal want and need

to plant the seed

that I am the earth I stand upon

I live in light and love

I breathe my air

I admire the flower that I am

that grows upon the earth I nurture

with my tears of joy

for as I turn from day to day

the wind I create caresses my body

I am the earth

I am all that I see, all that I feel

all that I can be


 if we were one light

how brilliant would we shine

the heavens would cease running away

and look back upon us

as the star over Bethlehem

or the light of Mecca

if we were one surface

monumentally varied and etched

with the wisdom of ages

what a beautiful color our skin would be

blinded by the light and sensitive to the touch

if we were one breath

drawing in everything that has been

and will be, nurturing every pore of our being,

filling the valleys and rivers of our awareness

with an inner sigh of recognition.

that we are the earth

all that was and will be

then, and all that we can see

is what we imagine love to be

Today is the Day

easter-chimes-awaken-nature-Alphonse Mucha

easter-chimes-awaken-nature-Alphonse Mucha

 

understanding stands by the doorway of a quantum leap,

apprehension, the Maitre’D of age holds the key

 

on the other side of the door

there is no more than can be imagined

transcending thoughts transforming notions of possibility

awaiting your creation

 

this day has always been waiting for you to arrive

alive with the love and potential energy you bring to it

 

waiting patiently on your awareness

 

waiting for your creation

 

waiting on what you want it to be

 

a thing of beauty, a thing grace

 

today as everyday the sunrise and the sunset

are bookends for the stories you create

the birthright, the toddlers stand,

the child within and the urge to mate

the maturing of existence knocking at the gate

 

the same story, over and over again

each volume, a day in the life of

all there is and all there will be

 

So choose this day the words you speak

you would say to a loving you

and the people that you meet

will only hear you say I love you and I care

 

no matter how fast seems the hustle of our lives

dawn approaches as if a butterfly

evolving moment by moment at the speed of light

 

it is never too late to step outside yourself

and experience the world around you

that’s what it is there for

waiting on your awakening

It will be there

 

 

the-swing, Erte   Wikiprints.org

the-swing, Erte
Wikiprints.org

 

 

It will be there

possibly a sudden serendipity

slipping through the cracks in the universe

or a door left ajar enough

to let a little light in

providing a path of opportunity for whom you,

believing to be on the other side of fame and fortune,

albeit impatiently perplexed

with unrealities’ distemperment of time,

believing as well that it will be where you are

timeless in the right of now, accepting

appreciatively that which is

for that is the way it is

 

and you know

it’s tough as jerky on crumbling teeth,

seemingly difficult at times

when the pendulum slices through the arc of time

and you face it head on

and it feels like

it is so like a razor separating

the soft and cellulous

you on the chin

shake it off

rake the litter of fall and winter,

crack open the vision of the universe

giving you what you ask for now ,

certainly prior to Einsteinium Eternity frozen in time

 

as one would have it

harvesting sunshine is seeing all the colors

of the spectrum, radiating in your wonderment

of the goodgodness in you.

 

And so it shall be as it is, this tired swing

hanging on a limb from the tree of life,

ever swinging in the wind

ever joyful for the moment, the pause,

on either end of the vibration,

where it is to be found

an instantaneous locality of everything that is,

providing you with exactly,

neither measured in time or space,

what needs to be there, for you

A Fall From Grace

laying-down-the-law.edwin henry landseer Wikiprints.com

laying-down-the-law.edwin henry landseer
Wikiprints.com

 

To what do we owe the FALL

from a state of grace and oneness, into illusion?

Why the separation in the first place? Was it Hunger?

As simple as tearing the husk from the corn,

meat from the bone, wanting to experience the aftertaste.

 

Was it the need to know the duality of the manifested?

What’s on the other side of the door, and if so,

why would it ever be that so occupied with pleasure, happiness, and

wellness, we invite pain, suffering, and illness to the party.

Could we have so overdosed on ecstasy

as to dream up the illusion of grief.

 

Where was the Almighty ALL-in-ONE in all this –

with the lawyers maybe,

drafting up a few laws to go along with the fal:

 

the law of supply;

let’s let them think there’s never enough

 

the law of attraction;

how about they really don’t want what is good for them

 

the law of intention;

like wake every morning with an attitude

 

the law of compensation;

we make it so it never works out the way they thought it would,

nobody reaps what they sow.

 

the law of growth;

feet firmly planted in reality – they’re not going anywhere.

 

All leading to the law of impermanence – oops you’re outtahere,

the parties over, come back when you’re karmalized.

 

It’s all a joke, right!

Right in front of us, the answer staring back at us,

the emptiness is full of laughter and de-light

and what we assume to be darkness is simply

the absence of the sparkle in the ALL-in-ONE’s eye

in contemplating the sentient one’s impertinence

in assuming it could be other than

non dualistic

inseparatus

and one.

 

What’s the illusion, the fall or the effect?

Why the cause on the be?

Why not settle for the sanity

of living in the light and letting it go at that

Wait, Be Patient, Be Still

waiting - Nicholas Roerich,  Wikiprints.org

waiting – Nicholas Roerich, Wikiprints.org

 

When you are in-between going nowhere

all possibilities are open to explore

you walk to the door seeking satisfaction

retracing your steps, pace back and forth

the distance between beginning and ending

diminishing with each retro action

until you stand and spinning

wait

 

You know that if you face

one way or the other

your energy will exhaust

on the very edges of the known universe

creating a wind behind you

that will bring you home

be patient

 

You dwell in the pause

the safe silent space

you have always tried to reserve

where no one enters

 

it is full of white noise

the crushing sound of always

pounding on the doors and windows

of your soul

be still

 

Every breath leads to another until

Li Erh

remembering-lao-tse-Brett Whiteley, Wikiprints.org

remembering-lao-tse Brett Whiteley, Wikiprints.org

 

even through the eyes,

the medium of an evenow

master, in awe of which

I am humbled, a ray of light that shines

in the denseness of it all, after thought occurred.

 

having glimpsed at how the old master

gave words to the way it is,

the Tao of it, or should be,

all I have come to understand is

but an echo of all there ever was to be said.

 

I only have the words

to repeat what the universe

has whispered in my ear

spoken with a virtuous breath not my own,

for I borrow all that I am

from all that has been and is.

 

from the unseeded, the silent delivery of a word

comes forth out of nowhere, to say nothing

that hasn’t already been said

 

excuse me for repeating myself

each of us is given a voice to turn a particular phrase

over and over again

to say what has to be said

until someone hears the truth of it

A room of mirrors

Rene Magritte   The False Mirror

Rene Magritte      The False Mirror

 

it was all a dream world

until now

 

life passing through me

filtered in a haze

of stillborn memories

 

a room of mirrors

each a reflection

of who I thought I was

in time

 

each one a framed perspective

of a soulful moment of mine

 

each day a new beginning

washing over and around

my shoreline of rocks and broken timber

receding, bleeding back

the life of me

 

back into the here and now of me

 

 

it is not that we don’t remember

where we have come from

the primordial mix

of all that we can see

 

it is what we hold on to

each time we crawl back from the sea

 

what is left

in time passing

a polished stone

a clutter of debris

 

each day of us a loving memory

In a Heartbeat

Alex Katz  Upside Down Ada  -  WikiPainting.org

Alex Katz Upside Down Ada – WikiPainting.org

 

In a heartbeat of a single moment

measured in time

In the strange attraction

of the unpredictability of a lifetime passing,

 

imagining you are where you want to be

waking in the morning thankful

for the chance to have it this way.

The love, the joy,

the wonder of each day

opening in a dance of warmth and loving.

 

Or even better,

 

being who you want to be

igniting a passion for life that scintillates in light,

dancing in the dream of limitless wonder

sharing that which only you can be

your unique and special gift

for doing what you absolutely love to do

 

 

paused momentarily on the Eden of day and night,

all your memories gently washing over you,

receding in waves of recollection

casting ashore the sands of dreams

in and out of your imagination,

silhouettes and salutations balancing the outline

and inner word of your particular story

 

better still,

 

imagine you are with whom you want to be

this very moment wrapped in arms and legs,

anchored to the soft and beautiful

wedded to the possibility of all

that is wonderful in a relationship

 

where seashells lace the tides separating day and night,

 

where the future, waiting on your light,

 

enters your present one moment at a time.

without words

 

So undefined is spirit

that we speak of it without words

 

other than a sound

emanating from nothing

unutterable

 

a source of everything

and nothing quotable

so perfect is the essence

of that which is, we

think of it beyond imagination

indescribable

 

no one professes to be able to utter

that which is beyond the imagination

beyond description, all that might be etc., and etc. yet,

the word sent on a path neverending

ever retelling the unknown

ever reinventing itself in name

 

humbling as it is

the answer to the unanswerable

is staring back at you

the word, so befuddles,

for it is man made

out of necessity

out of separation

All my life I have searched for home

Thanks Telise for reminding me of this poem

 

All my life I have searched for home

when all the time

it has been a place within me

 

You entered my world

and simply asked me

to look at myself

to look at the beauty within me

 

and your vision overwhelmed

the darkness of my soul

I felt your voice

resonate within me

 

and I was home again