21 Monday Apr 2014
All we’re searching for, all we’re ever really seeking, is union with Self and Spirit. That’s the journey. The rest is the splendor of the living path of discovery. Embracing it all is the delight. And it begins with ourselves.
17 Thursday Apr 2014
A belly full of tears
and a heart, salted.
Up that tree the squirrel climbs,
his view and mine,
above and below-
I’ll scamper the fence line
wary of approach,
agile and able
but preferring the limbs of trees..
Those ideas we resist until long after
the speaker departs,
little earthquakes,
blessed uplift and upheaval.
The acacia blooms
and sleep eventually comes,,
flying solo as a lover of humanity
requires courage, with effort
inexplicably granted.
Heavy steps are all for now,
yet feather flight will return
as nature endlessly reaffirms herself,,
fly again fly,
fly, fly…
17 Thursday Apr 2014
the travelers need not search for one another,
the finding is effortless.
as the dust gathers on shoe laces
and tread wears to nothing,
we walk the same roads, admiring
the same sky.
i look, you see, earth rolls
through invented time and the incredible mastery
of chaos.
come to me. we are but flecks,
motes in sunlight, fragile
and measureless.
if my rhythm and yours
coincide
there’s no telling
what we might become.
17 Thursday Apr 2014
if you reach for me
i probably won’t be there-
relationship with the invisible,
the resounding bell,
jubilant and soft,
rings..
no asking for the infinite
from you
or anyone else-
beyond the expected
belonging begins..
done with looking
outward
for you to meet me
i surrender
to something so much bigger
life carries me.
with no better partner
in all the world, a hand always to hold,
i’m drawn inward,
in a spiral inscribing
what has no bounds-
you’ll come and go
and i’ll continue..
gift me with your presence,
and i, you with mine,
the momentary dance,
timeless,
one heart and another,
breath
unto breath, spinning on
15 Tuesday Apr 2014
Beyond the most cherished,
What remains?
A fingertip pushes aside strands of hair,
Hummingbird comes to sit on a branch a breath overhead,
Two slow dance hidden among shelves of books for sale,
Blood moon behind fog suspends its wakeful,
And answers still;
The movement of silence
grasps, unforgettable and impermanent.
Where can the spoken be formless
but here?
Yesterday and tomorrow, never mind.
On the head of the pin, perch,
the entire world sparks before you.
07 Monday Apr 2014
In the Illumination
you will wriggle, tug, push free the skin-
your skin- as
equally, it will be wrest from you.
In the remaking, upon looking down,
nothing remains.
And nothing is everything,,
What you thought was you
as forgettable as yesterday’s spent tea-
grateful for the drink it provided but done
so done.
With the infant sight comes
rearrangement
of place, purpose, person,
even in stillness.
Particularly.
While words fall short-
stones thrown across a chasm
only to skitter the scree edge
and drop-
Wait, just wait,
we’ll join
where words are as unnecessary
as stopping the rain.
06 Sunday Apr 2014
Posted in beauty, discomfort, poems, poetry
≈ Comments Off on too
vinegary wine,
the raunchy restaurant kitchen,
gum on sidewalk,
sand between the teeth,
a cracked mirror,
the last page, missing,
uneven stairs,
bitten nails,
oil-stained cloth,
thin walls,
mascara-lumped eyelashes,
static in the line,
half-inflated tire,
taxes,
and the best bakery, closed.
it’s all this too.
05 Saturday Apr 2014
in the reaching comes the wobble, and its laugh.
beyond this silly dance is grace.
let us drink of that silent nectar.
and leap without hesitation into the dive,
spiraling slowly in
to where the rhythms of current and pulse
are indistinguishable.
doubts,
mosquitos of misdirection,
they’ll buzz our ears;
learning to hear the uninterruptible song,
there lies our focus,
and, in time, they will no longer swarm,
as song and rhythm and spiral enfold us
in one movement.
03 Thursday Apr 2014
I am not the fantasy
in your head.
Not savior, not goddess, not whore.
This demon you will wrestle alone.
I’m neither an answer nor a mistake.
Take those cords you wrap yourself in
and cut them,
they’ve no use for tying up dreams.
For that which you seek,
you already walk in the heart of. And
the blinders obscuring your knowing
require your own two bare hands- Go,
tear them asunder
and be free.
02 Wednesday Apr 2014
Were I still to believe this tear
to be everything,
All would be lost.
Sorrow that swallowed the world-
the familiar swimming channel.
Invisible were the rainbows
forming
in minute globes of salt water
from my own eyes.
Illusion is a convincing storyteller.
Were I still to believe,
I could not consider that, perhaps,
I am as much a fascination for the juncos,
as they for me.
Laughter pushes streams down
pink cheeks
too.
And how it does bubble up~
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 