yearning
across undivided chasm
keep me close
the power of thought
can it transcend a mountain,
a gorge,
a stream
boasting of its righteousness?
no ~
the power is in the people
who take their lot
and eat it
manifest my own favor
by the power of Love
now we don’t wear masks
to pretend who we are
be counsel to yourself
and take good measure
of good food
of good words
of sunshine
and rain
be counsel to yourself
and take good measure
of good laughter
of good song
of activity
and repose
none of this
is charity measured
but abundance itself
and sweet gratitude
for the self
and the other
for in the end
we are all the parent
we are all the voice
much like the God
who brought us here
and in the end
we are all the love
much like the joy
and potent wisdom
that keeps the world kind
Reluctant,
he slows down
like a well seasoned Friday
approaching
that event horizon
where time cannot touch us
we sit at the edge and wait
for time to also slow
for on this side
time cannot really stop
by the light of the moon
there’s a shack
or a house, or a hut, or a lake
it’s wherever the lovers meet
in their imagined reality
can they see them? I think not
can they hear them?
I say what for?
come with me, my friend, he says
quietly opening her door
can I think it, like a shore?
an idea written inside of a notebook
can I be it, like a book
an idea written inside of her head?
sweet ghost, you are mine I know
elusive in your transparentness
the universe danced
like a bout of rowdy lovemaking
yet also like a sacred, secret shared
pure
between father and daughter
the universe danced
as if to remind her
of when she danced
besides its still waters
long before the heavens were made
look, I can float the rain
he cried
and she delighted in it
for she was both in it,
and was it
much like the creatures
that played by her side
in that night of gravity upended
to remind her of love’s
incarnation
who am I to be gifted
so sweet
who am I
oh mystery complete
that I would find myself floating
inside the floating rain
she once met a man
who transformed his state
by material means
like a vehicle in wait
oh military,
industrial complex
she again met the man
now he’s transformed his look
not by inner reflection
or that of the book
that predicts his own
tragic destruction
for one can’t protect
a security idol
and one can’t reject
the knowledge one seeks
wisdom is each child
looking out of a window
not the theory
that men can save millions
the question is not
is he good
is he bad
and the question is not
is she happy
or sad
the question has always been
whom do you trust?
and who would steal I
for material us?
Guardians of Light
protect us from darkness,
from not seeing,
from not hearing,
from building walls to not know
Protect us from paralysis and fear,
from judgements against self,
and others
that grow like tangled weeds and knots
upon our broken heartedness
Show us instead
signs that lead way
keys that unlock,
and doors that open quietly
right through our scars and cracks
Show us pathways to freedom
turbulent though they may be
that one day we’ll arrive, joyous,
inside grand and inner sanctum
so large, no heart can contain it
And then we will fall
upon bended knee
to kiss the sweet soil
that births the sacred, the true, and the immortal
“I”
Valentine’s Day, 2019
Recently I listened to an author describe how his interior guides dictated a book, that he published successfully, shortly thereafter.
Sometimes my bodily pain is so severe, I can’t even imagine having the energy to write, unless the words themselves are provided like this – and I am practically handed the pen. Automatic writing has happened to me before, and it never fails to astonish, for the language received tends to be very cryptic, beautiful, and full of meaning, even when I feel by myself I am not.
I must have whispered prayers in the night that I would receive another ready-made composition of this sort.
Shortly after 8:00 a.m., I awoke, my clairaudience turned on. Prose started to flow from somewhere inside of me, without effort, and I grabbed a pen off the nightstand to secure the words on paper, before they evaporated like a dream, from my mind.
In reviewing what I wrote, it was, of course, like discovering and reading it for the first time. I realized that “cupboard” must refer to my heart, and glass “bottle” – the body – which contains and limits the soul, until it is released through death, or perhaps enlightenment. I found God’s use of culinary allegories with me entirely fitting, and more than a little entertaining in parts. It made me want smile.
“Onions” are what my mother planted to keep animals out of her garden, but could also mean distractions that keep people from finding out the truth. I have uploaded pictures of my actual, open-faced cupboards, which I found ready and waiting, as if just to illustrate this piece.
I am calling it Autobiography, because I received it from a Source with Whom I am quite familiar, but One that I also recognize as the Voice that resides within each of us, and some call the Christ.
And I share them, these few, intuited words below, because I feel they were meant for me to share, like a glass from just such an open cupboard… or open heart.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
I am taking off a lifetime of pain
When I was twenty years old
the dam broke
the colors colliding,
like an off-put canvas
Household items lined up,
like cracked pots
to take with me
The visions had ceased
All around me the pain,
the stares
What does it take to
believe in a miracle?
they asked with a grin
Finding themselves shoeless,
on my path
Don’t go away
The cupboards will burn
The dishes will fly
Please,
place your onions at the door
When Spring came
the rains had stopped
and everyone cheered
Like a hen getting out of a truck
I didn’t even know how to drive
Laughing,
they killed me some more
White paper lined the floor
like parchment
with his portrait and portfolio
Shut the door
The cops aren’t coming anymore
In June the news came
of a city on a hill
glistening with radiance
How do they make those little cakes
that stand up
like needles on their edge?
Further more,
the door’s shut
so how can it bleed?
A raptor,
a pigeon
and a bird
He sees what he knows
like glass in a pan
What are you thinking my child?
I see you and I love you
I was always with you
my child
The tears flow and this time
they are tears of joy
Walk away from the pain
Walk away from those you love
But don’t walk away from me
For I am the one
who started it all
with a bottle of love
and a plan
laid out like cards
that can’t fail
The bottle has been broken
but the love is limitless
like a magic trick
designed to catch
your deceivers
Put it away in your cupboard
like spices on a rack
Use it liberally
wherever you go
In the end you will see
that was all that mattered
It contains seeds like nutmeg
that grow rampant in the rain
in the snow
Wherever you go
I am always with you
in your heart
Just look inside of it
