Category: Uncategorized

I am the We
the We that moves rivers
and plotted
the hours for your day
think like me
human man
do not take your folly
to the grave
peace and prosperity
isn’t found
in primate behavior
nor is it bound
in imaginings of division
sustenance
can only be found
in the fullness of reality
that which already
sustains us
that which
We already are
the Communion of Souls
the real solid ground
for only within human man
not by way of outer paths
lies the way
back to heaven

Consider, dear Heart,
that the children remember,
about the Is-ness of things
that the whole universe
is really made up
of One Breath of God
Wise is the little boy,
doting on stray puppy,
the little girl concerned
for cow killed for supper
very young children remember
One Source,
that form is what’s accidental
Wise are the little ones
who do not cast aspersions,
on that which sustains them
or take it for granted,
for even the trees, the water and air
share the Is-ness of things
Let’s imagine a world in which
we all say, with reverence,
to Forest,
before we excavate for houses,
“you are my body,
forming natural shelter overhead
your arms a canopy of leaves
moss,
carpet beneath my feet”
let us say to the rivers,
the oceans and streams,
“you are life’s blood,
coursing through Me
for without water
my body is also
dry, parched earth”
Consider
we really are
One with the puppy,
the cow,
humming bird,
and bee
and act accordingly
for only then can Infinity respond
in the magnitude of Her abundance

~ Wren Clement Eli

sweet is the life in the growing field
sweet in the bud and the tree
sweetness flows as the water
through chalice and form
the same but for shadow as me
saying the days have been wasted
is like describing dirt’s edges as worn
though some speak of what’s pure
as corrupted
and describe what is whole as what’s torn
I’ve been told that I’m gifted a garden
that was painted in umbra for me
but I’ve unwrapped the finch
from its burlap cage
and shadows can’t mar
what is free

 

in the silence
that is the place where souls meet

in the abiding place

the room with no walls
the place with no place

where we speak heart to heart
not just face to face

because we’re already here

it’s in you
it’s in me

in silence

we’re no longer the music of preludes

we sing as the whole human race

jhadsara
she sits with her head leaning back
eyes closed
she let’s herself fade away
only to reappear
in the morning
like the specter
of yesterday’s ghost
make what you want of it,
children
turn to the left or the right
you cannot escape your reflection
nor the day run away
from the night
jhadsara
I’ll find for you remnants
of laughter
quickly sewn from your tears
but until you discard
what you make of you
freedom will never be there
she tells me the wise ones
are watching
she tells me the constable cares
while the fishmonger’s son
in the village
is the only one
nobody scares
you have to be let down
jhadsara
must bereave
what you love the most
but you’ll only lose fear
of reflection
when you look through the eyes of
the ghost

when I was young we stayed for a while
in Marshall, Texas
where a pecan tree grew
outside my grandparent’s home
the house was moved many years later,
by a buyer,
the whole house on a flatbed truck
to a different location
after my grandparents had died
when I heard this
it reminded me of the tale
of the virgin's house at Ephesus
which apparently was lifted by angels
I think the road had grown too close to it
my grandparent’s house that is
(not the one at Ephesus)
with the swing on the front porch
which looked like the back
similar to my own house now
the front of the house,
originally the back,
and I was always around back
at my grandparent’s home
playing there when it wasn’t too hot
near Grandpa while he tended his garden
whether it was hot or not
he made gumbo
with the leaves and stalks
that he had tended
even though he was blind
and Grandma spoke loudly
because he was also quite deaf
I was a little afraid of her
I bring this up because I think
Grandma and Grandpa were here today,
and though they’d be ghosts
I wasn't afraid
I think they came to take me back
to Marshall, Texas
to visit and sit and rest for a while
because heat permeated my house
offset only by a window AC
and a ceiling fan
like me,
working overtime
and that’s like the heat
and fans in their house
so many years ago
when we were staying with them
in between moves
when mama said daddy
might have to work at the post office
if the position didn’t come through
at the V.A.
now I find myself surrounded
by packages and boxes
in between moves again
staying in a place
that's again
almost not my own
but I sense will always be a part of me
like a birthright or inheritance
suddenly I smell file powder,
ice tea,
the earthy tobacco from Grandpa’s pipe
and while I’m gently being rocked
by the swish-swish gyration
of my own ceiling fan
there’s a foreign but familiar
southern-ness to it,
the summertime,
my deceased father
and forefather’s presence
I think they’re saying everything will be okay
and I realize
maybe it's just my perception of things
that I’m moving now
as I was moving then
because maybe my grandparent’s house
in Marshall, Texas
and my own
are really the same place
after all
maybe it's just our perception of things
that changes
like a whole house on a flatbed truck

In the dream there is a little girl, sitting on a bed.

I am offering the soldiers chocolates and candied almonds. The soldiers, apparently, are guards in some type of corrupt regime, of which we are being held captive. They take the candy from my trembling hands absent mindedly, while laughing amongst themselves, hardly looking at me.

Perhaps this will work to spare lives, I think, at least some of the captives’ lives -serving men candy. Someone had suggested I be the one to do it, one of the other adults.

I notice the little girl’s black dress is wrinkled and too big for her, bony knees sticking out. Adella reminds me of a slender young calf. How long has she been crying, forgotten, sitting alone on that big bed ~ her face pale, surrounded by long, dark hair, escaping it’s plaits and any attention from a mother’s comb?

I see out the window in back of her Marta, Mieta and Hans.

They are running across that large expanse of empty field. Running, fleeing for their lives, in their own tattered clothing, that they might make it to safety. I am glad because I love them in the dream, these people that I don’t know.

While Adella says softly to me, still weeping, “I can’t run unless you’re holding my hand”.

She looks up at me then with large, soulful eyes, hungry in so many ways. I try to move towards her but my injured legs don’t work at all, and they feel like lead in my body.

I don’t have a crust of bread to give her, let alone sweets for her journey. The chocolates and almonds are gone.

She slowly gets off the bed then, walks out the door, and sets out across that barren field all by herself, head held down. I stare out the window watching her, my heart breaking, my throat constricting. She is trailing so far behind the others.

With one last effort, I manage to stumble to the door, moving in slow motion as one often does in dreams, as if with each step I bear the weight of the world. But at least Adella will see me and know I that I tried. I am trying not to leave her all alone, or behind, and this way I finally catch up to her, my pain wild and free now, as if I’ve finally unlocked it, to let it course where it will.

And reaching out to her, grabbing her little fingers I say,  “I’m so sorry Adella, forgive me Adella, I love you Adella…

“I can’t run unless I’m holding your hand”.