A Journey Beginning
My inner light was broken apart: shards of glass littering the ground around me.
Alone, broken in the dark, I sat wailing in grief - no one knew my insecurity.
Amidst the shards, drops of sadness fell until a river they made.
Glass washed away, but the way still dark, my body was forbade:
No movement could I make - too much I feared the shadows.
Through my heart and in spite of my fear, I found faint courage.
I stood. I wept.
Streaming tears, the darkness within fell piece by piece.
On the the ground below, they shattered. Consumed - fodder for growth.
With all this painful adversity, I could finally see the path before me.
The first steps I took so hesitant, mind and body trembling - but I had moved.
Stumbling forward, I fell to my knees, but I tried
Again and again, listening for the voice that guides me. A journey beginning.
The voice that guides me a purity, but only sometimes did I receive its messages.
My hearing tuned to deafness, a preservation of false peace.
My world narrowed down to fear, pain, and suffering.
A world I did not create, but nonetheless I reside.
No apparent escape.
Feeling alone until I glimpse a face - one that I had not before recognized.
Her visage one of love and compassion, she stares back at me
Through my own eyes.
Her weeping melts away the pain and suffering.
Her compassion breaks apart the pitiless world that was all I could perceive.
Her light begins to grow, blazing brighter and brighter within me.
It highlights the shadows that do not recede. To them, I must pay heed.
Within their darkness lies my destiny.
To be free.
To be me.
To simply be.
The Wildness Within
Within me wildness runs free: a force to rival dignity and social grace.
It calls me from within - ignore society. Be free, be me.
The fabric of reality rends and rifts appear, showing the true nature of my destiny.
Wife, mother, child fall by the wayside as I embrace the fullness of my experience.
I am ALL and nothing: a god, a goddess, a warrior fierce.
I hold my destiny in my capable, two hands.
The rhythm of my heart the pounding beat that guides me ever on.
My destiny I shall meet.
Born in chains, slave to social norms,
I freed myself from lies and hate and from the family to which I was born.
With my two, capable hands, I broke myself free from the old reality and embraced a new space within where the wildness reigns.
From the shelter within, I journey free to embrace my destiny.
A passage, a doorway, a liminal space filled with infinite possibility.
The journey's not done, but I have begun to gather the speed
to run the paths that call my name.
They whisper to me on the wind.
They beckon me forward with light.
They caress my feet as I pass, the ground soft with countless generations
of the loam of trees.
The silent witnesses of life lived.
The World Tree
Ash, the word tree, roots strong and deep,
Branches tall and far reaching,
Connecting Above to Below,
Standing witness to Being,
An ancient wisdom of growth and destiny.
It shelters me amidst the storms.
Sitting at its base, I sometimes dream, forgetting.
In forgetfulness, I fret until I am reminded:
Awake and look around.
The tree, a silent sentinel, remember -
Each day the sun will dawn and set.
Each night the moon will wax and wane.
Aways we are in between,
Nothing stays the same,
be it heaven or hell, bliss or bane.
The pulse of the heart isn't a solid thump,
but a gentle rise and fall of life's blood,
a gathering and release of life force.
It nourishes and sustains as it carries us through.
The pulse of the heart is the center of all.
It is the energy of love, the connection to all, and a gentle embrace.
Our joyful center, our inner dance - the rhythm of our soul.
The pulse moves us along.
Its tender connection within and without: the balance of energy and matter.
Easily touched by poet's song, a child's laugh, and
the warmth of the sun's rays,
it captures drops of feelings and keeps the essence.
Sadness and grief may overwhelm, but only briefly when we allow
the pulse of the heart to gently heal with openness -
to stir the essences of purity, compassion, and love.
So, I touch my heart and allow its rhythms to sweep away the arid barrenness of life's pain, anguish, and anger until only that purist essence remains.
Sitting in stillness, open hands, open heart, open mind, I wait.
We all want the cup that over floweth:
that proverbial fount of wealth and prosperity.
However, periodically the cup runs dry.
The emptiness felt within and without.
A lack of riches of self.
But that dry cup is an opportunity in disguise.
The opportunity to wash and scrub inside and out.
Discover shining cleanness.
Hopes and dreams may feel dashed, broken, or drained away,
But soon that internal fount slowly begins to fill.
Bubbles of hope, rivulets of creative waters presage
The upward rising of a bounty - an unexpected flood.
The cup sitting within our secret heart
An overflowing, sparkle of our deepest desires.
Abundance once more.
The figurative language we all use is but a part of a much deeper truth.
The meaning behind the words the emotional resonance that attracts and repels.
The archetype of magnets.
The shadowy depths a metaphor that we all know to our core:
its stillness or turbulence echoing our thoughts.
We avoid the shadows and the depths because we cannot see.
We fear what the absence of light hides
in the darkness of our mind, body, and soul.
A confrontation to be avoided at all costs
because what might we become if we dwell in that shadowy depth:
a leviathan, a beast, an unrecognizable form?
We tread water above the depths where light rays glimmer and all is familiar,
but we forget - the depths hold untold treasure to grow the self.
Awakenings and rebirths.
A Different Reality
I feel confused. I feel grief. I feel sad.
I feel empty. I feel lost.
I feel moorless and rudderless, flowing across an arid landscape on a hot wind.
No destination, no timelines, and no expectations.
The hot winds of change carry the wails of grief, pain, rage, and righteous anger to a seemingly deaf sky.
No human ears to hear and respond to the pain ricocheting.
No water to nourish our parched landscape.
Life, a monotony, a desiccation, a wailing wind.
The wealthy elite in their bunkers, their glass towers, and fortified homes. They seal themselves off from humanity all the while feeding off of it.
Their closed ranks an endless loop of golden parachutes, rides up the corporate elevators, and backdoor meetings - owning our politicians.
In God we trust, a mockery from the first.
In greed we trust, self-made men upon the backs of slaves.
In greed we trust, complacency.
In greed we trust, self-delusion.
In greed we trust, dehumanization.
The backs are broken, but spirits are strong.
We no longer accept your reality, we are making our own.