Archives for March 2013

and the sky glows orange

morning meditationthis morning
during my meditation
focusing on my centering thought
          Through rest and play, I open my creative channel
focusing on my Sanskrit mantra

Om Anandham Nama
My actions are blissfully free from attachment to outcome

focusing on my breath
focusing
letting the thoughts float in and out
not serving them tea
focusing on relaxing
ignoring what she said
focusing on my breath
ignoring what I said
focusing too much
ignoring each click tick tick of my brain
tick
should I be working this hard
focusing?
my actions aren’t always blissfully free from attachment to outcome
I’m plugged in
to the outcome
I’m plugged in
to how I’m getting me there
I’m plugged in
unconscious even
someone or something or both
have more of me then I’m willing to give

I need that back
that piece of me
I’ve given away to
her
them
the giggle
gaggle
of women men groups others
that piece I’ve given away
I’d like that back please

thank you

cloud flyIt’s time to
peel myself away

I open the door
The smell of cut grass and wet earth
washes over me
I bend
into myself
I flip outside
upside-down
into the day

I grab a tree branch
trapeze myself
somersault
up
to land
cordless on the lift of cloud

I look down

No line
No note
No tone
No chord

Just my song

Bye-bye
I sing
Bye-bye
Bye-bye

Sweet crazy swirling
velvet sky stretch me humble and whole

happy cartwheel slices
I am unrestrained, unbowdlerizedand the sky glows orange
gritty open soft
pulling sweet
coursing through my own arteries capillaries veins
streams of me
flowering creative flushing flows of me
whistling energy surging gushes of me
painting the sky
purple red blue pink green

Below
I catch
in the corner of my eye
a frayed line spark

and the sky glows
orange

Just this…

 

starlit nightsweet smell of yam baking in the oven
fat orange cat by my side
sound of metal hitting metal as the drum of the drier turns
the music of an afternoon at home
the fog has rolled in
the sky is grey
the sun will shine again
tomorrow maybe
the sky will turn
the fog will leave
we’ll see stars
when we look up

this is my life
today
quiet
a day of reaching in and reaching out
of phone calls and emails
of questions and answers
of planning and presenting
of moving and being still

this is my lifevision presents
today
a soft thought
floats from the sky
catches in the perfect
black curl
at the base of my neck
a soft thought
that I retrieve and digest

 

a soft thought

a quiet simple soft thought
a soft thought
in a simple inhale

This is life
This is a life
This is my life

 

doors close…

 

All that worry
All that comparison
All that fear
Turn it out
Let it move through
Let it leave
Open the door and
Let it out
Dance it away
Sing it away
Write it away

Let it
Be gone

When God shuts a doorclosed door
some where he opens a window …

wait for the breeze
let it kiss my cheek
let it wrap itself in me
let it lead me to what’s next

Let go of the closing door
Let it close
Let it be
Let it

Allow

Let it close

Let it slam shut
If it has to
Let it

Allow

Lots of closed doors
Lots of open windows
Lots of attachment
And the practice

Let it close
Let it slam shut
If it has to
Let it

Allow

I can hear the crumble
Echos
Tumble and fall
Echos
Of a dream
Echos
As it rams head on
Into that iron door
Ahhhh but my dreams
will stand up
back away
maybe examine a wound
treat it
or not
let the breeze from the open window
heal mend strengthen fortify

breath
Let it open wide
Let it enter
it will
Let it

Allow

begin from this placeopen window

I’ve done this
Over and again

Let the magic
Blow in through that open window

The magic of unknown
The magic of letting go
The magic of trust
of knowing and desire and bliss
of miracles

all I have to do is
breathe

 

 

Born From Heaviness

ripple lake
A vision presents one morning.
Pebbles thrown, skipping over the water,
ripples pushing out from the shore.
I walk forward, my feet sinking into the silt.
New verses, like raindrops, are born from heaviness.
Words I’ve scribbled on napkins and used envelopes,
are the scraps I hold, as offerings.

An apparition floats at the foot of my bed.
I reach for him and watch my hand cut through time.rose petal
I plant a rose bush to remember he was here.
Soft petals float, like feathers, they rest before his alter.
I open the door.
I carry my journal to the earth.
There are days I have carved history onto the page
desperate to understand.