Fear

FREEDOM

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All humans yearn to be free;

to manifest our unique destiny;

to be wholly who we were designed to be.

A caged bird loses its melody-

it cannot fly-

let alone sing-

with clipped wings.

What an utter shame,

a sorrowful loss

this game…we play

of a boss,

of another mere human

knowing better than us.

Why do we so easily

give our innate power away;

so often stifle what is inside us

to say?

We all lose

when we chose

captivity

over

creativity;

conformity

in lieu of

individuality.

We are encouraged to be ourselves,

to come out of our protective shells,

then

often

shunned

when a few

do not see

as we do.

Labeled sinner,

we are marked with a scarlet letter-

excommunicated

mutilated

married

raped

shot

subjugated

stoned

burned!

These, it is believed,

is how we learn

to be silent

remain quiet;

stay small

do not stand tall.

What is the threat

that freedom for all

is perceived

to beget?

The shackles

bind

both ways.

What so ever you do to me,

that you do unto thee.

All humans

were meant to be

free.

No matter the costs

or how long,

Spirit will indeed

sing its songs.

 

 

 

 

 

Quiet

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For those of us who crave Quiet,

who suckle on silence as if it were Mother’s milk,

in every moment,

a trade must be made,

a resultant price paid:

do we the “self” isolate

or do we “other” engage?

The latter can feel like flagellation

when the Quiet Soul

has reached

its social limitation –

that tipping point,

the point of no and diminishing return,

where absolute quiet

is all one yearns-

gasping for it as if a fish out of water,

the mind in an uproar –

all chaos and disorder.

But then…

the consequence

of a life lived largely withdrawn,

where solitude is the norm:

a nagging,

disconcerting

loneliness settles down,

deep into them dry bones-

a thick film

centuries old,

sending gentle warnings to the Quiet Soul

that this human form

was crafted

to be ever

connected.

The Bulge

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there It is:

The Bulge.

on full display;

i cannot seem to

look away,

to focus on the richness

of what he had come

to say.

on The Bulge,

my eyes linger

as my mind wanders:

what does it

look like,

feel like

when released

and fully unleashed?

how tall does it stand?

i imagine its feel

in my hands,

its taste in my mouth

when I’ve made my way down, South.

No!

Will not go nowhere

by going there.

I force my gaze,

my thoughts

way up, North.

we lock eyes-

yikes, I’ve been caught!

eyes, now shut,

i blush.

the heat,

the guilt,

the stench

of shame

rises,

takes a seat,

whispers

familiar recriminations

in my ears.

I just want to disappear!

The Bulge

brought

desperation,

longing,

latent sexuality

to the uncomfortable fore,

much too near…

here come the tears…

shedding-as always-

internally.

The End

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The End is the Beginning.

The beginning of another chapter,

a different reality, new memories;

a location change, a strange cast of characters

with names and behaviors to learn.

Outside of the comfort zone once again,

the choice to be made to not pretend.

Integrity does not allow one

to play small for very long.

Eventually, one gets woke-

the inside, who you really are

must be expressed,

and unto the world, spoke.

The time does come

when familiarity must succumb.

The price becomes much too high-

either begin anew or slowly die.

The new girl placed on an old block,

what will this journey unlock?

What new skin will it bring?

What songs will it allow

this Soul

to finally sing?

The End is just the Beginning.

 

Extraction

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This year begins with an extraction

of more than just a tooth;

feels so much deeper…like a tone being set…

as if The Extraction

of lies disguised as truth;

a purification, of sorts,

an intense burning

of malignant thoughts;

the elimination of scripts so long-held

that with the body

they’ve seemed to meld;

the expulsion of perspectives in mind

that no longer serve,

behind which I cannot continue

to hide.

The Extraction

has exposed

a painful nerve,

left me

vulnerable,

shook up,

a tad perturbed-

in a most humble space,

the better to receive.

With new eyes, I can now see,

and proclaim

gently

with no shame:

Enough! No more!

Ego, please take your shit to the door!

A revised reality,

a different, lighter story-

one steeped in radical Trust,

of complete surrender

to a benevolent Universe

of stunning abundance

and wondrous intelligence.

“This is your way,”

It whispers

softly

persistently

deep

inside

me.

The Way

may not be

what is preferred,

but the Universe

never errs.

One is being called-

always-

to a Faith surpassing human understanding;

to re-member what One really is:

eternal Spirit in ephemeral flesh,

on this journey, only to connect.

 

“…the Lord gives you the Bread of adversity and the Water of affliction…” Isaiah 30:20

 

 

Written all over your Face

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It’s written all over your Face

why you occupy

this space,

in this time.

in this body,

in This Moment

in your-story.

There are no accidents-

such is widely evident.

We are,

each one of us,

called forth,

summoned.

Here,

to re-member

what we really are,

to dispel others’ truths

that became our scars.

Here,

to re-call

our shared humanity,

our One Soul.

 

Artist: Pablo Picasso

Joy in Repetition

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There is indeed

Joy in Repetition,

in doing it

again and again,

learning to see it

outside and in,

the nuances,

the subtleties-

variations on the

exact

same

theme.

What a pleasure

to be delivered

repeated opportunity

for vision,

to better see

what is true-

what is reality.

Day in,

day out;

year after year,

the same issues

reappear.

They come

looking for resolution,

for final absolution.

There is indeed

Joy in Repetition,

in the single-minded commitment

to always come back home

to Self

so as to be

of greater service

to everyone else.

Each Other’s Keepers,

we truly are.

All of us,

big, bright Shining Stars.

Alas, we often forget

from whence we came.

As such,

we are wont

to play

dangerous, destructive

games-

veering off our path,

so far, one can only laugh.

But sins are forgiven;

therein we’re saved!

The Joy in Repetition,

a clean slate,

yet another chance

to pivot,

to reevaluate,

to atone,

to return Soul to its Home,

to not stray

and become lost in the daily fray.

The Joy in Repetition,

returning to love

repeatedly

and

consciously;

relentlessly changing

the subliminal scripts,

adjusting to one

that is truth,

the more accurate,

gentler

fit.

Great Joy in Repetition,

a lifetime

of exploration-

digging deeper,

going farther,

climbing ever higher.

Over and over

and over

again-

when does it end?

Perhaps,

only

in Heaven.

 

Girl Child

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The first of three girl childs

born of my pop and mum.

I would be the quiet, idealistic one,

the one who dared not stir the pot,

but rather enjoyed observing a lot,

paying particular attention

to the tangible tension

between the sexes

on an almost daily basis.

The women won handily,

ruling the home rather easily.

This all conveyed to me-

directly and

subconsciously-

the strength needed

of a girl child

constantly

to escape vulnerability

within a world

fixated on her sexuality,

rarely her intellectual ability;

a world where girl child’s

heart and brain

are discounted,

deemed second class citizens.

Hence, Girl Child,

either rule or be consumed;

with no apology nor permission,

go for yours or be floored.

No middle ground

here

to be found.

Stand tall,

to a boy child,

never ever

play small, roll over or fall!

Not just for you,

but for all your Sisters too!

 

Written in honor of the fourth annual International Day of the Girl Child, 11 October 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Penetration

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What does it take

to penetrate

the walls you make

for protection’s sake?

How do I get

to you

into you

through you?

What am I to do?

I come,

you run;

I confide,

you hide;

I offer space,

you then hesitate.

What does it take

to penetrate

your mind

your heart

your body

your soul?

How to release

some of that control

to which you hold

as if it is gold?

A body so tight,

a mind attuned to fight

or flight.

Yet, underneath,

I see a spirit

seeking an invite,

desperate for a way out.

When you are ready

to let me in,

to be the feminine

to my masculine,

I’ll come running.

When you are

no longer so scared,

I’ll be there.

When your mighty walls

finally

crumble and fall,

I offer myself

at our beck and call.

 

 

Au Cœur

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Walking around

the City streets,

this piece of graffiti

I repeatedly meet.

It reads

to me:

Protect your Heart.

“Why?”

I wonder.

“Is such a thing

even possible?”

I ponder.

Is not

The Heart

meant

to be used,

broken open

and well spent?

Le Cœur,

it will never relent,

nor exhibit

sustained discontent,

doing that

for which

it was sent.

The grand design,

the clear intent

for us to be truly,

in life, content.

Strong and resilient,

The Heart,

also very smart,

crafted this way

from the very start.

Unlike a piece

of rare fine art,

The Heart

is not made

to be placed

on a wall

deemed too delicate

to fall.

No, no, no, no, no!

Not at all!

I contend

to me and friends:

Lay bare,

Le Cœur,

even as scared,

it’ll take you there,

that place,

that divine space

where only

COURage makes.