a rather bold invitation made:
write your own bible.
at first, a bit of consternation,
followed by curiosity
and irreverent possibilities!
bible as just a word –
lower case b
supplanting the upper case and its connotations:
dogma
constriction
judgement
patriarchy.
no, in my bible
tales of only love
connection,
spaciousness,
and a direct –
always open –
line to Benevolence.
marveling at the resplendent Peacock 🦚
its extra-ordinary ability to in-gest
poison
and trans-form it into breathtaking, awe-inspiring Beauty.
reminds me of the Lotus 🪷
thriving in bleak
muddy waters 💧
ah, the lessons nature teaches
when we choose to slow down
listen intently,
look up & down & all around carefully,
really lean into
the Totality of Life,
this Moment,
each other.
opportunities abound everywhere
to trans-form the perceived mess and chaos
into gentle medicine for all;
into something vastly different than we’ve ever experienced –
more relevant, courageous, mature, and equitable.
there is unimaginable Beauty in this bleakness.
can you feel it?
I don’t recall
ever
seeing your violent side.
To me, you were always
one-of-a-kind –
the cool,
tall,
dark & handsome uncle.
Never saw the part of you
who terrorized
your beautiful wife;
the you
who would beat
women
children
with a baseball bat!
Could I have loved you
if I had witnessed that?
Like Jekyll & Hyde,
we humans.
So many contradictions
and perplexing multitudes.
“Good” and “evil”
in equal measure
cutting through
all our hearts.
Are we to be confined
to the worst moments
of our lives?
We are made
crafted
molded
into who we become.
No innate monsters,
only beings
tragically un-done
wrecking havoc
in their altered state.
How do we be different –
infuse more love and tenderness;
choose significantly less violence,
champion wit and wisdom
instead of whips on children’s skin
and weapons of mass destruction?
out of no where
You come
dis-rupting comfort
and routine
toppling the known
and familiar
altering courses
forcing us
to begin anew
to see and be
different
You cleanse
and re-arrange
twisting us
in-side and
crying out
raising
existential questions
we’d rather run from
You will come
for each and every
one of us
at our appointed time
a surprise
out of
seeming
no where
you are invited
to shed your masks
gently and slowly
begin to
un-hide
to touch
and be touched
to see anew
to feel and breathe
deeper
than you ever believed possible
to rest
to trust
surrender
fly
to Be in the here
all of you
now
and never
re-turn
to the you
in disguise.
a constant gnawing
deep within
to be fed
and tended to
through The Mouth
that did not know
its mother’s milk
suckled instead
by the middle finger
of its right hand
The Mouth that spoke
not a word
its first few years
now relentlessly demands
food
attention
silence
rarely satiated
riddled with shame
and melancholy
a downward spiral
often begins.
here, now
this time
a long breath
slowly let out
through The Mouth
gentler with the hunger
less intolerance
more patience.
“Are you homeless?”
she asked,
penetrating my self immersion.
“No, why?
I responded, a tad vexed.
“Because of your bag,”
she said,
pointing to the shopping cart
I was wheeling behind me.
“I am homeless,”
she shared.
I stopped,
emerged from my shell.
We stood
face to face
under a first quarter moon,
meeting each other.
Yolanda was her name –
engaging,
loquacious,
deeply rooted in her faith,
enamored of the Celestial Realms.
She spoke of harrowing experiences in the local shelters,
of the inconsiderate and dangerous conditions –
especially
for a woman
alone.
Just a year ago,
Yolanda had a home,
a husband,
was employed with a car.
A divorce rendered her without,
leading to her sleeping
outside
for the first time
on a frigid and blustery night.
Yolanda alluded to
grown children,
yet gave thanks
only to the kind strangers
who kept her fed
and still alive.
“I will pray for you,”
I offered humbly.
And I have,
and will continue to
pray for Yolanda
and all in our human family
on their own
out
in the bitter cold.
This is not the way it’s supposed to be!
We are each other’s keeper!
Indeed, we are each other!
When did we forget this?
No mere coincidence,
my time with Yolanda.
Divinely orchestrated,
potent seeds planted.
An assignment awaits.
some times
i get hungry,
typically late
at night,
just before
i am supposed to be
in bed.
the hunger comes –
an unease in the pit
of my gut.
the mouth follows
with a desperate urge for…
what
exactly?
don’t want to go deep
now.
and so i reach
for the sourdough bread,
carefully peeling its edges,
nibbling,
satiated.
any pieces beneath the crust –
whoa…intense!
it feels way too much!
water
this is where it all begins
with us
shimmering
in the fluid amniotic
bliss-fully breathing the mother
until summoned
to enter
spitting out the water
to take in the air
our bodies
forever
to consist
mostly
of the water
our journeys
punctuated by
the water
tears
sweat
multiple re-births
bathed in the salty waters
until beckoned
to exit
the wave
returns
to the water
where it all begins
again
we fall down
and we get up
we fall asleep
and we wake up
back and forth
up and down
the spectrum of consciousness
we go
round and round
the cycle of unwellness
until
sometimes quite suddenly
a shift
from deep Within
Grace
a gentle beckoning
to another
completely different
way
burgeoninc 