Wake Me when I am Free

Wake me up when I am free,

I was not crafted

for captivity

born of conformity.

Like a Great Bird in a cage,

I cannot the world engage

in a matter that is authentically

and fully

me.

Instead, this being is muted,

stifled

dead,

of no real use,

head in a noose.

An existence without passion,

no rhyme nor reason

meandering season upon season.

New show, same cast;

all one can do is laugh.

A comedy of errors,

it all seems,

like a relentless bad dream.

And yet…

moments of bliss,

scattered here and there.

Glimpses of deep peace-

no worries, no cares-

as if no skin, one is only air.

Such times,

they are

so utterly delicious,

mightily precious.

Hold on to those

like the world’s most fragrant rose.

A reminder of what is possible,

preferable,

desirable:

Freedom

to be

Me-

who I really am

in service

to a much Higher

Purpose.

To no longer play small,

answering only to a Divine

inner

Call.

Down with the ubiquitous cubicles,

those notorious

killers,

containers

of the Soul!

Please wake me when I am free.

For, I cannot bear the indignity

of any

captivity.

I

Inspiration: Wake me When I am FreePoem: Tupac Shakur, Music: Babatunde Olatunji

Advent

A time spent

in deep contemplation,

in preparation

for what God

to the world

sent:

A Love Divine

came from up high

to make fully flesh

The Word;

to demonstrate

prayers are indeed heard

and prophesies fulfilled

as per His time

and perfect will.

Emmanuel-

Hallelujah,

our God dwells

among us all!

Born humbly

in the House of Bread,

He came to save,

to minister,

to transform

the thoughts

the darkness

residing, hiding

in our head,

imploring we chose-

instead-

only Love

only Light

-always

until the end

of our human days.

 

Joy in Repetition

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.

 

Circles of Life

No beginning,

no real end,

around we go

again and again.

No thing is created,

nor ever truly destroyed.

All comes back, newly restored.

We say goodbye,

only to soon again say hi.

The illusion of lost,

it feels so real;

yet, is such a lie.

Bonds are never broken,

no way,

no how.

“‘Tis the truth,” they say,

those who have woken,

who heed the subtle cues

and disorienting déjà vu;

those who can see through and beneath,

well beyond this realm,

who venture down deep,

then back up to tell

the Story of Life,

its circular path

of ash from ash,

of I in you and you in me

and Life’s beautiful infinity.

“The story of life is quicker than the wink of an eye, the story of love is hello and goodbye…until we meet again.” ― Jimi Hendrix

 

 

 

The Children

20 November 2016,

it is Universal Children’s Day.

And so, I pause

take time

to breathe

to pray.

So much inside,

I want to bring out,

to display-

especially,

given the climate

of our present day,

where our children

are forced a diet

of intolerance and hate.

How do we teach our children well

in this painful realm?

How do we speak of

the rights of the child

when rights in general

appear in such peril?

We can,

indeed we simply must

do

be

better

for the Little Ones

who look up to us

with such innocence,

such tender and abiding

trust.

They are our teachers,

the children we bear,

holding us accountable

for all we say we value,

the principals we purportedly

hold so very near and dear.

Little mirrors,

our children,

the opportunity

to either see

their reality

and respond accordingly-

or ignore,

leave our mess

in their hands

for remedies to explore.

Either the chain continues,

or we

destroy.

 

 

 

 

 

Friday

Whoa!

Another week

has passed

so quick,

so fast

at a pace,

I can’t seem to grasp!

One minute, it is Monday-

the thought: how will I last?

The next minute, Friday,

relief, some time to relax!

Bittersweet is

the end of the week.

Some joy,

some pain.

Many questions

remain:

Did I get

what I was to learn?

Did I summon

enough nerve

to truly serve?

Where did I grow?

Where was maturation slowed?

What parts of me

do I transform and release?

Next breath never guaranteed,

nor is any day of next week.

It’s Friday,

the day to savor

the short respite,

to pivot

and change perspective.

Go in,

give in,

make way and waves;

like a voodoo chile

filled with Light and smiles

play and create-

these are the mandates

of

Fridays.

God (Chapter One)

In stillness

is

God.

Nowhere and everywhere

is

God.

Belonging to no one,

yet to everyone

is

God.

Praised and despised

is

God.

Loved and feared

is

God.

Within and without

lives

God.

Savior, Tormentor

Father, Mother

Teacher, Friend

is all

God.

The Alpha,

The Omega,

The Eternal I am,

is

God.

From ash to ash.

from dust to dust,

is

us.

 

 

Silence

Ah…

quiet,

absolute,

delicious

silence.

Thank you Lord!

Not a sound,

no one around.

What sweet bliss

is this!

A calm

washes over me,

a deep peace,

one that surpasses

all human understanding.

I am home-

free at last-

miles away from

that urban storm.

Breath,

now comes easily.

The eyes,

they see more clearly.

The heart,

from which inspiration flows,

softens, expands, slows.

The ears sigh,

relieved, they smile.

I feel me

coming back

to me-

returning to love

refilling,

replenishing.

I am me

again!

 

 

 

I Am…

I am

as God

created

Me.

The part

that is

Eternity.

The true Me,

not the one

confined to

this body

nor defined by

human imagery

and idolatry.

Rather,

I am free

formless in

my essence;

a Spirit

in

of not

this world-

no beginning

nor end.

Just playing

at it

again

and

again.

 

 

Memories of the Child

Memories of Me as Child

very rarely

feature

prominently

in my mind.

Sometimes,

a memory

will come

spurred by that

of another One.

Such was the case

recently

when the memory of

a beating came to me.

Perhaps, the worst ever

by my parents

wrought,

the result of me following

my child heart.

An adventuress,

I have always been

from deep within,

yearning to explore my world,

for real life to unfurl.

Such was the case when

at ten years old,

I did something very bold,

against which I’d been sternly told.

I visited the home of a classmate,

Molly was her name.

She had dark hair,

freckles and such seductive flare!

Molly lived in the biggest house I’d ever seen,

just down the road from my apartment building.

Four stories, it stood,

dignified and handsome –

in sharp contrast to the rest of the ‘hood.

Intrigued, curious, in love, I was.

Hence, how could I have declined

Molly’s invitation to come inside?!

Adventure called,

I could not it stall!

A blissful afternoon I spent

while my parents wondered

where their child went.

Alas, all good things must come to an end;

my parents found me at my friend’s.

That evening, I learned

there is a price for authenticity,

that its sweet pleasure is earned.

Fear and anger were unleashed

with every swish

my father’s belt

on my young skin

released.

Though, the physical wounds have since healed,

the memory is sealed,

seared forever into my Soul.

There to one day be told.

Not a story of pity, no!

Rather one of victory

and great resiliency.

For you see,

I am still me

filled with the same boundless curiosity,

in love with Life immensely.

Always will I be,

no matter the external story.

 

Sculpture: First Portrait of Roma of Barbados, 1932, Jacob Epstein