who are they?
why are they?
what are they?
we look Up
and admire them,
envy and revile them.
fundamentally human
like the rest of us –
ordinary people
with too much extra –
a “gift” and a “curse”
to hold such a place
on our spaceship Earth.
need it always be so-
a few “high”
so many made relatively “low”?
perhaps a little more equity
on the way to generous equality
spurred by empathy,
our shared humanity,
and true understanding
of this current road’s danger
and lack of sustainability.
Dear Penni,
do re-member
Who You Are!
Do not allow
the scorn and
insecurity
of others
diminish Your Light,
trigger self-doubt,
leaving you so stressed
the right side of your face
is trembling,
eyes lowered filling with tears,
posture folded in,
appetite lost,
feeling unappreciated
and misunderstood.
Do re-member
Who You Are!
Our world needs your
shine and smile.
There’s also
a husband
and children
to consider –
your priorities,
above all else –
most especially-
the work
you abhor
that elicits
such a degree
of distress
you can lo longer ignore.
Re-member
Who You Really are-
see You
through You.
to march to the beat of
One’s Own Drums,
to imitate no one,
to innovate
from a place of deep faith
and confidence-
such a mandate
is not for
the faint
in Heart.
it takes courage
to be free,
to be the You
that often only You can see,
to be unique, a bit of a mystique
in a world of followers and shamers.
we were made in God’s image,
reflections of The Divine, The Most High
one and onlys are we –
wonderfully crafted
for a specific purpose and time.
the sake of humanity pleads:
spread your considerable wings!
march to the beat of your very own drums!
no need to compete,
there is more than enough room
for everyone.
Artwork: Walking the Line, Edwin Lester @artistedlester
LIFE
can seem insane.
So many of us are unable
to withstand its pain.
We do our best to live,
to contribute
to a world
constantly changing
and maddening.
Still, through it all
some of us manage not to fall.
Like a seedling
making its way up through concrete,
we spread our wings,
we plant our feet.
We’ve found our place;
we are lauded and celebrated.
But then-
in the blink of an eye,
an “apparent suicide“.
What happened?!
What went wrong?!
Does not success
bring with it sustained happiness?
What of us
for whom no one makes a fuss,
who daily squeeze into an overcrowded bus
to a job that leaves us empty and numb?
If the “extra-ordinary” so regularly succumb,
how then does the “ordinary” overcome?
“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation…” Henry David Thoreau, Walden
I will need to change my life
in order to save it.
This I am feeling to my very core.
Don’t know how much more
I can swallow.
I’m walkin’ on thin ice,
on troubled waters that are shallow.
Born an introvert, Quiet is the air I must breathe,
what sustains and maintains me.
Without adequate doses of silence,
I lose pieces,
become untethered,
cannot see a hopeful reality,
begin to question my existence
and that of all humanity.
Why all the noise –
the incessant chatter and mindless banter?
“Y’all gonna make me lose my mind
up in here, up in here.
Y’all gonna make me lose control
up in here, up in here.”
I will need to change my life
in order to save it.
Deprived of silence,
I feel my blood boiling,
heart racing,
hands tremblin’,
mind slipping.
I can taste that bitter, flimsy line
between love and hate;
that soft, raw space
where even the gentlest among us
can suddenly snap
and do things we can never take back.
The Devil isn’t over there-
No, it plays in us all
bidding we follow
and fall-
fall so hard and low,
we can barely stand up.
I will need to change my life,
re-claim it
in order to save it.
Exactly how to do so
overwhelms and scares –
the tide is seemingly so high.
Got to go deep inside,
to The Core
lean only on that which is Truth and pure.
I remember well my fascination with oysters – rather unattractive on the outside, very rough around the edges. Yet, inside, lay a much sought-after jewel, the pearl. When later I learned that the pearl is the by-product of an irritant entering its sensitive insides, I understood why the oyster so resonated with me. This was me, my life: nothing particularly compelling on the outside – by typical standards – but inside, my heart and my mind, utterly extra-ordinary, beautiful, invaluable and unforgettable.
To this day, I draw my sense of self-worth and place from what lies beneath my skin, that which cannot be seen or felt by most. Alas, residing in a world where the outward appearance is a major determinant of one’s currency and where the attention span continues to rapidly decrease, what place is there for the pearls that lie within? Will anyone pay attention? Does anyone care?
For us, the human oysters, the world’s daily dismissal serves as the irritant; our tears, fodder for the formation of precious pearls. They pile up, the pearls, on our delicate insides, yearning to be seen, worn, to adorn. They were not meant to be stowed away, these iridescent fruits of vulnerability, discomfort and despair. No, they are gifts to be brought to the Light and shared.
And so, with lips quivering, hands trembling and hearts pounding, we take a tentative step, and then another; we open our mouths to speak, softly at first; we pick up our pens and write, allow the pearls to flow out, and then quickly hit send.
Some of what we offer will fall on fertile hearts and minds and be valued; most will be discarded or just plain ignored. No matter. The response is not our responsibility; we are tasked only to release.
I am
waking
from a deep sleep,
wondering
Where am I?
What is it
I had to eat?
How did I get here
to these beliefs?
I rub my eyes
as I try
to make sense
of what has become complete nonsense.
I hear the ancestors cry;
they ask why?
Why are you and your kin moving back?
Do you not realize this is a slap
in the face
to those who were brave?
Don’t allow our sacrifice and pain
to have been made in utter vain-
wasted blood, sweat, and tears
over the course of hundreds of dark years!
Wake up from your deep sleep,
the antecedents weep.
It is now your turn to learn
that freedom ain’t free;
it is your sacred responsibility
to the past, present and future
family.
before making Its way down to Earth,
does the Soul know if it will embody
a master or a dabbler?
one for whom
destiny is crystal clear
while for the other,
purpose is a vague, elusive idea?
the master is crafted for a particular task;
the dabbler meanders-
no set directive or path.
is one gifted,
the other cursed?
one disciplined,
the other trifling?
no wrong,
no right;
simply the story of a Life,
the lyrics of a Soul’s unique song.
Give It away!
For It does not belong to you.
You are but the vessel It flows through.
It chooses you, coming seemingly
out of the blue
to awaken and amuse.
“Give Me away!”
It begs.
“I was not meant to remain hidden in your head,
dormant, because you are afraid.
I come from a place that is nothing but pure.
Hence, no need for you to be insecure.”
Don’t-
yet-
know my true histories:
African
Haitian
American.
Thus, this iteration of Life
is a bit of a mystery
to me.
Not certain where I am going
‘cause I know not where I’ve been.
Still,
plates are shifting
somewhere deep within,
resulting in a tsunami without.
Mighty waves
ripping at my skin-
shredding
shedding.
Left naked and raw,
drenched in the miraculous,
I am
re-created
to some other form:
a new being steeped in grace
and a deep peace
born of the confidence
in its Divine Service.
A clarity in vision
that bears a great conviction;
A fire-
this time-
on the inside
that one cannot hide,
nor its mission be denied.
“Do you know what you are? You are a manuscript of a divine letter. You are a mirror reflecting a noble face. This universe is not outside of you. Look inside yourself; everything that you want, you are already that.” ― Jalaluddin Rumi
burgeoninc 