dreamed last night
of a school bus 🚌
containing fifty-five passengers –
all Me.
different stages, faces, phases.
students – curious 🤔 and studious;
sensitive and pensive.
on a trip one bright day,
another school bus comes along.
suddenly, out of sight – bam!
“bodies every where!” some one screams.
on my school bus 🚌
frozen, in shock 😲
“why them, not us?”
fear is a Gate.
to where?
another realm,
a clearer lens,
an unimaginable
reality,
a new face,
a chance to awaken
and break
destructive cycles,
generational patterns,
and long expired
unconscious
contracts.
a different vibration –
more stillness
on this Side,
bliss-full contemplation,
grounded regulation,
time for deep integration,
leading to
coherence and its twin, remembrance.
Here too,
the surrender and freedom
that beckon
sweet Peace
from its longtime captor, fear.
what will it take
to study war no more?
how many precious Lives;
how much devastation;
to shed delusions
of “you”
“me”
“they”
“we”?
what will it take
to See
inter-sectionality,
inter-dependence,
inter-being;
that I am Me
because you are You?
how to be finally relieved
of this exhausting
burden and cycle of trauma
seeded in
retaliation
revenge
reactivity
dis-regulation
and perceived “wins”?
where is the Space
for cultivation of
mind-full
measured
response?
what will it take to just
STOP ✋️
consciously chose
LOVE
in lieu of hate?
when do we decide
we walk the paths much less trodden –
forgiveness, Truth, reconciliation?
what spells and prayers might we invoke,
sacred concoctions prepared
to awaken from our stubborn slumber,
to re-member our shared humanity,
banish war from our vocabulary,
curate abiding Peace ✌️ 🙏 only ❤️
Dreamed of Crimson
last night.
The color of blood,
a symbol of pain –
Crimson on the streets;
streaked in the snow;
steeped in the Ground.
crimson on our hands,
we reek of it,
blinded and choking on it.
redemption can only come by it.
I did not see You,
Mystical Eagle.
saw Your shadow –
dark
atop the green of the grass
in juxtaposition to the otherworldly
blue of Your Sky.
caught the outline of Your Wings –
wide open
confident
gliding.
even in shadow,
Eagle
enchants and emboldens.
always so activating,
the summer months,
for me:
so much skin exposed,
flesh seemingly everywhere-
breasts
legs
midriffs
butt checks-
all as overwhelming
and stifling
as the humidity
and the heat
and that inner voice
incessant speak:
“cover up and hide,
yours is not a body
for display to the outside.”
In BeLoved relationship
now –
menopausal,
modern elder,
refined lines,
silvered hair.
More touch craved.
Intimacy curated.
Explorations of re-membered Souls.
Wanderings taken through dilated minds
and in bodies made soft, delicate
by the passage of time.
With gentle intentionality,
fierce penetration
catharsis
synchronization
of Hearts broken wide open repeatedly.
Conversations – rich, infinite, deep
while the wondrous sea
teases our entangled feet.
Meandering walks in The Untamed Woods,
silently communicating
as Kindreds are wont to do.
Nourished by
succulent food,
mystical tonics,
wild-crafted wines,
quiet evenings spent
luxuriously entwined
in sheer awe of The Big Sky.
A taste of Blessed Divinity at play:
you were always coming my way,
and I
preparing for you,
my wildest dreams
come true.
The Mother gave birth
To three daughters
None of whom
Would ever bore another.
Two of the daughters –
The eldest and the youngest
No longer carry their uterus.
Two surgeries-
The one, reluctant to wake from Anesthesia’s deep slumber.
The other, she almost did not recover.
The only daughter with all organs intact,
Chose to walk a childless path.
The Mother
is sad
heartbroken
grief-ridden.
Blaming herself
for the end of the family line.
No legacy, only perceived decline.
“Why”” she asks, wailing at her Fate.
“Did I
in Life
make a horrendous mistake?”
family –
what does this word mean, really?
blood relations?
friendships?
resonance across space & time?
from the Latin word famulus,
denoting servant;
same root as familiar,
yet family can feel
more distant than stranger.
our people, our tribe,
our ride or die –
we so easily say,
but behave
often
in an entirely different way.
loneliness continues to rise
worldwide.
perplexed, we ask why
given so much connectivity.
might it be
because we
forget
how to be
how to do
family?
“Autobiography begins with a sense of being alone. It is an orphan form.”
― John Berger
human, you are multitudes –
elegant in essence,
an imperishable scent
and eternal resonance.
malleable and unpredictable;
always
shifting and morphing;
at once,
growing and dying,
unfolding and numbing,
emerging and regressing,
ordinary and exceptional,
embryo and silo;
an assemblage, one and the same –
yet, each unique, many different names.
human, you are
mystical, whimsical
curious, mysterious
practical, laughable
horrible, beautiful
radiant, tarnished
emotional, rational
gifted, stupid
immensely generous
and abundantly selfish;
transcendent and resistant,
so richly nourished
and yet stunningly famished:
trickster and teenager,
sages and fools –
humans, you are all
multitudes.
burgeoninc 