The Beat of One’s Own Drums

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

Pearls from Tears

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.

Silence is A Song

Sometimes
silence
speaks louder 
than words.

So much
can be heard
listening
from the space
that binds
the human race.

Energy feels more
poignant
in deep silence;
vocabulary is more expanded.

Silence is not the
absence of sound,
no, more the concentration
of the profound.

An unmasking of sorts,
in silence,
we stand in the nude-
fully exposed-
nowhere to hide
nowhere to go-
a straight line
in lieu of
a circuitous route

Dark Chocolate

I see You.

You have no clue

what your entity

unleashes

within

me.

Instantaneously,

the heat rises

from underneath.

Familiar stirrings,

deep yearnings,

salivation

follows

thoughts of salvation

in the form of sweet sensations

found in your arms

and between your thighs.

You

the color and smell of darkest chocolate,

the taste of an elegant wine,

the touch and feel of a Man at his prime.

Alas, you have no clue

what it is you do,

how I perceive of you.

Two Friends

Two Friends

on a beach

walking,

talking,

planning,

dreaming,

birthing

their visions

into existence.

One Friend,

compelled by her Soul’s necessity;

The Other,

moved by an insatiable curiosity.

Both,

desiring to leave behind

an indelible legacy-

to inspire,

empower,

unleash creativity;

to free the masses

from contraction and boredom

by en-couraging

expansion and freedom!

These two friends

on that beach

were destined to meet,

brought together

by old friends

now deceased.

The story continues

until it is

complete.

 

 

 

The Wave

i must see myself

as part of The Wave,

not some outlier to be saved

from this swarm of humanity

and its seeming insanity.

to most every body,

this frenzied activity

is really quite ordinary.

though, not to me

a Soul that craves

tranquility;

the one that runs from the grind,

just trying to find

much less human density.

must do so quickly,

lest risk immediate psychic misery.

“Oh Lord, help me to perceive differently,”

i pray, so that i may longer stay

in the place where i am free,

not enslaved by a trickster ego

playing devious jokes on me!

Pray

PRAY,

allow God

to show you

His Way,

His Plan,

His Hand.

There’s no need

for you to understand.

Simply surrender

to The Will

of your Creator,

The One who sees

far and wide.

What, then,

is a better guide

to how one lives and thrives

on this journey

called

Life.

Twists and turns,

scars and burns,

new lessons

constantly re-learned.

Such is the stuff

of a Life,

that crooked path of a spirit made flesh.

And so, we humbly relent,

look up, only to the sky

for consistent help.

PRAY.

Listen.

Do only what He says.

 

Give it Away!

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.”

Yield Your Fruit

Yield

your

Fruit,

just give it all away-

that which you came

here

to do,

to say.

Don that suit

with only your name on it.

Bring that song

you were crafted to sing.

Return to the dust

from whence you came

emptied

-with absolutely

no thing

left within.

Go home utterly spent-

’tis the only way

to live a life content.