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.

 

 

 

What will my role be in The Revolution?

What role will I play in The Revolution?

What will my Lord require of me to help bend that long arc of the moral Universe always toward justice?

How will I be asked to repay the debts to those who came before, who took the hits and falls so that I might on their broad, brave shoulders stand – in the moment – free and tall?

To whom much is given, much is required. A government truly for the good of all the people and run by all the people comes at a high cost – the cost of caring, of voting, of marching – of being ever diligent and vigilant, opposing with steadfast love the misguided forces that would hate from the place of fear and darkness cutting through all our human hearts.

What role will we the people play in The Revolution now that the pendulum has swung back, seemingly all the way to the other side and another time – the response to the call for higher love and broader inclusion; the response to the call for pluralism and government visually reflective of its many peoples?

When did we forget our basic tenet that we the people are One – E pluribus Unum? Either we stand together – united, or become completely undone – indeed, extinct – by the misperception that we are not one and must only lookout for number one.

There is no middle moral ground; we can no longer simply stand around, desperately seeking a savior to come down and bear the heat for our collective neglect and defeats.

No, the answers are not out there – never were. The heroes lie on the inside and have thousands of faces. Be still and know that we each have a specific role to play, some piece of the work to claim, an assignment bearing only our name.

May we the people with courage and deep conviction, accept our respective tasks to ensure our beautiful American Experiment lasts, and the freedom for which it always strives remains vibrant and forever alive.

 

 

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!

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

mystic bonds

Souls intertwined

no matter the distance and time

elapsed

between the physical and the mind.

Namaste, we say,

each other’s Light clearly see

and then immediately retrieve

where we last left our story.

No beat missed,

no talk of business,

only laughter

born of pure, present bliss!

Effortless

seamless,

we fall back into resonance.

Creating anew

and out of the blue;

recalling the old,

all once joyously told.

This is no stranger,

this familiar unfamiliar face.

Rather a beacon of grace,

a safe space,

a peaceful place

for healing

and life-affirming

embrace.