blocked 🚫
mere months
after The Transition
of he who was The Force
keeping family afloat,
tethered,
ever so delicately.
without him,
shedding,
the masks came off,
niceties abandoned.
“Love” disintegrated
to the point of blocking 🚫
take nothing personally.
still, sad,
feels abrasive,
like a middle finger 🖕
borne of deep hurt
a sense of disrespect,
expectations unmet.
The Circle 🔵 dwindling
by death
and, now, blocks 🚫
everything
so tender,
tenuous,
ephemeral.
Suddenly,
left eye
redness,
pain,
intense light sensitivity.
oh no, uveitis, again?
so soon?
sadness born of
a knowingness.
“I did this.”
relentlessly
disrespectfully
pushed and pushed,
ignored Body’s
implore
to stop,
subtract.
Then the dream
set in another time –
childhood.
garbage overflowing,
unattended
and yet,
still present.
a father
feeding a mother,
their daughter
holding space
for others.
The next day,
head slammed
into metal.
where?
right above
the healing
left eye!
did the brain move?
was some semblance
of sense knocked into
the head, a subtle
and much-needed,
shifting of consciousness?
A few days later:
morning, bore witness
to a wake of vultures
tearing into flesh.
evening, a searing ache
in the middle of the head,
eyes burning,
bedridden.
relief, only from
sleep –
stop,
subtract.
what is the Sacred Work
I am to do
being
fully
here
now –
tired
grief-strickened
stunned
a tad numbed?
what can I offer
from “my” heArt
to “yours”?
the breath?
mere air?
yes, deep breathing
inhaling,
smelling
like the way of a baby,
taking It all
in and down
to the belly
to the Fire 🔥
hold It there
gently witness
trans-formation.
At the appointed time,
exhale
re-lease
birth
slowly
intentionally
Freshness
something new
something
needed
urgently
now!
This is what
I am
to do.
where does un-certainty
reside in me?
no clarity
here
now.
what color is it,
this tension of un-certainty ?
not sure.
perhaps, butterscotch,
a merging of orange with yellow,
maybe a clue?
the Sacral, to feel,
or solar plexus’ mandate to do?
to only feel
and not to do?
surrender
submerged
feel the body
trans-form
dis-solve
flow
like the sacral waters
re-lease this Soul.
marveling at the resplendent Peacock 🦚
its extra-ordinary ability to in-gest
poison
and trans-form it into breathtaking, awe-inspiring Beauty.
reminds me of the Lotus 🪷
thriving in bleak
muddy waters 💧
ah, the lessons nature teaches
when we choose to slow down
listen intently,
look up & down & all around carefully,
really lean into
the Totality of Life,
this Moment,
each other.
opportunities abound everywhere
to trans-form the perceived mess and chaos
into gentle medicine for all;
into something vastly different than we’ve ever experienced –
more relevant, courageous, mature, and equitable.
there is unimaginable Beauty in this bleakness.
can you feel it?
a constant gnawing
deep within
to be fed
and tended to
through The Mouth
that did not know
its mother’s milk
suckled instead
by the middle finger
of its right hand
The Mouth that spoke
not a word
its first few years
now relentlessly demands
food
attention
silence
rarely satiated
riddled with shame
and melancholy
a downward spiral
often begins.
here, now
this time
a long breath
slowly let out
through The Mouth
gentler with the hunger
less intolerance
more patience.
“Are you homeless?”
she asked,
penetrating my self immersion.
“No, why?
I responded, a tad vexed.
“Because of your bag,”
she said,
pointing to the shopping cart
I was wheeling behind me.
“I am homeless,”
she shared.
I stopped,
emerged from my shell.
We stood
face to face
under a first quarter moon,
meeting each other.
Yolanda was her name –
engaging,
loquacious,
deeply rooted in her faith,
enamored of the Celestial Realms.
She spoke of harrowing experiences in the local shelters,
of the inconsiderate and dangerous conditions –
especially
for a woman
alone.
Just a year ago,
Yolanda had a home,
a husband,
was employed with a car.
A divorce rendered her without,
leading to her sleeping
outside
for the first time
on a frigid and blustery night.
Yolanda alluded to
grown children,
yet gave thanks
only to the kind strangers
who kept her fed
and still alive.
“I will pray for you,”
I offered humbly.
And I have,
and will continue to
pray for Yolanda
and all in our human family
on their own
out
in the bitter cold.
This is not the way it’s supposed to be!
We are each other’s keeper!
Indeed, we are each other!
When did we forget this?
No mere coincidence,
my time with Yolanda.
Divinely orchestrated,
potent seeds planted.
An assignment awaits.
some times
i get hungry,
typically late
at night,
just before
i am supposed to be
in bed.
the hunger comes –
an unease in the pit
of my gut.
the mouth follows
with a desperate urge for…
what
exactly?
don’t want to go deep
now.
and so i reach
for the sourdough bread,
carefully peeling its edges,
nibbling,
satiated.
any pieces beneath the crust –
whoa…intense!
it feels way too much!
we fall down
and we get up
we fall asleep
and we wake up
back and forth
up and down
the spectrum of consciousness
we go
round and round
the cycle of unwellness
until
sometimes quite suddenly
a shift
from deep Within
Grace
a gentle beckoning
to another
completely different
way
Still-ness
is quiet
and slow;
a Mountain top
in lieu of
the marketplace;
blessed Solitude
chosen over
the complexities
of company.
Still-ness
is the Moon’s femininity
relative to
the Sun‘s great fiery 🔥
may we Be Stll
to know
to then act
from Heart 🙏
burgeoninc 