integrity

What will my role be in The Revolution?

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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.

 

 

Joy in Repetition

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There is indeed

Joy in Repetition,

in doing it

again and again,

learning to see it

outside and in,

the nuances,

the subtleties-

variations on the

exact

same

theme.

What a pleasure

to be delivered

repeated opportunity

for vision,

to better see

what is true-

what is reality.

Day in,

day out;

year after year,

the same issues

reappear.

They come

looking for resolution,

for final absolution.

There is indeed

Joy in Repetition,

in the single-minded commitment

to always come back home

to Self

so as to be

of greater service

to everyone else.

Each Other’s Keepers,

we truly are.

All of us,

big, bright Shining Stars.

Alas, we often forget

from whence we came.

As such,

we are wont

to play

dangerous, destructive

games-

veering off our path,

so far, one can only laugh.

But sins are forgiven;

therein we’re saved!

The Joy in Repetition,

a clean slate,

yet another chance

to pivot,

to reevaluate,

to atone,

to return Soul to its Home,

to not stray

and become lost in the daily fray.

The Joy in Repetition,

returning to love

repeatedly

and

consciously;

relentlessly changing

the subliminal scripts,

adjusting to one

that is truth,

the more accurate,

gentler

fit.

Great Joy in Repetition,

a lifetime

of exploration-

digging deeper,

going farther,

climbing ever higher.

Over and over

and over

again-

when does it end?

Perhaps,

only

in Heaven.

 

Memories of the Child

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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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monday

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It is Monday,

a blank page,

a clean slate.

The day to exfoliate,

slough off the old skin,

the things that weigh down

and only deaden.

It is Monday,

the start of a new week,

bringing with it

opportunities to seek

the Light and beauty

in all we meet.

It is Monday,

a day of reflection

to answer the questions

for self-manifestation.

We ponder in silence

asking our God for His Guidance.

My Lord,

what to sow?

who to know?

when to go?

where to grow?

why so slow?

It is Monday,

the time to do over

to try again

for that four-leaf clover.

Another chance

to alter one’s circumstance,

to self-enhance

and awake from long trance.

Penetration

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What does it take

to penetrate

the walls you make

for protection’s sake?

How do I get

to you

into you

through you?

What am I to do?

I come,

you run;

I confide,

you hide;

I offer space,

you then hesitate.

What does it take

to penetrate

your mind

your heart

your body

your soul?

How to release

some of that control

to which you hold

as if it is gold?

A body so tight,

a mind attuned to fight

or flight.

Yet, underneath,

I see a spirit

seeking an invite,

desperate for a way out.

When you are ready

to let me in,

to be the feminine

to my masculine,

I’ll come running.

When you are

no longer so scared,

I’ll be there.

When your mighty walls

finally

crumble and fall,

I offer myself

at our beck and call.

 

 

Eleven Years

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On the sixth day in the month of September of the year 2005:

A cell phone rings.

“It is your father,”

says the somber mother

to the busy daughter.

“He has been taken

to hospital…a stroke.”

 

Eleven years ago,

my Pop transitioned;

he left body

and went to Heaven.

One is never prepared for death-

especially that of a parent.

You know it will come eventually,

makes sense intellectually;

a matter to run from emotionally.

The day before he was to die,

he kept calling my cell line.

Over and over, he tried.

too tired and busy was I.

“I’ll call him tomorrow,”

I thought, fully justified;

not knowing he would not then

be alive.

Did Pop sense

his time had come?

Is there something he needed to tell

his eldest one?

What did I miss in

missing his call?

Did he go

thinking

I cared not at all?

Along with grief,

from guilt I found little relief.

Over and over,

in my mind,

I wrestled with my use of time.

Questioned my responsibilities:

Were they aligned with my priorities?

Eleven years later,

older,

a tad wiser,

I can begin

to myself forgive.

We do our best

in the moments we live.

Perfection, not the final goal.

Missteps, falls –

a part of it all.

Lessons learned

in his life and death-

Thank you Father!

No more regrets.

 

 

 

Blue

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what you say about Blue

is really a reflection of you.

what you think about her,

a mere child, another’s daughter,

only reveals

your mind’s fodder.

it’s all about you,

Beloved,

never “the other.”

about the lens

through which

you see

your world

and your brother.

look deep within,

my Friend,

see finally

the depths of

your own self-hatred.

bring up to Light,

the memories,

tragedies,

stories

against which

you constantly

struggle and fight.

the ones that state softly

with great malignancy

only that

you’re ugly and unworthy.

beware,

going there.

for, ego will be scared.

it will deny,

try to you from yourself hide,

play with your mind,

saying:

“don’t go within,

too much of a burden;

play always on the outside to win.”

alas,

illusion, so easy,

often trumps reality

for many.

brothers, sisters, family –

we must re-member what we truly are:

Shining Stars,

servant spirits on a human journey

born of Him

to fully manifest

only our highest

and very best

Self.

Nothing else.

 

 

Au Cœur

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Walking around

the City streets,

this piece of graffiti

I repeatedly meet.

It reads

to me:

Protect your Heart.

“Why?”

I wonder.

“Is such a thing

even possible?”

I ponder.

Is not

The Heart

meant

to be used,

broken open

and well spent?

Le Cœur,

it will never relent,

nor exhibit

sustained discontent,

doing that

for which

it was sent.

The grand design,

the clear intent

for us to be truly,

in life, content.

Strong and resilient,

The Heart,

also very smart,

crafted this way

from the very start.

Unlike a piece

of rare fine art,

The Heart

is not made

to be placed

on a wall

deemed too delicate

to fall.

No, no, no, no, no!

Not at all!

I contend

to me and friends:

Lay bare,

Le Cœur,

even as scared,

it’ll take you there,

that place,

that divine space

where only

COURage makes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sun Salutations

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Dawn of a new day-

hooray!

Awake!

Give thanks!

Pray!

As within,

so without.

Morning meditations

strengthen thy House.

No perceived stress felt.

Mind, heart, body –

all aligned,

all in exquisite rest.

Work flows smoothly.

Everything moves so easily.

All that is seen is beauty,

even in this, the

big

busy

City.

No cacophony,

just sweet melodies.

No hurry,

only curiosity.

Frowns turned upside down;

smiles abound.

Gratitude, shared and found.

I see you, you see me.

Namaste,

we are a family!

No self-recrimination,

no regrets;

only admission

one did one’s best.

And so,

the stage is set

for when

dusk is met.

Peaceful sleep

will thee meet

with this day complete.

 

L’Artiste

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Blessed unrest,

the nest

in which

The Artist

all ways

seems to

reside.

Here,

she strives

to refine

define

design

that which is

ineffable

intangible

deeply spiritual;

that which dances

mysteriously,

provocatively

in her Head

then spreads

quickly

urgently

to her

fervent

Heart;

that which is

commonly

referred to as

one’s art.

A blessing

and a curse,

this art.

No clear end,

nor definitive start.

In its birthing,

both joy and pain,

moments crystal clear,

moments utterly insane.

Riddled with

insecurity

frustration

and doubt

throughout,

The Artist

stays the course

no matter the costs.

She simply must

and trust

in something

higher;

something

beyond

her.

For, she is but

the mere vessel,

a human conduit

through which

the insistent art

grows and flows,

and then

into the world

it goes.

Where it lands,

The Artist

is not

to know.

Not her concern

to this learn.

She’s done her part,

releasing the art.