Iron

I will not carry your Iron,
I will no longer bear your Burdens,
I shall not strive to Redeem you,
I will only Thank you,
for being the vehicle of this birth,
the channel through which this River flowed
into illusion, destined to forget
and then
to remember.
I was to spread these Wings
perhaps wider than was allotted to you,
parents, who did what was your story to do,
to “love” as you were “loved”.
Alas, ancestral trauma,
we drag it from
generation to generation
iteration to iteration
until it dissipates,
withers,
is transformed
back into the Love
from which it
ultimately
came.
All trauma is golden
at its core –
was crafted in service
and protection.
Without it –
likely no ancestry,
no bloodlines,
no opportunity to
re-member;
no journey to take
back to where it all began…
I will not carry your Iron,
I will play
my Role
in melting it.

Inspired by and indebted to Mary Oliver’s stunning poem, Flare
“my mother, alas, alas,
did not always love her life,
heavier than iron it was
as she carried it in her arms, from room to room,”


prayers to you

what’s it all about,
you coming into
this scared space
spewing your hate?
why not go outside
to the streets
into the Light –
strong and proud
expressing as you perceive:
that only white lives matter
all people of color
have “it” coming
that their lives mean nothing.
prayers to you,
for you truly know not
what it is you do.
you have forgotten
what You really are;
alas, you can see but so far-
only to the level of the skin
so utterly limited you are,
tightly constricted
unseen, likely never really heard,
lonely in your Little Box
amidst your tribe
of hardened have nots.
from such profound lack,
you shame and blame
easily kill and maim,
desperately looking outside
for what does not exist within.
no present capacity to self-reflect
nor the tools to adequately take stock
and practice personal responsibility.
fervent prayers for the lost pieces of you-
may you soon re-member and awaken.

 

Tears and Touch

Tears
for lack of Touch;
Touch
then dissolution to Tears.
So fundamental,
touch;
essential
to our development,
to our humanity.
dissolves protective walls,
loving touch,
transforms fears,
awakens and untethers
The Soul.
Akin to breath,
the gift of touch,
a vital nutrient,
a universal must.
So, how to navigate
this time of
distrust
of all touch?

Another Year

Another year
I am granted
to celebrate
my mother
on her birthday!
How many more
chances
will I be blessed
to hear her voice
on her special day;
to see her
physically
in front of me,
not just in a
picture,
a snapshot
of a long ago moment,
or in vague memory.

Penni

Dear Penni,
do re-member
Who You Are!
Do not allow
the scorn and
insecurity
of others
diminish Your Light,
trigger self-doubt,
leaving you so stressed
the right side of your face
is trembling,
eyes lowered filling with tears,
posture folded in,
appetite lost,
feeling unappreciated
and misunderstood.
Do re-member
Who You Are!
Our world needs your
shine and smile.
There’s also
a husband
and children
to consider –
your priorities,
above all else –
most especially-
the work
you abhor
that elicits
such a degree
of distress
you can lo longer ignore.
Re-member
Who You Really are-
see You
through You.

No Ordinary Love

Sometimes, to love someone best is to love them from afar.
It is not to entangle or become entangled into the mundane Mess.
Rather, it is to leave and make space for Self and The Other.
This is especially true for the most sensitive Souls,
the free Spirits and creatives,
the misfits and the misunderstood –
the ones who readily absorb external energy,
in whom the skin is relatively thin and the mind too malleable.
One can be a loner and a lover – different type of love, yes,
and equally as rich, sweet, and intense.
Love and intimacy are too big to be contained, restrained and
forced into a box, told what they are and are not.

COURAGE

At the root of the word Courage is Coeur – heart in French. Apropos, I think, as courage stems from the Heart. It is not an endeavor of the head, of logic. The head would have us run, flee as fast we can, as far as we are able, from fear – our edge, that which is uncomfortable and elicits angst so powerful we become physically ill. It is the Heart, like a loving, nurturing parent, that gently encourages us to stand our ground, to face what is terrifying, to look over the perceived edge. Is it any wonder then that the Heart beats so seemingly violently – almost impatiently – as we commit to pushing ahead, pushing past our fear and self-imposed limitations. It is speaking to us loudly, boldly, forcefully. Lup Dup. “Yes, you can!” Lup Dub. “I got ya!” Lup Dup. “Jump. Fly. Let your Light shine.” Lup Dup. “Be the Change. Set an example. Be the exception.” Lup Dup. Lup Dup.

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.

Loaded Head

where is my Heart in the Moment?
what does It wish to express?
what needs to come up
to come out,
to be said,
seen,
and lovingly released?

i feel no thing,
which can mean
numbness or peace,
cold apathy
or searing heat.

“just leave Me be!”
The Heart begs,
“focus on this Moment instead.
live outside your loaded head.”