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.”
Twelve months,
fifty-two weeks
three hundred sixty-five days,
eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours,
five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes–
gone
over
done.
A door is closing,
another is opening.
A time for reflection,
a clean slate.
Lessons learned,
goals to re-make.
We know what was
and wonder as to what will be.
What will spill over
from last year to this?
What and who will give way,
create space
for something
new
unexpected
completely transformative?
A mystery, the New Year;
seems to come sooner and sooner
with each passing year-
little time to catch one’s breath
before it’s on to the next!
Perhaps, a good thing,
this perceived speed
with which the years roll by-
less thinking
and worrying,
more being
and accepting.
What will be, will be.
We cannot control
what is destiny.
On the cusp
of a New Year,
we set intentions
and then
humbly
release them,
surrendering all;
taking it
breath by deep breath
minute by precious minute.
Living
fully
in every moment as
hours grow into days,
days become weeks,
weeks give way to months.
And
suddenly
we begin again
and anew.
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
buried deep
inside,
a part of self
wishing only
to hide,
preferring to
“live”
a lie.
how to see
it
let alone speak
it–
that,
which altered
a Life.
innocence
forever lost,
a new trajectory
is now forced.
but not
without
a heavy cost.
one can only run
from The Truth
but so far
before it
festers and scars.
An untold story
will travel from life to life,
causing all matters
of angst and strife
until it is
revealed,
brought
finally
to the Light.
i look in the mirror
and feel old–
outdated
faded.
i am looking through the lens of fatigue,
a tired body is ill at ease,
not always accurately does its mind perceive.
pulchritude has never been my currency,
the first thing most people see in me-
that which lent validity.
living in a world that places so much value
on physical appearance,
i mastered the art of dis-appearance–
learning to hide deep inside;
shrink from severe lack of confidence;
stuff the pain with food
in lieu of alcohol or cocaine.
now, I mature,
a process treated with great contempt,
as if it were manure.
the gift of getting older
is that One gets bolder!
You tend to give
less of a fuck
to the ego
and the others
who think you just plain suck.
Ain’t nobody got the time
for that drama and fuss.
Molecular memory,
this may inform
the long arm of slavery.
The past
reaching relentlessly
into the future.
Those who were once deemed “master”
carry the seeds of feeling superior-
better than those they enslaved:
the men shackled and emasculated;
the women relegated to nannies and maids,
their dark bodies laid open
to cavalierly invade.
Trauma being made
on and in both sides;
a slow
imperceptible
suicide.
When will we finally realize…
I am
waking
from a deep sleep,
wondering
Where am I?
What is it
I had to eat?
How did I get here
to these beliefs?
I rub my eyes
as I try
to make sense
of what has become complete nonsense.
I hear the ancestors cry;
they ask why?
Why are you and your kin moving back?
Do you not realize this is a slap
in the face
to those who were brave?
Don’t allow our sacrifice and pain
to have been made in utter vain-
wasted blood, sweat, and tears
over the course of hundreds of dark years!
Wake up from your deep sleep,
the antecedents weep.
It is now your turn to learn
that freedom ain’t free;
it is your sacred responsibility
to the past, present and future
family.
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.
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!
To most, she is seen as sweet,
angelic and gracious.
To some, she is perceived as bitter,
mischievous, and a tad imperious.
Over there, her presence elicits
captivation and glee!
Here, she is an irksome mystery
from which all wish to quickly flee!
It all depends
on the spectator lens,
the time of day,
the way
the wind bends.
Not about her;
it is simply
a matter
of subjectivity.
She, sensitive in nature,
must re-call
the most challenging agreement
of them all:
Take no thing personally.
“It is not about me,”
she must come to see,
so as to not suffer needlessly,
drowning in an abyss of sheer misery.
To live peacefully,
to walk confidently,
to do righteously,
she must be steeped
only
in He.
burgeoninc 