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.
I don’t recall
ever
seeing your violent side.
To me, you were always
one-of-a-kind –
the cool,
tall,
dark & handsome uncle.
Never saw the part of you
who terrorized
your beautiful wife;
the you
who would beat
women
children
with a baseball bat!
Could I have loved you
if I had witnessed that?
Like Jekyll & Hyde,
we humans.
So many contradictions
and perplexing multitudes.
“Good” and “evil”
in equal measure
cutting through
all our hearts.
Are we to be confined
to the worst moments
of our lives?
We are made
crafted
molded
into who we become.
No innate monsters,
only beings
tragically un-done
wrecking havoc
in their altered state.
How do we be different –
infuse more love and tenderness;
choose significantly less violence,
champion wit and wisdom
instead of whips on children’s skin
and weapons of mass destruction?
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!
always so activating,
the summer months,
for me:
so much skin exposed,
flesh seemingly everywhere-
breasts
legs
midriffs
butt checks-
all as overwhelming
and stifling
as the humidity
and the heat
and that inner voice
incessant speak:
“cover up and hide,
yours is not a body
for display to the outside.”
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.
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
…a small still voice
inside
whispers
delicately and definitively
stand up,
Rise.
The worst is over.
Like the Phoenix
from the smoldering ashes
you are meant
to again
spread your wings,
Fly.
For unto the world,
your gifts to bring;
God’s Light to shine;
and of only One Love
to all
re-mind.
why am I here, still?
at this time, in this place, within this vessel?
what am I to be, to do, to contribute –
here in this body, space and time?
been seeking since I’m ten,
since consciousness set in:
who, what, whose am “I”?
there are no accidents, it is said.
every thing, every one has its space and purpose –
its raison d’etre.
does one have to unequivocally and consciously know it – one’s purpose
in order to live it, be it, fully manifest it?
what of those who cannot clearly see nor feel it,
where purpose is faint, elusive, scattered – silent, silenced?
Perhaps,
we can live purpose regardless of blindness?
led, driven, propelled from deep within
by an invisible yet strangely tangible Force,
one that whispers imperceptibly yet very clearly:
“don’t worry, my beloved, I got this; I got you. Always. B’lieve that.”
burgeoninc 