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.”
vulnerability
What will my role be in The Revolution?
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
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
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
And after the Fire…
…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.
purpose
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 