all the crushing tides,
rivulets, flashing bolts of
life, light, fire and ice
carve these etchings’ speak
and harden, encase tender
flow while seeds erupt
magic, making me
in spite of, because of all
these shredding life songs
“I carry a torch in one hand
And a bucket of water in the other:
With these things I am going to set fire to Heaven
And put out the flames of Hell
So that no one worships God
for fear of hell or greed of heaven.”
Rabia, Eighth-century Sufi mystic poet
stripping life fells me
white silence stills sweet movement
’til the blooming sings
(I haven’t posted in months due to surreal challenges with CFS/ME and all the stripping life can be even without disease. The passing of two precious souls in February overwhelmed me and well, and. Life will, ultimately, dress us up in our naked humanity revealing the simple truth that with or without great health, with or without traditionally-held realities of identifiable productivity…love is all the reason to keep on, even if it’s a bit of a crawl with rebellious outbursts of dance. Here’s to better days.)
Healing hammock ride the sky, in my lingering repose.
Silence washing, flooding,
Crash this deafening noise, all the clamoring
impossibilities’ haunt of rhythm’s worst explosion, enigma’s crueler clarity
suggesting daunting end of days sooner as I
long for, work for, breathe for later, much later.
Wipe away my necessary practice,
the trauma of doling out tomorrows’ chances
via feverish weighing today of…
how much too much, just enough
or not enough now will facilitate more of a future, not less…
why must all these labors somehow suggest
no now and no when or where in which to be or go to or later for which to aim
when their aim is to seize assurance?
So, in my fevered necessities,
somehow slip me past the grasp that deadens days
and back into flow…
Take me to obliteration lovely, blanking out the doling minutes, seconds…
Bind me to places where eternity emerges, maybe there shimmering
on the edge of twilight…or here unveiling the timeless rule of leaves,
and trees holding hammock’s sway.
Gut raw reveal or run. Don’t you weary of holding it all in?
What is it you think your breath will collide with
if you exhale sooner rather than later?
Some untimely death of all your delusions?
Or is it the fear of all that involuntary relaxation,
opening self as soon as you let it all out,
something might penetrate, find your hiding places,
discover your humanity?
Some inner code might unfold. Some quiet desperation may wail.
You might feel something more real than anything experienced before or before.
Or ever.
Or maybe, once wails are spent and feelings felt
and you find you didn’t disintegrate into complete annihilation of existence
-though you may not be sure who this emerging you now is-
you bloom
in the quiet aftermath
of total bankruptcy,
loss of all you perceive as wealth.
Blooming songs long unsung, uncovered in sun’s insisting seek.
pounded by rain, shine…
elements crushing seed’s code…
still I bloom red, soft.
now maybe the dark
envelopes all I believed
but warmth lingers, light
in my veins: a story
of days on the horizon,
blooming life anew.
The heart of the soles of my feet of dancing sigh…they ache on earth pulsing a song long begun, hearing ancient knowing, yearning through the toes to the top of my head.
No ounce of will can bend the tides without the moon’s say so. No gumption of the reddest desire can re-write the years gone by or shift the mountain aside.
So, my feet wait and sigh, humming earth tunes through my being, reminding centuries of roots stretching deep, breathing life in spite of all the carnage haunting dreams left wanting.
And to my end this may be the most these soles know: to grow old in the hum of an ancient song and wait for the next expression of love, to know that only those gifted with fortunate favor and a timing divine make it beyond the mountain and across the sea, only those who dig deep find the center – the one source shaping stories for love’s next challenge, to know one’s failing may be the other’s best and that a world crawling on her knees never gets invited to the wedding feast.
“One cannot have doubt about that which he wishes to trust. To trust love you must be convinced of love. One cannot admit what he does not yield to. To yield to love you must be vulnerable to love. One cannot love what he does not dedicate himself to. To dedicate yourself to love you must be forever growing in love.” Leo Buscaglia
shore breaks here whisper
something about constancy.
love knows all our fears
tossing in tides of
change. we cling to sea’s uproar
’til the silence sighs
and we float ashore,
tumbling mystery and
faith in what we know.
Gonna buy me some fabric at the store by the coastal mystery, the one with no roof
and no walls ‘cept for rows and rows of fabric rolled up waiting for newness and creative wonder
and a woman whose hair is white, her hands full of keys, so many keys as she laughs at me, but not mocking.
She’s on the shoreline in the white sand at the counter and the cash register is awaiting her usual purchase. As we laugh and talk, her man is hiding amongst all those reams of fabric, spying out at me, knowing.
His dark highlights contrast against all the pale sand and call to a sea just within reach.
He trusts implicitly the woman with all those keys.
Gonna make me some bloomers from the fabric or, maybe no, I’ll do what the beautiful woman told me to do, “Order it from a catalog” ’cause…
I’ll be too busy having fun, too much going on to bother with patterns and eyelet fabric. Or sewing machines.
But fabric, I’ll abide. It hides all the best secrets and covers the future in white refusal of shame.
Gonna go find those hair bands and all the jewel-toned loose ends plaited neatly into silver sync.
And I will laugh.
And laugh. As the man behind the bolts of fabric, standing there in his safe fear-filled haven hides
and waits for the bloomers to reveal his best days: Unafraid.
One day, I’ll see his face.
chasing daylight blind,
slip covering soft on soul…
my eyes failed to see.
unending shimmer
blinding clarity’s assault,
suggested love flow.
and within me now
the seeing reveals truth’s hide.
cover me quickly…
relocate heart within,
and behind the bars of life’s
intended refuge.
