spiritual language poetry & writings

mamaist reconciliations

 

 

rivals turn partners in a soul’s wink
there are nobody’s shoes to fill anymore
we like to look at it and leave it,
for in taking, there will be nothing left,
in leaving–look, no footprints!

*

I am a sick animal too
releasing this energy, pushing it
through, makes me feel better too

*

songs of surrender in this big sleep
the secret scroll we’re all learning to read
walking a dark trail, approaching unseen
time to face each other out in the open
this adversary and me–
we both need translating

*

you’d think we would’ve learned by now
these missing bits and pieces
is the old secret
of brothers and sisters
coming together to offer
the world a new skin,
that says, That’s who I am!
to old habitual ways of being–

karate expert, huge sumo wrestler,
wise sensei, silent ninja,
robotic salaryman, submissive geisha –
these stereotypes would put us — yes, us –
out of action…
Mr. Smith versus Mr. Muto, punch! versus chop!
Say it ain’t so!  versus Ah, so!
you want to get in on the act,
worm, after fertilizing this soil,
then keep burrowing till you reach
the other end of the earth…

…you are now entering the City
welcome to the Soul’s bedrock

*

here’s what it’s like:
a bird released from its cage
makes its way to wide open spaces,
only there’s a huge window
between the bird and the wide open spaces

until the window can be opened,
there’s no getting anywhere

so stop beating your wings and making
such a fuss
if you stay still long enough
you might even see your reflection in the pane

*

yes, we keep coming back to meet ourselves
shadow puppetry is one of the oldest forms
of entertainment,
what did you think this silhouette was made of
–words?

*

every time you reach a crossroads it’s time
to open the doors again
the rich/poor divide inside you,
the one always asking if the price is right,
makes the flow possible,
while negotiating the price makes
the world outside habitable

*

all this coming and going
in our dreams
cannot be contained by words,
feelings run too deep
in the stillness–
the way I’m dancing this dance I don’t even have to get up

*

re-creating moments, you think, is some kind of homage?
to what?
in loving memory of my mother
or in loving memory of my father
is your brokenness speaking
which, in being spoken
as a voice saying, Welcome to the Great Outdoors, Nature Boy!
makes your being whole, and your whole being
worthwhile

 

>