Inner Stillness in Predawn Darkness

There is inner stillness in the predawn darkness as

The forest begins to stir around me.

 

They seem to notice my presence

“Someone is among us”, they mummer.

 

As I sit in silence and wait,

The Eastern sky begins to lighten and

 

The earth responds with movement,

Air movement, a stirring, ever so slight and gentle,

 

More sensed than felt.

I continue to sit in silence and wait.

 

At last I can feel them coming closer, one by one.

Not in outer distance but in inner peace.

 

As they circle me I can feel them saying “Welcome”.

They bring such wisdom in their silence.

Such kindness without motion or audible voice

 

But a voice nonetheless, a voice that is felt with the soul

Not heard with the ears.

 

A voice that is eons old, no, older than that:

A voice that has existed since the beginning of time.

 

Since the time before manifestation.

Their voices speak to me in the sweet darkness of the woods

 

Telling me a tale of love, acceptance and kindness.

A story of life, of the essences of loss and the pain of suffering,

 

Of the agony of misunderstanding and mind induced perceptions, and

Selfish longings and needs: all of my own making.

 

But there is sympathy and empathy in these voices too, they know the pain,

They have felt the suffering, tasted the tears and watched their own hearts melt with disappointment.

 

The agony of loss is no stranger to their collective heart, so they truly understand my

State of mind today and give me comfort and love in a way only they can.

 

They know how I miss he who passed through the veil, they know him and he them. They are one together and it is his presence they allow me to feel here in this mourning morning softness.

 

The trees are my saviors; they surround me with their gentle strength and hold me in their arms

In the hardest of times, they understand without judgment, they feel my heart beat with theirs

 

As they stand together – silent sentinels of everlasting light and hope in

Noble silence and truth.

 

I am renewed by their strength, honored by their kindness and

Forever grateful for their love.

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The Soulscape of My Heart

Outcroppings of rock and

Lichen covered pinnacles of grandeur are

God’s favorite places.

Here he lets us see,

Lets us in on the secret of what makes him happy.

His eyes sculpted the mountains with a glance,

His hands scooped the valleys with ease giving light and dark a place to play.

His breath still powers the winds that sail and howl over the cliffs

And stir the hearts of human kind.

The mountains are God’s sacred place and

A place where I go to feel His power,

To be closer to heaven

To touch and feel His love.

He exists forever in the hard landscape of rock and

In the soft soulscape of my heart.

Sunrise Lover (this is a favorite from a few years ago. Reading this always brings me back, back to that lovely place in the past)

My Sunrise lover sleeps in

Soft, warm darkness.

As sunlight filters in at dawn and

The room brightens, his form slowly comes into being,

Emerging from the rumpled pile of bedclothes.

He is smooth, warm, dark and lovely.

I lie next to him, my face resting against his.

In the early morning’s half-light I can just make out

His eyelashes, resting on his smooth cheeks.

His noble nose is outlined by the

Light spilling in through the window.

His lips are beautiful and full,

Soft and sweet.

And as the room continues to lighten,

His breathing quickens and his body stretches.

I move away from him just a bit

To take in his whole being.

He is strong, lean and beautiful,

All I could ever want or need.

He must feel my presence and

His eyes flutter open.

His smile, at seeing my face so close to his,

Is so beautiful and welcoming,

As if to say he missed me while he slept.

Star Soul

Star shine drips from the night sky and runs along the naked winter tree branches like syrup

Leaving iridescent trails of silver to wrap around the rough barked trunks.

The sliver shine lights my way

As it spills star souls on the forest floor and

While I follow the star trails, eons pass in an instant and eternity sleeps

In the soft warm glow of acceptance and starlight.

The cold surrounds my soul and heart in these winter depths but the

Dense air adds clarity to my vision as I walk the trails of stars.

They take me to a different place, a place at once new and ancient,

A place to observe all in silence while cloaked in the winter wood.

I see mosses hold their breath in the glow of the star-flow and hear them whispering their secrets to a silent waiting cosmos while holding tightly to the trunks of the trees.

Late geese fly across the moon, their cries urgent in the night sky

Confused by the uncommon shimmering silver ground below.

I am not alone in this realm of silver winter as

The forest is full of the souls and spirits of summer’s love.

I feel them all around me, darting in and out of tree shadows,

Stopping to watch me from behind drifts of truth and light.

The discarded autumn leaves warm the soil beneath the drifts

And life waits in patient stillness.

My mind becomes as still as the waiting life as I travel the empty space between the stars reflected in the snow’s white depth.

There is no urgency in me or in this place

Only the beauty and silence of peace and star light.

The winter forest is a secret,

A complete world in and of itself hiding in plain sight.

Its silence a decoy to protect its love lying safe and secure underground.

Go to the forest; breathe in the silent dripping starshine,

Follow the starlight as it traces the outline your soul.

Blend with the magic of the forest as

It is only there under the canopy of eternity that you can become as silent and still

As the dense crisp air surrounding you and once again, as in the beginning,

Go home to that place within that holds you in the soft silver glow of now and

Within that silent place returns you to wholeness.

The soul of the winter forest knows and understands you.

She is waiting for your return.

No Longer Enough

At least this one was amusing.

Inappropriate at times, but amusing.

With no history or back story,

Just comical antics and surface details.

A few weeks with no consistency; he came and went,

Tried to pick up where he left off as if no time has passed.

Apparently, he started something he couldn’t finish.

Maybe he never intended to.

But his intentions are of no consequence to me now as

I have taken a step up.

The rules are not the same for this new one,

My old rules no longer apply.

My standards are higher now, they are as elevated as I am.

But In spite of this most recent mistake, I refuse to give up.

My heart still longs for that one touch, that one look, the right one,

The one my heart waits for.

It is all I need, all I want, and so simple but so hard to find.

So, this one can fade back into nowhere from where he came as

Amusement is fun but shallow and

Most definitely no longer enough for me.

A Perfect Autumn Afternoon

The cottage windows were frosted at daybreak and with the cold morning sunlight,

My skylight became a witness to a shower of golden leaves falling on the roof.

A gentle creaking and crackling came from the wood stove as

The flames warmed it and me from within.

Baked beans simmered in the oven for hours

And filled my house with delicious aromas.

Now, as the afternoon shadows grow longer, I am warm and toasty in my robe

With a half-knitted sweater on my lap while

All around me is softness, warmth and peace.

A perfect Autumn afternoon.

Passions

I know that I love what I love.

My passions are many.

The sound of thunder ignites my soul.

The scent of simmering soup warms my heart.

My passion overflows for clear glass bowls and jars,

Shelves full of home-grown goodness,

Baby smiles and sighs,

Forest trees and critters,

Gardens full of life and love,

Friends and family,

Krishna’s promise of another day of light and joy and

My lover’s heartbeat at midnight.

My passions consume my heart and fill my soul and body

Leaving no room for sadness and negative thoughts as

I have no passion left for them.

Between Seasons

The forest is different now,

Everything has changed.

The sky’s blue is colder,

The north wind is stronger, and

The trees’ summer green has faded.

Their leaves, lighter green now, are studded with hints of red and gold, brown and yellow.

My garden plants are lying over

As if to say “enough”.

They are entitled, they have given me all they can.

But nasturtiums, marigolds and impatients are troopers and refuse to let go.

They will stay strong until the frost’s icy fingers drag them down to rejoin the earth and sleep.

Summer’ song birds have long since flown away, and in their absence

All I hear are the crickets and the crows.

Autumn evenings are chilly and quiet, the silence broken by the occasional lonely bark of a fox and the haunting calls of the owls.

Heavy wind chimes hanging in my forest have been silent all summer but

Now sing with the strength of autumn winds while thistle down floats by in layers of life to be.

This season between the seasons is one of slow change but with an inevitable end.

There is no turning back, no chance to stay and nowhere else to go.

But in spite of this certainty, there is no turmoil, no angst or resistance among the trees and flowers for they know

This is how it should be, how it must be,

How it has always been.

One season losing its grip and

Sliding gently into the next.

My Hands

My hands are softer now,

More wrinkled but softer.

The physical strength of youth has faded

But the strength of endurance has remained.

Life is softer now too,

Also more wrinkled but softer.

Youth’s sharp edges have been dulled,

Made safer by times wearing.

Just as water over rocks smooths and polishes them,

My physical shape too changes with time but

My inner song remains the same.

 

The Keeper of the Words

I will write it, I know I will, but

The thoughts are not yet ripe.

It takes time.

They are lingering in the back of my mind.

I can feel their presence,

Taste their flavor, and

Feel them in my soul.

The words to express my thoughts are

Getting closer and stronger but

I am almost afraid of them

Because I know when they are ready,

They will flood my will and overwhelm me.

There will be no stopping the tide.

The words will flow through me as they are not of my making alone.

They are thoughts and ideas that have a need to be born into this world

And I am only the wielder of the pen,

The keeper of the words.