The Deep primal sounds at midnight are
A gathering of voices in the dark.
The language is unknown
But the meaning is understood.
Darkness hides the players
But not the play
As it is a script followed
Since the beginning of time.
The cast of characters remains the same with only
The players changing.
The truth of the story portrayed is undeniable, and
Is perfected in the casting of souls when the sounds of their voices gather and
Eternity resides in the single second of Midnight.
3/1/18
Spread it around,
Steep it with honey.
Mix it with lemon and cream and
Swallow it whole!
The avoidance of my issues give them power and such avoidance, rather than being a remedy, becomes self-defeating. The power is mine, not a power over anyone or anything else but over me, and mine alone.
The defeat of power frees me, frees my soul and heart, and lets in joy, love and peace. My feelings will fade with time and a lack of attention as my attention reverts back to an observation of what the human heart is capable of. I now can see the depths of self-deception to which the hearts quest for love will go. While loving is never a bad thing, fighting my feelings is keeping the ego’s power fresh and alive causing my suffering.
My fear is also going, but slowly, and is not being replaced by indifference but with another feeling, not sure what to call it, maybe curiosity. I must be careful to not give in to any “mind” games that give me permission to be involved with the impossible quest and “thoughts” that I, the ego I, may be able to “fix” this. That is not for me to do, there is no “fix”. Becoming self-aware is the best fix as it is not a fix for anything but me. With me is where my power lies. The power of the eternal I AM.
So here I am, sitting looking out my back windows where the silence is deafening. The space between the trees is the same as the space around my heart. It is filled to overflowing, light and joy in abundance but still, I have to remain aware, aware that not growing weary is the key. They will come, the weariness and weakness, and I must not fight back. I need to let them come, acknowledge them and thereby take their power away, over and over again, as often as necessary.
But in spite of my best intentions, I feel hope and joy fade as quickly as they came. I pray that each time doubt will go away more quickly but I must not rush it or over think it because that too will refuel its power.
I must be vigilant but not insistent!
To love another in this life is a bonus, not a guarantee. To love another, to share that sacred space, the heart space, mine, is such a joy when the love is right.
The anxiety I am feeling is fear, a fear that this freedom will leave me, will stop and never return. I must have faith in joy and peace, as it is only my ego driven thoughts that appear to take it away.
This ego has no power over the me that I Am….
But wait, the ego is strong and is fighting back, again…
I must not engage…
I am finally, totally, here and I will never leave you.
You don’t ever have to be lonely or afraid again.
I am here.
Through the years I have come and gone.
Sometimes stayed close, sometimes far away.
At times lost to you in this secular world,
Tied up by thoughts and indifference.
But now, a change has come, an awakening.
It has happened slowing, in subtle ways and small steps.
I am here.
I will hold you while you sleep.
I will witness your dreams and shoo away your nightmares.
I will hold your heart and put its broken pieces back together.
You will never be away from me again.
I am here.
It will be just you and me now, you and me forever.
There is duality but no separation as I have come home to the place I never left.
Back to the heart that has been the same
Throughout time.
I am here.
I will finally step into the job that was mine
All along.
I will be your protector, your biggest fan, your patient teacher
And, most of all, your greatest love.
I am here.
I am sorry you have suffered, have been abused,
Unloved and broken.
I am here.
You are defenseless against the world without me, but now,
I am here.
Here with clarity, purpose, vision, emptiness, power
And love. Never to leave you again.
To do so would be impossible because I now see that I am you, I am your heart and soul, your “I Am” with no beginning and no end, and
You are my vehicle for experiencing the world, for sensing and knowing the manifested from the un-manifested. You are my beating heart, my body friend and my charge to protect. You are my very own
human—being.
My mind has become my enemy,
One that shares this space inside of me but cares not for my well-being.
It turns night into day, lust into love, wants into envy,
Truth – my truth – into lies.
It whispers in my left ear, words
My right side, it knows, will reject.
In the beginning, my human beginning, my mind
Was my friend, my ally, my confidant, but no more.
So I spend my time sitting and focusing on my
Return to that initial, eternal being,
And when that process is complete,
My mind will return to its natural state as my life navigator and soul companion.
Its taunting will stop, its search for drama will cease,
Its creation of a hundred hurtful scenarios a day will end,
And once again, as it was in the beginning,
It will become my friend.
It waits with patience hands
Outside our knowing, waiting to be let in.
Its story is always the same,
Its truth dependable but not always what we want to hear.
There is no hypocrisy, no deceit in its soul.
It is the soul that fills the void, that encompasses the eternal.
It exists in rhythms of time, tides of dependability,
Cycles of freedom and seasons of hope.
It can be ignored, but never escaped and so it waits,
In beauty and joy, in bliss and acceptance, in love and peace,
For us to wake up and realize it is but a mirror of ourselves,
The face of our existence, the light in our souls,
The essence of our being
Before we were born.
The color outside my bedroom window is gone.
Yet evergreens stay to remind me of life’s continuance, always existing just below the surface.
The trees are stark silhouettes of gray,
Each branch and twig evident and asleep.
There is a new silence in the wood.
It is a soft, comforting, sleeping silence.
A hush of reverence,
A soothing of soul.
Awareness hangs liked smoke among
The naked branches.
It is an awareness of belonging, of no doubts,
Of confidence in the being and faith in the belonging.
And so they stand, the trees, in winter’s silence,
In perfect harmony with their place and mine.
Each a witness to the other and
Both a witness to the One.
Bright blue sky holds the
Silver gray smoke from the chimney.
Golden leaves fall in
Showers from the trees and
Dry brown leaves dance with each other in circles
On faded green grass.
I sit here alone, watching, smelling, seeing and smiling.
A gray squirrel chatters at me from the edge of the forest, what is he saying?
The day is getting late and my house now sits in the shadows.
With the sun in my face, I can barely make it out.
It’s as if it has blended back into the woods
From which it was made.
All that remains is the red chimney, the silver smoke
And the chatterind squirrel.
My place in all of this is erased, and unneeded, it will all carry on without me.
The petunias continue to climb over the iron rooster’s back in defiance of my will,
Or what they perceive to be my will.
I think I’ll go inside now and make more silver smoke.
I start at the edge of the woods,
In the bright shiny green chair.
But the sun moves,
Its fast shadow cooling my feet and the legs.
Cool air rises to take the sun’s place,
Filling its shadow.
So I move, dragging my chair,
Holding my phone and Mary’s book.
I sit again, read a few pages, then the
The sun moves and again I drag my chair.
My spot I choose by the marigolds doesn’t last either and once again
I move.
This time to the red chair by the driveway.
My book and phone follow as I know they will.
And now, as I sit on the driveway in the red chair,
The sun’s shadow creeps ever closer to my feet and
I realize there is nowhere else to go, nowhere to move to,
Nowhere else to be, but it’s alright, an ending of sorts, I guess.
I can leave my chair here, empty, on the driveway,
No one will notice, no one will come to move it.
I am no longer in anyone’s way.
Pumpkins roasting in the oven,
Canning jars full of summer bounty drying on the counter.
Carrots and beets are waiting in the cottage garden, waiting to be pulled and washed,
Blanched and put to rest in the freezer.
Summer’s tender fruits have come and gone.
Only the hardy and hardest of all remain.
The winter squash takes the place of its summer
Thin skinned cousins.
Hard beets, potatoes, and turnips
Wait to be dug and stored in the cellar.
Apples shine on the trees, enticing us to climb and gather.
Their red faces sparkle in the sun, begging to be picked and boxed.
So yet again, we preserve the jewels of summer to be cherished in the dead of winter,
They remind us of the taste of summer, when gardens are asleep and dreaming.
heartwordsforpoetry 