All Are One in Him

 

He exists in the space between
The particles of my being.
The internal space in my heart that holds his love
Is infinite.
I hear him in the silence and
Stillness of the Now.
I feel him in the pause between
My in and out breath.
His smile lights my dreams
As his hands take mine and lead me to a place of love and peace.
His life force powers every cell in my body. I know it is so as
I feel it traveling in waves through me with each breath I take.
He speaks to me and holds my heart in the stillness of the night
And brings hope for the new day with each morning’s light.
He has absorbed my fears, anger and sorrow into
His very being and holds them dear for me and from me.
I no longer have to dwell in the past or
Speculate about the future as all are one in Him.
My gratitude is all encompassing
And my love for him limitless.
He is my Lord.
Hari Krishna

 

 

 

Choice at Midnight

 The witching hour,

A time of infinite possibilities.

Midnight is what I want it to be,

Sometimes magical, other times evil.

But the times of evilness are of my own making,

Mine alone.

It is my free choice, I can drift and float in the essence of magical wonder or

Chain myself in the darkness of a black soul.

Both exist in abundance

In the witching hour and I decide which to feed.

The ability and freedom to choose is a grave responsibility,

Frightening in its implications.

There is no one else here,

But they are all watching

Which choice will I make?

Witch choice will make me?

Freedom

It is a freedom of heart, 

A freedom of soul, and

A freedom of sadness.

A sadness for what it wasn’t,

But it was real in its own way.

A  way that only he and I could have chosen.

Unique to and of itself and the only way it could have been.

It was not like any other, not normal in any sense of the word.

A mockery of love and trust and

Short lived, like all the others before and those yet to come.

But it was our way, a way that refused to give up,

Refused to see the truth,

Refused to accept the inevitable,

And repeatedly refused the freedom it deserved.

So now, it has become another time and just another freedom waiting for relief in the shadows.

Another mockery of the truth and another love in vain.

 

 

Memory in Peace

That magic touch,

Remembered in pre-dawn darkness is

Treasured for the gift it was,

The memory it is, and the love it will forever hold.

It is odd how the sound of a train whistle, the barking of a fox,

Or the clanking of trash cans on the street corner can take me there again.

Sounds and actions so totally distinct, one from the other,

Yet completely connected in my heart.

The pre-dawn memory grows lovelier in the distance

Between us,

Until the distance is gone and the

Memory becomes the reality.

Time erases the distance and the anger until the space between us

Becomes filled with positive emotions and non duality.

There ceases to be a me and other, a man and woman

A lover and a beloved as all entities and emotions mix together in the space of a second,

In a dimension of sound and light and fuse into

One, the eternal, the transcendent, with truth at the center of its being.

And in this centered focus, once again, together, we experience the magic of the memory in peace.

 

April 2016

Plans in Silence

 

I can’t make it stop.

It won’t go away.

It stays and steeps

And hides behind the other.

It plans in silence

Until the silence can no longer contain its need and then…

Then it becomes too much.

It takes over, controls, sucks me back down and makes the need too much to take.

I know I give it too much power,

But how can I not.

It is what it is,

What it wants to be.

My opinion doesn’t matter, it never has.

I can’t stop it, I don’t know how.

I can’t learn the language.

Sunday Evenings (re-post from 7-9-17)

 

There comes a soft sadness with

Sunday evenings.

 

A time of day that remains empty unless full,

Lonely unless shared.

 

One week’s ending is

Another’s beginning.

 

Just as his absence is just another ending

And his staying away just another beginning.

 

My lonely heart aches and

Forgotten tears fall in silence as

 

My memories of him are left to collect dust in the corner,

Their silence speaking volumes.

 

No one else cares,

No one else remembers, and still,

The soft sadness of Sunday afternoon silence

Continues without end.
 

Maybe I Don’t Want to Know

There is a voice inside,

A tiny one that speaks to me in the seconds before night turns to day,

Those hard seconds before truth and light floods out the darkness.

The voice is soft and lonely. I can never hear what it is saying.

And all too soon its time is up, the sun rises, and the seconds and the voice are lost in the light.

Maybe tomorrow it will speak up, maybe tomorrow I will hear it clearly and finally know.

Maybe I don’t want to know,

Maybe, maybe …