Again

I look into his eyes and see what others do not.

I see strength and honesty, hope and love but also

hurt and disappointment.

He has the physique of a man, a strong, dependable man

but his eyes tell me a different story.

With the eyes of a mother, I see the child behind this man.

The one who is still left with the hurts of the past,

who tries so hard, loves so much, feels so deeply.

She was the one who felt vulnerable,

but he is the one who was.

Sadness and tears envelope my heart and soul when I think of him.

The man left behind,

in spite of it all,

Again.

For Rob   6/4/20

Questions

Matters of the heart can be hard, heavy and leave slowly.

Love lingers in disappointment and confusion.

Then softness pervades and dims the sorrow but 

embers remain hidden and kindle love’s flame in secret.

Pain seeps through tears and hearts creak, bend, and sometimes break

with the weight of longing for what might have been,

what could have been,

what should have been.

But now, spring mornings bring clarity, and

Evening tears dry and soften with the rising sun.

Time moves, and memories take their place in silence,

leaving sorrow behind to mingle with Autumn’s discarded leaves.

One ending outgrown has become another beginning.

First love that shifted to become a perfect friendship

now lies deep, protected, remembered,

 and treasured but left behind in winter’s eternal snow.

New choices have emerged from a season of hope and joy

but not without a lingering touch of sorrow and questions left unanswered.

So many questions, haunting questions, eternal questions, ones with no answers and

 those whose answers no longer matter.

I wish I could give you all the answers,

But I have faith in you my beautiful child,

to find your own answers,

 ones far better than mine,

in your time,

in your way,

in your heart.

Secret

Outside my bedroom window is one solitary bird

singing nonstop, all morning.

The same song,

over and over.

Is he waiting for an answer,

or just singing for the pure joy of doing so.

Maybe if I ask him he’ll tell me, or

maybe it’s a secret.

A secret I may have to learn or earn.

I don’t know.

I’ll ask him anyway.

I’ll let you know what he says.

Word Keepers

 They are everywhere.

They sit in piles on my bureau,

stacks on end tables and desktops.

They stand in rows on shelves and are silent,

each holding its own unique secrets.

I can hear their silent words,

Feel their thoughts pushing against their covers.

They wait and are patient, 

a wealth of knowledge standing by.

Always steady in their thoughts, never changing their minds,

dependable and steadfast,

reliable and faithful.

I feel their presence surround me,

Taste their flavor,

and am overwhelmed by their potential.

They hold the key to so much,

so much just waiting on the shelves, desktops and end tables,

enriching my space with their presence,

waiting for me to open their covers and

Set their words free.

Friday Afternoon Sit

As I sit in darkness, a glimmer of light shines around the dark edges of my closed eyes,

growing until my field of vision is full of blinding white light.

It is here that hope and love float freely on waves of peace and

Krishna’s voice sings along with the song of my heart.

He flushes away the darkness and frees me from the pain it carries.

I feel sorry for the darkness.  It lacks the power to forget itself.

Do I have that power?

I continue to sit and wait for an answer.

As I wait, silence pervades the shrine room and my heart.

The others in the room disappear when I close my eyes,

their energy lost in the space between the cushions.

I feel neither their presence nor their absence,

until my eyes open and their collective energy floods over me intruding on my silence and peace.

The bell rings, three times and the session ends.

I must put away thoughts, cut off fear or bliss, end the waiting and

Reluctantly resume a presence in this material world.

A world of light, dark, hope, despair

love, loss, hate, and peace.

Silent sitting can isolate or open my heart.

The choice is mine to make.

A choice that can be good or evil,

warm or cold,

lasting or fleeting but really,

is there a difference?

Here and now or there and then?

The break is over and the sitting resumes.

Odd thoughts and feelings float out of the deep recesses of my mind

in the silence of the shrine room.

There are thoughts that come and go.

Some are gentle and kind,

others judgmental and cruel.

Shadows from the past sneak in disturbing my peace,

rekindling painful times.

I let them stay,

feel their pain and then let them pass.

They are not forgotten or forgiven but allowed to slip by, dismissed from my life.

Do the others I sit with feel my pain or know my thoughts?

Is my pain theirs too?

Are we really all the same?

But what if we believe in different things?

I, in my Lord Krishna,

they in themselves.

Their breath guides their thoughts.

His breath guides mine.

This retreat is a place of silence and peace.

A place to reflect on everything or nothing.

Their nothing is my everything.

My everything is none of their concern because to them, it’s not real.

So, what is real?

My thoughts, their nothingness, my love, their indifference,

My self their no self?

I don’t know…

I’m tired now.

I’ll start over later,

when the bell rings again.

 

Cut Glass

It came in the night.

Not silent like time,

but with a taping and clicking.

All night I heard it.

I knew they didn’t know.

They were already asleep.

Warm sleep deep down in silent winter sleep.

When morning came and the sun caressed them

they sparkled like cut glass in their coating of ice.

They didn’t know that someone had dressed them while they slept.

I was the only witness to the magic, this winter magic.

I must remember to tell them in the spring when their sap flows again

and their buds unfurl.

I wonder if they’ll believe me.

Winter trees

 

Stunned

 He lays silently in the snow

Tiny heart pounding, feathers rumpled,

eyes blinking, waiting for his head to clear.

My existence here, here in my space with its clear reflecting glass sometimes brings pain and suffering to the very creatures I want to help.

But he who lays silently in the snow doesn’t judge me.

He is innocent and unaware of the glass that stunned him.

So I give him space, wait a while and when next I look, my heart cheers to find him gone.

Flown away, back to his world of blue sky and white snow.

His glass-less world of silence and cold.

A world that I, despite my so-called intelligence and desire to help,

Could never recreate.

The Ballet of Life

The ballet of life is

a play of light and shadow.

Where bodies move and sweep emotions into being.

Their interplay of physical and emotional strength portrays a

man and woman connected in dance as in life and love.

Two bodies move as one in response to

the primordial rhythm of existence.

Two become one in spirit and flesh.

Hands and hearts glide together

joining the masculine and feminine in an endless dance of love and power.

He shares his with her and she hers with him in a

dance that becomes a battle of love, a flow of exquisite pain and destroying joy.

Two lovers who love for love’s sake alone,

 flow together in the dance of eternity,

believing in the union of man, woman and music

become one together in the ballet of life.