Music flows through my head,
My heart and soul follow.
The notes run together
Like stepping stones through a fountain,
Happily skipping their way
Across the vibrating waters of sound.
They bring order to the chaos of noise
And joy to the count of beats.
Music brings happiness in melodies that linger and
Form the foundation of memories.
Everything, when set to music,
Is easier to remember.
Why is that?
There must be a reason.
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.
I made too much of it,
More than it was.
But not at all what I
Wanted it to be.
Yet I continued, wanting,
Wishing, and hoping and for what?
For another night? It was just a one night
At a time love.
It feels unreal now,
a waste of me, of my soul and heart.
And now begins the slow fade into blackness and silence, just like all the others, as
My soul bleeds and my heart beat stops and
My eyes, still in their blindness, wish it were not so.
A soft whispered kiss
Midnight love is always best
His heart keeps mine close
2/21/17
I sit on the stage.
Darkness surrounds me.
The audience, if there is one,
Is silent.
There are no props on the stage
Only layers of black curtains.
I don’t remember auditioning for a play,
But here I am.
It’s odd there is no music or
Other players.
I sit in my darkness for what seems like forever
But there is still no sound, no movement, no life.
Just stillness and a mild sense of confusion.
I feel the space in front of me more than see it.
I sense it is there, curtains in a circular shape
A boundary perhaps but between what and where?
The other side is unknown and unknowable
Until the show begins.
But will it begin? Still no script or players,
No music or lights.
I run my hand through my hair to prove to myself that
I am still real in this sensory deprived place.
But what is real about an empty stage, a wordless play,
A playerless story?
I begin to realize that
None of those things matter.
All is stillness and non-separate.
The “show” never begins and never ends.
The circular curtain and empty stage contain eternity
And this space is an empty place within me.
There will be no play, no script,
No lights, no audience.
This story is mine, the darkness my stillness,
The only witness, me.
Just me as part of the universal consciousness
Acting out a play of well-rehearsed lines without ever saying a word.
Each player a part of the whole
Never separate from the others.
All joined in the cosmic drama
Of existence.
The curtain rises on one story, one actor, one consciousness
In an act that never ends.
Coastal dunes slide and slip into the sea
As the storm rolls on to the north.
Gulls scurry to grab unfortunate crabs washed ashore by the crashing waves.
Seaweed floats and ripples with the waves like grass in the wind and
Salty sea spray coats the disinterested windows of empty houses on the shore.
The tourists have all left for the season
Leaving the ocean and beach to carry on with their lover’s dance
Un-witnessed and unashamed, with freedom and reckless abandon.
I am not a quitter but there comes a time
When the fight is lost.
They say to resist is futile, as some things cannot be defeated
And may not need to be, so,
I have taken the advice given and
Have made the decision.
I have gone to the room,
Cleaned the cobwebs out of the corners, painted the walls yellow,
Arranged the flowers on the table and freshened the bed with clean, crisp linens, after all,
He deserves only the best.
It is a south facing room,
I know he likes the sun and heat.
I looked at all the other rooms – all unoccupied,
But none were quite as nice.
I don’t think he will be lonely there as
I will always be with him.
I’ll have to find a safe place to put the key;
I know I will use it often.
Especially at first,
I know he will come out a lot.
I’ll have to hold him gently in the palm of my hand,
Put him back in and lock the door each time; there is no other way.
I know I’ll complain about the inconvenience,
But it really will be my own fault, as I’ll still think of him too often.
They say in time I’ll see him less and less.
I’m not so sure of that, but I hope they’re right.
But right now I can take no more; he refuses to leave so I have no choice
As he comes uninvited into my thoughts daily.
So when those thoughts and feelings overwhelm me,
I will hold his essence in my hands and send him back.
And when I send him back, he will need no direction
As he knows which room is his.
It’s the first one on the right,
The only yellow room in my heart.
A play of light and shadow.
Bodies move and sweep emotions into being.
The 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.
The two become one in spirit and flesh as
The opposites of each other.
Their 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 and
The dance becomes a battle of love, a flow of exquisite pain and destroying joy.
For to love for loves sake,
To flow together in the dance of eternity,
To believe in the union of man, woman and music
Is to become one with the ballet of life.
Be extraordinary in your ordinariness and
Marvel in the beauty of everyday blessings.
Notice how snow piles up in leeward corners of windows during a storm
And the rings raindrops make in puddles.
Admire the spirit of sunflower seeds sprouting in
October under the bird feeders.
Let the sparkling morning spider webs on
Summer grass fill your eyes with the freshness of love.
Feel the sweetness of warm, wet, baby kisses and
Hear the snap of clean linens on a spring morning clothesline.
Watch and listen for the ordinary ways God speaks to us
A million times a day and see …
Bees dancing on pebbles in the bird bath and
Crisp autumn leaves ringed with October morning frost.
Hear a Wood Thrush’s echoing, haunting song at dusk and
Watch clear glass jars and white porcelain bowls dry on the kitchen counter.
Notice frost fingers splaying across winter windows and
Soak in steaming soup on a cold December day.
Marvel at sun sparkles on freshly fallen snow and
Baby sighs in the night.
Drink in the light in your lover’s eyes and
Savor his sweet kisses at midnight.
Smile at the tea balls ringing like temple bells in the silverware drawer and
A ring of stateless steal measuring spoons in a baby’s fist.
All just ordinary things but extraordinary in their beauty and simplicity,
Just like you and me.
Gratitude for the smallest
Becomes gratitude for the eternal,
Because the eternal exists in even the smallest of things,
Like a baby’s smile, a milkweed bloom, and crystal blue winter skies.
An autumn leaf, falling softly and quietly,
Releases its life full of gratitude willingly in a celebration of color, it knows.
It is the smallest of things in my life that cover me in warmth and
Feed the fire of my gratitude with love.
I am thankful for sunrises and sunsets,
The defining moments of each day’s beginning and end.
I am grateful for my children and grandchildren and friends –
All manifestations of God.
Even the light in the eyes of the the wild ones of my forest home
Shines with the spirit of the heavens and the intimate knowledge of Krishna’s grace.
And when I am in danger of forgetting these things, these perfect and beautiful things,
something as simple as seeing my clear glass canning jars, standing in a sparkling row,
Can bring me back to myself, to my home,
The home I hold deep within, the one that holds the essence of me.
It is my gratefulness that fuels my passions for the loves in my life, from acorns to hummingbirds
Grasshoppers to lightning storms,
Soft kisses at midnight,
And sweet love in the morning.
I am grateful to exist in a flood of grace and love.
Grace that is endless and effortless, and love that is freeing and all encompassing.
My heart is full and my smiles are because of him.
Hari Om
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