Birdsong and morning sunlight,
Waves of grass, swaying in unison.
The melody of life and light
Plays across the field.
Heated mist rises in currents of song
And murmurs in harmony.
The field holds its life close,
An entire universe in a blade of grass.
Life teams in layers from dirt to dawn,
Root to crown.
A place of abundance
Well hidden.
Come, sit with me,
Get up close and watch.
Feel the warmth,
Embrace the sweetness.
Hold the magic in your soul and my hands in yours and
Be, just be.
2/15
Transient whispers in the night,
Loves softness is given in kisses.
Bodies connected by touch and heat,
Hearts untied in space and now.
Time stands still and holds us there with it and
Darkness and light exist together in our hearts and minds.
Our souls intermingle in beauty and
Sadness.
Sadness for the perceived separateness and beauty at the knowing
That there is no separateness in space or time.
I need to find you again, in or out of time.
I want to hold you, but where have you gone?
Will you wait for me there?
Do you exist in one other than God?
Do any of us?
3:30 am February Thunder
What is it that speaks to me through thunder?
Why does it hold such fascination?
Why does it bring from and to me such joy?
It is just a sound, a physical reaction to the heat of lightening, a compression and release of air pressure, That is all it is, but is it? What more does it represent to me?
It is nature, it is God speaking to me, it awakens in me a sense of personal connection, me to God, me to nature’s voice, me to the divine Mother Earth.
Lighten is the spark, the bright flash of Satori,
But thunder is the voice, the depth of feeling, the depth of God’s soul in sound.
Thunder emanates from the extremeness and storminess of the soul. It is the release of charge, not the lamenting of loss but a celebration of depth.
The sound echoes between the hills and shakes the ground. It cracks and air and then rolls in waves of intensity lower and lower until its vibrations shake the very core of the earth and of my being.
It touches me in a very primal way, a way before time, a way before and above thought, a way that has no need for thought or time.
I feel as a tree must feel in a storm. I picture how it must be in my head…
Standing in the night, warm summer air flowing through my branches, gentle purposful breezes stirring my leaves and off in the distance the brief brilliant flashes of lighting appear. Their light, reflecting over the towering cloud tops, announces the storms approach. I know what this means and I await its arrival with mixed emotions.
The breezes start to stiffen, my braches and leaves are tossed and startled. My trunk is strong but so is the wind and I am fearful. As the storm approaches, the very darkness and emotion of the air is changed. It becomes charged with anticipation, with expectations and apprehension.
The rain arrives first in wind carried drops, miles ahead of the storm. My leaves dance to the rhythm of these gentle drops while waiting for the violence of the curtains of water that will accompany the storm.
As the storm gains ground and draws closer, I feel it rather than hear it. It is a deep feeling that travels through the ground and vibrates and shakes my roots.
Then it begins to crackle overhead and toss my limbs like whispers of silk. My leaves are turned upside-down by the wind and my storm facing bark is soaked by streams of rain.
The sky lowers and pressed heavily on my crown. Forest creatures take refuge in the shelter of my branches where I hold them tight against the onslaught of power and turbulence from the storm.
The storm roils through my forest, soaking the soil and bringing energy and life to the earth. Its violence is only its great need to communicate its passion for life, and then it begins to fade…
It moves off to the east, dragging its lightening with it. The thunder fades quickly with distance rolling back into the silence from which it was born and the forest night resumes its rest as if nothing had happened.
As the storm passes I return to me and to my soft, warm, dry bed and dream of being a tree as the trees watch me though the open window.
They understand better than I do our connection, me to them, them to me and all of us to the soul of the storm.
It is warm here now.
Just yesterday I could still feel the cold.
It retreated upward,
The sun melting the frost.
Mother Earth sending her warmth
To meet the sun’s, with me in the middle!
I hear the rain striking
The earth above me now,
Its sound no longer muffled
By the snow.
The water puddles around me in the spaces between the rocks and
Softens my shell with its spring freshness.
My soul is awakened and has been waiting for this moment,
Waiting for the conditions to be just right.
My softened shall cracks and
A single, tiny root pokes its little head out into the soil.
It stretches its very being into the darkness and
Finds water and nutrients to power my growth.
Slowly my stem emerges from this shell and pushes me ever so gently up and up
Around the rocks and worms,
Bending to avoid the obstacle’s, always holding me in love
While searching for the sun.
I have never seen the sun, but I know it is there.
It has spoken to me in my dark winter of dreams.
Its promise is finely fulfilled when, only by gargantuan efforts, my
Tiny stem has transported me to the surface of the soil.
My head breaks free and I feel the fresh spring breeze for the first time as
My stem lifts me up as an offering to the sun.
Through my soil bound journey, a miracle has taken place within me.
The work of God, done in darkness, is now revealed.
My seed splits open and my two magically made seed leaves open
Their fresh green faces to the sun.
Its brilliance is over whelming and
Its warmth and love unsurpassed.
I feel its strength soaking into even fiber of my being.
The sensation is incredible and I am full of life.
But the end of my journey is still a mystery to me.
What will I become? Only God knows …
He has built the blueprint into my soul
But he hasn’t given me the instructions.
I will grow in the awareness that I am aware.
My being will take in the sun and wind, the soil and water, and I will become that which God intended.
Whether his intentions be a sunflower or a string bean,
I will be happy and joyful at being a part of His plan and
I will rejoice in His goodness.
Hari Om
Imposters by fate but still
Miracles at birth.
Holed up in falsities
Missing the point.
Unsettled souls reap only what
They sow, no gifts are given or received.
No promises kept, no dreams fulfilled.
Maybe next time, but next time never comes.
It is the same ending, over and over and over.
A sadness steeped in familiarity,
Seduction for its own sake
The only prize.
It is a shallow, stagnate prize
But the only reward there is.
It is time to break this spell of soullessness and
Open to the pain of your deluded being.
Absorb it, take it in and by doing so defuse
Its dark energy.
Deny its claim on you,
Step away from its hold and
Watch, watch as it shrinks
And fades.
Watch it be consumed by the light,
And dissolved in the liquid love of the Son.
Watch it be taken from you
To hurt you no more.
Awaken and feel the light and goodness
Of who God made you to be.
It is there, already in you, see it for yourself
And when you do…
There will be darkness no more.
The night sky displays
A sea of stars that are
Lights to my soul,
Pinpoints of hope in the darkness.
It is a sweet darkness,
A still darkness, in the arms of God.
He is holding his creation close to his heart but
Giving it space to grow and spread its promise of love’s light.
The confluence of channels of prayer, the gathering of oms has the power to
Open the sails of change.
Sails that steer ships with hulls full of enlightened souls
Through the darkness of God’s space
Populating the emptiness between the stars
And the heart of the Creator.
It is though us that His word becomes
And His darkness is empty no more.
The silence of midnight
The silence of wanting.
Dark time, soft
With sadness.
A scent, a look, a memory,
Almost enough.
I long for that touch
That voice, that look.
It fills the night, turns the silence of longing
Into loving and giving.
The soft sadness replaced with his touch
His hand to hold.
His kiss to make mine
A light in the darkness but
Never to keep.
Originally posted February, 2015
Sunrise lover from
Soft, warm darkness.
Light filters in at sunrise and
Rises from the floor and spreads to the ceiling.
As the room brightens, his form slowing comes into being,
Emerging from the rumpled pile of bedclothes.
Smooth, soft, dark and lovely.
I lie with him, my face resting against his.
In the half light I can just make out
His eyelashes, resting on his smooth cheek.
His noble nose is outlined by the
Light creeping in through the window.
His lips are beautiful and full,
Soft and sweet.
As the room continues to lighten,
His breathing quickens and his body stretches.
I move back just a bit
To take in his whole being.
He is strong, lean and beautiful
All I could ever want or need.
His eyes flutter open and 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.
4/3/15
I wrote this 10 months ago. It is one of my favorites as was he…
I’m watching a wonderful movie, one I have seen many times but
not for a long time. “Pretty Woman” so incredibly romantic and sweet but misleading, a modern continuation of the fairytale. Impossible and at the same time – beautiful.
I grew up believing that love and romance could really be like it is in the movies,
That out there somewhere I would find a man who would love me unconditionally. But more importantly, one who would not only love me but like me… want me to be happy, want me, period.
Maybe I tried too hard, maybe I shouldn’t have put him and his needs and wants before mine,
Maybe, maybe, maybe…. I’m tired of trying to figure it all out, tired of feeling not good enough,
not good enough for him, whoever that him may be and then, after all is said and done, hear from other people how highly he thinks of me. Why haven’t any of them treated me that way, why wait until I am gone to say it.
I can’t believe I’m crying over “Pretty Woman” but I am.
What does that mean….
I’m 61 years old, I’m not an idealistic girl, I know what and how life is.
It is hard, people are people, hearts are hearts, pain and love is pain and love… but why, why does it all have to be so hard, why can’t I find one who can share the dream, not perfect but deep, love at its best, when it matters most.
Love like that is almost sad it is so deep, so close to not being, so strong and overwhelming to be uncomfortable, uncomfortable because it is so precarious, so fleeting, so impermanent but eternal at the same time. We spend so much time on the wrong things, the job, car, house, status, impressing people to get where we want to be. But I don’t care about any of that…
I just want to be in his arms, his, the one who is capable of loving.
I so want to hold him, to wrap myself around him, feel his arms around me, his mouth on mine, his soul release into my body, his life essence mingle with mine, is it so much to ask for, too much for him to handle, I know… I need to go back to bed . Too much for me to handle right now too….
Pretty woman is waiting for her knight on the white horse.
I told him what he could do with his horse, but I was wrong, he never had one, ever …
Dew kissed meadow.
Tree skeletons,
Silhouetted by fog.
Meadow’s undulating waves
Shrouded in mist.
Appearing and disappearing
A familiar landscape
Changed by drops of dew.
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