Rain

The sound of rain takes me to a place of inner peace as it

Falls in sheets, slides down the roof and over its edge in a curtain of water.

Tree leaves dance with the weight of the rain and

Flowers wash their faces in its freshness.

The sky is lower on rainy days and

Holds me close to the ground.

Forest sounds are muted and muffled and

Light is  defused into grayness.

It is not a sad and depressing grayness,

But a soothing and peaceful shade,

Full of the necessity of remembered sorrows and joys.

I love a  rainy day that is soft and dark.  It begs me to stop, rest, and be mindful of my surroundings and loves.

It reminds me to take the time to be lulled by the patter of rain on the windows

Into a place of inner stillness,

And there remain, content to just be and

Accept what is.

From The Inside Out

 

When I take the time to look inside, instead of outside,

I find miraculous things.  Things I never have seen before,

Feelings I never have noticed and rules I never have followed.

Oftentimes they are the feelings and rules I have imposed on others but never followed myself.

Others whom I say I know well and in my arrogance convince myself that I know how they think,

And feel but in reality, my assumptions are baseless and I realize

That it is only me who I can ever know…

But only from the inside out.

Quiet Gentleness

 There is a smoothness to the

Texture of ordinary days.

Ease and effort are the same,

Quiet gentleness and holy light.

Each object flowing effortlessly

Into every other object yet each

Remaining what they are .

“Water takes the shape of the vessel that contains it,

Yet has no shape of its own” (Mooji)

What is my place in this quiet?

I am the water outside of the vessel,

The space the wind occupies between the trees,

The pause between the breaths.

I observe he smoothness of ordinary days and

feel the light that exists at the center of the flower.

And know that  he and I have become one.

(Poem #3 of the April Poetry Month’s 30 poems in 30 day challenge)

Wind

Stunted trees

Bend and cower from the wind.

Its Winter howling is incessant.

Its cold all pervasive.

The mountain side Bearberry brambles

Grip tightly to the glacier scarred rocks for safety as the wind

Flows in rivers of the sky

From the White Mountains to the sea.

It feels its way with outstretched arms

Solid and real, over a

Path that is well worn and familiar into the valleys

And river beds along the way.

The power of the wind pushes the sound of thunder ahead of it

And Carries the storm clouds on its back.

It washes over the landscape

In partnership with the trees.

It is a force that can move them to dance,

Shake them to their roots, and love them with its allover touch.

Mountains and trees diminish the wind.

They sap its strength with their reluctance to let it go.

They want to hold on, to experience its freedom and lightness

They yearn for a chance to throw off their earthly chains and soar above the land.

But in the end, at the last, the sea is the master leaving

The wind no choice but to rush into its out-stretched arms, to be consumed by the waves,

To become one with the spray, white with its foam,

And in the crashing of the wind powered waves on the shore,

Release its energy back into the realm from which it came,

Completely the cycle once again.

 

A Play of Stillness

 

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.

Storm Dance

 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.    

Extraordinary

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.

The love and stillness of forever.

 

Our destiny is love,

In its form of being and nonbeing.

It flows from the source,

From the beginnings of timelessness.

From the place of no time or deception as time is limiting and

Deception is the extinguisher of love.

Loves lies around the edges of our worldly existence,

Waiting for its chance, for an opening to flow in.

It is patient and forgiving but is not to

Be taken for a fool.

Love cries with agony watching our abuse of and unkindness towards each other

But it will never walk away or give up on us.

It sees and is the stillness in me and

Recognizes itself in you and all beings and nonbeings.

There is a lack of labeling in love, no separateness of one from the other.

It does not merely exist in some abstract form as it has no form and is alive in the stillness of all things.

Love seeps into existence in fragrant vapors of stillness and

Frames the portal to eternity.

Isness and non-duality are the very essence of love, the connection of being and nonbeing,

The beginning and the end, the beginingless and endless formlessness of all form.

Love is the essential formlessness of me and you and

The non-separate nature of us all.

So  forget my name but remember when you and I were the formless within each other.

And when you again feel that deep stillness  and

Have found your remembered place in me,

Come and hold  me and once again we will share 

The love and stillness of forever.

In Shared Seclusion

 

 

A field of brown grass,

A drop of chilly dew,

A morning kissed ripe apple, and

A bursting milkweed pod…

Signs of the change of seasons and an

Elevation of my consciousness.

Summer has ended.

It has shed its past and faded into isness

But it’s an isness that is charged with the now.

At the change of seasons, there is a new definition of me.

One that shifts with the sun angles and holds my spirit in kindness.

It is a newness in me that ebbs and flows with the tides and moon cycles.

That builds on the new life essence that captures my attention

That fills my heart and soul.

An essence of change, of new life, of new beginnings from old endings.

It is a change that envelopes my being and carries me along with it.

A flood of truth and trust, a deluge of emotions and warmth.

My heart misses the summer season but my soul is alive with the contentment of the coming winter.

A sheltered silence in seasonal separateness

But all together just the same…

In shared seclusion.