Always Alone

I’m lying in a hammock, sideways,

Staring at the canopy of trees above my head.

Their branches interlaced like the fingers of lovers in an act of passion.

The trees sway with agentle breeze,

Each variety with its distinct leaf waiving and dancing to its own tune.

Above and beyond the boughs lies a deep blue sky, dotted with plumes of soft whiteness

Each drifting and changing with every second, never the same from moment to moment.

I am watching this scene as the sunlight slowly turns to dusk.

The sun-powered breezes fade and the forest yawns and folds in on itself and sleeps.

I should do the same

But the magic of the transformation of day into night fixes me to this spot.

All form is erased, sky and forest become one, stars twinkle above and fireflies twinkle below as reflections of one another like sky in water.

Buzzing insects sounds are silenced as

A different cast of characters takes on the night shift.

An owl awakens and his hoots ec between the sleeping trees.

I hear the fox’s footsteps through the dry leaves and

Goosebumps cover my neck at the sound of his bark.

Less vocal creatures slink and stalk through the forest night

Taking their turn at life.

And me, I don’t fit.

I exist equally in both worlds but am not a participant in either and

Therein lies my sorrow.

I am only the watcher,

Always alone.

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 splayed across winter windows and

Soak in steaming soup on a cold December day.

Marvel how 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 stainless steal measuring spoons in a baby’s fist.

All just ordinary things but extraordinary in their beauty and simplicity,

Just like you and me.

 

2/5/17

 

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?

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 …