Out of the Darkness

He comes to me out of darkness in the night,

With soft words matching soft hands.

His smoldering passion stares me down.

I can’t look away, he is all there is.

We move together in silence, no words are necessary.

It is all so familiar.

He knows what I want,

I know what he needs.

It is a love that never ends but sometimes lays hidden in lies, or

Buried in truth, ashamed of itself.

It sleeps for months only to burn through again

And consume us once more in its power and passion.

So, is this what you have been looking for?  Been waiting for?

Been wanting and needing?

Been dreaming of in your darkest hours?

Been hoping to find and hear?

You don’t have to look any further.

It is all still right here, as it always has been.

Right in front of you,

Framed by a heart.

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.

 

Love’s Lessons

 

Life’s lessons come softly in the

Darkness before dawn.

Like leaves emerging in silence,

Unfolding in trust.

A trust that  love

Is real and the unfolding worth the risk.

Although risk is sometimes all there is,

The risk of loving is pain but the risk of not loving is also pain.

My belief in love, trust and tenderness is strong in my soul.

It is the tenderness that lingers in the last kiss goodnight,

In the full moon’s sliver puddles on the bed sheets at midnight,

In the early morning’s sweet touching and

In the smile that wears the knowing of that early morning touch

All day long.

I have come to know and understand that life’s lessons are love’s lessons,

Sometimes harsh in their honesty but always right when spoken in truth.

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.

Just Look

I saw the stars last night,

Didn’t even have to get out of bed.

They were so bright in the cold, dense,winter air

That they shown right through my lacy bedroom curtains.

I saw it as a reminder of what is still there and always will be,

And to find it yet again,

We just have to look through the holes one more time.

February Morning

Monday morning winter sunshine warms my room and

James Taylor serenades me and my oatmeal.

There are frost etchings on the old warped glass windows that surround my space.

In the harsh light of day, my mind and heart step back to echos of last evenings secret loving,

Soft as the candle flames flickering on my night stand.

A lingering warmth traces his outline in my bed as his Cheshire cat smile is the last to leave, 

Only fading with the daylight.

The Yellow Room

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.

 

I Am Sure

 

Revelations come to me when I least expect them unwanted, but insistent that I listen.

They are the kind I don’t want to know and  don’t want to hear.

But they come anyway .  Maybe to clear the way,

To open my  heart and eyes and speak the truth to my soul.

But they are hard truths to take.

My heart says no, but my head and soul say “Yes, listen and know”.

My heart is a child, trusting , self-deluding and innocent.

My soul aches for her in her time of pain and sorrow.

Love is not only felt by my heart, my soul loves too.

But my soul  is blessed with a stronger constitution, a greater consciousness, a better understanding.

 It is older and wants to protect my heart, wants to spare her from pain but knows it can’t.

So it warps itself around my heart and holds her while she weeps and sleeps.  It knows that time will heal her and is patient in the waiting time.

My soul knows my heart is good and kind and that she loves unconditionally and breaks because of it.

My soul knows that my heart knows no other way to love so it waits and loves and holds and protects with gentle hands and the love of God.

Together, in time,  we will love again,  all three of us,

I’m sure of it,  my soul told me so.

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.

Because of Him

 

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