The stillness of the night air
Hangs heavy outside my window.
Its darkness threatens to come in,
But my reading light keeps it at bay, and
Although the light is bright, drips of silent night
Sneak in around the edges of my window sill
And puddle on the floor by the curtain hem
To remind me of the darkness that lurks just outside
My window
And my heart.
Its movement, stillness.
Its language, silence.
Its heart full.
Its soul empty.
Travel with it.
Its always the same
Yet ever changing,
A changeling in time,
Out of time and
Empty, yet full
With infinite possibilities.
Forever one,
Alone but never lonely.
I need to see the moon lit patterns of white and shadow on the grass and hear how they speak to me once more.
The chimes are calling me again from the silence of my soul to look, listen and observe.
I need to hear the hungry owl’s cries in the night, feel its silent wings move swiftly in the darkness,
Too swiftly for its pray, and watch with detachment the
Swift death, natural and inevitable, made a villain only
By my thoughts.
I need to leave my disturbed thoughts and become the stillness in the chaos,
I need to reenter the silent swiftness of the owl’s wings and moon shadows.
For it is the only place to be and
The only place where I have ever existed.
I must never be distracted again.
My being had begun to seep away while I was preoccupied,
Distracted by another, an unnatural evil but one of my own making.
But the owl’s wings are bringing me home now,
My time of regression is done, but it has taken its toll.
My heart is weaker, my thoughts harder to read.
There is never regressing without damage to my soul.
Solitude and stillness, as a getaway to the road back, are coming into view…
The road back leads to the place of reclamation of my soul,
Back to the essence of bliss, to the everlasting light and to
His hand in mine.
Impostors by fate but originally
Miracles at birth.
Now holed up in falsities and
Missing the point.
Unsettled souls reap only what
They sow, they received no gifts and are giving none in return.
No promises are kept, no dreams fulfilled.
Maybe next time they say, but next time never comes.
It is the same ending, over and over and over.
A sadness steeped in familiarity, with
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 and recognition 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…
Pain will lose its sting and
Darkness will be no more.
A robin sings at dawn and
The day breaks on a new world.
A world different from the one
The sun set on yesterday.
It is the same earth but
A new world.
My world is not the same as yours and
Your world can never be the same as mine as I am not you.
Our eyes work in the same way, yet
See everything differently.
A million souls have been lost since yesterday, but
A million more were born.
We are not alone or the same…
Watch the progression of the wind through the trees.
Notice how each tree moves to its own song and in its own world.
As do we…
Do you feel the same breeze that moves the trees?
Do you know and hear their songs?
They hear mine…
Today, even my heart is different than yesterday’s,
Is yours?
In the night my dreams change me and
I wake up in a new world.
It happens every morning,
But it’s never the same.
The world’s consistency is but an illusion.
The ferns leaning against my porch screens are a little taller than they were before.
Overnight, more geranium buds have opened and
The garden has drunk up all the water I gave to it yesterday.
Everything has changed
Yet appears the same.
The illusion is well practiced and convincing,
Or is it?
After all, the Robin never fails to sing at dawn.
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.
Between the birdsong and morning sunlight,
Waves of grass sway in unison, while
The melody of life and light
Plays across Curtis field.
Heated mist rises from the grasses in currents of song
And murmurs in harmony with the breath of the encircling trees.
This field holds its life close,
An entire universe existing in the space of a blade of grass.
Life here teams in layers from dirt to dawn and
Root to crown.
This is a place of abundance, an abundance
Kept well hidden beneath layers of grass.
A place for contemplation and peace; one rich with the essence of life.
So please come and sit here with me again.
Get up close and watch,
Feel the warmth of life surrounding us.
Embrace its sweetness and
Hold the magic of this place in your soul forever.
And when your soul remembers, and the time is right, take my hands in yours and
Be with me once more.
Just you and me between the birdsong and morning sunlight.
3/18/16
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?
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
Peace Trees, their soft edged shadows grow with the season
Becoming silhouettes that blend together in summer’s lushness.
They grow and soak up the sun, turn it to life and
Feed themselves and my soul with green.
Peaceful trees; a lesson in truth.
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