A Dance of Sorts…

You dance with me as your words flow from your heart.

We embrace in a way that is so profoundly familiar.

Your hand on mine through conversation.

I can sense you here and now at this moment because I know you.

Other people might never understand.

Maybe I don’t understand either.

Isn’t it nice sometimes to put aside reason and flow with the moment?

Although a definition is forming, you offer none to me.

Nor do I ask for any, as this might change the perfect moment.

In this time you are you, and I am me..and somewhere somehow our worlds are colliding in a dance.

We dance because there is a rhythm. We dance because there is life.

We dance because the music guides us to our place.

When the last note is played we realize the music plays on.

And then we start the dance all over again.

And your hand touches mine but still I have not seen you.

On Resistance…

You can resist what is, or shall I say you can try. 

With all of your might, fight that which exists in solid form.

It is there when you wake up, it is there when you sleep.

You can wrap it in brown paper and tuck it away in a trunk. 

You can give it away asking another to take it from you.

You can put a bow on it, so that it looks different.

Under the wrapping, under the bow, it is still what it is. 

You may even successfully put it away and “forget about it.” 

But sometimes when the wind blows, you are reminded of something, and you silently know it is that which you resist.

And it knows it is there. It is waiting there for you, ready for you to face it. 

And it seems the harder you try to resist it.

The more effort and strength you mount an attack against it, the stronger it seems to become. 

It becomes no stronger though, the strength of that which you resist is that thing plus your own resistance coming back at you.

Then, one day, you turn and face it. It hurts. 

It hurts so much deep within your soul, deep within your cells.

It dances and weaves it’s way through every part of your being.

You feel as if you might break into a million pieces.

This thing you now face is a part of you, and always has been.

The fear of acceptance flashes quickly. You sit with this fear, with this thing, with this resistance.

You realize if only you can understand this part of you, transforming that which you have resisted is possible.

You turn in the dark facing a mirror, and in the mirror it looks back at you and all the other pieces of yourself stare back from behind it, crying to be heard, to be seen again.

It is out of love for these other pieces, that you must love that which you fear the most.

Slowly with time you stop resisting.

But not like one who gives up hope.

You stop resisting with your heart and your mind open. 

You listen to this thing’s story. You feel what it is telling you. 

You sense within the fabric of your being that story for it comes in many ways. 

You draw it into your breath and for the first time in a very long time the pain subsides. 

Trusting the River/the Path

I heard in the distance/deep within a whisper.
Calling to me, reminding me.
My path saved me.
When I could not see it/I felt it.
The path knew more than I knew, but it stayed present, because it was fixed.
I crawled on my knees in the dirt and I looked dirty.
I felt dirty. I felt weighted down, by the boulders and the bricks.
I wore them on my back, not just mine, but everyone else’s.
I would gladly take your boulders and your weight and put in on my back.
It was too hard for me to see you carry it.
But then, I took it, and you replaced it with a different brick, and I became heavier.
I sank into the mud. My mud and your mud swirled together and neither of us could breathe.
I still heard the whisper and i put my hand up out of the mud with all of my strength.
I grasped the path and I flopped myself onto it. No strength yet to do anything on it.
All I could do was lay on it/lay in it and let it guide me.
Like a river flowing I hung on to a raft any raft a long as it was mine.
It was hard because I had so many bricks and boulders with me.
I looked down in the river to see that there were other boulders and bricks lining the river bed.
These bricks seemed to be glistening, to be transformed somehow by the water.
What if I could let go of some of these bricks I thought?
My rocks, your rocks, what is the water needed them too?
Slowly, I began to let go of them. I placed them/or let them plop into the water.
I knew not how they would land, or if they would just be swept away.
But I let go of my need to know and control where they would go.
Knowing the river/my path would know what to do.
As time went on, the boulders and the river worked together to form an amazing waterfall.
Things were picking up speed now, and I felt lighter. I felt like things were falling into place.
Other people came to see their rocks in the water. To see the power of resiliency.
Suddenly, we all felt lighter. We didn’t know how much time had passed, just that at this moment we felt free.

A Poem About My Evening

Image

The ducks made a wake with their tail feathers as they glided out past me on top of the serene glass-topped lake

And the branches of the wise old palms were rustling

As the wind carried with it a deep truth, an eternal wisdom about the secrets of life, about joy

Endless time filled memories captured by the scenes of nature

As the sun sets, it is as if the touch of the wind on my face brings a message just for me. 

And with that breeze comes every moment of love I have ever felt

I hear its sound in the leaves of the freshly planted trees lining the walkway

This love is carried on the backs of the white-winged birds that soar effortlessly through the painted sky 

Gratitude absorbs into my being as I feel so full I could burst

Connected, peaceful, serenity

Moments like this have no price tag

As their inherent immeasurable worth expands past the reach of any man-made currency

All they require is being silent, and allowing for the appreciation of what is and what has always been

Walking now peacefully as the night’s air tickles my nose and dances past me to delight the next passerby

Restlessness Tamed

It stirs within me.

The restless need for something. 

The desire for the chains to be broken and my spirit to be free. 

I scan through my mental data bank

Hoping to retrieve a glimmer of an answer.

I come up with many, of course I do, but then I fear my hope is one big prank. 

I have so many ideas.

They flow like the widest fastest river.

But, to make them happen, I dream of building a dozen gallerias. 

I would fill the walls with art,

and the spaces with words, people and places.

Maybe, I am just looking for somewhere to sing all the songs of my heart.

To build me a stage, and on it the music floats in the air.

to fill their ears with the sounds of the strings of a spanish guitar. 

And the sounds naturally become my prayer.

Breathe now as deep as I can,

and with each rise and fall

living in the present moment, becomes my new plan. 

 

A Poem about a Tree: Me

I am me in so many ways.

No one but me to stand and face my challenging days.

But sometimes, I feel like someone new.

A slightly different person or one that merely grew.

At times, I knew how I got here.

With mental muscle and a breathe the path became clear.

I was to stand and face my personal fears.

To stop avoiding and allow for tears.

But, it doesn’t happen overnight.

And  sometimes it feels like a really tough fight.

Sometimes, I feel tired and sore.

But then I remember all those times at the shore.

When I wiggled my feet in the sand,

and I knew which side of this struggle I would land.

Change is a process, that much I know.

Even if I grow impatient, I will maintain my steadfast joyish glow.

For I have seen what happens when a seed becomes a tree,

and grows so much taller than me.

Its roots firmly planted deep in the earthen ground.

It doesn’t fail to bend with grace as the wind makes a boisterous sound.

I am that tree in so many ways.

I return to my roots and I soak in the sun’s rays.

This is how I know my journey is true.

For each and every day I am thankful for the morning dew.