dead silence

when i look out
of the window
every morning,
a sadness rises
from the watery depths
of my being,
as I realise that
no one seems to speak
bird, or tree, or water, or sun,
or sky, or stone, or reed or ground,
we speak only to them,
to fill our hearts
with the empty words
that a dead silence leaves behind.

without a trace

your skin
touches mine,
and is filled
with the softness
and comfort
of used clothes
over years,
wrapping me up
in myself,
with myself,
in the closeness
of a touch
that has become mine
over the years,
my hands,
my body,
my eyes,
my nakedness
dissolving
in yours,
without a trace.

beliefs

I hold and watch

my beliefs,

like leaves

on trees -

nourishing this form,

my roots,

colours changing

over time,

both restless and still,

speaking to me

of what is blowing

in the wind,

knowing

when it is time

to leave, and dance,

to rest on the earth

where I stand,

free and grounded

in what I believe

and don't.

a becoming

do you ask a butterfly
to pause and feel her wings?
do you ask a little bud
to open herself to let you in?
do you ask the ocean
to stay still upon her rising waves?
do you ask a raging storm
to tarry a while, or change his way?
do you ask a jagged stone
to soften himself beneath your sole?
do you ask the silent trees
to share stories hidden and untold?
then, why do you ask,
I wonder,
about what you or I could be?
why become something
more or less,
than just you
and me?

what is not love?

there is a fruit
couched in a basket
on the side table
beside me

I see it when I want to,
it's there even if I don't,
waiting for everything
and nothing

a glowing skin
inviting hungry eyes
to feast from afar
or close, or never

layers to be peeled,
and given back
to the earth,
where they belong

skins that hold more
than what I can
see, touch, smell
or imagine

with the smallness,
largeness
and presence
of my being

only the infinite
can shrink or expand,
to fill
any space

like what it takes
to be the fruit
on this table,
with, or without my eyes

what is not love then?

Iris

you came into my life
suddenly,
like a blue iris
falling into my eyes
out of nowhere

there was something about you -
your glowing face,
your dimpled smile,
and those two pools
of lived wisdom

looking at me
from their uncharted depths,
as if to say -
"you'll know too,
in your own time...."

yes, you carried the sorrows
of your world and ours,
blades piercing the folds
of your heart,
that knew only kindness

you dreamed of a world without war,
you spoke of the art
of using our hearts
to walk this world
we can never call our own

I loved the way you were -
the way you walked with solitude,
and melted your own anger
with your quiet smile,
and how you held that cigarette
between fingers
always in touch with life,

yes, I loved the depth of your voice,
the dark folds of your gut
from where it rose
and flowed,
the stillness and grace
that enveloped you and me,
in every posture you took,

today, I remember you
for your warmth and your firmness,
the moments we didn't see eye to eye,
for all that I could see and feel,
and all that lay hidden
beneath the pores of your skin,
the things I will never come to know,

and I will keep what was real for me,
tucked in the folds of my heart -
our two boys laughing and playing,
our few, deep conversations,
the string of beads I sent you,
that you wear here,
the last Christmas present I posted,

pictures of you and your boy,
smiling with the Nepal sun,
your dream for this world, now also mine,
and that dream for your boy
that you spoke of so often -
to make him a home
where he can live truly free.

dear Iris, you live on
in those dreams we share,
in the things left unsaid,
unfinished,
and in the black pools
of your eyes
that you've left behind.

you to me (song)

you to me

and i lie in
waiting for you
to invite me in
to call me through,
from across the seas
to stir up worlds
between us
as I rush,

I rush to you
waiting for you
to want me to
to fill you up,
just like the wind
you cannot see
but feel,
as I move through,

as I move through
those folds held tight,
unfolding
you to you,

as I move through
those folds held tight,
unfolding
me to me.

as I move through
those folds held tight,
unfolding
you to you, to me

as I move through
those folds held tight,
unfolding
me to you.......

This is a song sung by my dear soul sister, Irina Latis, who I've only met here in the ether.....she took the words I wrote as a poem, tweaked them a bit to keep to tune, chose the same tune of a song by Enya that I sent her last week, and sung it back to me using her voice! Unbelievable synergy and a magical coming together.....

We now share this gift of this coming together with you....with the world....hope you enjoy it as much as we did.....

You to Me (Song)

one way

today I know
of only one way -

how even all the waters
of one vast ocean,
heaving and sighing,
called by different names,
holding different shores,
cannot rush in
to fill a parched river
baring his bones
to the sky
and the earth,

for a river must flow
only one way,
to the ocean,
and meet her there,
under an empty sky,
where both can be
themselves
without apology.

ecstasy

at the cusp
of pain and joy
throbs the source
of all that is,
all that rises
and falls
flows and ends,
lives and dies,
between
you and me.

another way

climb over those walls

you see,
and look at me,
know that those walls
are there,
only so you can find
another way
to reach me,
see me,
touch me,
feel me,
but only if
you want to.

walk into your darkness

walk into your own darkness
like you would walk
into a dark room,
give yourself time
to get used to
the dark light,
and you will know
you don't need new eyes,
you need to want
to see, to touch,
to feel,to receive,
the fingers of darkness
stroking your taut skin,
leading you
where you want to go,
where you need to go,
in your own time.

your true eyes

rest your eyes awhile
upon the blue
of a chalky sky,
or the softness
of tendrils
clinging only
to move life,
one moment at a time,

rest your eyes
on the unchanging
patterns of stone
upon a well-laid path,
or upon the grace
of flowing water
as she always
finds her way,

rest your eyes awhile,
cleanse them
of the colours
and staccato forms
they capture
to make their own,
often,
black and white,

rest them awhile
every now and then,
so in those
magical interludes,
between doing
and being,
you will find
your true eyes.

the ring of fire

a long time ago
i imagined
sitting around a warm fire
with the people I love -
not for what they do
in this world,
but for what they are,
feeling skin touch skin,
heart touch heart,
and melt waters
flowing
into that sacred
ring of fire,
watering
the seed of
a new life
taking root,
nurtured with love,
growing wings,
learning how
and when to fly,

and today,
that dream came true,
for a while.

for that one unfettered sky

and somewhere
along the way,
I gathered all the wings
inside me,
flapping aimlessly
in the silence
of a long-forgotten sky,
solo notes
lying scattered,
still pulsing, alive,
strung now
into a glorious
song of love,
for that one
unfettered sky.

you to me

and I lie in waiting
for you
to invite me in,
to call me
from across the seas,
to stir up worlds
between us,
as I rush to you,
waiting for you
to want me
to fill you,
like the wind
you cannot see
but only feel,
as I move through
those billowing folds
held tight,
unfolding
you to you,
and me to me.

the closeness of tea

the sun's streaming in,
setting this skin alight
with the sharp pangs
of distance,
between you
and me,
while I steep
in the heady fragrance
and soothing swirls
of the closeness of tea
washing over me.

emotions

emotions
sometimes boil over,
like the milk on the stove
still there,
simmering,
rising,
hissing,
reminding me
that I do have eyes
suddenly gone blind
in the glare
of other things
more important,
and yet,
when I still can't
reach them in time,
they overflow
onto the hearth,
demanding more eyes,
readying me
for a second chance,
to show me how
I don't need special eyes,
I only need to want
to keep them open
all the time,
so they can light up
the hearth,
with their undivided,
unrelenting
attention
to what is.

feeding each other

let's not feed each other
our arrogance,
our fears,
our beliefs,
our pain,

let's keep those
for ourselves,
our food,
to chew,
to digest,
to take what we need
to nourish our soul,
leaving what's unspent
to fall quietly
into the bowels of this earth,
who can hold it all,
as we bow down to her grace.

let's not feed on each other,
gorging on things
we think we need,
terrified that we would starve
otherwise,
let's feed each other
love, first,
simple and straight,
porous and moist,
like the earth we touch,
as we sit around the flames
of our roaring hearts.

with us, without us

every once in a while
the ground stills
and shakes,
often violently,
for that is the way
mountains are grown,
and valleys deepened,
to hold more than
what you imagined
or thought was possible,
in a world
that doesn't live
for just you and me,
but for what it knows
is always possible,
with us,
and without us.

taking my place

and as i watch
the fragile skins
of carrots
peeled
until they feel
naked and tender
in my palms,
i remember
all that it takes,
to quietly
take my place,
in this family
of things
lost and found.

hands, together

have you ever paused
to watch your hands?
how wonderfully they work
together and alone?
how they gather things
in different ways,
yet always feeling,
always holding,
always coming together
as if in opposition,
for something larger
to be born?
have you watched
how one senses
when the other
needs support,
reaching out
in a silent dance
in space?
not because they have to,
but because they want to,
because they remember
what they're here for,
and as i watch them,
i dream of a world
where hands join
together
in a silent dance
around hearts that glow.

the fellowship of things

i wonder how
boulders sleep
blissfully
through eons,
on a tiptoe
of trust,
upon the slant
of shoulders
of mountains
standing
in loving disbelief,

i wonder how
they know
that all is well,
all shall be well,
and all manner of things
shall be well,
in this divine
fellowship of things.

darkness and i

i stand today
in the blazing fire
of darkness,

i let the fire
engulf my skins
melting in the heat
and glare
of all that I couldn't dare
to face,
not until now,
charred like a log
dead to the world,
crumbling to ash,
yet very much alive,
hurtled
like the sparks
flailing and falling
in a ceremonial dance
of that glorious alchemy,

we feed on each other,
this darkness and i,
and that is the only way
i know
how to begin
to love myself.

the waters of the world

yesterday,
it felt like
the waters of the world
gushed and roared
and churned
inside me -

those
relentless cascades,
quietly contained pools,
crawling rivulets,
hidden fountains,
untouchable sewers,
unyielding fog,
ephemeral dewdrops,
and the smell of
sea and salt
in the wind
upon my skin,

waters
that don't belong
to just you or me,
but us, all of us,
showing me
how an ocean
refuses
no cloud or river.

notes

in one endless moment
of melancholy,
i dip into
the silence
between
two notes,
i slip between
skin and marrow,
where this dance
is born,
this eternal tango
of sadness and radiance,
an intimate exchange
of notes and beats,
of the arrangement
of everything it takes
to feel human.

vines of envy

I feel the slow vines
of dark envy
creep along my spine,
circling my throat,
taking hold of me
in its spirals,
sucking me
into a vortex
of an uneasy silence,
where I cannot hear
my own self cry out
to the same sun
that we all seek,
where I cannot feel
the same breath
that surrounds you and me,
where I cannot smell
the aroma of the moist earth
from where you and I rise,
where I can only feel
what the world feels,
what must not, cannot be said,
for there is no place here
for what lives in the dark,
where lines and forms blur
into one amorphous
glowing, growing blob
that cries
of unspeakable,
unthinkable
devotion.

being the flow

the moon is almost full,
and so are my breasts,
but my womb
feels empty still,
like the fallow earth,
waiting for its time
of renewal
and rebirth,
tilled by
an unseen hand,
shedding
wasted clots
of blood
and unused tissue,
of dreams seeded,
and then shattered,
over and over again,
all for one life,
and my breath
suspended
in a cocooned moment
of this bloody painful
yet joyous and alive
human existence.

empty boat

cast away
this boat
into the infinite sea,
go without oars or sails,
moved by those glorious stars above,
rising and falling
with those effortless waves.

and when you reach
that forsaken place,
with no sight of any shore,
cast away even that thought
of going somewhere,
close your eyes
to listen and feel some more.

for then you will know,
how to be this boat,
with nothing left
to show, hold or hide,
where your last defense -
that emptiness,
will fill every cell inside.

and you will lie there
in the arms of a wild sea,
singing her song
out to the world,
with the stars, the moon
and the sleeping sun,
and the whole cosmos, alive inside.

free me

you told me it was okay,
to let it all just be,
to watch it all unfold,
the me I know, and
don't know how to be,
how to feel free to be me,

you spoke of the beauty
of this sculpture of ice,
upon the roaring sea,
how to feel the quiet melting,
how to celebrate the vastness
of what lies beneath,

you showed me this
without really showing me,
how I could choose to see,
this child, this parent,
and broken soul,
all trying to be 'me',

you showed me different ways
I could hold my sacred self,
how to scoop up that screaming child
in these doting arms,
with a promise to not leave her,
and to stay, for she was mine.

you held me with your kindness,
shining a beam of light
upon those dark-filled corners,
unused rooms dusted, reopened now,
revealing a 'me',
steeped in all colours,

and with every turn of your hand
guiding these half-blind eyes
to feel what they could not see,
shards fell into the stillness
of a sacred clearing,
forming a changing picture of me.

orange

this morning
i woke up
after a patch of grey,
and the first thing i saw
was an orange wall
across from where I lay,

i rubbed my groggy eyes,
as i slid off the bed,
and as if led
by something unnameable,
like a sleepy child,
i turned my head,

my body moved
without a sound,
to the light streaming in,
and as I parted
the heavy curtains,
I was filled with orange,

yes, I was peeled
from the darkness
by that simple, steadfast
circle of warm orange -
always there.

joy without reason

i wish i could be
that mother,
all over again,

and pick up my baby,
without a care
in this world,
throw him up to the wind,
and twirl him,
and hang him upside down,
with his eyes
still hanging up,

with tickles
and endless laughter,
like snowflakes
frozen upon a breeze,
folds of plump skin
waiting to be gorged
with smiles and kisses,
hearts chasing each other
around the house
in timeless wonder,
and a lightness,
without reason,

with impromptu tangos,
silly words,
and dimpled songs,
jiggling like jelly beans,
and games plucked
out of pauses
I don't want to ever end,
where Joy takes over
the house and hearts
overgrown with thistle,
but no flowers,

how I wish
I could remember
that joy without reason,
lighting up every cell,
I wish I could remember
how to be that child
in a mother,
all over again.

how to live

look to the earth,
and you will know
how to live.

how she keeps her fire
beneath her waters,
in an untouchable core,
how the ground
becomes her skin,
holding the waters
of her womb,
and the sweat and tears
seeping out
into her bosom,
and how she turns
with the breath
surrounding her,
moving in and out,
like a primordial song,

but most of all,
how she holds everything
in one supreme dance
of will and surrender,
of infinite patience,
and a rivetting stillness,
and a quiet knowing
that everything will move,
move on, and grow on.

look to the earth,
and you will know
how to live.

in this our home

this form

is not a prison, it is a womb, the soft, porous earth, where seeds lie in waiting, where weeds and lilies and banyans and sunflowers grow and wilt, where insects crawl to craft their home, and to mate and devour each other, sometimes in one breath, where the lone hippo soaks in a water he loves to feel is his own for this one moment, where the sparrow flits from tree to house to ground, only to build its nest somewhere within these four walls I call home, and where I find and lose myself everyday, to shed skins until there is no more skin left to shed, where there is a place for everything, and everything is in its place, in what we call our home.

the timeless wheel

are you telling me

how there is
a time to stay and
a time to leave?

like the thick ice
clinging to a spent ocean,
now leaves her arms,
both empty and full,
like the snow
walks on tiptoe
across the brown mud,
carrying her flowing gown
into rivers and seas
always flowing,

where there is
no looking back,
no heartache,
no mission,
except a quiet
letting things be,

when time slips
into a timeless wheel
of give and take,
being and doing,
staying and leaving,
and everything else
around, beyond,
beneath, between.

white anger

i want to know
if you will stand
with yourself
and me
in the flames
engulfing us,

when sparks fly
off edges
only screaming of
their vulnerability,
and what truly belongs
to you and me,

taking us beyond
the lashing tongues,
to what burns up
to feed the fire,
to that place
in the heart of all things,

where many things are born
without a name,
where many things die,
so something else can live,
in the soft underbelly
of white anger.

there's a fire in my belly

I walk around these days
with a fire in my belly,
with flowing water
licking the flames,
stoking them
with a freshness,
colour and depth
I've not known before;
and in the light
and warmth
at the centre
of this dark hole inside,
I offer my whole life -
this whole journey
of who I've been
and what I've done,
to those roaring flames,
thundering through
my charred insides,
gathering all those parts of me
around this sacred fire,
to sit side by side,
feeling their unique breath,
and the warm glow
upon their skins,
rising together to sing
that one song
etched in the flesh
and blood
of this pulsing heart.

walking on water

i feel the walls
outside
inside
you and me,
hold
and give
with every push,
walls
that make me
come alive,
propelling me,
guiding me,
so I can walk
with glorious strides
on glowing water.

looking for love

when did we begin
looking for love?
for a cup
that can never
fill or be filled
with the love
of this world?

when did we begin
looking for love?
to breathe
through a cord
that would be severed
sometime anyway?

when did we begin
looking for love?
to drink from the breasts
of someone else
we can call our own
but never own?

when did we begin
looking for love?
to hold another's hand
with every unsure step
taken on the ground
of an unshakable trust?

when did we begin
looking for love?
to lean upon a couch
of welcoming shoulders,
to rest awhile
and smile or cry?

when did we begin
looking for love?
between sheets and pillows
and melting flesh
catching fire
with a tiny spark?

when did we begin
looking for love?
in all the reasons
we find to live and die for,
our work, our tribe,
our passions, our dreams?

when did we begin
looking for love?
in the silent grooves
of our aged form,
pickled, tasted
and digested by life?

when did we begin
looking for love?
at the threshold
between two worlds
that forever call us,
asking us to make them our own?

when did we begin
looking for love?
in this odyssey
of being extraordinarily
and utterly, ordinarily
human?

and so perhaps,
we keep looking,
for love,
some love,
any love,
one love.....

truth

one day,
in the quiet reflection
of a calm pool
I discovered
in the middle of me,
I looked at myself
long and hard,
and broke all promises
I'd spoken out loud
over the years,

and in the midst
of those ruins,
sacred testimony
to a strong will,
to walls holding
nothing more
than a rich history
of marriage vows,
to beliefs
I called my own,

I took seven steps
around the flaming water,
with my hand upon my heart,
making a secret vow
whispered to Life,
carrying its sound
on my trembling lips,
to make and live
this one life,
as my very own.

praise

I feel the wetness
of praise
like the slant of rain
upon a clean window pane,
random streaks
slashing the clarity
for a moment or two,
before running down
the frame and walls,
to the already fragrant
smoking earth.

like hearts on sleeves of green

there is no point
in giving me
your heart,
if you still hold on
to the key.

why lock it up
behind those
morose walls,
so I can only feel
a faint pulse,
a faint throb
of life?

why not set it free,
so it can roam
the heavens
and the earth,
dancing, resting,
whispering
the songs
it so wants to keep?

like a golden leaf
riding a wave
of pure celebration
as it flows
into unknown worlds,
with its pulse,
its heart
upon those
sleeves of green.

advice

advice flows
often
like wine
on the house,
with no takers,

for it has not
slumbered
in time,
waiting
for that moment
to be received
with honour,
by the one
who thirsts,

given before its time,
without a thought,
without a look within,
it remains
unused,
insipid,
and wasted,
like young wine
curling around
hesitant lips,
like rain
not harvested
for its life,
leaving behind
a parched
dishonoured earth.

how life works

there are no dead-ends,
only twists
and loops
rediscovering
themselves
in an endless
seamless
dance
of co-creation,
of merging
inside
outside.

reawakened in love

with every touch,
this flesh and blood
soften and disappear
into an emptiness,
open to drink from love,
with every touch,
i shed layers
of stories
i had told myself
for too long,
with every touch,
this hardened shell
becomes a deep well
of intense emotion,

with every touch,
love caresses me
in a slow motion dance,
with every touch,
a new part of me
lying unused,
comes alive
all over again,
with every touch,
love holds me steady,
inviting me
to receive more,
more than i'd ever dreamed
or asked for,

with every touch,
i remember myself
as i feel this form
reawakened
in love.

swallow love

if i could stand
where the shore
sinks with every wave,
if i could stand
where the sky
opens her limbs
to every passing cloud,
if i could stand
where my heart strings
stretch beyond all sound,
if i could stand
where blue meets blue
without a name,
if i could stand there
and not be blown
to a zillion shards,
i would fold myself
into a grain of sand,
where water and sky
swallow their loves,
in one blessed gulp
of mind-blowing beauty.

one love

is this what it means to die?
is this what it means to really live?
when nothing arises
from the womb of this heart,
except a timeless silence
and a continuous imploding of will?
when you feel you've walked
and trudged many a mile,
through countless valleys,
soaring off cliff edges,
only to know this,
in one unimaginable moment,
that you never climbed
or walked, or soared,
but were led and carried
by a divine hand,
to the cusp of heaven and earth,
when you come to know
that there are no horizons,
only this moment, now,
where you can take
this one breath,
and then rest
in all the breaths
loaned to you before,
with nowhere to go,
nothing more to do,
but lose yourself
in the arms of this one love
that fills both heaven and earth.

when a poem takes hold of me

when a poem takes hold of me,
i cannot cork it,
to let it ferment
in those dark cellars
of my being,
until another time,

i have to listen to it,
i have to watch it form and grow,
i have to pause and feel it
take hold of me -
like a lover
i cannot but surrender to
and elope with,
like a squirrel devouring a fruit,
devotion cupped in its tiny paws,
like an eagle
soaring into other worlds,
with its prey-filled talons,
like a magical switch
that turns everything off
in this world,
so I can inhabit another
Wonderland,

when a poem takes hold of me,
i cannot but let it take me
anywhere, everywhere, nowhere,
because that's where
I find me,
that's where I die
and am born,
over and over again.

oxygen

this morning,
i was stopped
in the midst
of a breath,
by breath
whispering to me  -
"take me in,
take as much
as you want
of me,
but have you ever
paused
to wonder,
just how much
oxygen
you're taking away,
that someone
or something else
really needs?"

don't look for doors

don't stand
at the door,
the only one
you see,
and imagine
a house,

walk around,
don't look for doors
or windows,
to get in
or out,

and while you walk around
in silence,
stroke the walls
with your supple palms,
feel them hold
something precious,
hear them speak
to your single-malt
essence
that wants to know
more,

and then,
like magic,
you'll find
there are no doors
or windows
or walls,
only the smell
of a warm hearth,
in a house
you didn't know
was home.

new wings

often
these days
I'm caught
between
two voices
inside -

one yearning
for those exact words
of love,
an ancient chant
through eons,
etched
in twisted grooves
of a mind
leaping
into its safety net,

and another,
looking for new ways
of listening
and imagining,
beyond the unsaid,
between
the white noise
and dark silence,
and in the flick
of each string,

of a heart
opening itself
to a new world,
a new love,
a new song,
and new wings.

your words

your words
tread on me
with the softness
of tiny happy feet,
playing around in slush,
or sometimes
like a generous
trickle of honey
enjoying
its own slowness,
sometimes
like that telling strike
of metal
upon a parched earth,
calling forth
the lushness
of an underground spring
hidden from all eyes,
and sometimes
they simply wash over me
with the suddenness
of a wave caught
by a half-awake shore,
and often stay with me
like little pools
of freshness
that I can dip into
with my tired eyes
and ears.

jab we met

you stopped by
for a touch
of hands
and smiles,
and in the midst
of all those
pedestrian sounds
of a world awakening
at its own pace,
on this graceful morn,
you drew me
into a shoreless ocean,
split between
your hazel eyes.

and so I run

and so I run,
to feel the step
take form,
from ground
to flight
to ground;

and so I run,
to feel this form
move and change
and stay rooted,
in something
that I cannot name;

and so I run,
so I can hear
the wind rush in
and out,
lifting me
to places
I never dreamed of;

and so I run
so I can feel
my pounding chest
engraving its love
for this one life
in every cell;

and so I run,
for as I move
from here
to anywhere,
I break into barriers,
and build bridges
where there were none;

and so I run,
so this sweat
not wiped clean as yet,
pours out of my pores,
and fall as an offering
to this ground
that carries me forth
always;

and so I run,
for a nameless
formless cause,
that I can only feel
in those moments
when I can run -

not away,
not towards,
not because or for,
but only to feel alive,
and to know I want
to simply run.

offering

offer me anything,
everything,
and I'll take it,
I'll take it all,

but first,
let's listen
to the song
of our hearts,
beating as one
in a dance,

and then
it won't matter
how my palms
are placed,
or yours,
or who gives
and who receives,
and how,

for all that would
matter then,
is that we give
and receive
from that one place,
with love.

dark light

can you draw away
those imposing hands,
that thrust out
like branches
piercing the heart
of an open sky?

can you hold them still
awhile,
upon your chest,
and feel the rustling
of a quiet breath,
as you hear singing
surround your silence?

can you see
how in the midst
of all the darkness
that swallows you,
and digests you,
you still have eyes?

can you feel
the moistness of earth
upon whose bosom
you and I
both stand,
blessed twice?

come,
feel you
and me,
under those
quivering holes
of dark light.

we

trembling drops of
water fallen on
upturned palms of
a water bloom,
playing with uncertain
sunbeams and
ripples stretching
into a form that's
endless...

the last frontier

would you close your eyes
and just listen?
would you feel how
you push on me
with your walls?
would you hear
those old rakes
grate against
hardened clods
of fear and pride?
would you squeeze
and empty out
the stale breath
that keeps you safe
in this cracked shell?
and then, only then,
would you just let me in?

would you hold me lightly
in your imploding folds,
letting me come
and go at will?
would you let me flow
into you, to fill you
and those  deep dark corners
that you hide
from an unkind world?
would you let me burn
your insides,
and then stay with
the burning dross
in your belly,
as you prime yourself
for this endless
graceful dance?


and then,
in that blessed moment,
when all becomes still,
when you can no longer
hear yourself or me,
when you don't quite know
whether I'm in or out,
somewhere or nowhere,
when you've filled
this temple
with your whole being,
and you suddenly find
there are no walls,
just endless space
extending into
nothingness,
in that moment perhaps,
you would have let me in,
to feel your skin
against mine,
to touch
the last frontier,
where you and I
can explode
into the stillness,
and look into
the mouth
of this whole
universe,
in one breath.

to carry a dream

i don't want to live
for a dream to be birthed,
i want to live
for the seed to be sown
in this womb,
so i can feel
its eyes, feet and palms
still being formed,
so i can feel
it move and grow
in me, with me,
changing me,
shaping me,
so i can feel it's breath
move with mine,
hear its song
sing with mine,
so i can carry its weight
and not feel restrained,
so i can live and die
celebrating the sanctity
of this unborn dream,
this unborn mother,
and an unborn child.

peel

don't peel the petals
of a tender bud
with your fingers,
speak to it,
sing to it,
bring it the sun
and the stars,
watch the rain
slip into its folds
in a hush,
feel the wind
kiss each petal awake
ever so gently,
smell the quiet fragrance
of its flowering,
and then wait
with the frailty
of your patience,
soaking into
the presence
of that rich soil
you never see,
and peel it
with your loving eyes,
making space
within
for it to open
in its own
perfect time.

the drum

sometimes,
when my world
gets too noisy,
when sounds
bounce off
the heavy skin
of the drum
within,
I take my drum
into the wilderness
of a forest,
and sit in a clearing
the size of my skin,
I close my eyes
and listen in silence,
tapping out a prayer,
so I can feel
the song of this skin,
rising from the forest
and the drum
within.

clarity

don't stand there
and look for me,
like you watch
the sun and the moon
and the stars
against a stark sky;
walk,
take one step
through this grey
ethereal mist,
that unsettles you,
only so you can
walk with me,
not towards me,
for there is
no place to reach,
only a constant clearing,
an endless arrival
of things that matter
to you and me.

inside out

a heart bleeds today
in the silence
of her temple,
where the world
arrives noisily,
with the sounds
of gleaming swords
lashing against
ancient walls,
clods of pride
being smashed
to smithereens
outside,

swords of blame
now bent and used
inside,
to chisel
prune and slough,
what does not belong
here -
where there is only
one sacred space,
always growing,
always turning,
always merging
inside out.

folded wings

the sparks are spent,
the euphoria's over,
the blood draws in
to its quiet pace,
dropping down
to the ground,
the eagle rests her eyes
where things that matter
lie waiting
with folded wings.

still point

where is that point
do you know?
that exact point,
where sadness turns to joy,
where anger turns to calm,
where fear turns to trust,
where shame turns to self-respect,
where grief turns to deep connection,
where jealousy turns to devotion,
where hatred turns to passion,
where depression turns to rebirth,
where chaos turns to order,
where non-love turns to love?

i don't know.

and so,
I don't chase the river,
I let it caress me,
immerse me,
and wash me
with its wetness,
not knowing
how the ripples
will unfold,
or where they will go,
knowing only this -
that I am the river,
never resting
upon
one ripple,
one wave,
one drop
of water,
that one exact point
where everything
becomes dead,
and still.

a new shape of love

the wheel turns
with the rise and fall
of every sun,
sometimes slow,
sometimes fast,
cupped
in yielding palms,
swirling flames
of water,
breath,
and brown earth,
form
a new shape
of endless love,
fired
in an ever-melting
core.

one dance

two little waves
upon a wave,
dancing together
to an unknown shore -
one,
ready to dissolve
into the closeness
of an end
that's always arriving,
the other,
ready to live
for the beginning
of an end
that never was,
coalesced
in one moment
of the infinite,
one drop,
one wave,
one dance,
one celebration,
of every step,
of infinite beginnings
and infinite ends.

remembering

this morning I found
upon my chest,
a heavy cloud
breathing over
a restless sea,

and I wandered
with that lonely cloud,
looking for
a perfect place
to rest, to be,

until my whites
touched the hollows
of a host
of daffodils,
with their yellow brows,

'look at us', they said,
as they laughed
with the wind,
'our heads hold sway
even as we bow,'

'so remember the song
of your soulful heart,
where a cloud lies,
holding the rain
of this world,'

and then the cloud
was pierced right through,
by those hundred golden suns,
imploding this rain-filled heart
with their ever gentle love.

voice

you say
my voice
is like a lullaby,
drawing you
into a quiet;
but i don't like my voice.

you say
my voice
is dusted
with the magic
of fairies;
but i don't like my voice.

you say
my voice
dropped
into the stillness
of your clearing;
but i don't like my voice.

you say
my voice
held you,
grinding you to a stop,
to listen to yourself;
but i don't like my voice.

and i wonder
if that's how it should be;

that when i can stay
with my sadness
and your joy
that ripple out of
this god-given voice,
perhaps i can make space
for all those voices
the world disdains,

and perhaps that's how
i can learn to speak,
all over again,
in the tongue
of a world
that i can now
only dream of,
for you and me.

boxes

i imagine a world
where boxes
have holes,
billions of them,
fill one
with something,
and it spills over
on all sides,
gushing, crawling
bubbling, dancing
pushing, sucking
vanishing
from one to the other;
impossible
to close,
to cork down,
to preserve for posterity,
or just carry,
boxes
that love
and sing
and do
the magic
of water.

two faces

don't say
the only thing
you learned from me
is to not be like me,
don't say
you won't
open your eyes
even as I stand
before your face,
don't say
you won't
leave the door open
for me ever again,
don't say
you'll welcome me
only when I change
this face,
for I am the 'you'
and you are the 'me'
we don't want to see,
in the mirror
with two faces.

being me

when I can walk that edge
with every step,
of feeling needed
and not needed,
when I can both love
and die to my own neediness,
and my need to be loved,
when I can take a breath
knowing that what
feeds me, also feeds you,
what kills me,
could also kill you,
then I would have found
a way to walk that edge,
a way to be me, in this world.

your tree of sorrow

inside you
is a tree of sorrow,
where you hang
your pain
in all it hues,
on branches
growing
into the sun,

and while you sit
in the shade
of its leaves
still green,
stop and ponder
which ones to leave,
and which ones to take
with you
as you move on,

then walk around
with your weary heart,
thanking every leaf,
now poised
in a poignant silence,
for making you
whole
and broken,

and then leave,
without a glance
to see
what you've left behind,
taking with you
some leaves with holes -
reminders that tell you
what you must love
so much,

so you can
pour the sun
into those holes
from where
you were born,
filling you with a fire
to serve the world,
while the sun bleeds
into a brand new dawn.