In the Blue of the Flame

I don't want
to sit around
or sing and dance
and tell stories
around a sacred fire,

I want to stand
in the blue
of the flame -
naked,
groundless,
yet alive,

tempered by
an unquenchable longing
to meet myself
in my fiery wholeness,
reclaiming the majesty
and insignificance
of what I am
and what I'm here to do,
in a world that's content
to share stories around a fire,
too terrified to burn
its fingers and toes.

Come Home!

Come home -
the door
is always open,
even when it seems closed.
Can you see
a little fence around,
and a path that leads up
to the door?

Come home
to the sacred space,
where a bleeding heart
lives and thrives;
that finds most joy
when it can give,
no holding back,
and nothing to hide.

Come home
through the little fence,
that makes this heart
a loving home;
cross over it
if you please,
if you can live in and love,
a bleeding home.

For you'll have to
take off your shoes,
and walk barefoot
through the door,
you'll have to lay
your clothes upon the grass,
and bare yourself
to your core;

There's no other way
you can come in, my friend,
when you cross the fence,
and walk in through the door;
when our hearts are tender,
and wide, wide open,
even fences become
open doors.

Come home!