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.

Spirals, not Circles

I dream of a world
beyond stifling circles,
and heads stuck in
outdated tracks,
energies held close
in black and white
time and space.

I dream of a world
where we can
sit and speak,
listen and move,
in spirals;
where eyes and hearts
can dance at will,
through spaces
in their togetherness,
through order
in the randomness,

shifting footprints
that challenge
indelible grooves,
moving off
into the distance,
into an adventure
of becoming
and dissolving,

into untamed dreams -
the curls of incense,
the daunting vortex,
the sleeping helix
in our countless cells
waking up to an orgasm
that never ends,
and this journey
of spiraling
into the infinitesimal
through infinite
unknown steps.

Dancing Cells, Shimmering Stars

and then, Life said to me:
"why do you
first build walls,
and then carve
doors and windows
to open and see?
step out for a moment
in the still of the night
under the shimmering stars,
feel me in your
wild dancing cells,
and you will know
all that you are,
and all that you can
and will ever be."

The Book of Your Life

there is a joy
when I pick up
the book of your life
and open it
to read a page
in silent reverie,
where words
become stories,
where spaces
become pauses,
where memories
become new arrivals,
crying out to be held
against the softness
of my palms,
where lines
become the web
of our one entangled,
sacred existence.

Touch Me With Your Skin

peel off your mask,
it is not your skin;
it yearns
to feel the warmth
of a giving sun
through its every pore,
to breathe into the wind
that rushes through
stirring every cell awake,
to touch the moistness
of the holy mud
that embalms your spirit,
and to simply remember
how it feels
to touch another
with your human skin.

Walking on Knives

and I learn the art
of walking on knives,
where every prick
touches the folds
of a white rose,
opening herself up
to hold up my feet
with her thorns.

Heart-Opening

I looked into the delight
of a deep blue bay
rolling forever
on endless shores,
I looked into the silence
of a radiant sky
unfurling herself
to every passer by,
and I said to myself
that it wasn't time -
no, not as yet,
to be baptized
by the kiss of rain
and drops of dew
snuggling against
my tender skin,
it wasn't time -
not as yet,
to be coaxed into
the alluring dance
of a butterfly in rapture,
nor was it time
to be shattered open
by the wake up call
of a giving sun;
it was after all
a time to rest,
to feel the pain
of remaining a bud
and becoming a flower.

The Sacred is in Me

Many years ago, we converted to eating organic food as a family, because of an impulsive decision we took as a family, led by our dear son. We simply trusted him and decided to change our lifestyle. Then it became a way of life.....something that I held on to more and more because I thought that my body was sacred and that I was abusing it by not giving it the best, most natural food possible. I saw that feeling of sacredness as love.....a deep love for my body. And I didn’t realise until a week or so ago, that what I considered a healthy 'alternative' lifestyle was actually becoming a lifestyle that I was on the verge of becoming fanatic about. It was no longer just another 'alternative'; it was 'the' alternative. I would drive more than 15km one way to go and get organic food from the store that I still love and consider a temple. I would get anxious and urge my son to get ready faster than usual so we could be there on time. Getting ready was something he has always had trouble with. But I did not give up. I was fighting two fears by doing what I did - the fear of losing control (to my son) and the fear of dying into an identity that I believed defined me. And in that not dying to both, I found myself holding on to both more tightly.

Last week, for some reason, I could not go to the organic store and so decided to get veggies from the man who sells veggies inside our community. I had a magical, beautiful experience that day, which broke open my heart, when I felt and saw the love, enjoyment and stillness with which he was doing his 'stressful' job of handling so many people single-handedly. That day, I suddenly saw this subtle fear (of losing control and dying) loom large.....and I realised that what I held as sacred was merely this fear disguised as love. And that was it....suddenly the need to hold on to one way of living just didn’t make sense or seem to matter so much. There was a loosening of the grip immediately. And then of course, I forgot about it.

Yesterday, I was again downstairs, picking some veggies, as both my son and I decided that we didn’t feel like going all the way to the organic store. My friend who was also there saw me and asked: "How come you are here today? Didn’t you go to .....to pick up veggies today?” It was then that I realised that I had already started walking a new path, without really knowing that in my head. I smiled and shook my head. There was no longer just one way.....there was no longer a need to follow just one way ...

I realised then how tightly I had been holding on to something which I believed was my path....and a sacred, sustainable, alternative path at that. I had thought that considering something sacred was about being committed to it, no matter what, and that somewhere the commitment that had come up in the moment, had taken on a new avatar when the moment then stretched to something more than just the moment. That is when it perhaps became bound to time and therefore tinged with fear....something that I was not even aware of.

A similar thing happened to me about ten days ago, when I was struggling to read things on the computer and in books with my glasses on (I have worn spectacles since I was 20 years old). My old self would have immediately fixed an appointment to go see the optometrist and get my eyes checked again, worried if there could be a change in power.....But on that day I simply decided to give this a try - to carry on without glasses for as long as possible and also to be open to wearing them if needed....That was it. No more thinking. On an impulse, I took off my spectacles and didn’t feel like wearing them again! I had a headache for a few days which I simply stayed with, and then haven't felt the need to wear them at all, except for one time. That was when the fear came up again while I was speaking to a large audience...On that day, I looked away from this fear, while facing the bigger one of speaking in front of a crowd :)....because it was too much for me to tackle both at one shot!

So what is sacredness all about? Is it revering something no matter what? Is it about being blind to everything else that one feels is 'not sacred'? Or is it about seeing everything as sacred.....seeing how everything is minutely and magically connected to everything else, and every time? Is it about seeing oneself as a 'special' individual and identifying with that completely, or is it about seeing the larger picture and the vastness and sacredness of that?

When these questions came up for me, I realised that it was as important for me to build up an identity for myself before being in a space (that life brought me to through experiences) where I simply felt like dying to that identity. And in that sense, death brings up an image of vastness and expansiveness that holds more and more and nourishes more and more inside of me. That for me is what sacredness is about. It is about a continuous dying instead of a wanting to survive and thrive, because it is in the dying that one really survives and thrives.....with a 'lightness' of being that cannot happen otherwise.

So sacredness is not always commitment. Not like I thought it was. It could be an over-commitment to a cycle that has reached its end or is taking a different turn. Commitment (as we often see it and speak about) is often a bending over backwards to follow a path like a horse with blinders on. Blinders have their own purpose and value. But the horse is larger than its blinders. Every horse also needs some space to think and feel and be without those blinders on, cavorting upon the wild green under an open blue sky! Commitment I feel has to be of, for and in the moment...a commitment to that inner guidance that is always showing me the way ‘to’ myself, not ‘away from’ myself....because my 'self' is always changing and growing and dying.....

So here are some more questions that came up for me as I stayed with these two experiences:

Is feeling sacredness about something making me wall myself in with my beliefs?

Or is sacredness something that draws me to trust life more and more, to lay out there in the open, for the wildness and wilderness to take care of me? Because there is something that is larger than me?

Which would make me feel light, open, airy, expansive and free?
Can I remember this and feel this every moment?
Can I see when even this way of being is walling me in in some ways?
Do I have that kind of commitment?

The key I guess is in dying to myself and what I believe and think is me.

 “She is free in her wildness, she is a wanderess, a drop of free water. 

She knows nothing of borders and cares nothing for rules or customs. 

 'Time' for her isn’t something to fight against. 

Her life flows clean, with passion, like fresh water."

~ Roman Payne 

The Heart-Seller

The Heart Seller - Pic courtesy www.weheartit.com

some people say

I wear my heart

on my sleeve,

and I often wonder

how that's true;

do I wear my heart

like a pretty accessory

to beautify myself?

I asked,

and my heart said to me -

'no, that's not true!'

for all I do

is to carry my wares,

from one space to another,

sharing stories,

stoking fires,

looking at the stars

in the darkest void,
and weaving dreams together;

and so I walk around

with my basket of flowers,

gathered over many

seasons and climes, 

to rest in the shade

of an ancient tree,

the warmth of the sun,

or a menacing storm,

to open my wares

and sell my heart,

so I can touch yours

as I dip into

and touch mine.

Purity

you look for coal
to find diamonds,
you look for oysters
to find pearls,
you look for water
to find the spring,
you look for the night
to find the stars,

but when you look within
you forget how to look -
you look for the light
closing your eyes to the darkness,
you look for what's pure
not wanting to touch
or feel what's impure;

there is no short-cut
to the rites of passage
into a throbbing heart,
that chooses to stay open
to distill the essence
from the hurt.

Heart Broken

and when you left,
you didn't take the sun with you,
nor did you leave
a patch of darkness behind,
you left me with
the flowing flood waters
of a broken open heart,
that held in its ripples,
the light of a million stars.

The Eye of the Storm

the clouds are gathering
far away from
your sleepy eyes,
yet close,
they are closing in
over her unmoored heart,
that cannot be stilled -
no, not any more;
and then
from the eye of the storm,
rises a roll of thunder
and a lightning bolt,
that splits wide open
her encased heart;
and she roars -
her roar is a call
to all those wild hearts
that are tired
of locks and keys
and cozy walls;
those who are willing
to bleed with her,
to roar with her,
to feel the wind,
to touch the earth,
to soak in the rain, and
to smell the inner mystery;
to live untamed
and simply be
without an apology,
in the eye of the storm.

The Point of No Return

and when I reach
the point of no return,
a dead-end,
an empty wall, or
a broken ridge -
mute sentinels
to a necessary
trespassing
of the soul
which already knows
the way home,
I will stand
face to face
with the abruptness
of death, and
the faint probability
of life;
there - in the space
between stories,
old and new;
where the next step
is born
not from a choice
of this or that, but
from the groundless ground
of a defenseless open heart,
that has suddenly remembered
the possibilities beyond
the point of no return.

and when you told me
how you didn't love me,
my heart cracked open
just a little more,
for a love that's not felt
is a love that's forgotten
how and where to flow....

Open

OPEN is how we were before we folded into ourselves like a curled up tendril or a coiled up spring - nondescript and lifeless to the outside world that knows not the raw power we hold within.

To open is to give in to life...to let the life force flow freely through....
Sometimes it is a slow and gentle unwinding,  a loosening, one thread at a time, like unscrewing a bottle cap to let out the trapped air and to be filled up anew.
Sometimes it is a pushing of a door that has been stuck for too long, with a firm shove, or an unlatching of a happy window to let in sunbeams and fresh air, or the whiff of a rain-kissed earth, and the darkness of a new moon night.
Sometimes it is the wonder and excitement of a child peering into the sheer magic of the unknown, yet to unfold.

It is seeing the mundane, watching the trodden, worn-out paths before us, with new eyes and stepping onto them with renewed faith.
It is standing in a swamp or amidst swelling waters of a gushing river with an upturned cupped palm, ready to receive both waters with grace.
It is an expunging of our boundaries, a tearing down of our fortress, to make space for something to leave and merge.
It is a release of the pain of having been a bud for too long, a readiness to unfurl the beauty of our newly formed petals, to become a flower that smiles and nods its head to every passing sunbeam or storm.
It is a bird taking flight after her well-earned rest in the folds of a dancing tree...trusting both her weathered nest on a quivering branch, and her own gift of wings that let her own two worlds at once.
It is a volcano exploding in all its glory, the earth giving way to a long-hidden spring, a parched tank speaking to the distant sky, asking to be filled up with rain.
It is a song bursting from the deep silent folds of a belly, the welcoming arms of a loved one into which one can sink into anytime, anywhere.
It is the carefree display of one's innards without fear or favour, lying naked under a starlit sky, because there is nothing more to uncover or hide; when even muslin becomes too heavy and dressy, for a free spirit to wear.

Opening is a celebration, a release from bondage, often self-imposed, a spilling over of joy like a cork plucked out of a bottle of champagne.
It is a becoming that cannot be hurried; it is a patience that yields to time and life, it is the thawing of seasons that has a rhythm of its own.
It is the womb and the midwife of a deep knowing - that a pupa will some day become a butterfly that will venture into unseen worlds, or an untouched fruit that lies on a forest floor, holds within its seeds, the birds, the bees and the trees of another time and place that we might never know or come to see.
It is about walking that edge, that magical space between knowing and becoming; exploring the rim of a container that has no top or bottom or sides even.

To be open is not a choice, it is what we are, even when we want to hide....
It is a trust in the shifting ground and space below our feet, as we take every step, walk through every door, every window, every turn.
It dances in the faintest parting of lips that holds the breath of freedom, a sweet anticipation of an inspired utterance, the first golden words set free from a tongue-tied existence.
It is an arrival in that moment of trembling hesitation; in the twilight zone where we often fear to tread, where even when we are running away, we cannot but open ourselves to other roads, other worlds, other possibilities.

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!

The Arrival

the door is open -
I sit by it and wait...
for nothing,
and everything;
for the coming
and going;
there is darkness
and there's light, sometimes;
there is despair
and there's hope, sometimes;
strangers, friends,
love and hate;
and in the silent space
between,
I wait...