Take Me to Your Darkness (a song)

Show me all your shadows as they stretch into noon,
the mystery of your longings on the far side of the moon,
brilliant flash of diamond, a spark of light in black,
let go of belief that you are never coming back.

Fall into the crevice and feel alive within,
the deep and unknown part of you, it's time to live again,
punish no one now, and leave all guilt behind,
take me to your darkness, a gift of life so kind.

Uncover wounds long ignored, time to heal now,
if blackness overtakes your sun, you'll rescue you somehow,
look the monster in the eye, and what you'll really find,
is the darkest part of love, don't leave it behind.

So lay your dark side at my feet-the whole of you, the taste so sweet,
obsidian sand on endless beach, a promised fall into the breach,
don't just want to see the sun, but the absence of it too,
take me to your darkness, I see the whole of you.

Take me to your darkness, I want to love the whole of you.

Another Stone To Trip Over (a song)

I know the time has come
to see the road and start to run,
To pull the rip cord and float free
to seek the land I know is me.

Another journey after all
the way I learn to love the fall,
that flippy stomach feeling now
and always there's a net somehow.

A walk in darkness, after light of day,
tripping over rocks in the way,
Can't we just lay in soft spring clover,
instead of finding one more stone to trip over?

Feel the way to dive within,
while we dance this dance again,
hands together or barely touch,
while we take the space we need so much.

I don't know, even though I'm smart,
what got broken in your heart,
that made you leave this pure white love,
I ask again and I look above.

Won't you open and let me in,
won't you let the healing begin?
I'll whisper in an ocean blue tone,
as I move another dangerous stone.

A walk in darkness, after light of day,
tripping over rocks in the way,
Can't we just lay in soft spring clover,
instead of finding one more stone to trip over?

Can't we rest in soft spring clover
instead of finding stones that we trip over?

Public Garden (a song)

Everything I thought as I first walked among these trees,
Everything I wondered as I watched the falling leaves,
And over there on that blue bridge my heart skipped at the view,
as you walked here to meet me and I saw that it was you.

Chorus:
A garden of my future
a garden of right now
that's the way I saw this place
but it looks different now
I walk alone as night falls all around me
but I'll never ever say that I was sorry
no, no, no.

Every step we took with your arm over my shoulder,
Everytime we kissed as this brand new love grew older,
And over there where we embraced after missing us so much,
when we breathed with two full hearts and I felt your sweet touch.

Chorus:
A garden of my future
a garden of right now
that's the way I saw this place
but it looks different now
I walk alone as dusk falls all around me
but I'll never ever say that I was sorry
no, no, no.

A Prayer Painted by God

I thirst for that which feeds my senses and my heart. When I imagine Odonata, I breathe a sigh at the homecoming. It's beautiful, with swooping roof lines and curving doorways, fascinating textures, a feast of colors, rich fragrances and smiling sounds. . .

I feel Odonata as a sanctuary, a spiritual community where one is blessed with the opportunity to practice giving and receiving love and care, every day. It will be a space created for the intentional nurturing and careful tending of the human spirit--where joys are doubled and sorrows are halved by the company we'll share.

Our surreoundings have a great effect upon us, upon our mental and emotional health, physical health, and spiritual health . . .this community will sweetly support and sustain every facet of the jewels we each are, and in doing so, will lift each of us upwards toward Light. It's important that we not underestimate the power of our physical surroundings upon us. Odonata will be the home of sacred spaces and blessed people, accompanying one another on our journeys in this precious life.

And Odonata will be a sweep of God's brush across the landscape, a prayer painted by God.

Blood-Borne Wondering

A woman's work in relationship is to wonder. A man's work is to walk on, and woman may accompany, or she may not. . .but stop for her he surely won't. She can wonder where they are going together, or wonder if she wants to go (though most women don't adequately consider her man's purpose and journey before signing on.)

The wondering lies deep within our blood, some flotsam of times past when we couldn't fend for ourselves, or could, but needed a seed to be planted in order to survive, literally survive . . .perhaps the purpose of the wondering is lost, and it would better serve now to Still and Be, rather than to be tormented by the blood-borne Wondering. . .but it's still there, and better to face it than to not. There is some relief in the Facing.

Some days the Being feels so difficult, and the Wondering feels so painful. With skill, we can reverse blood, and live in something far more indelible than instinct. We can live in Now and rest in The connection. Sweet relief, sweeter than most any feeling in this life, and a sweetness surpassing even the most intimate, soul-scorching kiss, weelll, maybe.

If a woman's wondering is an illness, then Presence is the only innoculation. It's most certainly a dis-ease, this Wondering. And Ease is what comes to us when we rest long enough for it to find us.

Beyond the Struggle

With swift clarity I've realized the journey is over. All seeking leads to the same X on this ancient treasure map . . .so that the seeking is now merely auditioning different paths to the One--which is who I am and who I've always been. In an instant, I can feel God so intimately that the love overwhelms me and I'm taken into the arms of the only true Security---Security known as Love----which runs forever in the violet evening sky.

The only thing to seek is Presence. To still and allow swirling thoughts to settle like little flecks of dust aroused before a shaft of sunlight through a window . . .particles of dust---invisible thoughts . . .invisible only until the Light of one's Presence reaches them.

So perhaps this Seeking is nothing more than finding different ways, and the best way for each of us, to open the curtain on this light-filled day, so we can see the dust long enough to know the real trick is to still and settle, and feel the Sun.

Did I actually title this piece, "Beyond the Struggle?" That's funny because I'm not beyond the struggle. Perhaps more appropriate words would have been "I'm Beyond Trying to Feel Spirit's Presence Within Me and Now I Can Feel the Sun Anytime I Want!" I've finally accessed enough Peace often enough to have built a solid, abiding faith. In my own way, I know. I Know. So in that sense, the seeking, the struggle, has ceased, and I am always, always home wherever I travel.

When Does the Heart Know? (a song)

When does the heart know,
the truth of white and clear?
When does the heart know
in the span of one short year?

When does the heart love,
when can it fly free?
When does the heart love,
or feel blind and can't see?

When does the heart cry,
when the levy fails to hold?
When does it meet winter sky
when does it feel so cold?

When does the heart ask,
as though a small child?
when does the heart ask
with peace which only smiled?

How does the heart heal
as day spins into day?
How does the heart heal
makes its courageous way?

I thought the heart knew,
but time would tell true,
some things we can't know,
and some hearts must go.

In the End (a song)

In the end
I won't be missing,
and in the end
I don't hear tears,
in the end
the lips, which kissing,
will speak the prayer
of another day.

In the end
of all my sorrow,
and in the end
of this world's fears,
in the end
of all tomorrows,
she will fly home
to rest again.

Another day
another day
the earth spins on,
sun lights the way,
white stars, they dance
the best romance,
and heart shall whisper--
eternal Yes and yes.

So in the end
I'll be a breeze,
which warms the skin
and longs to free,
the sweetest touch
of one heart's love
will turn and turn,
begin again.

In the end
I won't be missing,
and in the end
I won't taste tears,
in the end
the lips, which kissing,
whisper a prayer
of another day.

I am Sorry

In my ignorance,
I loved you.
In my ignorance,
I respected every boundary
of the land you are,
and could not see my own borders.

I thought the light was present
but it was dimmed,
the darkness of my mistake
overshadowing the Sun.

I felt to love
was to love Big
but to love Bigger than mySelf
was no love at all.

Compassion and an open heart
were my innocent goals
but in the haste to love,
and in effort to keep the heart open to you,
to remain tirelessly compassionate,
I lost compassion for mySelf.

I damaged the blossom of our Flowering,
because I did not sweetly tend mySelf enough,
choosing in darkness to tend to you,
and for that, I am sorry.

Make a Place for Me (a poem)

Travel to golden fields of straw,
gather up enough for my bed.
Pluck the downey snow-colored feathers of geese
which fly to sun before the winter's grey.

Scatter straw on the ground
in the corner of your heart,
the corner which is warmest,
before the fire which burns constantly with passion.

Seek the softest silks, cut out the pattern
for my place near the fire,
fill abundantly, cozy and plump with goose down
and lay it atop the straw.

Find the sweetest blankets,
to keep the warmth when you can not
leave them there for me,
and I will find them.

When you've readied the corner of your heart
nearest the fire,
when you've made a place for me,
I will be welcome
and I will come.

He Was Love Once (a song)

He was an infant once,
full of love and innocence.
was he cared for well?
only time would tell.

He was a small boy once,
full of motion and laughter,
or was the light already
far gone by then?

Did his mother ever hold him close,
and tell him he mattered most,
that we are all God's children
and we should love each other well?

Was his father there,
how broken was the heir
by the time he turned a man,
by the time he took her hand?

What made him cry,
did he ever ask why,
what doubts kept him awake,
were there ghosts he couldn't shake?

All I know is the world's gone wild,
when we can kill this child,
because he was love once,
he was once innocence.

Is it strange that I cry tears for
this man who should be feared,
who hated all so well?
time will never tell.

But really, it's a matter of love,
something he never had enough of,
and now I hope he can see from where he is
he was love once.

He was love once.

I Will Be With You (a song)

When you get here
I will smile and say
where have you been
and it's ok

And when you get here
I'll feel my heart
like wings flying south
to the warmest part

The longest journey
you had to take
was one alone
so you could wake

to all there is
to all you are
to shake the dust
from all your stars.

the long way to love
the long road to love
often finds us looking for signs
the shorter path might be faster
but we lose the scenic road we could find

I am with you
on your journey
and you're with me on mine
we carry with us
stained forever,
the marks of passion
which are no crime

I watch you wander,
from far away
and wish the light
to shine your way
I can not help you
except to Be
a stone-set part of your memory

So if you're walking
on that road
and you can't bear
the heavy load
reach inside, where I remain
and feel the strength--love that stains

I will be with you
I will be with you
and you will be with me
I will be with you
I will be with you
as we sail with precious cargo
out to sea.

When you get here
I will smile and say
where have you been
and it's ok

And when you get here
I'll feel my heart
like wings flying south
to the warmest part

Washing Dishes

I gather them. The ones waaaay over there, deposited at the far side of the kitchen landscape by a slightly lazy diner, the ones which have wanderered away to another country entirely . . .and the ones right here next to, or in, the sink.

I reach for the faucet handle and pull upwards, angling it just so, to the place I know will yield the perfect temperature. Not so hot my hands will burn, but hotter perhaps, than for hand-washing. I know for the sake of the planet, I should not run the water the entire time, but I love the way it feels on my skin, the way it makes the suds sudsier, and the way the steam wafts up to my face. Meh, I don't have a dishwasher, so maybe it's a, ahem, wash as far as water-wasting. I never water my lawn, so I jauntily assert: Let the Water Run!

I so completely do not understand people who wear gloves to wash dishes. Why do it if not to feel the suds and water caress your skin? Ok, ok, I suppose you need to get the dishes washed. I'll give you that. But why deprive yourself of a treat for the senses, if your senses will open enough to receive the gift?

Washing dishes, for those of us who don't have a dishwasher, is a daily or many-times-a-day task. For a short time, I wanted a dishwasher, then finally decided that having one not only wouldn't add to my life, it would subtract from it. I'd lose a satisfying pleasure, and God knows most of us need more pleasures, especially sensory ones. On with the ceremony . . .

Sponges: I like fresh sponges, the kind with the scrubby part on one side, and the sponge part on the other. That way, if you have been a little neglectful of your dish duties, and some food has become a little stuck, you can flip your sponge over and scrape away the stubborn goo efficiently and satisfyingly. Once your sponge gets old, please do replace it. An icky sponge does not a sublime dishwashing experience make.

Dishsoap: Get thee to a health food store or a even Target shop and buy some lovely-scented soap. Or if you're lucky enough to live near a place which sells really fantastically aromatherapy-scented-with-real-essential-oils-dishsoap, well, buy it, I say! Life is too short to use dishsoap whose (whose?) smell you don't love, and don't even sleep with a man whose smell you don't love, either! Life is too short! But I digress . . .

So once you've collected the proper tools . . .your sponge and your deliciously scented soap, you may begin. Forget about the workday, forget about the bills which need to be paid, forget about the children arguing about whatever-it-was with each other, and most of all, forget about your brain. Oh, just try it for 10 minutes. Humor me, will you? And trust me. When I ask someone to trust me, they usually aren't sorry. So trust me.

Breathe. Yep, stand there in front of your sink, and breathe in and out a few times, and close your eyes. (the neighbors won't know what you're doing, it's ok) Open your eyes and watch the dishsoap drip, drip, drip onto the sponge . . .what color is the liquid? How fast or slow is it dripping onto the sponge? Can you smell it yet?

Procedure: Lather up the liquid until it's a diaphenous blubbly cloud on your sponge, and slowly take a dish in hand . . .pass the dish under the water, and lovingly and with care, (yes, I said lovingly) clean the dish as you might wash a loved one, a child or a lover, whichever sort of feeling you'd like to evoke. Really look at the dish, really see the water as it clears away the soap and the dish is left shiny and new again. New. And when you're satisfied with your work, lay it gently in the drainer or on a towel next to the sink.

Take up the next lucky dish, and proceed with your washing ceremony . . .careful not to clank dishes around, careful to move slowly and deliberately, careful to breathe, to feel, see, smell and hear everything going on at your warm, wet fingertips. Be there. Be only there.

What a perfect thing to accomplish! If you've done it well, not only will your dishes be clean and happy, but you will, I promise (trust me, remember?), feel a lot better than you did when you started, having taken a few moments of your day to be exquisitely Present, which is always the best gift one can give oneself. Happy Day of Life, and Happy Dishwashing!

Only Two

There are only two emotions:

fear

or

love.

Which do you choose?


Thoughts create reality:

which thoughts do you choose?

"I Don't Dance"

Sometimes life hits you over the head with a gorgeous gold-plated frying pan: Wham!

Today my soon-to-be-ex-husband and I took our son to the Science Center, to do something fun as a "family." So far, we've been remarkably able to do such things for the sake of our son, and I hope we can continue as time passes.

Anyway, I've been in a bad place lately. Down about some things, and unable to find my light in the way I usually can. But when I'm in a mood like that, I at least usually try to make my way to the light. So we all piled into the car to drive home and I said "I need an attitide adjustment, I know, MUSIC and DANCING!" and I proceeded to pop some Brazilian drumming-pop-dance-tech-fun music into the CD player . . .cranked it up loud, and began to Groove Mightily in the seat as I drove. *ahem*

Hey, it was fun!

After a minute or so, my STBEH looks at me, and says, in this lifeless, dull, serious tone "can we turn that down please?"

I looked back and chirped "ok, but you should dance too, it's FUN! That's what life's all about, dancing!" (and continued car-dancing while he started muttering something under his breath.) "Dancing is notwhat life's all about."

I replied "ok, it's not everything, but it's very, very important. We aren't here in rocks, we're here in BODIES, and bodies like to move and celebrate!"

"I don't dance." he deadpanned. And I do mean "dead."

WHAM! Right over my head, there went the gold-plated frying pan. I received more clarity about why I was divorcing in that moment than in perhaps the whole prior 12 years.

No, he doesn't dance. He never has. He never will, or at least it seems unlikely.

I dance.

He does not dance.

There you have it.

It drained me so much to be with someone who didn't celebrate life himself and who wouldn't celebrate it with me, either. Or couldn't. Or didn't see much to celebrate perhaps?

Of course it is much more complex than that. Of course it is. But then again, it's not. I want to live life as an exclaimation, not an explanation!! (yes, I plagiarized that, but can't recall from whence it came.)

It felt good to finally understand with precision, at least one reason I am no longer going to live my life with this man as my companion.

And it feels far better to dance alone for now, than to be trying to dance with someone who just won't. The sweet friend I will find in the future will love to dance, this I know (I will ask, to be sure, and I will see if he can and will dance with me.) Whether it's dancing in bed, or dancing to loud Brazilian music on a dance floor, or dancing while cooking dinner in the kitchen . . .he will dance with me. Yes. And it's going to be so beautiful.

The Beautiful Whispers of Death

Did you hear the whispers of death today? Did you still yourself to listen intently to the warnings which might steer you gently to the light?

And did you receive the gifts which were sweetly placed before you by the hand of God? Or did you turn them away? Did you even see them?

Sometimes life robs us of the courage we need to receive . . .and so we experience losses out of fear. There are only two emotions, fear and love .. .which do you choose? Death can be our reminder, our warning -- and the small losses which are not quite death can whisper to us "really? do you really wish to lose this? take a small sip and taste . . .see the loss stiffen your heart and your body . . .watch as your kisses dry up and your lovemaking turns to memory . . .is this what you wish?"

Then run in the direction of the light and love. If you can just get there, more courage will be given to you by the very light and love you found. Run as fast as you can, and laugh and smile all the way home!

The Gift of Recognition

The Sacred is everywhere. I see it, have always seen it in the smallest things, since I too, was small.

I've always been able to detect the fragrances of life in full bloom: the love, the joy, the poignant bittersweet moments, and the losses and pains, even when some might not catch even the slightest whiff of them.

Are some of us delivered to earth with the gift of Recognition of the Sacred? Why do some people possess the gift of being moved to tears in an airport as they witness a small child run up to visiting Grandma, a scene which others wouldn't even notice? Or the gift of opening a broken heart wider, wider, wider . . .refusing to close when things seem cold and dark and the instinct presses from all sides? Or the gift of opening arms to everyone, but especially to those who have hurt us?

Responsibility, Compassion & Love

There are some who believe that our feelings . . .any pain or any hurt or any joy, comes entirely from within. That the only person ever responsible for our emotions is us. While in an abstract way this might have a lot of truth to it, like many abstractions it doesn't entirely apply to Real Life.

A woman withholds lovemaking, withholds her softness and surrender, from her partner. Does that not hurt him? Is it entirely his problem? His hurt is a result of her actions, or inactions, and yes, he has some control, lesser or greater, over his emotions, but only in an ideal world can he really have complete control over how the dynamic with his partner creates feelings and thoughts within his heart.

An adult child never calls or visits her parents. They are hurt. Is it entirely their fault? Are they entirely responsible for their own emotions and pain? Yes, and no. The situation is painful to them, and while they might have a lot of compassion and love for her in the face of her inaction, there is a dynamicat work, with both parties responsible for their reactions.

In some Spiritual circles, there are those who place large emphasis on each of us taking responsibility for our emotions, as though to say we should be able, if only we were enlightened enough, to lightly touch upon then release every pain and hurt ever known to us. Human Beings Do Not Work That Way. This thinking too often and too easily becomes a license for some to put forth their "Truth" without consideration of compromise, compassion and love for those around them. "Your reaction to my Truth is your problem."

To take that view is to discount this Truth: We are all here to love one another and hold each other's hearts with compassion and tenderness. But we are all human, some less enlightened and centered than others. We are called to take great care particularly of the hearts of those who experience the joy and beauty of standing closest to our Sun, those we love most dearly.

It's also important that we look in the mirror as much as possible and ask: Am I living with love in the abstract, or in the particular? The abstract is easier, it's cleaner. It is Absolute Love. Love from Source never leaves, never doubts, never lies and never changes. But it isn't human love. It's Divine. Spiritual seekers without a lot of courage often opt for a life of celibacy, thereby avoiding some of the greatest juice of spiritual life, the particular love within a relationship with one other human we take into our deepest selves, figuratively and literally.

Particular love requires courage and a wide-open heart. A lot of courage, all the courage you can gather. This is Human Love, which comes from Source, but isn't Source. It's Source via a Human Being, therefore one experiences the Human with the Divine. It is so sweet and so beautful, but it comes attached to the Human heart and ego. It's where the rubber meets the road in Spiritual Life. And it's a path only the Courageous and Strong need bother to walk.

This path takes more compassion than you ever thought you had and more love than you think you can hold. Which is why you must be devoted and disciplined in your spiritual life--to breathe in enough Divine Love to sustain you when your human loved ones can't, and when they can.

This path take courage and gentleness, because on this path, we do take anoother's heart in our hands, and whether we like this fact or not, we become responsible in some ways, for what we have tamed. Or who we have tamed.

This path takes responsiblity and compassion, and an acknowledgement when our actions hurt others, or hurt ourselves, that we do need to make it right, and love well.

We humans have an infinite capacity to love and spread joy, and an infinite capacity to harm and hurt. We must recognize this, and walk the beautiful path of Human Love with openness, kindness and our mirrors turned toward ourselves, that we might see when we are causing pain and why. It is only then that we learn to love each other well, which is really the whole point of life on this earth and in this body.

Amen.

Sail Away (a song)

Sail Away
Sail Away
It's time for me to sail away

Sail away
sail away
it's time for me to sail away

Once I lacked a boat of strength
could not sustain at sea
then time let go and now I know
there's enough strength in me

Like so much flotsam in the sea
the love I gave floats back to me
and the waves roll out
and the waves roll in

Sail away
Sail away
It's time for me to sail away

Sail away
Sail away
It's time for me to sail away

love couldn't hold me tight
the water frightens still
but the sea keeps flowing in my night
and my love always will

sail away
sail away
It's time for me to sail away

the precious gifts I gave
ivory shells on summer sand
I walk alone on shoreline now
gather them in my hands

I lean into the morning sun
and cast my heart's net wide
inviting all the love I gave
back to me, inside

sail away
sail away
It's time for me to sail away

Querida (a poem)

The wanted one.
who wants her?
what does she offer?
who desires her gifts?

Querido claimed her
once upon a time,
and then left her
with outstretched open hands again.

This querida, though
she’s a fighter,
a gentle warrior,
but a warrior nonetheless.

When there was no one to say her name,
she took herself to her mirror,
and smiling through tears,
named herself preciously exotic.

Querida believes,
oh how she believes!
even when the words from another
never come.

One day, on the screen
the word spun ‘round again.
she froze.
she smiled.

joy, yes, joy it did bring,
and the valuable and rare gift of knowing
that the most important wanting
was the wanting of herself.

querida.