Surrendering to the Mystery

Poems become incantations, incantations become intentions, intentions become prayers. I pray in the name of love for the strength to surrender fully to The Mystery, fully meaning fearlessly, fully meaning faithfully. I pray for the wisdom to discern that precise spiritual pivot that is the perfect fulcrum point of self wherein I can leverage my own personal power gracefully and seamlessly, strong as a ballerina in balanced poise. May acquiescence rest easy upon my shoulders like some cherished shawl made with the loving patience of ancestral maidens. May my sword remain sheathed upon its quiet side blessed by the stalwart will of ancestral warriors. May grace guide my hand and the wisdom of God light my way such that the darkest night is no less illuminated than is the brightest day. May each exhalation release disease and each inhalation invite peace now and forevermore.

My Own Dear Heart

Now under this full moon fitfully ensconced in the cold metal of the machine 
My beard grows wild, my eyes glow in the blue moonlight and my lips quiver
(No one knows or cares to know if a tree falls in the forest makes any sound!)
A spooked flock of snow geese rise up suddenly as one like some giant banshee
The hard edges of the machine hurt my eyes and I turn away in shame and pain
The sound of the machine like the tearing of gigantic sheets of metal hurts my ears
The sick, oily, acidic stench of the machine burns the delicate lining of my nostrils
My skin crawls this human flesh palpably vulnerable to the assaults of the machine
My heart silently sends up its songs into the multitude of pale stars in the night sky
My own dear heart it will never acquiesce no matter the power of the machine

The Garment

First save myself
escape, ripping away
the façade violently

stepping on through
arisen from a culture-prison
as if arisen from a 30 year coma

seeing and seeing again
sight transforming into vision -
ah - the garment is seamless!
now I see the truth of it!

Touched - it glitters

Flowing

sometimes I am
the flowing waters
cascading over stones

sometimes I am
the stones cascading
waters flowing over me

Preferences

I prefer esoteric goals, psychological complexes,
Improbability and pastels, foggy mystical forests,
A heavy veneer of fresh snow
covering every single thing in sight …
I love Joyce Carol Oates for her emotional depth
Weaving generations of history into a personality
Love those minimalist Zen paintings drawn
In a few simple strokes from a quill pen
Dipped into the bloody heart of all things …

You may see me shooting my frail arrows
At the stern walls of heaven up in the sky
Or straight into the furnace of the sun -
The Thing I have now become
Yearns to see the Face of God
And simply refuses to wait …

Missives to My Heart

I command you now in the name of love: 

Open my heart - open sesame - open the doors, the windows - open the buds, the spores, the seeds - open my heart, open now - open the gates, the locks, the fences - open up to the arms of the people, the hospitals, the libraries, the places of comfort and sustenance, restaurants and bars and hostels  - open up my own dear heart,  open up now even though every last fiber of your muscular being so long pummeled screams out, 

"Close!"

The Thing we have become is open, not closed, inclusive not exclusive, accepting not rejecting, faithful not fearful - so It can be no other way, with us, my Heart. You are the heart of a Centaur. We do not do bitter, cynical, forlorn - we do not go backwards, we go onward. We do not give up because we are together an indomitable force -  you know this, my Heart. 

Prose Poem, Wishes for the Divine Masculine

12/21/2012 – A Wish for The Fathers

Awaken Fathers no matter how bent and broken be your branches no matter how dry and brittle be your leaf so you do not miss these first drops of miraculous rain come to revive the forsaken fathers of this earth. A long and terrible waste has set the Fathers Against our Mothers, Mothers against our Fathers, so this One-Thing that we are has been set asunder as if there is a one to set against an other. Let the rains now wash away the long war of delusion upon us all bringing the truth itself finally as a verdant Renaissance as perfect as light passing through light.