Self-Discovery

A Living Album

The other day, as I was out to “buy” something, I realized that for me, things are much less valuable than experiences. My “things” have a habit of wearing out… my experiences, not so much.

I hold all of my experiences tucked inside of me, and I pull them out like a treasured photo album… ah, but here the analogy ends, for this particular photo album is alive.

The photos have not faded, the corners are not bent, each unfolds again and again as I pull it out. The faces have not dimmed over time. None have turned to black and white. They are filled with bright colors, with the lessons and learnings, the emotions and the wonders of all that I am capable of feeling.

What a great camera, what a great camcorder, I hold the magic button to. Press… LIVE !! Press I AM ALIVE, press I FEEL, press and I THRIVE.

Fulfillment

Fulfillment

Fulfillment is being held in the arms of that which has loved you since before you were born,

and the celebration of every breath in each moment of living …

Fulfillment is the banishment of all doubt and all fear by the force of an undefeatable love,which has always been and will always remain …

Fulfillment is eyes filled with clarity and a heart resting gently in an ocean of peace, which is home….Fulfillment is the light and melody of the song of truth which is eternally sung in the depths of the soul …
Fulfillment is the purest of healing waters, which has forever been rinsing the dust from the spirit, to clothe it in its own garments of beauty …

Fulfillment is the remembrance of that which has already been written.

Always was and forever will be.

Holding the song

gold grass
around the pool

breath’s flute fills

& empties

It makes me weep
to feel how much holding.
(draw your mouth to my ear)

What do I wait for, Love?
One chord, one tone.

One song,

mine alone.

from the CD of poems,
Holding the Song, wiredonwords

Speechless

It’s not what I say,
it’s what I don’t say.
But every time I say nothing,
what I don’t say
leaves so much to be said,
I am speechless.
Maybe that’s why Groucho
raised his eyebrows
and Jesus raised the dead.

Create!

A star exploded deep within you years ago
and still the light has not yet reached your eyes,
not yet turned the night to day for birds to leave their nests
or monks their caves to play.

Blind to your own infusion, you insist there is nothing to see,
nothing to celebrate your reasonless being for,
and yet you feel it, you quake,
you quiver to begin.
An unseen trembling turns your head,
the way you stand, the wind,
the ground beneath your feet.
You think the shock of this bodily remembrance is fear
and do not sing,
do not burst into song,
do not wring the beauty of the sound
long buried in your bones.
You stop and throw a stone,
half hoping it will come back to you,
and wait…
as if there was time,
wait…
like a beggar ashamed to ask for a bowl to beg with.

How can this be?
The sky is bluer than the eyes of your own mother
on the day she first beheld you
and still you cast your gaze down.
Don’t you remember?
You were made in the image of God!
The creator!
The one who creates
river, eagle, ladybug, leaf.
If anyone else gave you the moon you’d call him a thief
or worse, refuse to look.
Give up the notion of stealing from God.
The only crime here is to hoard.
Prometheus?
Only bored of chilly nights
with no flame to write his poetry by.

They say Inner Peace is free of charge …

There are some things in life I learned on my own.

Most have to do with organic bodily processes. The reptilian brain responses to external stimuli. “Built-in” stuff. Innate stuff. Fear, hunger, survival programs. Turning grunts and groans into meaningful – or in some cases, meaningless – dialogue.

With regard to growth, maturity, propelling ones self ahead in life, communication, livelihood, relationships, ownership… all this had to be learned. The learning process was as prone to fault as the marriage between teacher and student. Many questionable teachers, often a reluctant student. Many trials and tests. Many cyclical loops of learning new ways to break things, versus old ways to fix things. And the School of Life goes on.