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.
MY WAY
Going my own way, will lead to success;
I don’t have to wear fancy clothes, I don’t have to wear a dress:
Inside me is my direction to follow;
I stand on my own two feet, my pride, I don’t need to swallow:
The things that work for me, might Not work for you;
But probably you’ll find your own path, does that give you a clue?
I am not your leader, and not your master for sure;
But I have met The Man, who can reveal, your Most Perfect Cure!
Everything
Suspended in the void
Timeless and empty
Yet not empty
Like a hole in the dream I call myself
All my knowing gone
Except one;
To be here is everything
Linda Sands
2002
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.
Life
There is a feeling, it begins within;
It feels like a place, that there is no sin:
There can be no feeling, but a feeling of love;
It is the feeling, that takes us above:
Above what we usually, feel as high;
It is the feeling, where we become part of the sky:
The sky my friend, and our earth below;
A part of all life, a part of the Flow:
A part that can enjoy, the exuberance in life;
the part that can enjoy, the absence of strife!
So if you want to enjoy living, which is what we do;
Go within yourself, that is a wonderful clue:
To go within, some of us needed a Key;
it was given by a boy, it was given free:
Now this boy is 50 years old;
and my love for him, springs from my very soul!
The gift of the soul, is given by him;
The boy with the Gift, The boy without sin:
The stars above, that shine with light;
Are dull in comparison, compared to our own inner Light!
Radiant Being of Light
Radiant being of light,
vortex of love,
alchemist supreme,
magnifier of prayer,
mirror of the soul,
tribal fire,
the one I dream about
and the one who wakes me from the dream,
why the dervish spins
and the earth.
Teacher, teaching, and the taught,
first breath,
last breath,
what lovers look for in each other
but rarely find,
center around which everything revolves,
endless night of love
and the aching of a moon-howling heart
that does not want
the morning to come.