like winter trees…

24 11 2018

Cades Cove 2 2

Open, exposed, naked –

I long for such vulnerability, transparency –

to be broken…stripped.

I know, in part, what I am asking…

I am aware – I do not know all that I ask.

 

Hidden for too long…

Protective for too long…

Closed for too long…

Too long captive to fear, guilt, and shame.

 

I have nothing more for them to take.

Stripped down to authenticity…

there is nothing more…

there is nothing more.

 

I sit on the edge of Cromwell’s meadow.

A sparrow sings songs of freedom as it flies across the barren field –

a sparrow being a sparrow.

So vulnerable…to be just what you were created to be…

how freeing.

 

True Life is found within this vulnerability…

this authenticity.

Real Life and freedom are revealed among the open, exposed, naked…

found, too, in my own barren fields.

 

Open, exposed, naked…

I wait for a sparrow to sing –

Knowing, in part, what the waiting means.

Knowing that I cannot know all that waiting will bring…

 

A Chickadee lights on the seedling in front of me…

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keep listening

3 11 2018

DSC_0864

 

My ten-year old heart could not grasp the paradox –

a not so holy, holy war:

sanctuary and refuge threatened;

being church at the edge of dis-grace;

unquestioned trust…tenuous.

 

A kind-hearted man –

his distant story…a nuptial relationship broken.

Offering to teach others from his love of the Beloved.

But for some, an “unclean soul” teaching in sacred space.

 

but aren’t we all…unclean (by human definition)?

 

Yet, “some” would rather wallow in fear, hate, and power –

hiding behind rules.

The small, reptilian brain engages –

sides taken;

angry words spoken;

power wielded (but not real power)…

living the gospel avoided.

Condemning the one the Beloved loves as broken.

 

I’ve been broken too . . .

You?

 

And what of Jesus?

Healing on holy days;

eating with those excluded;

touching the untouchables;

Truth telling – rejected in his own sacred space;

teaching from his love of the Beloved;

labeled “criminal” by those who would rather wallow in fear, hate, and power…

Those hiding behind rules.

 

Fear sacrificed Love then –

fear would seek to do the same today.

Fear chooses legalistic doctrine over emancipating Love –

because it feels safe;

because it preserves power;

because it shelters one from living into the depths of what Love invites…

intimacy with the Beloved.

 

Fear narrows, Love creates.

Fear excludes, Love includes.

Fear chokes, Love lets go.

Fear holds desperately to its own life, Love loses its life in order to find True Life.

 

This is the Mystery.

This is the pain.

This is the joy.

This is the paradox.

Love sacrificed births Love exponentially.

 

My ten-year old heart kept listening…

Keep listening…





there is a Way…

24 08 2018

 

Little River Stairs

Can I be with myself – in quiet?

In this silence?

No sound but my breath;

no noise to distract me from myself.

 

Will I allow myself to be in this stillness?

Addictive anxiety pulsing through my veins –

my monkey mind swinging

thought to thought to thought.

 

What keeps me from stepping through stillness’ door?

Knowing I will become aware of Truth?

Sensing ego’s scheme will be unveiled and challenged?

Fearing my safe god will be exposed?

 

And what has become my god?

To what earth-tethered objects do I attach my self?

To what desperate motives do I cling?

 

I worship at the altar of pleasing other –

egotism my established religion.

I am a faithful follower.

 

I practice my self-serving faith – daily;

worshipping societal gods – daily;

believing salvation will come through my own devices – daily.

 

Freedom, though, is no closer than the day before.

Beliefs have no marrow – empty and hollow;

love a measured possession.

 

I am mortal…impermanent.

I cannot come to authentic self by my own sovereignty –

although ego would like to think so.

 

But there is a Way…

welcoming my monkey mind for what it is

then letting go – ten thousand times…letting go.

 

There is a Way…

Not pushing – but waiting;

Not striving for – but resting in;

Not me – but we.

 

There is a Way…

Being with myself in quiet – in silence…

knowing the Way perpetually with me.

 

There is a Way…

Inside each breath –

within each chest rise and fall.

 

There is a Way…

Through the fear of what I might discover…

within what terrifies me most.

 

There is a Way…

Abiding within stillness

when a noise saturated world entices and beckons.

 

Can I be with myself – in quiet?

In this silence?

There is a Way…

 





We are one

31 01 2017

red-tulips-highlight        yellow-tulip-highlight

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We are one.

From childhood, my faith has taught me so.

Is this not true?

 

Everyone belonging to an all-embracing Truth –

A Truth human expression cannot contain?

Isn’t this Truth true in spite of my faith?

 

We are one.

Why do these three words raise defensive walls?

Why do they scare us so?

 

Fear mixed with pride – our ego’s addictive elixir;

an opportunist ego’s playground –

serving it to preserve power;

injecting it to manipulate;

a way to sustain control…

 

but not The Way.

 

Still, we chase the god of “better than”

devising decrees of divisiveness ;

forging “us versus them” perimeters –

it’s easier not knowing another’s story;

defining others with broad strokes –

it’s more convenient painting with a bigger brush I suppose;

manipulating foundational concepts to create fabricated walls.

Why are we afraid of what is different? of what is other?

 

Then do we not believe what we claim within our faith?

What we say is Truth?

 

We are one.

This is celebration worthy!

 

We are one.

Created by the Creator;

created within Mystery;

created from Love to love;

created uniquely… out of Hope;

created from the One;

created as one.

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Masks

25 01 2017

masks

There they are – laid before me at the beginning of another day.

A decision to make,

or maybe I’ll carry them all:

My “I’m fine” mask so I may cover my pain.

My “excessive pride” mask so I may cover my insecurities.

My “I’m in control” mask so I may cover my fear that I am not.

My “I’m the victim” mask so I may cover my self-doubt.

My “self-deprecating humor” mask so I may cover my self-loathing.

 

There are others on my crowded shelf.

The morning sun hitting each just so,

with a comfortable, warm enticement;

inviting me to a day’s worth of simulated security.

 

I suspect you may have some on your shelf too.

 

I would hate to see you cover the beautiful face that is you.

The you that was given to this world.

The you, if covered, would make this world less.

The you we need so desperately.

 

I wonder what would be different if

I trusted these thoughts stirring in my soul and now exposed?

I wonder how a summer breeze feels on skin rather than against plastic?

I wonder?

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The box . . .

2 12 2016

cropped-friends-chairs.jpg

When I was young, I was given a box.

 

I played with it;

stepped in and out of it;

became comfortable with it.

 

One day, why I do not know,

I stepped in and did not leave.

Maybe it was fear personified:

inadequacies perceived;

incompetencies feared;

self-loathing lived.

A provisional assurance held me.

A conditional certainty seduced me.

 

An unspoken deal was in the making:

safe, dualistic walls in exchange for vision;

security if I bowed down to fear;

dogmatism for freedom;

self-worth tethered to established compliance.

 

The cubed interior became my reality –

The world outside, too threatening.

To Fear, I surrendered.

Truth encased in a box –

wearing denial and self-righteousness like they were all the rage.

Living off of anxiety’s finite energy

draining;

shifting;

conditional;

confining;

excluding.

 

Unexpectedly,  profound pain blew in like north winds;

a deep chill, tinged with icy, old wounds;

chaotic cracking threatened my contained domain.

 

optic scales began to fall . . .

Who would of thought pain would be my salvation?

 

Death loosed bridled questions.

My way of singularity threatened;

rips in boxed-corners;

binary constructs crumbled;

my small truth deconstructed;

satisfactory answers elusive;

a one-sided deal broken.

 

Breathless.

Air expended in my limited reality –

slowly dying by Fear’s exhaled poison.

 

Now emptied –

coming to the end of my created truth –

Truth revealed –

an invitation to truly live.

 

Now emptied –

Pain, joy, grief, hope co-existing –

a dualistic mind cannot contain the fullness of the heart;

Paradox’s invitation to authentic living.

 

Now emptied –

Of constructed truth;

Of fear and anxiety’s paralyzing clutter;

Of a contained god;

Of me.

 

Now emptied –

Space for conversation – spirit to Spirit;

between me and you.

Sacred space created.

 

Now emptied –

liberated . . .

dsc_0354edited





limited consciousness . . .

2 01 2016

Gettysburg Fence

What bliss it is to live in the realm of limited consciousness;

defending defined borders along the unknown lands:

staving off responsibility for the depth of who we are;

Here, we live in complacent simplicity –

separating and dividing;

categorizing and generalizing;

delineating between “us and them”;

coveting absolutes not ambiguity;

Allowing the container of who we are to become the content –

no more, no less.

 

Fear, in this storyline, is the primary plot device.

The ego is driven to manufacture a god for our comfort;

holding tight the wardrobe keys so Narnia will remain undiscovered;

seeking self-preservation.

 

We work so hard.

We deceive ourselves.

 

But there is always an invitation to explore the Limitless:

in the truth that all of who we are, light and shadow, is already loved –

no strings attached;

in faith that we can risk hiking into the unknown;

in trust that we can embrace blurred boundaries;

in hope of discovering the depth of who we are created to be;

in the joy of living into

True Love;Little River Rain

True Self;

True Freedom;

True Life;

True God;

 

What Bliss . . .