Shame

19 08 2016

CSC_0061edited

Shame ON you:

A shadowed birthright for the unknowing;

vulnerable shoulders baptized;

permeating the fibers of being.

 

Shame On you:

Given by master shame-keepers;

blind to their own shame-pain;

stained by the dregs of their perceived worthlessness.

 

Shame ON me:

I, too, am stained – a shame-holder;

cloaked in my denial;

shame administered from my benumbed self;

dispensed to avoid;

imparted to another so that I will not be the only worthless one;

buried in anger – a distraction from facing my

damaged-self in shadow places…

always hiding, always evading.

 

Longing though…

longing…

for exoneration;

to be disburdened from this groundless, guilt-laden backpack;

just to be loved…

            for Love;

longing rising from a deep soul-knowing.

 

I still bear the decades-old shame stigmata.

Sad that I still prefer to dress in these tainted garments.

They’re still in fashion, right?

These comfortable, immured costumes?

 

But I see only through the eyes of the child in me.

There is a different way – where scales fall;

where Light burns off unworthiness like morning fog

and the soul is clear and pristine – created worthy;

where shame has no place –

exposed as the mask it is;

where I AM reveals the I am that I am –

breathed into existence by Breath Herself.

Created by Love –

always “Love ON me”…

Love in me…

That’s all…

That’s all that’s needed.

Cades Cove layers

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denial . . .

21 05 2016

PS red veins 1_edited-1

The one who denied the One

now denies himself along the shore,

in the presence of the Walking Word;

deflecting intimacy –

self-measurement against the other.

 

I am the one

denying Life within;

sacrificing intimacy;

diverting movement toward vulnerability and wholeness;

trying to find worth in the eyes others – even in the demise of others;

grasping for any validation I can’t seem to give myself.

 

I hold tight, my sickness – forsaking health;

secretly lusting after my own maladies –

a masquerade of security…holding them as virtues.

 

Denial –

baked by parched air into the foundation of who I believe myself to be;

dug from miry depths to fill holes where Truth might seep in.

 

I place my hands over my ears to avert what I might hear –

Your creature’s second crow.

I pretend You have misunderstood

when I tell you I know and have lived the rules,

and you still ask me to surrender what chains me.

 

I deceive myself.

I remain blind – fearful hands shielding my eyes.

I try to resurrect what cultivates death.

 

Worth it? This deal with denial?

 

I am the one.

 

Still…

 

Freedom waits patiently;

Hope just a breath away – a belief away;

Truth, my advocate – imploring endlessly. . .

PS red veins 1





my delimitative end?

15 04 2016

DSC_0626

Expectations conspire to confine me;

Anxieties hungry to bind me;

Fears scheme to define me.

 

Is this, then, my delimitative end?

 

Living in a system that would affirm this desuetude – spinning words dripping, sweet and savory?

 

Powerless against omnipotent exterior forces, an illusion I count as truth?

 

I am called beyond this prescriptive and self-subscribed living –

freedom within my DNA.

 

I’d rather have the Limitless be my guide…

Unchained from Expectation’s hopeless yoke;

Unbound from Anxiety’s insatiable appetite;

Undefined from Fear’s rigid borders.

But Love –

always Love…

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Uncaged . . .

13 02 2016

 

caged 2

Caged –

censored by years of conformity;

chained by links of prescription:

shoulds and ought-tos,

fears,

anxieties,

insecurities,

            self-definition deprivation . . .

Gripped by dark matter’s invisible force;

chasing fallacious love — perceived to be the liberator of who I am.

 

But the soul’s expression . . . insuppressible;

wild,

free,

uncontainable . . .

 

Imagination’s Big Bang – expanding;

creativity’s resurrection – incessant . . .

a poem waiting for completion;

a verse lived day-by-day;

a prose of becoming, composed of daily refrains. . .

 

Mystery – the poetry;

Creator – the emancipator of imagination and inspiration;

Presence – the deliverer of the soul’s captured language;

Love – the savior of who I am . . .

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It’s not about me . . .

20 01 2016

DSC_0189

It’s not about me. . .

 

Although the wall of defensiveness surrounding me –

built by my own hands,

seems to indicate otherwise.

 

Although the perception of myself as frequent victim,

seems to point to a belief that it is all about me.

 

Although the belief that I am responsible for you

(and all the world around me and beyond as far as that goes),

seems to have the feel that it is all about me.

 

Although fear screams inside me;

fear that breeds constant over-functioning anxiety;

fear that implores me to believe that you spend all your time wrapped

in the missed details of our interactions;

seems to point to the consideration that I know it is all about me.

 

But it is not…

 

O, ego. You are a sly one – convincing me to believe it is so vital to my living.

 

What is it anyway, that we would give it so much power?

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Help me to love. . .

29 12 2015
Little River Stairs

Help me to love.

A simple request, this may seem;

but, if genuine, there is a cost – my ego…

 

I proceed, then, with trepidation; in faith, but with apprehension –

faith in the Love for which I thirst;

faith in the essence of the I-Am-Who-I-Am DNA from which I was created;

created in love, by Love.

 

So help me to love –

in the presence of kindness but also within accumulating animosity;

in the presence of thoughtfulness but also within the novocaine of indifference;

in the presence of goodness but also among incessant evil;

in the presence of joy but also within piercing pain;

in the presence of light but also in life’s seemingly non-ending darkness;

in the presence of gratefulness but also within the expectations of entitlement;

in the presence of inclusion but also in the pith of prejudice’s narrowness;

in the presence of those who build up but also in the presence of those who destroy;

in the presence of like-minded believers but also among control-based condemners.

 

Help me love neighbor and self as well – for the mirror into which I look reflects all that has been named.

I am not clean of these adjectives, adverbs, verbs and nouns.

 

This is what You ask, right? The One who is Love? To love…all?

 

Give me courage, then, to risk letting go:

of ego;

of who I believe I am suppose to be;

of fear-based living…

 

Help me love…

Townsend Tunnel





Freedom . . .

23 08 2015

along the parkway

Caged soul-expression;

longing to be free – to take flight;

chained by links of prescribed shoulds and ought-tos;

of fears, insecurities, and self-abandonment.

Imagination’s big bang longing to expand — creativity’s resurrection;

suppressed by years of conformity;

held by dark matter’s invisible force (mostly of my own doing);

chasing fallacious love — perceived to be the liberator of who I am.

A poem waiting for its completion;

a verse lived day-by-day;

a prose – the story of who I am becoming – revealed in the living out.

Mystery – the poem;

Creator – the liberator of imagination and inspiration;

Presence – the deliverer of the soul’s captured language;

Love – the emancipator of who I am . . .