breath . . .

30 03 2017

Swamp Trail B&W

It was 2:30 a.m. when I arrived;

just hours from her last breath.

 

Her chest rising and falling in nomadic rhythm –

a mirror of the relationship we shared – joys, struggles, oblique love:

some known;

some unknown;

some still to be discovered.

 

She did not move, eyes closed –

peaceful other than her dissonant breaths;

a peace that had alluded her in her living.

 

But not quite yet –

her journey toward Union,

still earth-tethered.

 

So we sat vigil . . .

waiting . . .

What else could we do?

Just being with . . .

Being with us.

 

Silence interrupted by occasional conversation –

with each other – seeking some normalcy;

with mom – seeking to help an emancipation,

“It’s okay to go mom.

We love you.

I know dad is getting excited.

Your family is waiting…”

 

When breath, life, and love

becomes so clearly focused,

I do not know what else to trust but Intimacy.

I do not know another to trust

but the One in which we all have breath.

 

To live within this kind of trust is a constant craving.

 

Then, watching, I saw mom begin to trust the One holding her.

Breathing rhythmically now.

Breathing with the One.

Slowly bringing her breath into One.

Until her body had no need for earth’s confining atmosphere.

 

Now her spirit breathes pure Ruah;

breathing in the One who first gives breath.

Now the “i” breathes within “I AM”.

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a query deep in the woods…

5 03 2017

little-river_rocks

I came upon a query deep in the woods. . .

deep within me –

“What is it, God, would You have me do with my life?”

I heard from among the trees a silent whisper,

“Love Me.”

 

My desire and ambition,

not trusting the Truth in the whisper,

pressed for a process –

“God. How do I love You?”

 

From the heart of the woods I heard,

“Be like that stream, there.

It just flows –

a flow that will make it to the sea some day.”

 

“Be like that rock, there.

It just is . . .

hosting life – busy ants, silent moss –

offering itself.”

 

From I AM, I breathed a resonant breath of invitation. . .

just be with Love already within

loving who I am;

loving where I am;

Loving I AM.





A photographer captured…

8 02 2017

 

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Creation gifts me –

I do not know why I deserve to be such a recipient.

From the expansive waves of Blue Ridge Mountains to

an iris’ intricate design.

Moments of Essence kiss me daily.

 

I am gifted by what I have no claim upon.

I have no commentary other than it is gift –

not to be selfishly guarded;

not to be kept in cellophane wrapping – saved for another day.

 

Still –

I desire to remain attached to these moments;

This deep beauty;

This unnamable peace;

I want this palpable Essence to linger on my tongue;

 

I want to settle here;

abide here;

build a monument;

hold onto it;

capture it.

 

So I raise my Nikon and from a 52mm sphere

I try to capture these measureless moments;

knowing, intuitively, that the “trying” is energy displaced.

Essence cannot be possessed, held on to, captured –

we cannot enslave Essence.

She is gift – ever present – woven intricately into our being.

 

Yet, I am stirred deeply –

life’s meaning whispered to me on a moment’s breath.

That oneness with the One permeates me endlessly,

my mind cannot comprehend.

 

I lower my “moment-capturing-device”,

take a deep breath,

and lean into the trust that Essence is already stirring within me –

each moment.

 

Maybe I am the one needing to be captured?





Night Sky

23 12 2016

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It is within night’s darkness that light is manifested most clearly.

Lying down, faces gazing toward the starred-black dome;

the Presence of Slowness washes over us;

stillness bathes us;

cicadas sing love songs to our soul.

 

This is where we are truly known.

This is where we truly know.

 

Yet, there will be times when this same darkness

seems like an endless cavern extinguishing our faith;

the air feels heavy with shadows;

our imminent demise gathers momentum;

we lie in fetal position;

we bathe in fear and anxiety;

faces buried in the sanctuary of a pillow;

hawking voices sing songs of hopelessness . . .

 

The invitation remains –

be still.

The essence of our being will not be decimated.

We will not lose ourselves, despite ego’s contrary voice.

Let another carry Light’s hope when you cannot.

 

Trying to escape –

moving so quickly and carelessly in such darkness –

is much too dangerous.

We will remain unchanged.

 

But in the remaining –

within the darkness, while our spirit-eyes adjust,

ready yourself to welcome evidence of Light;

the glimmer of Loves soft Light;

the warmth of Love beside us in blinding darkness;

in what seems a vast emptiness.

 

We will begin to discover ourselves – our true, authentic selves.

Born out of the darkness in which we sit;

created by Love that embraces us… always.

 

This is where we are closest to Knowing.

This is where we are fully known.

 

Looking up or down, then, it matters not;

Light is . . .

in the darkest night;

in the brightest day;

in each of us –

always . . .

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The box . . .

2 12 2016

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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:

Black and white walls of safety in exchange for my vision;

security if I bowed down to fear;

dogmatism for my freedom;

self-worth tethered to established compliance.

 

The cubed interior became my reality –

The world outside, too threatening;

to Fear, I bowed low.

truth encased in a box –

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

 

Living off of fear’s finite energy

draining;

shifting;

exhaustible;

conditional;

narrowing;

exclusive.

 

Then, abrupt, profound pain blew in like north winds –

a deep chill, tinged with icy old wounds;

 

optic scales began to fall . . .

Who would of thought pain would be my salvation?

 

Death loosed “off-limit” questions.

My way of singularity threatened;

rips in my boxed-corners;

binary constructs crumbled;

my small truth deconstructed.

 

Emptied –

satisfactory answers elusive;

a one-sided deal broken.

 

Emptied –

Breathless.

Air expended in my limited reality –

slowly dying by Fear’s exhaled poison.

 

Emptied –

Coming to the end of everything I believed true.

Now, Truth revealed.

Now, an invitation to truly live.

 

Emptied –

Pain, joy, grief, hope co-existing –

a dualistic mind cannot contain the fullness of the heart;

Paradox’s invitation to authentic living.

 

Emptied –

Of constructed truth;

Of fear and anxiety’s paralyzing clutter;

Of a contained god;

Of me.

 

Emptied –

Space for conversation – spirit to Spirit;

between me and you.

Sacred space created.

 

Emptied –

liberated . . .

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Today . . .

9 11 2016

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Today –

when it feels like diversity wanes;

when it seems like divisiveness reigns . . .

 

Today –

when there is a Grand Canyon schism between joy and sadness;

when anger and rage lace our language . . .

 

Today –

when systems enmesh us;

when relationships are broken;

when fear simmers beneath our soul . . .

 

 

Rain falls and nourishes the earth.

Light seeps through clouds and mist.

Meadow seeds sustains a sparrow just feet away.

Music that soothed my soul yesterday, soothes it today.

And the Truth that created us from the One, is the Truth that holds us as one.

 

To breathe in Love;

to breathe out Love;

to be embraced by Love;

to embrace with Love –

this is our invitation.

It has been.

It is at this very moment.

It will be tomorrow.

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solemn waters

7 10 2016

 

 

ramsay-cascade-5

 

We are the flow.

We are the stones.

Beautiful together…

 

I sit beside a mountain river,

water singing over stones –

settling in . . .

Quiet, but not by ear;

aware of Presence opening me.

 

Creation becomes my teacher:

Flow – water’s perpetual movement.

Its displacement against stone

creates the chant that brings me to the threshold of peace.

Stone – obstacles, water crashing against mass . . .

Sacred abrasion.

 

The story of the flow;

the story of the stone.

Being as they are;

being where they are.

Speaking my story;

illuminating my story.

 

Living life – my flow;

acknowledging the stones:

broken relationships;

debilitating anxiety;

paralyzing fear;

devastating depression;

elevated ego;

valueless self-esteem;

accumulated loss –

my obstacles.

 

Am I creating such threshold melodies

for those who walk beside my waters?

Being as I am?

Being where I am?

Being true to my story?

 

We are the flow . . .

We are the stones . . .