It’s time, isn’t it?

It’s time, isn’t it, Dear One?

To lose myself a bit more;

my created self, that is?…

It’s time to let go.

 

I do feel grief welling up –

another end of whom I think myself to be.

It’s hard to leave a dwelling place;

where cloaked authenticity is the norm – comfortable…

but not really real.

 

Ego is afraid of losing itself, right?…

of sliding into nothingness?

The fear of possibilities is stirred, is it not?

that we might not belong;

that we might be worthless;

that we might be unlovable;

that our life is only a shadow and a whisper…a vapor;

that our life might not matter;

that we might awake to find all this to be true?

 

So we do what we can to hang on to our manufactured selves;

unwilling to risk the letting go…

of submerging ourselves in the waters of unknowing;

of free-falling into trust;

into who we might become.

 

We desperately grasp onto whatever gives identity –

praise, power, possessions.

We live a surface life.

We create an alternate self –

convincing ourselves our masks are skin and bone.

Addiction, attachments, shame, violence –

by-products of living out of who we are not.

Knowing – soul knowing – these are not true definitions of who we are.

 

It is only in the losing of ourselves, we are found…

 

So it’s time again, isn’t it, Holy One?

To respond to this perennial invitation;

to open clinched fists;

to bathe in the waters of unknowing;

to free-fall into trust;

to remove suffocating masks and breath freely;

to lose ourselves.

 

Knowing You are the heart-holder.

Knowing You are Love on my skin and in my bones.

Knowing the paradox of

grief transformed within joy;

falling as being lifted up;

letting go as being held;

losing myself as being found;

abandoning a created-self as discovering my authentic being.

Knowing I will be found in ways I cannot fathom.

Knowing I will be loved by Love into a deeper understanding and unity…

 

It’s time again, Dear One, isn’t it?

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Red-Winged Teacher

Hello my red-winged friend.

Here for our daily visit –

you on your post;

me sitting beside you.

 

You welcome me to your home with a song –

your hospitality soothing;

your flight beautiful across the meadow.

 

Teacher too –

landing on the thinnest of reeds;

trusting that you will be held;

closing your wings, giving up flight.

Now balanced –

trusting yourself to something greater;

trusting yourself to the nature of created order without question.

 

Tell me again your story.

Sing to me again your song.

Teach me again how to trust.

breath . . .

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”.

Open Windows…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I tell myself, “don’t open that window –-

others will see the darkness within.”

But I deceive myself –-

I am really afraid of what my own eyes will see.

 

So keep the windows shut;

bolt the doors;

nail them all shut.

So much energy exerted

trying to harness the dark side of me;

my True-Self  sacrificed on this altar.

 

 

Who knew the ordinary would invite the extraordinary?

an analogy opened before me . . .

a parable poised for the telling . . .

 

Do I dare peer into the vacant darkness?

Do I risk looking beyond framed obscurity into a greater reality?

What monsters will unleash their furor?

Pain?

yes –- if I want to know the deep wonder of fully living . . .

Fear?

for sure –- a sign of venturing intimacy . . .

 

It is hard to turn loose of what we know –- of what is comfortable -–

even if what we hold close is killing us.

 

But now with doors flung open, light shines where it had not, exposing:

Joy . . .

flowing like a shallow stream at first . . . but streams eventually become deep oceans;

Unknowing . . .

a perpetual adventure in trusting Mystery;

Love . . .

deeper than we have words to speak -–

for ourselves, for others,

for the Mystery we are learning to trust.

 

And this is all my soul asks –-

courage, strength, and grace to peer into the darkness and truth of who I am;

trusting there is abundant life on the other side, and maybe,

even within the darkness itself . . .

A candle’s worth of Light…

 

 

 

 

 

Within the dissected souls we carry,

there is a deep longing . . .

thirst for a drop of wholeness;

craving for a healing salve that soothes the spirit;

hunger for a peace to drench an anxiety-parched inner landscape . . .

 

We light a candle . . .

familiar words come —

“Light keeps shining in the dark,

darkness has never put it out.”

 

we take another step into a deeper knowing —

a candle’s worth of Light is all we need . . .

Walking Along Borders…

 

 

 

 

We walk along the borders of our living,

not really living;

but trusting perceived securities that barriers cloak as promises…

 

But where are our deep longings calling us?

Why do we find ourselves hanging around the borders of our lives?

What is beyond what we cannot see?

Really living?

What Now?

 

 

 

 

 

 

What now?

now that we’ve come to end of who we think we are?

now that we are exposed –-

souls opened from suffering’s reality and love’s intimacy?

now that we find ourselves, again, on the ground –-

where knowing the earth’s muddy texture has become too common?

What now?

 

We get up again.

Now we begin the journey . . .

now we lean into Love –- letting go of what was . . .

now we fall into what is and what will be . . .

now we allow ourselves to be embraced by Hope

now we relinquish ourselves into Life . . .