choice

I no longer tolerate poison inside myself.

I no longer tolerate hatred

anxiety

shame

self pity.

This doesn’t mean they won’t overwhelm or attack me.

It means in the middle of the storm, I will hold fast to the Eye that says:

you can do better.

I no longer have patience

for soul-poison.

I am human; it may fool me for a moment.

But it will not claim me.

I will be tested. Again & again.

I don’t know how I will make it.

That’s okay. I’ll start there.

I’ll start with “I don’t know”

& give the rest up to Spirit

so that when something comes along that is not of my Divine nature,

I will recognize it.

People may not understand.

That’s the hardest part.

Keeping my Spirit under lock & key

helps me feel safe around others.

I seek to release the fear

of what they will think–

of my refusal

to settle for less

than the glory we were made for.

Now, instead of approval

I will seek soul-fire.

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ruby slippers

when is your world
in black & white
& when
is it in technicolor?
caution:
don't ignore the technicolor.
make it your lifeline.
your rainbow iv.
who knows?
maybe there'll be a perfect convergence
of the roads between kansas and oz.

reconsider

your prison
is your
wilderness
your cage
an open sky
for why would you 
create if not
escape
from space confined
wise women know
the caged bird's song
wise men
the battle cry
of soul unleashed
from genie's lamp
of hands from
rope untied.
curse not your chains nor weights of stone
for without them art would be unknown.

home

we all know 
this place
some of us remember it
some of us imagine it
but we all know it just the same
it’s more than a place to lay aside
your burdens by the door
& it’s more than the face
you say goodnight to
it’s the place your heart aches for 
when you can’t understand what it’s saying
you know you’re close when you 
feel it leap in your throat or
your chest or your gut
when your chest buzzes 
& your bones sing
it's the one place in the world 
where nobody can give you directions
but you meet someone & you can smell it on them & your skin 
tingles & you know they will lead you closer & what’s more
they will have no idea

mercy

this is how it’s supposed to be.
you’re supposed to be begging 
for mercy.
your knees should ache from kneeling 
& your chest should be heavy
with the weight of it all.
if you don’t fall to your knees now 
& then, swearing up and down
you can’t take it any more—
how can you know the limits 
of your own heart?
& if you don’t cry out 
for forgiveness
all the while hoping in secret 
that your folly can continue—
how do you know what it is 
to be humbled?

pain/remedy

the truth is contained in your weeping.
you will be in some form of discomfort every moment of your life
of that you may be certain.
 & sometimes discomfort gives way to pain & pain to grief
& you will pray because other than death
there is no place to go for relief.
but notice as you weep how sweet 
is the sound of a loved one’s voice
or the vision of their memory
in your heart.
feel the sweetness when the right music 
matches the cadence of your sorrow
or the delight in your bones
when a single word offers comfort.
yes
of pain you may be certain
but be certain also
of the remedy of Spirit.
they go hand in hand
it cannot be otherwise.

again & again

it seems to me that all these books
contain again & again
a single truth
each breath
each page
an iteration never-ending
we seek it
in each new
book
taste
lover
until one day
if we're lucky
we see we've held it
in our hands all along.
even the wisest among us
so long as they draw breath
are fated to repeat
the lesson over and over.
the only difference
between the enlightened & you & I
is that the masters do not read doom
in each new trial.
instead they welcome with open arms 
the certainty of loss & the uncertainty
of what is yet to come.
where we see a curse they see a blessing
& even in their weeping
they smile with all the radiance of youth.

a handful of water

Time is like a handful of water slipping through your fingers. One moment your hand is full, and the next, it’s gone. Fleeting though it is, its touch is familiar, and curiosity gets the better of you. You watch it for awhile, eluding you. Feel it, cool, trickling over your skin. Listen to the tinkling of it dripping into the sink, the pond, the ocean. Only reluctantly do you turn away and return to the task of living.

love is a safe harbor

Love is a safe harbor
a refuge for the grieving
a shelter for the windworn
a steadfast tree in a storm.
Too often we think that love should be a whirlwind
of desires long unfulfilled
a reflecting pool
of our deepest
most secret wishes.
Love is more a steady beating
a slow but sure walk home
a light leading through fog and dark.
Do not get lost in dreams of not enough.
Listen instead for the familiar greeting
of another weary traveler returning home.

song for the world weary

when your heavy bones
wish to sink to the depths
go now to the quiet place
where the world cannot
overcome.
remember:
all of these things will pass.
thoughts
--
feelings
--
pain
--
heartache
--
all will dissolve someday
replaced only by light.
your decision lies 
in the dissolving.
will you cling bitterly
to sinking stones
or will you swim
flailing & gasping
to break the sunlit surface
& let that which does not serve you fall?
it is always our choice
yours and mine.

this is our power.