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Hear the bird sing.
the guttural sound
because the ethers
are not light enough
to carry her notes.
She swallows her song
and it is forever stilled.
In The Morning
Today is the day
I will preen my feathers,
open my wings and fly.
Today is the day
I will breathe the elixir
of rarefied air
and bring to me
All That Is
into a heart grown weary.
And then I will find
the power to change
the course of mighty rivers
and give impetus
to dreaming children
who are content to sleepwalk.
In all this,
I will find the
crystalline gestures exquisite.
And dawn will break the crystals
and the children
will pick them up
I learned something. I learned to ’bless the experience’.
For if the experience has been a negative one,
has left me with a hurt so deep, has filled me with anger,
then I must bless it. For in the blessing I remove
its power to hurt me again. I leave it impotent, unable.
I’ve taken the wind out of its sails and
there it sits, blessed for the teaching,
but unable to wield power over me again.
If the experience is a positive one, I bless it.
In like manner, it will remain powerful and upon recall,
able to confer its goodness time and again.
In my thinking happily on it,
I will automatically bless it again.
Life is a blessed experience, all of it.
Bless it generously and gratefully.
It teaches us magnificently and impartially.
These are the magic words. For in the unhappy experience
we are taught swiftly and surely and must bless the lesson.
In the happier one our pleasurable memory is our
reward. In blessing all of it, we make our truce with life
and secure our place in it forever.
In its lucent light,
riding high in orbit,
the moon casts spears
arching toward the groves
trading their veracity
for a moment of magic.
The night dissolves
the shaded parts into blackness.
My eyes linger
on the luminescence,
on the silent sterling
of those branches
lifted to catch the light.
And remind me
of the noble vigil
of the humble dusty milleron a hot August night.
A one sided effort does bring results. Even when it appears to be a lost cause, it is not. That someone cares enough to do what needs to be done is never a lost cause. There cannot ever be a lost effort to do good in the universe. That would be an oxymoron, a contradiction. The ability to see this is paramount. Even when no words are spoken there needs to be someone who cares enough to help expedite matters. If there is not, it is a fruitless life. But should there be caring, there is hope and a chance for life again.
Even those of lesser stuffs, those stuffs are only lesser because of the parameters set by others. Take the parameters away and there are no limits for good. And that is what good is all about, what gods are all about. Within the person there are no limits for good. What is life sustaining and life giving wherever the need is, is good.
When we wander through the mental houses of those we care about or are responsible for and find much that we would like to help with and then decide not to, the ‘then not’ means we wash our hands of the matter. To wash one’s hands of the matter is to relegate all to the dung heap. If the one who can do something about anything finds the matter too sticky, the flies will be attracted and the matter will deteriorate and rot. The purpose of keeping on, keeping on means that the people are still worth the effort. As long as a some one cares, there is hope. Just one to care is needed. Just one.
And often we are that just one someone.
We have bound and gagged the bird
who would carry the olive branch
to the heads of state
guarding vehemently their fragile egos.
Guarding so that the horrors
of retaliation would not
devastate their souls
for stealing the young sons
who had no knowledge and no chance.
Where is the king
who would avow his peace
that others would live symbolically
in love with the dove?
Now. . . . here is the chance
and the time where love
cancels the errors and begs
unconditionally for forgiveness.
We've taken what was most cherished
and crushed to death
what would have been fine wine.
Even If . . . . .
If you sing this song with me,
then follow the words
for they are gentle
and full of meaning.
They will take you to places
far from here
and show you your heart's yearnings
and help you to understand
the 'why' that plagues
your days and nights.
So sing this song
even if the words
are slow in coming
and even if the melody
is new and different.
For in the difference
you will find a new world
and in the harmony of it all
you will find your place.
Because It Is
You cannot dream things that never were
for in a sometime and a somewhere
they've taken place and left their indelible memory
on your mind.
Only to be remembered when a slim shadow
casts its spell across your life
and causes you to bring forth a relic,
a piece of the dream that had its substance
in a far time when love was pocketed
near your heart and brought forth to heal
a wound, to make life complete.
Never to question why or why not.
Simply because it is.
Come with me to this place
I visit often, hidden behind an eyelash;
where it is Easter all the time and
rebirth is not a sometime thing; where
gods cavort in joyous abandon.
Come, we dance. . . .
Today the world stood still. In the
bright afternoon sun I saw a butterfly
dart into a spider's web woven between
the power lines and lift it up and carry
it with him.
In the silence I heard the question.
How heavy is a spider's web on a butterfly's wing?
Since everything is balanced,
the question is proportional.
A friend said to me, 'only you had eyes to see it.'
Does the world stand still for you? Ever?