the unholy crippler
its face stays hidden
but runs interference
with the truth of things
and the passions that arrive
newly before us
we know that incessant grip
that keeps us standing at the trail heads
unable to walk those new paths
how it declares us unfit
for the world and unworthy
to step through opened doors
we know that powerful voice
tiny that it is
how it whispers to us
don’t go there—
don’t do that—
what will people think—
shall we stay then
in the safety of our old ways
or walk hand in hand
toward what is unknown before us—
from the beginning in the Garden
we were never meant to walk alone
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Unexpected
Phoenix 2015
Like an orchestra without a conductor,
the spring winds meandered
in a confusing atmosphere,
fearful of commitment to one season
or the other—
they brought rain at the wrong time
of the year—
but no one complained.
These storms, long and deliberate,
with lightning and thunder
crashing through the neighborhood,
cloudy days that looked like December,
weren’t what we would normally expect.
Such an unusual May it was.
Regardless, it was a blessing
that the heat didn’t rise so quickly,
that wind blew softly at night,
and for water from slow, circling clouds
that came and went again and again.
One morning I awakened at three from my
foggy landscape into a downpour and thunder.
Lying in combined solace and excitement,
I listened to the spatter and rumble
mix with the rancorous howling
of my neighbor’s dogs.
Then I remembered
that whatever arrives from unexpected places,
the best music will come with it.
Like an orchestra without a conductor,
the spring winds meandered
in a confusing atmosphere,
fearful of commitment to one season
or the other—
they brought rain at the wrong time
of the year—
but no one complained.
These storms, long and deliberate,
with lightning and thunder
crashing through the neighborhood,
cloudy days that looked like December,
weren’t what we would normally expect.
Such an unusual May it was.
Regardless, it was a blessing
that the heat didn’t rise so quickly,
that wind blew softly at night,
and for water from slow, circling clouds
that came and went again and again.
One morning I awakened at three from my
foggy landscape into a downpour and thunder.
Lying in combined solace and excitement,
I listened to the spatter and rumble
mix with the rancorous howling
of my neighbor’s dogs.
Then I remembered
that whatever arrives from unexpected places,
the best music will come with it.
Wholeness
Even though rocks and mountains
rumble to the earth’s core—
The ocean’s turbulence slaps at its boundaries,
bringing sand, taking sand—
A terrific storm of black clouds,
wind, and lightning charges at you—
In our journey within the labyrinth,
to the center and back, will not
our hearts remain unscathed?
Intimacy, and the longing
for intimacy, is in bringing the littlest
thing to the greater whole.
Because I love, I have lived on the lip
of delirium. I have said it before, love runs
from messy sanity to joyful madness.
When we refuse the truth,
or the possibility of truth,
we’re left on the path of fables.
Lovers should be explorers—
seekers and givers of each other’s heart
beyond places, beyond time.
rumble to the earth’s core—
The ocean’s turbulence slaps at its boundaries,
bringing sand, taking sand—
A terrific storm of black clouds,
wind, and lightning charges at you—
In our journey within the labyrinth,
to the center and back, will not
our hearts remain unscathed?
Intimacy, and the longing
for intimacy, is in bringing the littlest
thing to the greater whole.
Because I love, I have lived on the lip
of delirium. I have said it before, love runs
from messy sanity to joyful madness.
When we refuse the truth,
or the possibility of truth,
we’re left on the path of fables.
Lovers should be explorers—
seekers and givers of each other’s heart
beyond places, beyond time.
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