Mother Earth

Here I am, Now

Open, Willing

With my past behind me,

My future ahead of me

My breathes, my steps

Have been numbered

I stand as a warrior

With questions

With hopes

Starting with Earth 

I ask

I hope

Could you come up and meet me here?

Could my roots grow down from my fluttering heart and my shaky knees?

Could I stay in what has been?

Can I stand in what is?

Will you let me in? 

Will you let me root down through your outer crust and meet the soles of my feet with the warmth of your inner light?

And maybe, if I were to stay a bit longer than before,

Mother Earth, would you hold me in your strong and tender way

Could you become a dwelling place for my cold and restless feet.

I do not hear a clear answer, but through a memory of the future, I begin to walk

The magma seeps up and fills every sheethe 

From skin to muscle to bone

Through my blood sweat and tears

Each drop holding a story

I begin to glow with light and warmth

How dare you be great, I hear

And I take another step

Another breathe fills my lungs

And my roots expand to the core of the earth

And I rise anyway

My glory grows as I open my heart

And stretch my fingers tips, reaching to the heavens 

Mother Nature breathes into me 

Filling my branches 

I become a shade tree,

A glorious dwelling place

For cold, restless feet to land

And meet themselves again

She desired me so I came close.

No one can hear God unless She has

prepared a bed for

you.

A thousand souls hear Her call every second,

but most every one then looks into their life’s mirror and

says, “I am not worthy to leave this

sadness.”

When I first heard Her courting song, I too

looked at all I had done in my life

and said,

“How can I gaze into Her omnipresent eyes?”

I spoke those words with all

my heart,

But then She sang again, a song even sweeter,

and when I tried to shame myself once more from Her presence

God showed me Her compassion and spoke a divine truth,

“I made you, dear, and all I made is perfect.

Please come close, for I

desire

you.”

Piece Keeper

What makes you think you can’t have your dreams?

What happened the moment when you let them all shatter into a disarray of shapes and colors?

What was the fall that made this carefully crafted puzzle lose its picture, it’s story, it’s meaning?

Was it a word or a stone?

A stone is thrown and CRASH...

Just like that the doubt runs down every corner and crack.  making sure the pieces that were made to come together continue to repel one another. With this seal the pieces that were made to create something bigger than themselves will remain unrecognizable to their own kind. 

The kind that hugs their corners and cracks into a perfect shape, filling every crevice that once cried out.

This cry...if they will remember...will lead them into the Piece Keeper’s hands.

This is where you will recover the inkling of that dream before it was first ruptured.

Filled with Joy and enlightenment You will see the colors, the pictures, the shapes, the story and meaning of it all. It will all look the same and different as before.

In the difference a tear will roll down your face and the dream will be washed away once again.

But this time you will need to jump into a sea of unseen tears to reclaim it again.

Dreamers, dream. I dare you.

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

We're his words to me

Hallelujah

Is what he sang to me

He spoke them out into the night

He spoke them out to me

Hallelujah

Was his word to me

What could I find in thee

Was my heart's cry

What could I find in thine womb

Is what I found that night 

Hallelujah

Is what I found that night

WHoly Ground

Brother Moses, what did you feel at that burning bush?
Watching this living thing consumed and not overtaken to death.
What was it like to feel the warmth on your skin from the eternal flames of life upon life.

You stopped. You considered. Something changed for you that day.
You SAW that the ground you were standing on was Holy.
That maybe this ground you have been walking on has been Holy this wHole time
You just were blind to see it

Moses, my friend, tell me, what was it like to come in union with the Holy?
To feel ONE with the grass beneath your toes.
To feel roots grow down through the magma to the core where earth and heaven meet.

Tell me, did you ever put your shoes on again?
Tell me, how did you walk in this world of already and not yet.
This land of consolation and desolation.

Tell me what it was like consuming the bread of life and affliction,
How did it taste to break it on your teeth and swallow it whole.
How did it leave you full and empty?

And the cup of sorrow and salvation,
What did the sweet and bitter taste like on your lips,
How did it quench your thirst and leave you breathless

Tell me, father Moses, so I too can taste and see the Holy of Wholies
Tell me you will, will you?
Dance with me there?

Flying Song

Daddy what would you sing to me
Mommy what would you sing
What would you sing to your baby girl?

I love you
I love you
Whatever you do

Go fly my child
Go fly my child
I gave you wings
So you can fly

I will cry my child
I will cry my child
But don't you come flyin back to me

But if you cry my child
When you cry my child
You can come flyin home to me

Wherever you go
Whatever you do
I will think the world of you

When I am not your home
And you are feeling alone
You can always come flying back to me.

And we will sing:

I love you
I love you
Whatever you do

Go fly my child
Go fly my child
I gave you wings
So you can fly

Just know that you can't stay
And I will never make you pay
When you come flying back to me.

Being an Observer of Magic

Observe: notice or perceive something and register it as being significant

I sat with this man, this old man with a scarf, that is the main character in the game "what doesn't belong here". As he smoked a pack of cigarettes and sipped on espresso and seltzer, he told me of magic, of hope that is real and his years of pretending. I saw that there are options:you can pretend or you could actually experience beauty in the hands of grace before a meal. Beauty in the way a home embraces you with its color and warmth, the kind of home you encounter a couple times in a lifetime.

As we talked about the impoverished lifestyle of the "famous" street we were on, the sound of liquid streaming on the pavement behind me distracted me. I turned and sure enough it was exactly what I had imagined, yet in a different form. A large brown hound dog was urinating on the pavement right in front of the coffee shop where the man with the scarf and I were talking about the magic that seemed dead in this place. We both leaned back in our chairs and wailed with laughter as I caught his half astonished half disgusted mouth drop at this sight of this rabid beast turned pet making his mark. This dog had no idea how profound his action was at that very moment, he was only responding to nature.

The statement he made is that there was no room for nature on this famous street, only room for cold plastic seats and tattoos that tell half of a story the holder never cared to finish. Therefore it is etched on the authors skin for eternity, hoarded selfishly, never to enter the ears and hearts of humanity around him starving for that half chewed story that he gave up on.

I wanted to believe this man in the red scarf. I wanted to believe that magic does exist, a part of me was picking up on the magic inside of him. The stories he had made from being an observer in his everyday life. We don't have to live in the mundane, we can create and experience magic everywhere because it is inside of us!

Ocean Endings

Why does every good thing
Come to an end?

I will make it last
If I just change out the water
If I breathe into your lungs
Will you stay a bit longer?

Every magical night
And soft lullaby
Slowly becomes quiet. Still.

Then the silence.

Why is the silence so loud
So vast. So lonesome.
It faithfully points to the Truth
Like a river flows to the Ocean

Has the truth ever been touched
It stands as a virgin does
Seductive and Pure
Never to be found in a sentence

It is as mysterious as the wind:
It's beginning rush with anticipation in its wings
The bumps rise to the skin and it is gone.
Washed away in another drop of sweat

The only way to bring it back
Is to set a date with the river
To jump in
And the rivers calendar is full with openings

To make a reservation you must forget how to swim.

Ocean party of ONE your river is now available.