In secret

IMG_0864You tiptoed and

I heard.

Crawled stairs that I might listen.

Your voice,

the way that you evoked God,

had conversations

with

the

divine.

 

From whom

do I get this—

have I learned to go there

facing east in prayer, or

sitting in pews of

blind faith?

 

I commune because of

you.

I saw you through the cracks/Under the door

did the light show/your voice

echoed like church bells ringing San Miguel skies.

 

I listened

‘til I slept.

Forgot I’d snuck there

outside your door.

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Posted in lyrical prose, poetry, Practice, Prayer, prose, Prose, poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Stay Woke

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I sit in contemplation that the hidden be revealed. It dwells there behind the recesses of my mind. Truth. I retrieve it as though a memory locked in a box.

No box.

No lock.

The key has always been there in the seeking, in the turning within. To follow inside the going is to arrive at the place of non-arriving. There is nowhere to go when we follow within.

We travel:

by way of vibration and energy.

We move by way of breath:

Inhale.

Exhale.

This is the essence of Truth. This is the mystery that sweeps in and leaves us profoundly changed.

Awake.

And when we have contemplated for a while, touched the recesses of our minds, seen the face of truth, and breathed it in, we experience what it means to be Woke.

Posted in awareness, Being, contemplation, God, Intention, lyrical prose, Meditation, poetry, Prayer, prose, spiritual journey, spiritual practice, spiritual prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Night light

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Image: Karman

Because I can only stand here, I can’t stand there. Some things aren’t meant to dwell together: Light. Dark.

We come to see the seeing of our sight when we open ourselves to the light. Dark, too, has a purpose:

Reminds us of what is and what is not.

Reminds us of where we are and where we are not.

Reminds us of the people inside the realm of our choice to keep, to let go.

I let go.

Alone in the aloneness of being here alone. I am used to the echo, how my voice rings. The shadow in front of which there is the light. I exist an island amongst people, expanse amongst clouds, vast amongst God.

The view from this table, the one at which I have taken a seat, turns me back toward the within of myself. That is why I chose it. Why I lifted myself from the comfort of the ground, elevated myself inside the view. I always want to see. I always want to know. I know fully that I know nothing even when the knowing comes from within. Seasons change. I am changed. I change inside of the changing. This is the gift of time, yet some things remain:

Core.

What is there at the root of the tree does not shake. It does not sway in breeze. It does not buckle at the knees of the events of its life.

Nature.

It is when we see the oneness of all that we become that which is at the root. I am rooted.

It is my deepest joy.

It is my deepest sorrow.

It means that I cannot un-know.

It means that I cannot un-see.

It means that I am carried.

It means that I am responsible for being carried; that I can only be weightless.

Nonattachment.

Knowing.

Trusting.

Awake.

Aware.

Faithful,

like the blind.

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The expanse

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I want to be there inside the depth of the depth. That is the place where the Light exists. It hides in the open spaces. It is seen by the eye of the seeker. It is known beyond one’s ability to know. This is the place of emptiness where the feeling waits to be felt. Where the intangible nature of the All can be touched with the hand. Bare. Nature returns to its original face. Naked. Nude. The robe where the hem hangs, removed. There is only the space of air, of breath, of the exhale of the many giving way to the inhale of the one. We breathe from the breath of the other. Connected. All things tethered even when they touch nothing. They touch the All.

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My Beloved,

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You take me there. Hold closely my soul to your own that I feel the light. How deeply it runs the river of me. You twirl me and the wind beneath my feet sweeps me into the new. How tender the balance of the Way.

You lead me always into the light.                                                                                                You lead me there through the open doors of my longing soul and I am brave enough to cross.

You are here with me. When I reach for you you are there. I feel you like frequency, a vibration that catches me, brings my eyes to close then to water. All of my being stays steady on you.

I see.

You are my tunnel when the day shifts to night and the dark gets me. I hide inside of you, comforted by the way you keep watch.

My solitude is you.                                                                                                                            My solace is you.

You are my prayer.                                                                                                                           You are the manifestation of my prayer.

Tears fall from knowing to knowing, and I deny you never. You are the beginning and the end. You are my reason for it all; how I let a life go for another. It is because of you, because of your magic, because of your promises, because of how you mentored me, shaped me into form. I will always sing your praises, express my gratitude, write you love letters.

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All is well

the-buddha

Stillness

It comes cool to calm, like warmth over the chill of the cold. Peace. I welcome it the way I welcome gratitude bursting from the seams of my inner. This is the walk of my journey through this lifetime. I rise and I fall in seemingly the same moment. I give thanks and I cry for the way of my mind’s movement at times through its cramped space of vastness. I am not alone here. These moments of dark house neighbors, people who, too, understand the imperfections along the way, the confusion that speaks, the uncertainty that reveals itself. We are all connected by a single breath exhaled and inhaled by the one who just walked passed, and returned again in the clothes of another, possessing another’s face. There is oneness even in our difference. There is oneness even in the difference of myself. I change moment to moment; sometimes I change back—the unfinished business of my mind turning my head toward the past or pushing it forward into the unknown. There is nothing outside of this moment. My attempts to remind it at times fail, other times they free me to breathe deeply, rest easily, be at peace with the rises and falls. The getting up is the way. And we do. We are called to that purpose: to rise from the place of our falling that the light shines again upon us and clarity be encountered. Today, I am clear. The morning of yesterday not so much, but the voice of my deepest knowing spoken from a tone familiar, yet outside of myself pointed there: All is well.

Posted in balance, Being, change, clarity, life, life journey, lyrical prose, poetry, Practice, prose, Prose, poetry, reflection, self expansion, spiritual journey, spiritual practice, spiritual prose, Spirituality, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

In loss we find the other

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Lifting my head from Doty’s Heaven’s Coast, I arrive at the intersection of death and loss, and from the nothingness comes sound.

Fingers strumming in tune.

There’s a celebration somewhere.

Happiness.

What music shapes into form like playdough in the hands of children?

I don’t recognize the tune, but the words—the emotion and reality of that intersection—belongs to me, too. I’ve crossed that street more than once;

the second time nearly broke me.

The death of my father didn’t prepare me for the death of my aunt.

Welling.

Sound pouring out—projectile, like bile giving all it has.

I choked myself silent;

hyperventilated myself to panic.

The guitar sounds: light, feathery—of joy.

It comes in the morning like mist to sun, and when night falls it echoes to stopping.

My attention turned now from these pages and toward myself. Nothing of me exists, yet I sit here atop my bed in Mexico,

listening.

Distant now, the strumming.

Mariachi and laughter drowns to fade.

Dogs barking in the distance,

and there’s a power saw somewhere in the hands of an artist, likely poor,

tapping his toe to sound.

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A snapshot of my life in reflection

Siah

Each day I become clearer and clearer. Mexico is a gift in that way. I don’t think I’ve ever been this clear before, even as I’ve enjoyed a depth of clarity. Here, in this time and this place, I see differently. Snapshots of truth flash across my mind like fireworks. They come with sound and magic—the eye can’t help but see; the ear can’t help but hear—then fade without a trace. Some things aren’t meant to be forgotten and require not a single print of having ever existed.

This I know to be true:

I won’t live in Mexico forever, or even for the unforeseeable future. There is a future of its end, and though I do not yet know when that is, I know that it is so. I’m learning more about myself here: What I like, what I need, what I desire, what world I want to see when I open my eyes and look through them.

Also true:

I am here now, and I am allowing myself to be here now.

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All things are within: The dark and the light

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We decide in moments that we make decisions. The way is created from the opening of our stepping. We step through after the mind creates the way.

Contradiction.

Life moves at the speed of a beat that belongs to no one.

Watch.

That is the only requirement inside of life: to watch. We bear witness to ourselves with wisdom and the experience that wells up like the tears forming behind eyelids of confusion. At times we forget what we know and remain past the expiration date only to take ill. It happens when we eat from the spoiled, drink from the cup of another.

Darkness is contagious.

We must mind the gap, keep watch on the light that it gets in. What out and over the horizon do you see when you turn within? A glass house of beauty gathering stones for a rainy day. Your demise is in the throwing. Boomerang has a birds-eye view, waiting to teach a lesson.

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Questionless

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Light.

I see inside the night. Mysterious things in the dark flicker. The light gets through. Some things are to be known.

Questionless.

The light always gets through. Even perfect circles have holes. All things cracked enough for the light. The magic happens when you know this: that there is no question at the root of your standing.

To be without questions, yet doubt all that is around you that can be seen with the eyes of flesh, is to touch Divinity.

Oneness.

We ask in order to receive.

We do not ask because we lack knowing.

The difference is seen only behind the painter’s eye.

Masterpieces arrive there atop what was once a blank canvas.

In order to create we must see.

In order to see we must look.

Who of the chosen look and see?

Who walking the path of the light where the journey exists inside its non-existence has unlocked the secrets?

Who knows the parables?

The one who knows is the one who sought without question and moved there along the current of her knowing.

 

 

 

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