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I Woke…

The Book of Life

The Book of Life

Is your name written in
the Book of Life?

Why, of course, it is!
If you think it NOT
Start writing!

If you think you cannot
write, begin putting your
pen or pencil to a piece
of paper and let
whatever words spill out
fill the sheet WAITING—

Draw your name!
What, you cannot draw?
Then paint, use ink…
squash a blueberry
and smear its juices
every which way.

Laugh, loudly—
Sing your name into
the Book!
You don’t believe you
have a voice?
Shout then—yes,
at the top of
your lungs—

Yes, proclaim your name.
Don’t worry if you
wake ‘someone.’

Maybe you’ll ‘awaken’
them enough
to help them
to dance.

Yes dance—
Dance your name
into the book
…think you
cannot dance?
By ‘goodness’
then waltz or
better yet, break dance.

Your name
is in the Book
called Life.

If you don’t
believe it
start
creating it
and trust~~~
You’ll Appear.

You always have been.

Windows

The World opens ‘Her’ windows to us—“Look, look” she whispers… “See.

I AM

I AM

You spread your arms
raising them beyond the mountain tops.
You call down the morning dew
wetting the landscape.
Your leafy hair gives shade to
the birds that occupy your branches.
You, a haven, a sturdy shelter—
In ‘your’ center a heart beats
echoing through your trunk
a sound only the ‘tuned’ ear can hear.
Your roots penetrate the soils of time…
you endlessly move the ground as you stretch
into your fulness.
Hammered by the tempest’s mighty winds
you stand~~~reshaped…
fashioned by the ‘Maker’ from whose
womb you burst forth.
Your fruits endless—you cannot stop
giving life and life in abundance.
I hear you breathing~~~
you have taken over my core.
From you, I AM~~~
uprooted to this moment.
I do not understand.
Anything I thought I knew has
vanished into the wind.
A NEW song sings through the trees
and I need not know the tune—
I simply hum along.

Written and painted by me at Skidmore College: Women’s Voices for (a) Change/2013
under the wise tutelage of Artist, Susan Bello Ph.D.

A Point

Whether you are looking from the inside out or
the outside in…find the point where everything you ‘see’ matters.

The Stone

The Stone…

I’MPOSSIBLE

I was traveling
down a roadway
cruising about 65
when suddenly before
me I began to
see vignettes—
road signs—
images of my life—
years gone by.

My speed began
to slow down
as I gazed
‘beyond’ each scene.

Sometimes I had to
close my eyes
caught up in moments
past—
only to open them
quickly enough to
hold the road.

Looking ‘into’ painted
yesterdays…
No matter what had
taken place—
I paused, realizing how
those days gone by
brought me here, NOW—
Yes, to this moment of GRACE.

Then my vehicle came to
a stop—an overpass
up ahead~~~
Graffiti sprayed ‘into’ the cement…
truly it was a work of ART.

The message read,
I’MPOSSIBLE.

All the scenes of my life~~~
the past…
brought me to this AWAKENED time.

Nothing impossible—
For I AM Possible
As are YOU…

Choose your signs
and what you follow.

A Potter’s Field

A Potter’s Field

Let’s begin
by removing the
Elephant from
the room.

I’m certain you’ve
heard the cliche’.

Good—
there is ‘space’
available.

Naturally,
the Potter’s Field
was ONLY open
to foreigners.

You know—
the social misfits…
the ones who did
not belong.

Oh, let’s just say it—
today’s homeless,
imprisoned,
prostitutes, illegal aliens,
homosexuals…
I think we could name
many more.

The Potter’s Field
was purchased for
30 silver coins—
today it is known
as the Field of Blood.

A burial ground
for the outcast—
the Ones not ‘chosen’…
the Ones NOT in the
right group.

The 30 silver coins
dangled—
a temptation
for the fellow
who walked beside
his BELOVED
hoping he would
bring about change.

He did not
grasp the ‘message’
his brother delivered—
Have we truly understood it?

His pain so deep
he returned the silver coins
BUT the tempters
could not take back
what had been given.
They wanted to
BUT they did not want
blood on their hands—
easier to find the ‘scapegoat’.

Consequences so dire…
The Potter’s Field
soils ‘holding’ foreigners—
it is no wonder
that ‘they’ surely will
Rise.

Healing the Ear of the Servant

Healing the Ear of the Servant

“We”
a collective ‘ONE’—
A Royal ‘Priesthood.’

The Christ, (Cosmic)
everything BUT a priest from
the Tribe of Levi.

When Peter swung his sword
in the darkness of the
garden…
He cut off the right ear
of the high priest’s servant,
Malchus,

AND

The Christ, placed his hand
upon his ear—
his right ear,
a visible sign (maybe),
an act made ONLY by
the priest
under the law
marking the selected~~~Ordained.

Still—this simple itinerant
Preacher/Healer
performed an action
ONLY the priest could
endow to enact the
sacrifice—the atonement.

Only a few droplets of blood
on the servant’s shoulder
and then they ‘removed’~~~in chains
the ONE
who ‘ended’ the meaning
of SACRIFICE
no longer necessary.

The old ways no longer—
a new WAY begun.

Yes~~~‘One’ Royal Priesthood

Solitary

SOLITARY…
never really alone

Please…Don’t Judge Me

Please…Don’t Judge Me

In between the words
a silent pause—
an unspoken truth
not written.

Why,
why spill the ugliness
of what has
already been done.

Don’t judge my
silence—
Look in the mirror
and face yourself.

Who is your God?
Name your ‘idolatry.’
Do you belong to a
certain ‘tribe’ to
justify your
sorry self?

Find your ‘I AM’
in all—
Then you can spend
less time
trying to ‘read me.’

Please…don’t judge me.
Try loving yourself
and begin to
shoulder your own
blame for all
you think you are not.

Then you may be able to
stand on your own
two feet
before your earth is gone.

Almost

Almost…time to set Sail