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PARTICIPANT

Participant

You…
have set my ‘feet’
knotting them—
telling me a
Woman
where I
can and
cannot go.

You have
held my
voice~~~
‘sealing’ it,
allowing me to set
the table, prepare the
food, but you hold me
back from sharing
the words.

You decide what is
best for my body even
after it has been broken…
abused and yes, beaten.
Yet—
‘One’ who is BEYOND you
speaks through the
wind…
whose breath has
blown its way into
my soul, into every
fiber, cell, pulsing
in the transformation
of my being.

I am stretched
though you try to hold me.
I reach connecting to all creation
which fills me with life.
I sing for my voice can no longer
be restrained.  My refrain—endless.

My body
like a tree
is planted in ‘sweet’
surrender…
Still, the soil
holds me—
the birds nest in my arms reaching,
soaring in every
which way.

The sun warms me
while the rain bathes
my essence.

The snow freezes my
shell, my bark—yet,
my core, unseen
EXPANDS.

When leaves grow,
they join my
song—

You can try to ‘hold’
me—
yet, you’ll
never stop
the
‘moving’

I am a
participant in
the JOURNEY.

The Tempest

The Tempest

For a time
the swirling winds
of the rushing tempest
seemed to have ceased.

I walked amongst the trees…
we chatted.
A simple song they sang…
the gentle breeze echoed through
their branches.

My heart space
‘wonder-struck’…
A calm serenity was found
in the still silence.

Then, without notice
pellets of hail, sleet
fell from the sky.
Any subtle form of air
was now a fury
lifting me from any solid
foundation.

I twirled in the air—‘freezing.’
I was caught in the rapturous
whirl.

My mind raced—
I could not turn off
the noise penetrating
through my head.
My being ‘rocked.’

It was no use trying
to fight all the elements
rushing
toward my center.

I’ve known this place—
and this time I am
more aware of myself
within these encounters
of chaos.

In every way I am stretched—
refashioned and yes, maybe
reshaped—TRANSFORMED.

The tempest far from over—
The flying debris leaves me
blinded.

Yet—

I see.

I vision—a way
through this ‘place’…
still, silent, alone
yet, never by
myself.

Hidden within
the tempest I am pushed.  Yet,
I do not resist.
I know I simply
must let-go.

Be Still

Be Still

Come
sit gently upon
the budding flowers.

Suckle sweetly
the tender juices…in the heart
of the garden’s
abundance.

Be Still~~~
taste and
see
all you ever needed
or wanted
is all
around you.

It is not simply
around you
it is
within you.

Sit quietly
and be still.

Frigid

Frigid

Frigid…
I see my breath
in the framework of the night—
it shatters like a thousand
tiny pieces of icicles in mid-air.

The cold
creates pools which form
in the very corners of my eyes…
they slip down
freezing before they spill from
my chin.

The blustering wind
pierces my cheeks
like a sewing needle
weaving its way through
a seamless garment.

Why am I out here?
To listen~~~but to what?
What is there to listen to?
A tree cracks…
a lonely leaf scurries across
the icy terrain.

I’m frozen—
my nostrils await
another breath
before ‘sealing’ closed barely re-opening.

I listen…
and hear nothing.

The silence—it’s intoxicating.
I drink it in
one shot after another
and suddenly ‘inside’
my being I’m warm.
I’m listening to the chill of
nothingness—
and in this moment
it is as a
burning flame.

Our Mother

Our Mother

Our Mother
You are throughout the Universe
strewn in between the galaxies
and infinite solar systems.
You are in every star beaming within
the Milky Way.
Holy Woman is your name.

Your Creation is NOW
and shall be for as long
as you desire.
There is no separation from the
Cosmic Wonders you ordained.

Each day you gift to us…
You, Holy Mother, nurture us with
sustenance from your breasts—
spill milk of a lasting kind
until we are no longer babes.
Feed us with the riches of
spiritual maturity
so that when we fly from your
womb that has carried us,
your love holds us if our wings
should tire
and we fall to the ground.

Lift us again and again
so that the resurrection of
our spirits
sets ablaze our hearts
burning with love’s desire
for you and you alone.

For in you Holy Mother
transformation dwells
awakening our minds
set free from illusions.

Forever and ever
may you birth into life
goodness and kindness
mercy and steadfastness.

May love be the endless
fruit filling us
forever and ever.

Awomen

Yellow Flowers

Yellow Flowers

When I was but a child,
I wore a shirt of yellow flowers—
it was so beautiful.

I held it in my hands for a long time
before draping each of my arms
through its sleeves~~~slender shoots.

I buttoned each circular sphere
imaging myself
that very flower blossoming open
with so much wonder…

I could not wait to get to school
so as to ‘show~off’ this
dazzling cloth which my tiny tent
of a being adorned.

When I arrived at school
I was alive, unfolding…
the yellow flowers seemed to shine
from inside my heart.

I rushed to share this bouquet with
my friends, but as I approached—
yes, from a distance
they began to laugh.
I could not imagine what they were
chuckling at~~~it couldn’t be me—
could it?

As I entered the circle,
my joy suddenly shattered—
My friends began to mock, make fun of
my beautiful yellow flowered shirt.

I allowed them to pluck away
the gift of every petal…
the tiny thorns in the stems, not even
visible, pierced my fragile heart.

No one saw the tears that
blanketed my pillow that night as
I clutched the shirt in my arms.

So long I tried to pretend I did not
see the beauty of the yellow flowers…
I tried to ‘fit’ in.  I tried being
someone I was not…it felt like prison.

Then one day, walking alone,
the tears from so long ago slipped
beyond my cheeks and fell to the
ground.  I looked ‘down’ and realized
just how alone I was NOT~~~

Bursting from the earth,
tiny yellow flowers~~~
covered the damp ground
and began to reflect their beauty
upon my soul.

Lovely, these yellow flowers,
gifts given from the Source
of all things created…
and yes, even I am one~~~
budding amidst the yellow flowers.

What Gift do you Bring?

What Gift do you Bring?

A piece of Paper
empty, life-less…
without color.

A box of Pencils
endless colors…
sitting, as if in waiting.
For so long their ‘points’
longed for union~~~connection.

A Story
in a mind
always creating…
still~~~holding back
WONDERING, PONDERING, HESITATING.
What gift can I bring?

Then ‘She’ knelt upon
the frozen earth
under the silent moon
lighting the empty paper.

She picked up the colored pencils
or maybe they picked her?
None the less,
She ‘mused’ them ‘into’ the
naked page…

Splashing with delight
She discovered ‘her-story.’
It was her gift to bring
and NOW how could she
not share it with the world?

A Love Story
filled with the tapestry of colors
and the page, or pages of paper
are anything but empty.

The Empty Pitcher

The Empty Pitcher

Pour out the contents—
every last ounce of ‘whatever’
remains; let it spill out
and dissolve so that it might
not be found ever again.

Hollow, the Pitcher
at last…
This is how it first arrived
in the world after being
held, kneaded and placed
in a fire—
it came out of the kiln
absolute perfection.

Somehow—
so many of ‘our’ pitchers—
yours, mine…a collective ‘ours’
have been filled, tarnished,
scraped, cracked from the
inside…and for too long
what we’ve come to believe in
are the falsities of who we actually
are.  It is this we are not
this is not what defines us
and yet, it has.

Wounds inflicted—
‘we’ have allowed to fill us.
Some we actually believe true.
Imagine NOT believing in your own perfection.
WAIT—imagine
BELIEVING in your
perfection.

Empty your pitcher.
‘Look’ inside…
maybe its shine is a bit lackluster after
so many years—
perhaps a mar has
formed and
your pitcher broken
in places.

Can you finally ‘see’ you
in this emptiness?
Behold the splendid
Pitcher you are and
always have been.

It is in this very
emptying you are
finally FULL.

Now—splash yourself
everywhere that will
receive the love that
is YOU.

The Trees Are Crying

The Trees Are Crying

They know what is coming.
A storm is approaching—
They, yes, each tree
big & small, tall & short, barren & filled
with autumn’s last leaves~~~
Each begins to sway.

The wind holds nothing back…
branches click and clack
and then a ‘break’
and then a silent rumble
as the tree crashes to earth’s floor…

If you listen—
really listen—
you’ll hear the trees cry.

They creek aloud understanding
a Fall.
Anything BUT a fall from Grace…
rather a fall into GRACE.
It is a time to weep…what was is passing.
What is to come remains unseen
and for this moment~~~it hardly matters.
NOW the trees cry.

Bend with them and listen—
it just might break you enough
to realize they, yes the trees,
embrace the mystery more than You or I.

Ghost Wagon

Ghost Wagon

You ‘see’ it don’t you?
I mean really ‘see’
it is anything but ‘hollow.’

At night—it is then you can
see it and them—
Yes them…

When the stars light the sky,
the canopy covers the wagon.
A team of galloping stallions
begins shuffling its hooves.

Inside…there they are
artists in their own right
poets at play, and a choir
of heavenly hosts.

Paints of endless colors begin to blend—
words flow from a pencil’s lead
and the singing is soft almost silent
as ghosts go traveling to ‘bedrooms’
where dreamers sleep unknown.

The haunting—
sweet mystery
send messages to the slumberer’s
night…
visions, illuminations, transfigured
awaiting a sign.
Yet, no sign need come
nor message be
had.
BUT—if one
discovered…
a treasure at last.

So…
sleep peacefully
tonight and, if you
hear the sound of
hoof beats, close your
eyes…quickly~~~FAST.

The ghosts in the
wagon are
coming at last.

Little One

Little One

What did you find?
Oh, yes…it is a treasure
It is such an amazing ‘gift’
that you could never put it in
a box with a pretty ribbon
for it cannot be contained.

My only wish…
no one take away what
you’ve discovered…
I pray you are not told
‘ARISE’…look how dirty your knees are
‘look’ how wet your new pants are.
Now, hurry…get up—

I pray no one says, come now
we must be going…better things to do
with our time than simply gaze into water
and skip stones on her crest…
Oh, don’t ever let go of this treasure.

I pray the silence here fills you again
and again—so you’ll never tire of coming back.
The noises you’ll hear in your ‘space,’ what
others will call home…never accept them as the norm.
Run back to the treasure you first discovered, Little One…

Pufffffff…

Pufffffff…

How could I pick it?
How could I not
and yes, so I did…

I took a deep ‘breath’
and blew ‘the seeds
not 10
not 20
not 30
so many more.

‘They’…each tiny seed
caught in the wind’s~~~
whisper and spread
to places of newness
to lands, waiting for that
one seed to find its way
to ‘change’ the face of
the landscape…

So…
God says~~~
how could I pick ‘you’ from my garden?
How can I not says God
and so God did…

God breathed~~~ God’s very breath
and blew
not 10
not 20
not 30
but so many ‘beautiful’
images of God’s self
out of the womb of Eden
and into a world~~~
the landscape of creation.

Each of us~~~God breathed
into life.
We have ‘seeds
within us…unique
gifts only we can
birth…

Trust the Spirit in ‘YOU’
and may the wind
carry you to what you
still cannot imagine.