What Remains Hidden

I am grateful for what remains hidden.~Thomas Huebl

Where does trauma preside?
Holed up in a juvenile place

unreachable, yet glimpsed years later
alive and scolding like this green

heron’s brief flight across
the morning lake.

Always present
in a flesh that differs

from its intrepid sister
bravely forging ahead.

Like a forgotten base camp
the avalanche surely sealing it in

so the path is only
memory and faulty. We weave

stories and mourn, even as we
hitch it to our yoke

drag along the hidden pieces
emerging, surprise, who knows where.

Inspired by: Differ, Intrepid, Juvenile, Glimpse and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt to start the post with “where” and write whatever comes to you in stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write. (I’m obviously applying for the bonus points if you end your post with “where” too.)

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Coherent Hearts

Enjoy the simplicity of sitting, aware of the deep willingness to be here moment by moment.~Thomas Huebl

I say what I have
counting ancient artifacts

piling into a dead future.
Compelled by a delicate

child walled off from those
who humiliate by rote, generations

of hurt gifted without a second
sight. And so I manifest

what has always been, the flock
following into the enclosure

as if we could return to
the nest of our beginnings.

The treadmill bores us
into this lethargy. What is

sloth? How do we tone
our flaccid unused power?

I sit in deep silence
as the sun seeks me.

Allow the simple joy morning’s
kiss to shift my being.

I have what I say.
I call forth change,

singing, dancing out toxins,
the walls come tumbling

down. Still, I set new
boundaries, strong and loving.

Our coherent hearts join
above, below the frantic bleats.

Harmonies we create
inform our new song.

Inspired by:  Humiliate, Delicate, Nest and Return.

Tuning In

Listen: There are dark forces intent
on ravaging the planet with robotic

rule, insisting that only forever
wars guarantee the easy life,

blaring constant propaganda:
you are alone and useless,

there is nothing you can say or do
to make a difference.  Sit in thrall

to the airwaves cacophony
of fear and grief and terror.

And the still truth is:
you are a self-

aware fractal of the whole.
Every love you make and

every kindness, every space
you create ripples through the waters

of our interconnected being
and wakes us to our true calling.

Open wide.

Sit deep.

Tuning like musical medicine
we find the superior resonance

wax poetic in our
leisurely hike through ancestral

glades sunlit by glory.
We dance through the darkened

valleys, uniquely original
as we finally find

the brave deep heart
harmony to sing our part.

Inspired by: Superior, Poetic, Hike and Original.

Just You Call, I’ll Hear

My body ignored for too long

the stresses lies cause

all the undigested trauma

roiling in my guts. In solitude

I sit and listen for the

ephemeral clues that beckon

me to balance. But it is

in connection that we thrive

our hive mind, ancestral skies,

the soul field buzzing.

My nervous system reaches

out to yours, stroking,

enlivening and tangled.

Spinning in this elegance

in a cosmic dance so vast

we close the astronomy

book in fear, jeer at the

zodiac. Huddled in our corner

alive in our butterfly flit.

Bursting from the cocoon

we think we’re all that.

Clueless fliers supported by

white clouds dancing overhead

ground tremors

and the whirl of infinite

multiverses, our microcosmic

selves the key. We open

our unique locks and enter

the pure song we’ve always been.

Inspired by: Ephemeral, Alive and Solitude/solitary and United We Stand by Tony Hiller and Peter Simon, performed by The Brotherhood of Man.

Let It Be

If something is asking to be cleared, let it be cleared without resistance.  If there is something unfavorable coming up to be felt, let it be felt without judgment.~Kiara

With one closed heart, I fall into
the sanctimonious curse of
my ancestors. Stuck in the web
as the terrible spinner nears.

I’m washing sheets today; if they
were white, I’d hang them from each dark
window to signal surrender
to this closing. Farewell, June fears.

Cedar waxwings are back, they sing
throughout my lines cheerful gossip
and bright red lipsticked wing feathers.
Look up and celebrate, take cheer.

July promises new cycles
round the learning curve. If only
I am present today for this
temporary resistance, dear

best friend rising in dismay at
what emerges from my shadows.
Fathers go to war, return to
teach us. Fiercely battle what’s here.

Far too long beaten into a
quivering submission then locked
away. Even so, the drumbeats
pound inside pain; we’re washed by tears.

I ponder how to shift this tale
of victims etched into my genes.
Blessings emerge when I’m triggered,
delicate, gossamer-winged, sheer.

I ignore this at my peril.
Obdurate denial brings a
hobnailed boot crashing from the sky.
Stuck in the past, each why a spear.

How can I suspend judgment, feel
what arises? Here because I’m
poised for the deep dive into now
my pen-inscribed healing frontier.

Inspired by: Sanctimonious, Curse, Temporary and Sheets.

Blame Game

I’m carmelizing veggies while
I sip this hot concoction: old-

style tisane of elder, pepper-
mint and yarrow, ginger, clove and

licorice, rose hip and hyssop,
cinnamon and honey. Bleary-

eyed in this damp morning, rain
and still more rain to come.

My grandson’s teenaged sibling’s chain
a gift, he brought this link to me.

This tardy attempt to nourish
since my efforts to admonish

cover your mouth, wash your hands
betrayed by a sneeze–bless you

–right in my face. He’s three, he’s
innocent, if we must label

our intentions. I’m emptying
a kleenex box, clearing my throat

and coughing, heavy sighs as I
negotiate my breath. And this

just in: my father is choking
from the garlic I am roasting,

past and future generations’
circling irritations, try to

name the source of pain: here, we claim,
it started here, it’s all your fault.

Inspired by: Admonish, Nourish, Label, Betray and Sibling.

Oak Blessing

I

Shouldn’t my trauma be healed
by now, life on an even keel,

the wise untriggered matriarch,
deflecting your projections?

These arrows pierce a truckler child.
Cowering and shamed, open me

in this container, delving
ever deeper with you until

our dark resonance shifts us.
No one ever modeled an

evolutionary path, but
I see bitterness’ aftermath.

Prejudice calcifies bones.
My elders, shattered, demand

stiff drinks and little blue pills.
Donning the masks society

prescribes. Turning, I swear to mine
my depths, even if it hurts.

Never anticipating
this excruciating stratum.

II

I stand here, rooted by this
ancient oak, both of us damp

from tears or mist in this breeze.
A sudden sunbeam illumes

old scars and painful mem’ries—
ah, what I’ve lost. Still vowing

to sustain this heartsight, reveal
my tears and terror again and

again, each fractal of distress
moving my mighty limbs and yours

as we expand in our power.
I see now there is no end:

unremitting shifting as light
filters through shadowed branches,

touching what we have exposed,
tenderly or else

a burning blaze of these
dark places. You hold me, dear

knowing bubbles of
trapped joy rise up, released

my head held high, I
celebrate my shame.

Inspired by: Sustain, Mist and Breeze and this 400+ year old oak tree.

KileOakJune