My Voice Creates

Be specific enough to go to the root.~Thomas Huebl

I’ve played this game before, the doctors scratching
heads bewildered, grab the constellation
of symptoms and a label, ratcheting
up the fear–there is no cure, but we
have drugs, and off we go, action-
packed, ready to do whatever it takes except
looking within to find the root.
We are compelled to make sense, to gather
disparate pieces and hide the dissonance
–we’ll call it vaping illness or I’ve got it
covid-19, use fear to isolate the willing
people. Don’t want to kill
your families? The only way is stay
away, like magic, primary resources
out of reach. How can you object?
Better safe than sorry. The economy’s
collapsed, we have a new war, this
mysterious virus that no one can test.
Our grief and agony leads to distraction.
Got any Netflix recs or can you share
your Hulu password? In reaction to
my pain contraction, triggered by the
rigged disinformation that passes
for elucidation, onslaught
I’m not buying in. Like the economy
I’m broke. Did I mention I’ve been
down this road before? It took me
years to ask for more,
to realize the doctors had no clue,
to understand I am compelled
bespelled, inquiry quelled
by my desire to be fixed
and make it quick. Go out for a pass
stay in the game, chasing power
and head-fakes, what cannot be tackled
outside. What we resist persists.
Now is the opportunity we’re granted
to turn our attention, we’ve ranted
and raged against the machine
listed all the overhauls we need
when all the while the symphony
embracing humanity’s plight
with sheer delight. Listen:
we laugh we scream we live
we die we breathe we choke
we dance we scheme.
Pull the curtain, now the wizard
is exposed, we know
deep in our hearts
this is no dream.
Wake up! Come into now.
Embody and allow
our shadows surprising
uprising, and we’ve this golden
chance to sit, welcome what is
if we can brave the waves
of fear we hold so dear.

Soundcloud recording here.

Written for Overhaul, Pass, Looking Within, Isolation and the Stream of Consciousness prompt Welcome.  Once again, the SOCS prompt never wants me to stop, leads me to places where my editing fingers plead, but that, my friends, is against the rules.  And we must all follow the rules.  

There is a free event today at 3:00 p.m. ET, a one-hour Zoom meeting with Thomas Huebl regarding the coronavirus.  You are warmly welcome to join me!

The Tide’s Now Turning

The Tide Is Now Turning

“To follow the way of water is to return to one’s spiritual essence.” — Hua-Ching Ni, The Book of Changes and the Unchanging Truth

“Be!” My grandson commands, so

I look closely with him at a puddle.

Present in this very moment

that stretches beyond time and space,

our hearts connect, pulsating

with this vibrant aliveness.

An insect is floating, and I conclude

it is dead, but he says,

“Bee!” again, and gingerly

fishes it out to rest in his palm.

The water drops off and the bug

stirs, drying its wings from the newfound

land of a toddler’s finger.

We have been talking about gentleness

with living beings, hugging trees.

And now his inquisitive focus

feels the creature step daintily

over his skin, as if showing

gratitude for salvation. I am watching

that wasp-like abdomen as it quivers,

worried that this love-fest

will turn ugly.  I teach respect

and yet I vibrate with memories

of wicked inexplicable stings.

He turns his finger and the exploration

continues but when he looks to me

in doubt, I say, “Fly, bee, fly!”

and whisk it off into the air.

We stand here like herons,

our feet in the water, yet rooted

in the earth, our faces lifted to the sky,

celebrating a tiny flight

with exquisite concentration,

and he says again, “Be!”

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired today to repost May 4, 2018’s poem, as I’m feeling whimsical about the  ceremony of pure presence, a cinch to capture the magic of being with my grandson.

I Arrive

At the big box store I recognize
a wailing child–new to my eyes
and yet I’ve sung those notes,
tightly buckled in a cart, mother
engrossed and boggled so ignores
the tiny being’s outraged roars.
I pause to give my presence, meet
the tearful eyes, witness her hiccupped
surprise. We look. It’s clear
there’s nothing to be done
or said. We’re here. The gift
of my expanded space and her
receptive face. She’s heard.
I see she’s vital in this day-
light chance encounter. She
was frightened when compassion
found her. I hold her gaze.
They move away in sudden
silence. And now what guides us
is the warm regard that says
we are together, there’s no
alone, unheard, unseen; there’s
deep embracing presencing.
Her power recognized–she changed
my way! Alerting me to the web
and what’s in play
the echoes sing just underfoot
opening to the new input
we choose connection, we embrace
each other with true affection.
Arriving home, I put on paper
the steps that surely wake her.
I hear you. I see you.
Your heart is true.
Your voice is strong.
Nothing to say. Nothing to do.
We simply step as we belong.

Inspired by: Paper, Daylight, Vital, Boggle, an amazing course session in Conscious Healing, a crying child at the store and memories of my own cries (shown here, in the middle of unhappy brothers when I was six months old.)

Listen on soundcloud here.

Can’t Buy Me

He grabs my face, “Bibi,

you are my FRIEND,”

and then a squeezing 

hug, “I love you SO!”  

I am completely here, my table spread

with a cornucopia of blessings.

And money can’t buy even one

of them—which is great

since I’ve tapped out

of that stranglehold,

the one that wrestles the others

to the ground then gives

them the chance to rise

and fight again.  They are in

a hurry to negotiate,

yearning to play,

their grandchildren growing

apart—the screens covering

them all in strange blue flickers.

Unplugged, we run into the cold

sunlight, pulled by an

ancient dog’s wagging tail.

And I live for these

days by his side

as he teaches me

the subtle and secret paths

inside my neighbors’ boundaries,

open and free.

 

Inspired by these word prompts: Hurry, Cornucopia, Yearning and Negotiate

and this cover of one of my all-time favorite songs. https://youtu.be/01T1tIvYkwQ

Child’s Play

I record this newly-three boy

–where was I (amazed-watching later,

tiny clues crowded into

misheard space saved by the faith-

full machine capturing now.)

I examine what drives him.

He speaks for tiny

cars, “Him got wheels.”

 “Yes, he has wheels,” I instruct

–where is my pure joy-grasp of

his sentence-structure blooms?

His play-mat roads lead to a picnic

table, a construction site, and one car

is stuck so another saves it.

“Are you okay?”

“No!”

“I will take you to the hospital.”  

And off they go.  I intrude-say,

“You are so kind,” inciting his affronted,

I didn’t.  This car did,”

so I praise the true hero.

My grandson is giving credit

where it’s due, and clueless I

have another anecdote

for my busy

friends, his big heart-rays

lingering in the smiles

he calls forth

their shift unnoticed into

his paradigm of inter-being.

 

 

Inspired by Anecdote, Busy, Examine and Lingering.

True Value

I am so tired of wording

while I wait for the world

to participate in the turnover

embracing the new narrative.

And then this precise

child on this exact

cold overcast day

solemnly offers a paintbrush

dripping purple.  Wordless, I

open my hand to change.

Inspired by: Turnover, Wait, Participate and World.