Working Out

I’m enrolled in a workout class

designed to give me more flexibility

when wielding my tune-in muscle.

I used to think I was weird or wired

differently, stuck in that unyielding

school desk watching the clock’s

agonizing creep. But now I know

anyone can do this. A parent dials

into their child’s frequency

to understand the being of few words

and passionate, overwhelming desires.

We sense into the needs of our pets,

opening to a way of communicating

that feels mysterious, psychic.

Our schools are designed to stamp

out our mystical knowledge. Everyone

must fit into the square pegs, summoned

by bells to march to classrooms.

Slaves to time, unquestioning.

Some of us fell through the cracks,

resisted the molding, shedding it

like snake skin. Reaching into a field

sparkling like dewdrops on a spiderweb

of magnetic aliveness that spans

the globe, we are awake and sitting.

The mystics and the poets will save us

by opening up the clock

to the spaciousness between seconds,

inviting us to abandon the lurid

sitcoms and online distractions

that keep us tied to an agenda

like mice spinning on a wheel.

Change the station, dial in to

the connection we have all been

reaching for, right here, on the other

side of the canned laughter

that keeps you

from listening to now.

Inspired by the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Sitcom

Tell It To My Heart

“For in spite of language, in spite of intelligence and intuition and sympathy, one can never really communicate anything to anybody.” ~ Aldous Huxley

I have always resisted

labels.  Even calling the way

I feel into life intuition

is an instant limitation.

All the inherent potential’s

available now.  This constant

evolution allows the wordplay

I so love.  Truth speaking

fades as soon as it’s uttered.

The new runs through an open hand

yet we dare to try to grasp,

and name the nameless.

No, I am not clinging

to a single stand I have taken

and yes, each moment I will declare

another, experiencing this rich

unfolding of beauty, horror,

true love and deep anger.

Why do we tingle with life,

jump into insights, premature

leaps toward the next deep pool?

How do we absorb this quiescent

question amid all the mind’s

mumbo jumbo?  I don’t understand

a single thing, though I catch

glimpses of the cohesive flow

staggering, mouth agape

these words of praise escaping.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: premature