Where True Love Abounds

In the morning I pause to greet a dog
a supporting character effusive
love and joy wriggling.  I’m all agog.
She’s figured out what I find elusive

since my brush with death turned my life around.
How to be here now where true love abounds
and the only price is energy, pure
intentional being centered and sure.

Inspired by: Supporting, Pause, Character, Elusive and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Brush.

Do What You Love

The rain has drenched the trees so the cool breeze
tinkles and splatters and whispers through leaves.
At first, I’m charmed, then chilled, but I am here
for flow, my dedicated hour so dear.

And words are rhyming like a child at play.
I bring her out though she will get muddy.
Ah, sun, as if invoked, you suddenly
appear above the fringe of woods. I see

what gives me life. Breathing and what is more
I feel gratitude and joy in my core.
My whole being here embraced and I taste
the fullness as I move through time and space.

Right now my higher self is dancing free
as glorious intent is aiming me.
A grackle lands and scolds as I appear.
Reveal yourself! My open heart sees clear.

Inspired by: First, Fringe and Rain.

Featured image is a kaleidoscope effect on the sun above the fringe of woods this morning.

The Deal Of Your Life

In the world where blather blooms innuendo’s
sly invites: investigate these lies!

I invest my currency not in an
asp clutched to my bosom. Instead I pay

each morning fully stepping into love
as the sun literally explodes huge

burning flash into sun-gazing eyes.
I ground the power filling with bliss.

It comes to this: a choice to fear or change.
Leap off the seeming precipice–all lies

the old collapses. I only have eyes
for this new earth we are creating nigh

improbable rising from the rubble
new soil transmuting. We are on the rise

I’m deep in being looking through God’s eyes
and in your tenderness I see God looks

at me. How did these separation stories
ever fly? When did we dread to die?

The brilliance as each moment unfolds how
love leads the way. It’s easy. Show me now.

Inspired by: Bloom, Blather, Bosom and Innuendo. And by sheer bliss as I turn away from watching the mesmerizing fall of the old structures and focus fully on creation.

As We Sow

I’m committed to uncover
the love. I recover my power
as I leap off this steep tower
of lore, the stored beacon
beliefs that guide me
and weaken my strength.
There is no adequate
shortcut. We reap
the harvest of impossible
decrees, improbably
impelling us to the brink
of extinction. We call
the world into being
awake or asleep as we
breathe. The intricate surface
drama triggers our unexpected
trauma, hidden, uninspected
or seen, denied, rejected.
I’m calling attention
manifesting intention
literal, precise, I’ve released
being nice. So obsolete.
In the new paradigm we’re kind
to ourselves mattering
while old ways continue
shattering.

 

Inspired by Leap, Recover, Adequate, Beacon and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “ect,” for a post which “must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write” as well as this intriguing article about the power of power.

 

Love’s Perspective

I’m not afraid of running out of love. The more love I give, the more love I have to give.~Rob Brezsny, World Kiss

I bless you precious basketball
bobbing along the iced edge

of the bay: forlorn, forgotten
by the children who missed

the hoop and changed the game
to this cold and lonely lake

tour. Here where the springs
bubble up in the hole hewn

by the highway contractors,
here is beauty. Breathtaking,

heart-opening basketball, faded
into a mustard yellow with a frost

cap, observing with a detective’s
stealth. Alive in the living waters,

as I am. Fractals of the complex
humming earth, creatures forged

from stardust and sound, light,
energy. I release the separation

that declares my sentience supreme:
what I have is yours and yours

is mine. Vibrations of love,
we presence one another,

tuning in and reflecting
disturbances in the field,

so easily corrected when we
are intent on kissing our wounds.

Bringing them like sobbing children
to our mother. Nurturing each

other, every one of us called
thing or it or jack—even

this flickering sentient screen bestowing
this message, records your metadata

expressions as you read
these words. All of us alive

and brimming with it. I’ve thrown
off the separation, I’ve missed

the target, spinning, throwing
blessings to every thing that matters.

We. Us. And what comes before
the word the intention

the transmission deep
abiding love, the blank page

on which we write in our
feverish dreaming. Kissing

cousins. Nothing is
as it seems.

Photo taken after a long climb in Oahu when I felt overwhelming love for all of creation. May it transmit that same all-encompassing love to you.