Giftwrapped Serendipity

“Everything precious can be replaced.” ~ Victoria Stuart

I sent out a prayer
to open myself to the next
level of being in relationship.
Hoping to experience ease and pleasure.
And the responsive universe
immediately brought me gifts
— the type that used to make me
cringe, flee, cry, despair.
Growth, it seems, requires facing,
allowing all the experiences
I judged as bad, harmful, toxic
and first hid from, then escaped
before gathering courage to stand up to,
identify and protect myself from.
And always, they’ve exited the stage
only to enter again, stage right —
stage fright, house left —
dressed in different clothing.
Every experience I have resisted
clings to me, an energetic stamp
wrapping tight arms around me
in a death squeeze. Go away!
I proclaim, safe in the knowledge
that I have been a victim,
I’ve been traumatized,
for God’s sake!
Whose god?
Who’s God?
If I’m god, this is for my sake?
The gift becomes evident by its wrapping
scales of glittery resistance. I can spend
my days investigating, labeling, singing long and
passionately about it. But I keep sending out
my intention until now I see
if I can embrace the resistance I wrap
around this experience, there may well be
beauty inside. I never bother to open
the actual gift, I just resist
and resist the so-called toxic
wrapping, send it away and act
surprised when it arrives the next
moment, the loving universe yelling,
“Oh, my dearest love, surprise!”

Daily Ragtag Prompt: Scale

Inspired by the Word of The Day Challenge: Serendipity

I recycle 2016 Daily Word Prompts: Pleasure

The Art of Integration

For two years, they returned

to the bluebird house,

several times a season

to lay eggs and raise their young.

The male’s iridescence in the sun,

a deep blue sapphire blessing

with his mate, swooping over the water

in aerobatic dances with their dinner —

the insects that thrive here as well.

Such a noisy lake at times,

tree swallow chirps and gurgles amid

the eerie meow of the catbird,

the redshouldered hawk’s kreeya

and at dusk, the pure cacophony

of the ranids, the creaks and croaks

of toads and the tuba call

of the bullfrog.  And though

I try to heed the warning caw of crows,

I was deaf to danger,

only noticing they no longer came

to the nesting box, now inhabited

by sparrows.  The smell alerted me,

for the new birds had killed

the defenseless native mother bird

and built their nest atop her

decaying body.  Such savage cruelty

in my own backyard! Even though

it echoed the behavior of my ancestors

building a civilization

with the same complete disregard

for native life. I haven’t mentioned

the blares and sirens

from the nearby highway — it’s not poetic.

Rather than face

my own barbarity, I defend

these swallows, determined to trap

the invaders.  I cannot see a way

to integrate these two forces,

and here lies the root of

my society’s ills:  we fight and resist.

We clearly see the bad

in the other.  How can we

find a way to synthesize,

while the gene pool declines

and the hidden costs grow?

What tool will shine the light on the pain

we’ve never acknowledged,

the beauty destroyed in the act of creation?

When will I learn that only when I am most

triggered, appalled, enraged

am I close to the key — the aching

wound that I must admit

the true cacophony deep inside.

I can offer here

the words: I am sorry.

I am part of the resolution.

I am your most

valuable resource, the one you most fear.

Don’t turn away. Take me in.

In the heart of the destruction and chaos,

this is where we find ourselves.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: swallow