Yes, and…

“We don’t need to change it.  We need to say ‘yes’ to what is.” ~ Nicholas Janni

“Enter the mystery and grace of the present moment.” ~ Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, From Age-ing to Sage-ing

This fly zings past my ear to binoculars

then sunglasses so I must ask:

what is in front of me,

how do I see,

can I witness

from not-knowing?  Too often

I miss the subtle responses

to my questions, because I am utterly

distracted by my own beliefs.

I am so tempted to swat

this pesky bug.  I don’t have time

for this.  And yet, I have learned

that when I ignore the tiny clues,

they grow larger, more demanding,

even ominous.  So this insignificant insect

crawling straight across the thin

blue line of the napkin is a signal

to wake up, receive this

message personally tailored

by the responsive universe who listened

to me praying just half an hour ago.

Can I perceive this 

differently?  Is there a fresh way

to be right now?  The fly stills

and what I had perceived as

cacophony emerges in a non-compete

composition:  the rhythm of the drumlike

tymbals vibrating from cicadas.

The goldfinches’ liquid twittering

and the distant hawk’s kree.

Large truck lumbers by,

windchimes select “A” and “G”.

Poplar leaves rustle

the cool breeze on my skin.

Last night’s rain lingering in the

pleasant petrichor and the subtle

perfume of the Asiatic lilies next door.

Chittering, whistling from the bushes. 

The shivering and waving ferns.

I am rooted in this earth, my dark heart

rich and jewel-like as I open the space

to be with you now, witnessing

all that has not been felt.

Here, finally, to fully face this moment.


Inspired by Zing, Compete, and Distract

Feeling Better?

Presence, witness, and be understanding as whatever emerges, emerges.  No need to assume, interpret, interrupt — or make anyone feel better! ~  me paraphrasing Thomas Hubl.

I stumble into we-space

a mess, straight from the garden

where I’ve been unearthing

dark emotions, buried deep

after being told to feel better.

Don’t be a petulant child.

All the angry, scared places

are coated with black shame,

in subterranean spaces with no

access to the light.  Trapped in believing

there must be some better way

to feel; I’m doing this wrong.

Stop that whining

or I’ll give you something

to cry about, and the silenced terror

anticipating the arrival of the truly

monstrous. I don’t want

to feel better. At sixty years, it’s

finally necessary to follow

these ore veins underground.

I long to create

a safe container with you,

to express what is alive

in me.  Right now.  Your curious, open 

light illuminating the shaft.  Speaking 

directly to this living force moving 

through me, finally embodied

once I let go of the story.  

We alchemists transform

this trapped energy we’ve mined.

We welcome all

these glowing elements, stirring

with care, fireproof mitts and vests.

Seizing this seething

piece with our wolf jaw tongs.

Delving into these fierce feelings

becomes an incantation

for transmutation wizards wielding

an outpouring of love in this heartspace.

There’s no better way to feel.

Knowing what is alive in you

enlivens me, so dig deep.

Be present.

And we all transform. 


Prompted by word prompts: Fear, and Petulant.

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

Grokking My Place

“Can you leave without a trace?” — Thomas Hubl

I came to the circle, fueled

by a very simple desire:

to observe and then honor

my body’s signals. To correctly translate

a cough, a sneeze, an itch

after a bite of food into a clear

instruction to throw away

this poison! And I am sincere.

Why continue to eat it, why keep

up this conversation of how costly

it was, how I cannot waste it?

When I step forward into my new

direction, the pull of the ancestors

is so strong that I lose my balance.

I turn to see my four grandparents,

never friendly, united now

by their Great Depression trauma

when food was precious, and lives

were at stake for those

who didn’t get it.

Behind them, a multitude of starving

ancestors, struggling through famine.

How to find a resource to ease this?

We celebrated the earth,

her bountiful nature that fed them,

and realized it is no longer the case,

her food now stripped of nutrients,

empty calories bursting with

genetically-inserted pesticides.

My body knows what is true.

My ancestors, seeing the light,

relaxed their grip.  And 12 hours later,

my son called.  He had to give two-weeks

notice to leave a very expensive

preschool, and though he’d still have

to pay, he knew his son

received more loving nourishment

with me, and that was what was important

and could I care

for him today?  Yes, yes, yes!

The release immediately felt

through all the generations,

karma vanishing without a trace.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: observe