Dive Deep

Every data point is either false, exaggerated, or taken out of context. The conclusion is preconceived black propaganda void of sustaining analysis.~Scott Ritter

While we hurtle through the canyons
losing sight of our companions
the current tumbling us apart
where are we heading? we start
to succumb to a daydream, we scheme.
no one thing we can hang onto
where’s our civilization gone to?
our grasp desperate, inutile
resistance is futile
unintegrated past debris
we choke, we cannot breathe.
This severe acute respiratory
syndrome in the hands of story-
tellers with an evil aim
to gain the steering game
an influx of panic and fear
a threat to all we hold dear.
How can we take a bearing?
Be here now, gentle and caring.
Contemplate and as fear rises
acknowledge the surprises.
The military might outside the door
is not to save your life, now
calls for deep listening
open your heart. We’re glistening
like dew upon a flower.
Let this moment be our finest hour.
I’m here for you and you for me.
Shh. With this one breath dive deep.

Inspired by Contemplate, Daydream, Hang On and Bearing.

Featured image of “Indra’s Net: it’s a metaphor for inter-being” from thoughtco.com

In the fragile moments…

…love needs to run the show.~Thomas Huebl

Each factoid conflates and the
twittering ensues: a chirp of doubt
a caw of derision cues uneasy
flutters of the flock, buffleheads
suddenly alert. A silent bald
eagle swoops spiraling
a kick of panic, they rise
called to scatter, frantic.
It seems that things are breaking
away. The landscape shifts
earth shaking, heart aching.
Eerie, empty and the lap
of water here where I anchor
settle my electric nerves
though I may wish to fly
I find I’m rooted in relation.
How may I serve you?
Reactions seek ground. Out of
the box confined, away from
the flickering nervous screen
I bow before this glorious
life delightful flow
through me in ways
I cannot say. Silent now
leave the fray. Together
we will find a path
that’s kind. We go within.
Embrace the fear awaiting
I’m with you. In connection
we will hold a space
for what is true
emerging in our humble grace.

 

Go Figure

The embers are cool, and I have lost
the eyes of long regard and so alone
I face my darkest corners, create
a ledge and perch watchful.

This is the glitch I spy
from far below, peeking with
frightened courage. Overwhelmed
by life’s adventure, everything

strained, the ice holding
beyond the boiling water.
If I could cut a romantic
figure, I’d persuade you to

look deep into my heart
the way I do and with such calm
kindness hold the sinewy
dark cords pulling insistent.

More and more space, there’s a
crowd and I can’t catch
my breath. Sidereal Sun’s in
Aquarius. Earth quickens

toward spring. Moon flirts
with fullness. Deep in spaces
of unclaimed dreams, do you
invite the end of the world?

Do you ask if you are worthy,
do you wish someone to show
exactly how to love?
Fairytale-rescues of

powerless, bound
by magical powers unseen.
I set out to see the world
and find love. And do we all?

Is love a luxury? All these words
of course lead me astray.
I sit in quiet, greet
each moment precisely.

And when a thought proclaims,
you’re not who/what/why/where
you should be, yes, and
I learn, oh, this is love.

 

End of Winter’s Dream

I have done all that I could to see the evil and the good without hiding.
You must help me if you can. Doctor, my eyes. Tell me what is wrong.
Was I unwise to leave them open for so long?~Jackson Browne

Nine hundred miles south as the crow
flies, the hawks copulate in leafed-out
branches, loud cries and beating those
feathered wings–fifty-inch span–

The female settled
in a vee so noisily I hit record,
can you imagine my surprise when he
answered her call? Floored. They struck
a chord. They did the deed
in front of me. They mate for life,
create a bond. And what I’ve seen
remains; in fact it grows with
every kree I hear in these
northern skies. In the sloth
of winter’s haze, dazed and sleepy
I throw off my suffocating
covers, greet my avian neighbors
as all around the lake, beings wake.

 

 

Telling New Stories

Someone’s been telling you stories, and they just ain’t true.~Dan Fogelberg

Here in the chaos of dismantling
the grip of greed, we need new

myths like heroines channeling
the bones and roots our great grand-

children will discover, digging
in another time to uncover

the resilience of Gaia. They
won’t waffle, trapped in lies

of separation, our intrigue here
a mystery–why did they hide,

they’ll likely ask, when told
the stories we are crafting bold

and leaping from the tangled knots
that we believe enslave us

and deprave us, suddenly caught
in a flash of light, insights

streaming–we’ve been dreaming!
Looking deep into our very

essence, we sense the connection
so clear outside our manmade

boxes fear designed. We’re out
of time. Each breath we presence

now becomes the gift of freedom.
How our ancestors loved us,

they’ll exclaim, our true words
reaching far beyond our graves.

Inspired by: Myth, Resilience, Intrigue, Waffle, beautiful and mysterious Spanish moss
and the need for us to shift the narrative and create new myths right now for the sake of all of us.

 

What Appears To Be

It is time to practice how to attune to the new reality that Gaia is preparing…See people awakening and walking their own paths towards the new.
The circle of humans that stand in the light of the new reality is larger and larger. Rejoice and give thanks.~Marko Pogačnik

In the ubiquity of fear and smear
of politics and media, oh,

we fall asleep standing right here,
declare we’re copacetic—cheer

thrilled as the festivities appear.
We forget that we are desperate

addicts, looking for a fix, oh,
we won’t call it that, hush, dear.

As Gaia makes this quantum leap
in her own evolution, the sphere

we are vibrates into light, oh,
breathe into us the words: all clear.

We’re fingers on the hand waving
into the mirror. We are love, oh,

look into our palm, life peer,
the lines are trails into the new.

The web we weave spinning, oh,
into the space appearing now.

Inspired by: Copacetic, Ubiquitous, DesperateFestivities and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, oh.  (The rules: Your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.  And today it was sooooo hard not to edit.)

The Way Through

We’re tuning in together across
the planet, deliberate, setting

aside our jaded lies. We’ve treaded
water, gasping and choking, trying

to heal ourselves in the poisoned
system, rising and falling alone.

Throbbing wounds from unexpected
splinters: we do not rush to kill

the pain. Instead we witness the
longing for death, trace its descent

through our lineage, the millennia
a tangled knot we cannot integrate.

Setting aside our individual triggered
drama to illuminate our collective

trauma. Each of us a fractal symptom.
Summon our skilled weavers. Illuminate

the net which binds us, blindly grasping
until we let go. The tapestry emerges

familiar and strange: our wounded
ancestors’ intricate scenes of carnage,

victim and perpetrator dances too horrifying
to love. Release the story. See the spin.

What breathes through us, what moves our
passionate living? Opening our vulnerable

hearts now, we sing what is. Resistance
chorus urges us to act. The future

clamors: repeat the unexamined past
fast. And still we sit, allowing

the tightly held terrors. Safe now
in our warm regard. In this relational

space we create entirely new
breathing what is in the way.

Inspired by: Descent, Jaded, Death and Splinter. and the Collective Trauma Summit going on this week (it’s free and it’s liberating!)

Double Take

I think, therefore I am.~Rene Descartes.
In the stillness of my heart, I am.~Thomas Huebl

There are 10,000 thank yous
in my pliable heart today

spiraling in layers of waking,
calling me from the dreams.

It takes gumption to deny
the insidious cosmology

walking outside the rigid
boxes and Cartesian love

affair with the monkey mind.
When will science comprehend burps

signify the presence of ancestors,
that living trauma obstructs

our songs in the fields of
our being? When can we call a

dead stop to giggle
at duality, celebrate the belly

laugh that loosens the grip
of damnably right or humiliatingly

wrong? We become this mourning
dove surprised into flight

eye-catching, swirling air
across the lake. We recognize

each other. The plump and juicy
aloe plant vibrates the window.

We drip gratitude as we
breathe. The trees quiver.

Rocks hold deep programmable
space. Cicadas chirrup.

Light reaches into us all
in abundant, life-giving waves.

Inspired by: Giggle, Layer, Gumption and Pliable.

Coherent Hearts

Enjoy the simplicity of sitting, aware of the deep willingness to be here moment by moment.~Thomas Huebl

I say what I have
counting ancient artifacts

piling into a dead future.
Compelled by a delicate

child walled off from those
who humiliate by rote, generations

of hurt gifted without a second
sight. And so I manifest

what has always been, the flock
following into the enclosure

as if we could return to
the nest of our beginnings.

The treadmill bores us
into this lethargy. What is

sloth? How do we tone
our flaccid unused power?

I sit in deep silence
as the sun seeks me.

Allow the simple joy morning’s
kiss to shift my being.

I have what I say.
I call forth change,

singing, dancing out toxins,
the walls come tumbling

down. Still, I set new
boundaries, strong and loving.

Our coherent hearts join
above, below the frantic bleats.

Harmonies we create
inform our new song.

Inspired by:  Humiliate, Delicate, Nest and Return.

Feeling Art

Dare to depict life as a gift whose purpose is to enrich the human soul. Are you truly ready to shed the values and self-images that keep you locked into alignment with the dying civilization?~Rob Brezsny

My grandson says, “I do and
I don’t.
” Innate wisdom reveals

the simplicity of being.
If I say I know,

my opinion carries me
past the divine communication

directed at my unique eyes
into the doldrums of dismissal.

Cast out of the curious life
by the necessity of surviving

the chaos of my childhood ordered
by hard-won knowing.

Now when the elephant in the room
beckons, I turn my back.

Surely an orphan,
I place my blindfold

firmly, lock the shackles
to shuffle down the well-trodden

path of dull misery, clutching
my diplomas, reciting facts.

The lake celebrates each slow
drop of rain. I peer in wonder.

Evanescent dancers touch
smoothness, and ripples tease

what lurks beneath. A fin
breaks the silver

and smaller circles explode.
All my stories vanish.

I don’t know. The truth lies
under the surface.

I can only sit here now,
my intent to open

my tight heart, feel into
this deep unknowable connection.

Inspired by:  Orphan, Intent, Elephant and Evanescent.