Time and Being

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It won’t always feel this way,
Glittered hearts falling from the sky,
Flower petals etched into the concrete
After the rain like butterflies or stardust.
 
It will hurt to walk, to breathe,
The sky’s weight will be unbearable,
So you’ll try to shield every part of you,
And then it’ll all come falling down.
 
The rain has no message,
The leaves and petals are leaving this world
Without a second thought
About who will witness their passing.
 
We are human; we imbue
The colours, textures and sounds around us
With our own histories, until
They sing or grasp or wail,
 
And it is all we can do
To look at what we have made
And soothe our tender heart, and wait
For our ever unfolding in time and being.
 
– TS

Love is Real

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How many times
I’ve tried to find you
using the only
language I know
in hopes bringing
you closer,
 
But my eyes
were travelling
faster and farther
than I could
keep up with;
you knew.
 
I couldn’t find
rest at all.
I didn’t trust
that in stillness,
you would
find your way
 
(to me. That
this is what you
wanted, too)
 
I couldn’t close
my eyes, which
gave me, at least,
enough of the
world to pacify
my fearful heart.
 
But this is
no longer enough.
You are here,
yet not here; my
blindness compounds
the closer you are.
 
My belly knows;
it pulsates,
Feverish.
My heart knows
it has been in
darkness too long.
 
What terrorizes me,
beyond the seen,
will take me to
everything. I know
this now. You
always did.
 
Will you wait
as I close my eyes,
and still my fledgling heart,
and trust that
the whole world
remains, and bigger
 
(and that you will
still be here, and
that love is real)?
– TS

The Sunflower

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I would like to bring
my soft-hearted eye
to the great sunflower,
that lion and lioness,
each one of which
forms a cosmos,
its ring of life inside
harboring infinite pathways
outward from
source we seek,
its bright yellow invitation
to come closer,
to travel beyond
the velveteen mane
of petals,
to land on the sacred
cushion within,
but just as I am readying
to fly,
my soft-hearted eye
finds another,
and now there are two,
and I don’t know
which way to go,
and if I close my eyes,
I fear annihilation
before destination,
dissolution before union,
fear itself before love.
Then, a voice of power
speaks from within:
this is your journey,
and you can always re-frame.
And so I try: not to isolate,
or close off my view,
but to widen it all,
until it is One.

The River

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I know but do not know the river.
I try to search its depths in the fog,
To find myself in its grey expanse
Like I’ve done so many times before,
Like I’ve come here, in the end, to do,
But the day is thick, impenetrable.
The only movement is the current,
Strong, taking the river away from me,
Reminding me it’s never been mine
In the way I thought I so badly needed.
The sea of clouds, above, is shifting too,
Though the rain promises, for now, to stay.
The river knows but does not know me.
I see in its strong eastward current
My own trajectory, which brings us close,
And so here there is understanding.
There is an essence to the pull of our lives.
Yet there’s a dissolution only the river knows,
As I do not yet flow like it does, mutable, strong,
Ready to take form or spread its reach.
But in my efforts to open, the river is there,
If only to witness my eventual unbecoming,
As I witness and welcome the waters within me,
And we continue to know and not know.
– TS

Our Own Evolution

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There must be no
mystery, really, even to
The fathomless depths
Of the ocean that so beguile
(I remember once,
in a vision, descending
and not wanting to emerge),
or where the spiral
of a budding flower begins.
We might be looking for
Creatures of unknown origin,
Ghosts and mirages
Who have seen what
We have not,
Been where we have
Not dared to go,
For source and origin myths
That lift us even
In our quiet unease
Over all we may
Have almost forgotten,
Because we still
Want to dance there;
We have still not
Forgotten our most
Primal desires,
At the heart of which,
Our longing for
All of love’s
Various embraces,
Wrest us from life
As are living it,
Move us away from
Harsh contours to where
To where the flow
From one thing to the next
Reminds us that we, too,
Have this power to become
The unfolding of
Our own evolution.
-TS

We are the Blessed Ones

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to the gods and goddesses
living inside us,
to the parts of us that are
wounded and unsure,
to the depths of power
we hold within such fragile frames,
to the fear we cling to
to keep ourselves smaller,
to our celestial visions
and our subterranean workings,
to those who scamper to treetops
and those whose feet hold firm to the ground
to the singers, dancers and dreamers of light
and those who dwell in the shadows,
to our mothers and fathers and children
and to the families that we make:
we are the blessed ones,
even when the sky has fallen
and the waves have receded from the shore,
and everything seems to be slipping away,
we are the blessed ones
and we are not forgotten;
may we never forget.
– TS

Imagination

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Where will my imagination take me?

It will never be as vast as the sky,

As voluminous as the fruit of one tree.

It will never set me soaring

In the way of the clouds

That are ever shifting,

Always finding new formations

Without any need to express at all.

Can my imagination expand

The way a bud unfurls to flower,

Holding nothing back

Despite the transient nature

Of her existence

Between coming and going?

Can it rest as sweetly

As a bird landing on a branch,

Knowing it won’t stay long,

Not finding any sadness in this?

Imagination is a winged bird

When the path is not obstructed,

When nothing stops the intuition

From honing in on home.

Imagination does not desire,

And so it is limitless.