To Catch a Dream

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Let something catch your attention.
It has already taken you out of
the stronghold of your tenacious mind.
Give it its due. Look from all angles.
Try to find out what has arrested you:
Colours, shapes, textures, surprises
That give rise to an array of feelings.
It did not scream out to your senses
Because of what it, in essence, is,
But because of who you, uniquely, are.
Let it be your starting point, your guide,
As you go inward, as a scientist would,
To observe the foundations of your self.
What makes you sing? Cry? Laugh? Hope?
What brought you here? Who is the dreamer?
What is the dream? Where will it take you?
How have you been hurt on the path of life,
And who have you hurt, what are your regrets?
Excavate the marrow, the heart, the blood
That connects you to your ancestral tribe,
The womb of your mother, the great deep blue,
Find the dance that spans generations
And culminates in your life’s expression,
Free, always free, you must fight for this,
For the truth in the discoveries you have made.
Now, with this great determination of truth,
This intimate encounter with your lovely self,
Turn back to the world. You are ready to see.
It is ready is ready to be seen. Magic begins.
 
– Tammy Takahashi

The Morning After

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After a night

That lasts forever,

The day has arrived

On the wings of stars

And a half full moon

That arched across

The world

Taking the swells

Of sea and ocean with it

And the heaving

Absorbed our cries

And lifted skin from bone

As we ran and fell,

Looking for what made us.

We nearly didn’t make it,

Now chilled in the morning dew,

Shedding the haunting

Of diffuse, scattered dreams

Flown to serpentine clouds

Clinging to the mountainside,

Where they won’t harm

Anyone, ever again,

And all this,

So that you can stand

On a deserted shore,

Windswept, shattered,

A mass of raging heart,

At the very foot of

The rest of your life.

Spring, Our Beautiful Perfection

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On a diffuse grey morning,
late winter surveys the barren landscapes
of hardened essence and wisdom in retreat,
holding on, but loosening its arthritic grip,
allowing soft rain to gather, fall, in snow’s stead.
The buds have not sprouted,
but the plum blossoms, which thrive
in the dance between cold and warm,
herald the wonderland of life to come,
like a promise, like a dream,
like nothing other than the beauty of what it is.
What will the spring bring?
Will we emulate nature and come forth,
with no hesitation at all,
on the side of creation?
Will we be soft on our struggles,
tender with our pain,
and grow into our full and vibrant potential?
Will we reclaim the intuitions
buried golden and deep for millennia,
long submerged by our own wintry confusions,
and play with what nourishes us?
Will we laugh, touch the earth,
look each other deep in the eye?
Will we celebrate the new season
and the new beginnings it offers,
in the way of the quiet lands around us,
that call for silence, which is reverence,
and a stilling of our heart’s great stirrings,
as the perfection of life once again emerges?
Will we heed of the extraordinary peace
and cooperation it takes to rebuild the world?
 
– tt