For the Women

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There is not one of us

Who does not need the rest,

Who can stand apart

And carry the world

In this way, on her own.

She knows this.

It is the divine feminine

In her speaking,

Knowing she is not

Ever speaking alone.

She has worked hard,

She has made it

To the mountaintop,

She sits, not weary, but ignited,

Each strand of hair

Spilling down to the oceans

Ready to fly where

She is needed,

So that she can wrap

All the suffering beings

Into her embrace,

And soothe, and protect,

And nurture, and love.

And love them.

As she herself, loves,

Is loved in return.

The time has come;

This is the age of Woman,

Which is the age

Of us all, finally,

The age of stopping

To see out of our lonely

Pockets of isolation,

To come together,

Sisters and brothers,

To see the world softly,

To breathe the world deeply,

To love, to love, to love.

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Tell Me Your Stories

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Tell me your spring stories
flourishing inside of you
after long ferment,
it has been quiet, hasn’t it,
but here we are, now,
every last piece of us
budding new under bright sun,
and not once did you leave
as everything else
stripped away, slowly,
and there was the agony
of standing by for the laying bare,
not once did your love wander,
did you seek too much,
and how this soothed me
in places sadness once grew.
The growth of things now rising,
framing us from earth to sky,
and maybe the stories
are not ripe just yet,
are still learning their worth.
Take my hand,
and I will hold yours,
and as we stay,
let us bear witness
to the wonders that will unfold.
 
– tammy takahashi

Come Sit With Me

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Come
Sit with me
I want to say,
It’s been such a long time.
 
Maybe this place is unfamiliar to you,
I know – I am also, still, not so sure of it,
or even how I came to be here.
 
I’m not sure which of my histories
had to emerge, defiant and victorious,
from the rest, for today to take
the shape it has, or why,
 
Or how to contend with
my other stories, so stubborn and sure
(so much more certain than I am),
each cropping up, in turn,
to ask something of me.
 
Maybe it’s like that for you, too,
where you are?
I would like to meet you there
and hear your stories.
 
I would like for the act
of our communion, though,
to be our beginning,
to form the core of our existence,
both yours and mine,
 
and for the stories
to enlighten us without taking over.
 
Let us sit together,
and not scramble for meaning,
or dismiss the struggle either.
 
Let us take all of it,
hold it in the space between us,
and breathe and love and be,
you and me,
 
And start
the only place we can,
here, now, free.
 
– TT

The Life of Flowers and Trees

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The flowers cluster together,
carpeting the fields with
their vivacity and sprinkling
their life force across the plains,
peppering the world like smiles
bobbing back and forth in the breeze,
catching the sun and radiating
joy and light from deep within.
 
Asking nothing of each other,
living the truth of generosity.
 
As the trees do, in the
magic forests of the continents,
towering forces in themselves,
stronger still in unison,
and we know they are talking
to each other, sending signals
needed for survival and health, but
more than that, in an astonishing
feat of grace, the lifeline of
happiness that feeds the world.
 
Elegant, refined, aware,
Carrying messages from sky
to earth and back again
In purity of being
 
Asking nothing of each other,
leaving their legacy of abundance
for us all to embrace. – TS

Where You Are

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for all the times
i thought i’d been
in your place
without taking a moment,
a deep, long pause,
to leap over the edges
of my obstructions
and come and
meet you where
you are.
 
I commit now,
I promise to try,
a little everyday, to see
with the new eyes
of a baby, with an older
soul long yearning for our
communion. To come
to you with love and
the joy of discovering
who you are. – TS

Sacred with Love.

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If I could,

I would take each of you

By the hand

And lead you to a spot

Under my favourite tree,

Which arches over the world

From a perfect round hill.

The sun would be setting,

A fiery and orange hymn

To letting go.

I’d sit you down,

And ask you to tell me

Your story,

Not the one you are

Trained to tell,

Or the one you think

I want to hear.

I would ask you to

Peer deep into your heart

And tell me what you find,

And I would tell you

How safe you are here,

And how much

I look forward to

Our gilded exchanges.

We would breathe out

Our secrets

As the sky gives way

To velvet night,

And we would see

Our stories etched

Into the stars,

Sacred and fluid

With our love.