The Heart in My Body

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My heart in my chest,

Quivering, alone and unsure

Feeling small in a strange land

 

My heart in my head,

Rationalizing away the fear,

Lost among wayward thoughts

 

My heart in my eyes,

Hesitant, always curious,

Imbibing a world of wonders

 

My heart in my throat,

Stumbling over words not true

Groping for songs in the dark

 

My heart in my belly,

Holding space for the girl inside,

Crying with her until smiles come

 

My heart on my skin,

Exposed too soon, it feels,

Hoping wildly for tenderness

 

My heart in my hands,

Longing, feeling the way

To every fragile connection

 

My heart in my knees,

Falling to earth, breathing relief,

Sinking to a necessary pause

 

My heart in my feet,

Soaking up life, gingerly,

Taking all the steps I need …

 

My heart in my chest,

Back home, nothing looks the same

It is a wiser love, love, it is home.

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How About Kindness?

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How about, instead of asking
where I come from,
you ask me where I want to go,
and instead of offering your name,
you find self in a warm embrace?
How about a smile instead of a rebuttal,
an ear for listening instead of shouting?
How about looking at a rainbow,
and marveling at how few you’ve seen,
and are likely yet to see in this life,
and mark the day as a miracle?
How about making wondering,
wandering, too, your true vocation,
becoming a master in the art of awe?
How about looking around
and seeing it all for the first time,
inventing new shapes in the clouds
before they, too, disappear,
and how about inviting this change,
and finding beauty in what can’t be held?
How about finding a new perspective
instead of delighting in the already known;
how about finding and honoring
both the teacher and student in you?
How about taking your shoes off
and grounding in the earth,
and feeling this support through life?
How about talking to trees,
Finding songs in a breeze,
How about being still and
catching it all and remembering:
There is so much love where I am,
and I am here, and I am free.

Let Me …

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If I can’t ease your suffering,
Let me listen to you speak,
 
If I can’t remove your pain,
Let me hold it, gently, with you,
 
If I can’t walk your path,
Let me walk alongside you,
 
If I can’t inhabit your body,
Let me cast my love on it,
 
If I can’t efface your self-judgment,
Let me be your gentle touch
 
If I can’t forage for your treasures,
Let me share my own with you,
 
If I can’t get you out of the dark,
Let me be your reservoir of light,
 
And,
 
If I find myself in your shoes,
If I need the same kindness as you,
 
Let me remember to find you,
Let me allow you in, too.
 
– TT

The Power of One

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The power of One
to step into the self,
to cast the gaze within
and contemplate who,
what and why, to
better face the world,
still and always
curious, seeking
integration.
 
The power of the Many
to stay, to speak
and stand up for
what one alone cannot,
in which one plays
his or her part
in the weaving of
this, the grand tapestry.
 
The power of the
Many in One
and the One in
the whole of us.
 
– TT

In the Land of Sweet Honey

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In the land of sweet honey
that flows like endless water
that nourishes the flowers
that feed our wild things
that hum and buzz the
world alive
 
Every year, a new year,
every day, a new sun.
every moment,
life follows death,
 
death, which for
all our efforts,
we cannot fathom,
 
life, the foundation for
and the trajectory of
our awareness.
 
One follows the other
at every turn, and we
can glide, as though
on a magic carpet
through the
alchemy of our
 
transformations
turnings
cycles
 
And when we are tired,
we can come to rest
on this, our land,
and expand this
piece of Time
to encompass
all that is.
 
The reflections in
one grain of sand,
even.
 
We will find
one another
there.
 
– TT

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

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