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

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

We are Home

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we find ourselves
turning away from what
we’ve had and known
dreams of distant suns
and faraway moons
proving too powerful
to calm the restless heart
and allow us to stay
we see ourselves
getting lost in the
seas and oceans of
the hearts and minds
of others, the din of
all that came before this,
as we search for the compass
the gravity, the ground
until we experience,
in one moment, a return
that is not quite a return,
and it can be the glint of an eye,
one embrace, the rustling
of one leaf or the magnanimity
of one ancient, holy tree,
and we know:
we are protected
the ground is ours and not ours,
yet yet, in our humility,
an opening as wide as
a cave that promises the world
has offered itself, and we are ready to
find the treasures and shadows within:
we are home.
– TS

Cosmic Connection

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if i could,
as a lilypad holds her flower
to the light
giving her the space of her freedom,
allowing her awareness of the depths below
while keeping safe from submergence,
i, for you,
would move to the edge of all things
so we can dance,
two free beings,
feeling the full force
of our cosmic
connection.
 
– TS

We Are Gold: A Poem

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our gilded days
and we are –
an imperfect yet holy
refraction
caught in our desires
that come down to this:
to be whole
to be loved,
and the mistakes we make
in the way we cannot
recognize
that we are not what is
left over, incomplete,
searching,
no, we are a reflection,
illumined and pure,
of the vastest space
we can imagine,
and I envision this,
as I my eye catches the spark
of the sun glinting off
gold leaf
on sacred temple grounds:
I don’t have to transport myself
anywhere
for my transmutation.
I am here
with everything that is,
and I will stay here,
until I understand that
love seeps through me
the way the moon
bleeds her light into the sky,
unhindered, abundant,
limitless, moving mountains and seas
with nothing but
inner light.
– TS