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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Trust and Love

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I think the word “trust”
and my heart cowers, trembling,
trying to squeeze
into the tiniest corner it can find,
to be left alone to pick up
a million shattered pieces,
find utmost tenderness
in the wake of a thousand heartaches.
There are so many ways of falling apart,
each feeling like a well-trodden road
that can take you to your place of pain
with the great ease of the unburdened.
The climb back, out, in the other direction,
the monumental effort of this.
The ache of one tiny swivel of the head,
the reward is instant.
Right there, just off to the side
on the road of worry,
a tree, gargantuan, protector and protected.
Both ways.
It makes no promises, asks nothing of you.
So you are drawn here, slowly, to observe,
to witness
(still clutching your aching heart)
the great way of the tree,
standing through all seasons,
accepting of its plush plenitude
and bear nakedness alike,
harming no thing,
nourishing as it is nourished
only to the extent that it can,
so that it always has what it needs,
the great lesson in this.
The great miracle
of being teaching being,
of all that is offered, all the salves
to a heart in need of healing.

– tt

To You, with Love

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I look to you,
who knows the way
to plant your feet on the ground
when the world threatens
to dissolve from under you,
to do this with grace and resolve,
with the heart of a warrior,
who not only finds the ground,
but dances and pounds and writhes on it,
staking your claim if only for awhile,
knowing it is not yours,
but that it fully belongs to you,
this earth, this day, this life.
I look to you,
who can settle into your heart
and find space to breathe
in the rattling cage that houses you,
around the canyons of fear and pain,
who can roam around your own body
with interest, curiosity and reverence,
knowing that each, smallest part,
no matter how much it threatens
to overtake you, is your portal
to the most wondrous,
expansive spectacle there is,
your own florid existence.
 
– tt

My Peace Anthem Today

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Sometimes life
is just one big plush
nearly impossible blend of
gorgeous sunset hues, yellow too,
gathered not like armies but like trees,
not like missiles but like bamboo shoots,
not like things imprisoned but connected,
not signatures of doom but of wonder,
ready, haven’t we always known it,
to get fire, to be our fire,
to get lit.
 
– tt

On Remembering Who We Are.

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Maybe you are tired (you are not alone).
The brightness, the lighness of step
receded, past resistance, to memory.
It’s been like this maybe for years;
you’ve stopped just shy of wondering
what happens between the early years
of boundless joy and laughter, and now,
and why and how and by whose design
we’ve come to decide on a version of life
less saturated, sparkling and true.

But something stirs. It is inside you,
a gem that cannot be buried long.
It pulses, takes you on the first steps
of a journey you could not have known.
There you are, as if grace itself appeared
to lift the veil, and so you do. And see,
you are standing, has it always been like this?
On the lost wing of stunning remains:
a one-winged butterfly, larger than any legend,
resting for awhile on a mount only rising.

-tt

On Grief

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The hint of absence.
I can feel
that I carry grief in me
that is far older
than I’ll ever be.
I know that this
is one of so many things
that unites me to you,
us to each other.
Let us take extra care.
We are visible.
We are invisible.
We do not always know
what we wear,
what visits, haunts,
confuses, wrecks us.
What is harbored,
what needs to emerge,
what needs to be held
so tenderly.
With all our love.

– tt

The History of Feeling

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I found, under a star
and the moon’s steadfast gaze,
not only the life I am living,
but all around me, under a rock,
on the far, ghosted end of the forest,
the many lives I’ve lived,
strung like vines
jumbled and obtuse,
hanging like a pearl of leaves
in the midnight dew.
Like flowers peppering a field,
like moss, velvety and complete,
the past in the guise of now,
convinces me utterly
of permeability, shadow in light,
of the density in the history
of what I feel.
The power of the story lives here.
Give me a moment and I’ll find
a reason, a cause, an association
where instead there might be
you, I, things in themselves,
beyond our wildest imaginings,
divested of our hope and fear,
containing everything we need,
containing nothing.
 
– tt