A Prayer, A Soft Place to Land

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Our prayers are not for we and they;
We pray because we want to know,
Finally, that the soft and loving places
Where prayers land know no division.
There are places all over the world,
Across the entirety of the map of one heart,
Where we can travel to, wayward at first,
But with increasing sense of purpose,
That will greet us like the loved ones
We now, after ages, know that we are.
They are shrines large and small
Decorating the most modest of habitats,
Honouring the dead and reminding us
That we have never walked alone;
They are the colours, sounds and textures
We can finally recognize for what they are,
Unique as the moon to our stargazing hearts
To our experience of being human,
So that we will never overlook them again.
We close our eyes, join hands together,
We stand where we are, in silent tears,
And know the prayer has brought us here,
The prayer is all around us, ancient, wise,
That it created the conditions of our lives.

– Tammy Takahashi

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Let’s Journey Together

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We’re heading there now
the sky, a blue sheen,
or maybe the rain gods
are giving us a day of grey
 
We’re speeding there,
so fast we are learning
we never really had a say
in the great unfolding at all
 
We’re turning corners,
and the wind on our skin
is a delirious awakening
as we glide around the bend
 
We are remembering our way,
we are finding our protection,
we are digging deep for hope,
we are making it together. – TS

Poem: Emergence

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Emergence

The shrine of the tiny island forest

allows entry after hurtling gales of wind

onto the bridge, until the threshold is

crossed. The gods have been pacified by

our perseverance, and remark on our

long-awaited arrival, like they have been waiting.

Dried yellow leaves hang from the gate,

slick moss skirts along a log once reaching

for the low-hanging sky,

dewy but never cold.

I fall in the face of beauty every time.

I touch my forehead to Earth in reverence for its certainty.

The fall deepens, my thoughts absorbed

like they are the cherished secrets

I have hoped they’d become.

Every step, a new wondrous accounting

of the ground’s ever-presence.

Wild life thrusts upward through

the obstacles we have made.

They will not be appeased,

they do not need our comfort.

The flower unfolding, in scarlet bloom,

never asking why, the tree’s broad

leaves receiving.

I dream of a field where we can sit

and eat the light and drink the little river,

of sitting in the garden, where the sun fills

golden space.

Maybe it’s true, that they’ve been

waiting these long years,

and now we’ve come.

The loveliness of clouds, white and suspended.

This is what the view wants to say:

I am you.

Steam rising over rocks,

a life force carved by love,

carrying the magic
of emergence.