Our Beating Heart

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Passing through,
deep-down reckonings with
our place in a world
made perfect with
our humble imperfections.
The sun, which does not dim
in our darkest days,
the sky, never once lowering
as we dive into our every shadow,
the view, always changing,
the light speckling magic
where we least expect it
before it continues its dance
across the spaces
we inhabit,
between us,
passing through,
moving toward what stills us
past change,
past commotion,
in our truest space:
our beating heart.
 
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One Golden Evening

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And as sun goes down tonight,
I do not think of all those things
that will lay in surrender, to rest,
or wonder where they’ll go, if,
like the dazzling golden jewel
lowering into the silken waters,
they will seem to lower themselves
with great gentility, straight through
to the other side of the world,
where they will find their ground
of great comfort, dignity, grace.
I do not think of the black night
that is waiting behind the veil
of this grand spectacle of in-between,
or the moon that will ascend
to illumine the deepening cracks
between each of our aging bones,
each with her thousand stories
imbued with the powerful promise
to witness, create, destroy.
Instead, I divest myself of these,
I stand naked between sun and moon,
between here and where it all goes,
flooded with the play of now and then
on this body, sanding here, now,
shivering with winsome delight
because suddenly, nothing remains
but one golden evening that
knows every star, every flower,
every flight and every fall,
and it is all me, and it us all us
reflected here, making it whole.
 
– tammy takahashi

Let Us Go There

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It is here
 
It has come.
 
What will you choose to do?
 
What will you choose to see?
 
There is the darkness, encroaching,
closing in, framing a day, a life,
these, our times.
 
It appears to come from above and below,
those two hollowed out spaces echoing to us
as whole, textured, rich invitations
from the other realms, the ones that
root our fragile bodies to the ground
and connect us to the beyond we
try, and fail, and try again to conceive.
We gravitate, don’t we, to those darkest spaces,
those parts that don’t connect us at all,
with lush, morbid fascination; how easy it is
to find the places in us that reflect
this absence of light, and go there.
 
There is, too, in the center of the frame,
a golden sun, not asking or beckoning
any more than through its own power of presence,
inviting us in this way to find our own,
to consider the sun’s quiet, fierce power
to enable the course of all things
without direction, aggression or force,
how the light accounts for everything,
costing nothing at all, how it does not
suck us into a vortex but encourages our
momentum, drive and energy to be
who and what we are and will be.
 
Where will you choose to go?
Let us move with the light, which has not yet
failed to plant in us the very fruit of
our best, most capable actions.
 
Let us have our way toward peace shone upon,
so that it doesn’t succumb to the dark,
so that we see what we need to see
to take us all there, where
light builds upon light,
our way forward.
 
– TT

I, Between Ground and Sky

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I am my contradictions;
I am not my contradictions.
You will find me here,
a little too far away, maybe,
from the depths of the ocean floor,
where movement is unweighted grace,
and the talking, deep and sonorous
and capable of stretching for miles,
exactly and quietly where it needs to go;
a little too removed, maybe,
from the vast blanket of sky,
that knows how to stay,
that holds space for shifting clouds
suspended, it seems to me,
in a state of satiation and whimsy,
unburdened by their responsibility
to nourish us, to not fall right down
before their job is done;
and there is no clashing of the clouds,
is there, only seamless integration.
I am not in one place or the other,
and before I can determine what this means
about where I am,
my mind drifts like the sea creatures and the clouds,
chasing colours I am sure I have forgotten.
But I remember –
it is in my nature, as I try
to find the ground between,
the soft, bold place in the center of my being,
to get caught between two places
now and then as I journey through
the realms of hope and hunger and despair,
to love and hold the untruths that
have made me, and regard them, and let go,
as I make my unhurried movement,
like the dolphins do,
toward grace.

– TT

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The Way of the Sun

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I see, in the miraculous way
the sun makes her sure descent,
 
my own place in this world.
The sun gives us this gift
 
In her sure movements, regal
and decisive, sweeping across
 
lands in constant invitation.
I stand and watch the sky
 
sigh plush and heavy at dusk,
heaving at the last letting go
 
in tufts of orange, grey and pink.
I, too, sigh, with the weight of
 
the undone, my heart hammering
in her caged dome, unlike the
 
sun before me, a fireball ablaze
with the potential for all that is,
 
offering me, even now, her golden
embrace. I stand before the mountain,
 
shaking at the wonder of all the ways
in which I am here, and not here, and
 
I take it. The sun’s persistent rotations
that allow my fluttering, fledgling
 
trajectories. Warning of the dark,
soothing, always again, with her light.
 
– TS