To Reach the Sky

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Sometimes we feel leaden
That we will never soar,
The sky feels so far away,
The ground pulls us under.
What we forget, sometimes,
Is that we don’t have to
travel so far to get there,
To lighten the vessel
We carry ourselves in,
That all we have to do,
If we want to reach the sky,
Is to sit and rest in stillness,
Watch life effortlessly be,
Let thoughts pass like clouds,
Play a smile on happy lips,
And bring the sky right to us.
 
– Tammy Takahashi
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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

The Beautiful Impossibility of Starting Over

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I look out at the vast ocean
And see nascence,
Imagine a world yet to come,
Or maybe one that has never been.
It is empty of what we think
We have known; we are free,
There is only possibility.
Save for the fact of my witnessing,
There is no evidence at all
Of our imprint,
So my visions begin to swell,
My heart starts to jump
In agitation and awe:
If I focus long enough
On the depth of blues,
And the sparkles
The sun’s reflection
Stir for my eyes,
Can I force away the future
That wants to unfold?
Can I relegate to the past
Or the never-was
What wants to bulldoze
Its way into our now?
Maybe I am sitting here,
Willing my own disintegration,
But as long as I am here,
Sitting before the vastness
Of the flowing waters,
I will carry with me hope,
The seed of every action
We take to become One:
With our selves, each other,
The majestic place
The scope
Of things.

– TS

The Butterfly

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It’s what we’re always
trying to do, isn’t it?
To be?
The butterfly,
the end result
of all that struggle,
all the transmutation,
to be there,
on the other side
of all the discomfort
where the colours sing,
where the air
is our magic carpet,
and we can take
ourselves anywhere.
May we always remember
to enjoy the struggle,
the getting there,
and may we enjoy
being there,
being the butterfly,
even more.
 
– TS

Transformation with Drawing

Hello!

Sometimes, I like to draw without a plan of what I’ll be drawing, without any master plan. For me, it’s a more non-linear form of spontaneous writing, which is all about taking pen to page (yes, pen, not keyboard!) and writing for 10 to 15 minutes straight with no topic in mind, and without pausing to think. It’s amazing to see what can be revealed as we cut through the rational mind and cut to those deeper places.

I did run this drawing through a program to make it fuzzier (and bluer), but this is the essence of what I came up with. I started it just before the new year, and finished it today. Interpretations welcome!

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Poem (to be a tree)

Tammy T. Stone

Tammy T. Stone

 

 

TO B A TREE

When meditation won’t come

when the breath is undone

and your mind is on fire

and your heart is so tired,

come and let’s see.

Let’s try being a tree.

Maybe the tree’s in the yard outside

or in our heads, or a park nearby,

or peering over rocks on a sandy shore,

craggly and wise forevermore.

Maybe there’s a treehouse for sleepover nights,

for spilling deep secrets in the dimmest of lights.

Maybe, right now, our hearts are screaming

weighing us down in all their hurting.

Let’s turn into a tree that carries on,

brimming with peace like the newest dawn,

not at all haunted by who she might be,

which is how we should be,

if we want to be free.

Let’s watch the roots from the center unfold,

longer and stronger with each story told,

as they breathe Earth’s offerings in order to grow,

thriving and sparkling on the ground below.

Have you ever nestled into those giant roots’ arms,

become transfixed by their greatest charms,

have you wondered what happens when they finally meet

for subterranean hellos, what news they greet,

as their connections deepen around the world

their flowing tendrils gently unfurled?

Now let’s rest in evening’s dark,

and sit against the great tree’s bark.

Feel the strength. Feel the love.

Feel the air swoon high above.

Feel how she has nowhere to be,

how there’s no anxiety in the tree.

Feel the girth from years of life,

of being witness to so much strife,

how she rejoices at our victories and cries at our woes,

and knows that it comes, and knows that it goes.

Feel the coolness against your back,

the ridges marked by time, not lack.

Now let’s bring our hand to touch,

look how quietly she’s grown so much,

how she never hesitates or has any doubt,

how she breathes, pure grace, within and without.

We can wrap our arms around the tree,

tune in to the immovable power of she,

feel our hearts pattering and sure

soothed under the weight of all that we were.

Feel the tree’s heartbeat against our own,

feel the kindness the tree has shown

to so many of us needing to calm our fears,

maybe for thousands upon thousands of years.

Let’s turn an eye to the branches of trees,

curved into their sacred geometries,

arching in a final, undulating dance

as they move toward their skyward chance.

Maybe leaves have fallen and winter’s come.

Maybe spring has returned as Earth’s great sum,

alive with green ripeness, soft and course,

ready to receive from the celestial source.

Up there, so high, there is no fear.

The ground holds space; the ground is near.

The breath of life hums through the tree,

which demands nothing, and is full, and is free.

This is how calm can be regained,

how a balm for mad minds can be reclaimed,

as we drop to our knees and bow,

in the presence of a holy now,

so we can come to rest with ease and glee

at having become a glorious tree.