What is the promise of a new journey
if not an awakening of soul’s stirring,
an expansion of the privileges of new dawn,
and the singular experience of renewal
as we search for the morning sun
after night’s dark and restless charms,
and bathe ourselves in the soft heat
that has been all the way around the world
and has so many stories to tell us?
How is it possible not to seek communion
with each of the places the sun has been
that has painted us with all this life?
We are all earthbound,
in the sprouting buds of spring,
in the moss and stone
of our living days.
We are all creatures of water,
learning to sink to the depths
so that we may emerge,
drenched with the wisdom
of centuries, of the ages
we will now carry with us,
all the days of our lives.
We are all airborne,
Mastering the art
of taking flight
because our wisdom tells us
that there are no bounds,
that we can connect
beyond the borders
of our bodies and lands,
with all that lies ahead,
above, through, and eternal,
carried only, always by love.
After a night
That lasts forever,
The day has arrived
On the wings of stars
And a half full moon
That arched across
Taking the swells
Of sea and ocean with it
And the heaving
Absorbed our cries
And lifted skin from bone
As we ran and fell,
Looking for what made us.
We nearly didn’t make it,
Now chilled in the morning dew,
Shedding the haunting
Of diffuse, scattered dreams
Flown to serpentine clouds
Clinging to the mountainside,
Where they won’t harm
Anyone, ever again,
And all this,
So that you can stand
On a deserted shore,
A mass of raging heart,
At the very foot of
The rest of your life.
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.
Have you gotten your copy of Land yet? Who doesn’t need a little bit of heart this summer?
Thank you to Golden Dragonfly Press for this amazing image!
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The side looking left, then right,
Lowered to the ground, skybound,
To the child inside, the world wide,
Here and there, this ever-motion,
For every turn, a revolution awaits,
The answers around every corner.
But what do we seek? What ails us?
What needs persistently plague us?
Can we make our two heads one,
Our two sets of eyes, ears, our two minds?
Will we stop pinning on the world
Every last desire and hope,
All our sadnesses turned to blame?
Or, can we see how we’ve become,
and find some peace with our two selves,
And try to find all the ways
They copulate, love, hate, entwine,
And dive right into the middle of things,
And become the war we want to end,
Until at last, it turns to dust,
Leaving our most bare self exposed,
And tarnish it will, though gold remains?