There are those who pray to the moon!
Does one pray to the moon as
an orbiting rock held in place by gravity,
or does one pray to the light reflected by it?
Or, to the gravitational pull the moon exerts
on the ocean or on our hearts?
That is, does prayer of this kind happen
when the night is moonless, black, and lonely,
or not?
I would guess not.
But the question persists:
what is it that imbues the moon
with its quasi-divine qualities?
Is it merely the faith of the Seeker,
the Nightwalker, or the Primalist?
Or is it that the moon is,
essentially, a mirror
of our own light,
our own darkness,
our own loneliness and
our own divinity?
Certainly, it summons us,
on a deep, soul level,
such as it draws up water
from many fathoms bellow.
And so, it goes...
In all of this,
the questions linger,
the darkness abides,
the mystery takes hold.
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 8:18 PM UTC
The night plunges around me
like heavy water.
Cold and dark solitude overwhelms
my world, as a withering undertow
that won't let go.
But I still can see
the bright brilliance
in the air, far on high, where you live.
And I see you untethered,
dancing and flitting
among the jewels of heaven!
Your play, wonder and levity
attract me and I take hope.
I aspire to ascend above
the callous quagmire of despair,
the torrent of our tragic world,
to see your charming face!
The stars shine in your eyes and
your luminous heart
shows me the way!
With you I can rise above this
shadowy grave
to become a soul
of iridescent splendor!
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 12:44 PM UTC
Silence soothes us,
it turns a moment
into quiet windows
of expectation.
But if we give our selves over
to those moments, our souls begin
to sense the mystery in between
those rushed seconds, those harried pulses...
until all the reeling and riot is hushed,
and a pure whisper
is revealed.
Indeed!
We hear our secret name
and wisdom abides!
The gift of silence
is knowledge that is
at once a rapture
of the soul
and the anchor
of the heart.
It is a quiet
of the self
in a place
of pure
being.
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 2:02 AM UTC
What does she seek there in the dark?
Something whispers to her from that shadowy ark!
Murmurings as gossamer thread spin their tale.
She rises from her bed, as if coaxed by nightingale.
The mystery and the moonlight weave a dream
she cannot seem to flee.
The ponderous old chest disturbed her sleep,
so, she kindles candle flame to illuminate the key.
Outside her window, the moaning wind blows.
The ancient house utters unsettling creaks
and mournful groans!
All her courage is summoned for a search in
the pitch-black room.
Will her discovery bode well or prefigure the tomb?
The dimly cast light, the howling wind, the
enigmatic gossamer voice within...
Aug 9, 2019
Aug 9, 2019 at 3:24 AM UTC
"Good night."
I need to find the darkness...and silence...
and the vacuum of inertia.
Because if I don't,
I won't be able to sleep.
Indeed, then...
all that space,
all that distance,
all that emptiness
will consume me.
And I shall never shine
again.
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
Listen and you will hear
her soul breathe silently,
while she prays.
Watch and you will see
the vine climb higher and
the steep stones sway.
No words uttered, no bells rung,
yet all power centers in
her temple of One.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 2:58 AM UTC
Poison ingested,
defenses engaged,
struggle to survive,
turmoil in its wake.
After all that,
I refuse to be among
the walking dead.
I will rise again.
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 10:26 PM UTC
It is a night like any other.
The room is semi-crowded,
the lights are cool, ambient and allusive.
The music glides and shimmies,
reflectance of electronic symphonies,
with a sinuous pulse to
provoke and tease.
Still, you sense a creeping unease.
You are on your second drink...yet,
somehow, even the 12-year old
Macallan is getting a little too familiar;
its usual savor of spiced plum, dry sherry and
salted caramel dies a slow death
by a cold-water corruption -- its once
robust quaff is reduced to a faint, forgettable flavor.
The dreary day, too, has been flat, predictable,
diffuse in focus and devoid of passion.
Life has been set adrift, on trepid tides.
The dissonance of these thoughts
unsettle your soul and mind.
You feel some kind of reckoning
approaches and is unavoidable.
Under your breath,
you ask in fraught confusion,
"What time is it? Why am I still here?"
The Bartender sees the lingering trouble
in your face and he provides
a moment of empathy, of quiet
understanding.
He reaches for the bottle in response but
suddenly stops and looks past you,
over your shoulder.
A subtle smile forms where
a sober shade once stayed.
He sees something that has changed
the energy in the room,
pivoting as if on a dime,
to a sweeter wave,
a smoother flow.
Someone approaches…
You realize you must turn to look, but
slowly, friend; get your bearings...
Settle your thoughts for a beat or two.
You stand and turn, adjusting focus...there she is.
"....wait. Whoa...
Breathe, brother. Steady, soul!"
Then it hits you:
You realize the sensation you feel,
that unstoppable, sharp, sweet,
seductive suffering,
is the longest and strongest
Of long, lost friends.
You remember
why you are here.
You know the time,
this moment you've waited for,
for so long.
Your heart speaks and
your eyes lock in,
to capture hers:
"Hello..."
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 7:35 PM UTC
First, I shall slip into sleep,
dark and deep.
Then, morning will rouse me
to life, with it's breezy,
cool breath,
the gossamer, peaceful sun-light
and your golden, eternal beauty.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 1:29 AM UTC
The crushing night draws near
but we huddle closer,
hands and
voices extended in support.
The raging fire shatters the
divide between safety and chaos,
but we burn hotter
for the peace we know,
the homes we built,
and the bonds that sustain.
The howling riot
tramples our culture as
our society shudders with hysteria,
but we keep our faith
in humanity high;
we look upon this trust as our
Stella Polaris,
our guiding light!
We will never surrender
to the fear, the dark
or the savage within
or without.
Nothing shall defeat
the beacon of truth
we hold in our hearts.
Nothing will diminish the
dauntless dignity
that arises from our core!
For there is a redeemed
future yet to be realized.
There are ingenious flights of creativity
yet to be cast,
and there are heroic stories yet
to be written...
In the end, right now,
there are humble hearts
-- our hearts --
yet to create beauty in the world.
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 1:53 AM UTC