I approached
My Self
With kindness
This morning,
Preparing
The space
To support
And to stretch,
To tear
So to mend.
I received
My Self
With kindness
This morning,
And then
We
Received
You.

I breathe,
And notice
Their shades
There
With me,
The older
And the younger,
Quietly
Yearning
To be
Received.
My mind
Pins
Them there,
In respective
Corners,
Puzzles
To be sorted
And compiled,
Until my
Heart does
What my mind
Cannot.
Then we breathe
And we settle.

The mind collects moments
bad ones and weepy ones
moments to spark fires
and ignite engines
moments to roast the heart upon a spit
to watch the ****** sizzling juices of love
drip down and burn off into smoke
the mind is a storehouse
though vast isn’t spacious
its compartments crammed
full to popping
under the strain
of all the moments in time it collects
to make the body recall
and you gawk at the wreckage
in wondrous amazement

moments in bubbles
floating past on repeat
mind digs in the toy chest
throwing up dreams
more moments of nothing
to hold you away from me
two nations at war for my soul
and all three are me
what mind fudgery
and horrific intent
the whole point is you
just you, nothing else
think what that reality means
whatever you like
life isn’t a playbook of rules
some other person can write
real life is lived
and what can that mean?
other than whatever life looks like
when you’re living through me

each time you can’t see the forest in the leaves
the moments you seem to pull back out of me
are only a specter of what isn’t true
only a reminder to remember your Truth
and turn once again to the Self that is real
and is one with the whole of all life that is living
can you gain joy from rehearsing old stories?
of worries and woes and doubtful discoveries
of fake images and faulty dreamscapes
then go on, by all means, let mind keep collecting
and storing away
for some other fake day
you can’t really be living
if you keep letting mind
give you moments to see
instead of real life
living in your True Self
and you truly seeing

A silent shriek,
morning hues of red and orange glitter through the pines.
Shadows form across the bedroom floor.

His vocal chords strain to be heard
above the laughter of the lilies.
Thrusting to and fro in a synchronized stance
they’d been practicing since the first of May.

An ominous cloud crosses over the heat source,
calling into question the events of the day.
Rays or rain?
A quarter, spinning and twisting in slow motion,
heads or tails?
The stakes are high.

Mr. Anthony, my neighbor of two decades,
rounds the corner of Dibbens Street.
Completing his morning trek pass the Weeping Willows,
he pauses to look in my window.
Pauses.
Does he see? Can he possibly know?

Heads or tails?
And for today, the decision is made for me.
I decide to stand.
To repeat it all over again, tomorrow.

The practice
Today
Has been
Not so much
A flow
But
A tumble,
Bumping
And crashing
Into one
Hard place  
Then the next,
As I breathe
Space
Into the gaps
And smile
With
The thought
That today
Seems not
For floating.

I bring
The third eye
To the ground
And breathe,
Feeling the
Weight
I call “mine”
In the world
That we share.
He calls out,
Stops me,
From behind
And asks
For the part
That comes
After
The writing,
The part
That is
Us
Loving
Us.
And I
Pause
Insight
And slip
This weight
I call “me”
Back
Into bed
For some
Cuddles.

It slinks
Around the edges
Of my
Intention
As I flow
And pause
And flow,
A version of
The Questions
Without
Answer,
Asking me
To prove
That
I am.

I hear you
Moving
Behind
Me
And before
Me
And I hear
A bit
Of me
Say no
To what
It feels like
To love you
Right now,
So I turn
To that bit
And lean
Into all
It is
Until
It is
All
There is
And without
Bits
It’s only
The love.

I approach
My mat
Weary
And wary
Of what
I
Have
To offer
From
Beneath
The grip
Of pain,
And pain
About pain,
And about
That,
Too.
But the rhythm
Is easy
To track
To warmth
That melts
The intention
Between layers,
Between knower
And known,
Seer and seen,
And then,
Suddenly,
Between now
And now
And now.
And when  
After arrives
(And me
With it),
I notice
What’s
Been offered
And relish
The relief.

I circle
‘Round
Bends
That live
In my body
Even
When
We
Are
Still,
And look
Past
The path
I carry
With me
To the ask
I’ve not
Heard
Clearly
(Ever,
Or for some time).
And I
Take
The hand
I know
As mine,
And step
Into
The light.