The Final Pieces

The final pieces fall into place: Presence. Soft allowing. Moving towards what's true and real, both within us and without.

No excuses this time.

We are willing to be changed. To go beyond what we said we were; beyond what it was once convenient for us to be. We give up those easy definitions, things which allowed us to think I'll be OK when.... No more excuses; we cannot be defined by what happened before, any more. 

The final pieces fall into place: Integrity, Responsibility. Knowing how to ask. Confidence in what we feel and know. Willingness to give, even when we're weary, for those we love. Moving into what is light and loving, both within and without.

We speak in light-splintering voices about our pain, about our growth. You could say it's a floating support group. You could say it's a bunch of narcissists. A sign of personal instability. You could say it's holy and shitty all at once.

Floating around, our hearts land on different people's shoulders like butterfly wings. We listen and let those wings flutter on when time has come. There is no need to become heavy in matters of the heart. Only better at listening.

Navigating

Drop
that fear of breathing
let that net around your heart unfurl
Your body is trustworthy, see,
legs pumping to stay afloat.

Move through this blue-green
flowing substance
(God? Time? Love? All of the above -)
pumping through heart
lungs
belly
eyes and ears,
inside and out,
You belong here!

Legs swimming, confidently now,
the steady rhythm of waves
cleanses the mind
smooths the rough edges
and heals your skin
As you surrender
As you begin

Conversation with a friend

I said, what sort of path is that to walk, up there?

Don’t you think it limits your vision, seeing only what you see, walking only how you go?

You said: what sort of way is that you walk? Don’t you know what I know?

Of course, friend – you don’t think so? Here’s a mere sprinkling of my vast knowledge...

If you did, you would understand me.

You think I know nothing. How wrong you are.

Let me try again.

I think I know what you know. But perhaps I am mistaken. Would you teach me?

Perhaps. Other people walk my way too. And I can tell the ones who don’t understand.   

I said, I’m from barren lands that made me old before my time. I had to learn to be young again. To speak in the voice of my body, my heart. I fear those who do not know my language. I fear the barren paths of abstention. I fear the loneliness of those who hold themselves apart.  

I want very much to be alive, and also wise.

I want the same, my friend. I can see those barren lands, and their desolation. I see how they lie close to overgrowth and poor attention. I only seek to clear the weeds. These weeds grow relentlessly, and it takes a sharp eye to discern.

I’ve heard of this, I said, this path. It’s just… I fear for you. That you’ll forget to take care of the good garden, while you’re clearing away what you think is overgrowth.

But I must eat as well, you said. And I do. I fear for those who take in whatever they see, without discernment.

I see the garden, and the junkyard, and the wasteland. I also see the sky, where you take refuge. You long to see clearly, I understand this. But I choose to stay in the garden, to make sure what we do and how we love becomes wholesome.

It’s good we each have own way. I can see you now, you know. We’re actually not so far apart.  

I know. I see you too.

Soften

Holding oneself soft, softer, softer
is the way to really bloom
Allowing space for the mind to detach, float
(filled with colorful images, float...)

Allowing time for the body to breathe, melt,
loosen, re-assemble itself

Feeling beliefs become re-shaped as you hear the
deep deep wisdom... so quiet....
whisper in your ear

Suddenly surrounded by so much beauty

What can I do with it all?

Soften