Soul

The Sower

Standard

https://sp.yimg.com/ib/th?id=JN.nRaJwv0fmAapUZK7TCoa3g&pid=15.1&P=0

The seeds are sown and await the judgement of circumstance

The soil, the birds, the weeds will all have a say

The weather will be what it will

The sower sows the seeds but the Creator makes them grow

It is out of his hands now

Words, his seeds were sown into new and unknown soil

There are no guarantees, the seed must die, no strings attached

The illusions of yesterday and tomorrow call like Sirens toward the rocks of stagnation

Don’t become stranded there perishing, thinking, wishing, wasting

Action, risk, Being is required

To utterly fail is a success and is no shame, it is shame’s illusion that binds and enchants and seduces calling the soul towards slumber

Cast into Now, that space between the ticks of time, let go, no clinging

Risk the loss of a seed in hand for a hundredfold return

Open the hand to give,  empty it of the old so there is space for the new

A new garden is needed, the old no longer sustains

It has become dry, worn, and overused

Take the best seeds and cast them into the unknown

Do not shrink or draw back in the face of it

Speak your words boldly, sow them with generosity and care

Fret not about the ones which do not sprout, let them go

Look only for the ones which do, attend and care for those

Waste not yourself on what is Not

In the end your task is only to sow

Intention and creativity are yours

It’s the Creator’s grace though that shapes what will be, in accordance with the true desires of your heart

And remember that even the seeds are not your own, they are gifts too, why would you horde what was intended to be given away

Stir up those gifts, bring them into the light, sow them freely

Give them away so that you may receive back the bounty of the One who is the giver of the seeds

The Word made Flesh

Standard

Where did the music go

What does the poet do when the Song goes silent

He must wait and listen

There are empty spaces in all compositions

A foundation of silence, of stillness, which makes all else possible

Without the empty still spaces movement is random and vibration noise

Is is not a horrible thing

There is no reason to be afraid

Only wait and listen for Her cadence, Her rhythm

That is your Soul’s Groove silly forgetful man

She will return again as She wills

She is not a creature tamed and trained to do tricks for others

She is alive and wild like the wind

When She moves raise your sails and let Her fill them with Her

Ride the storms of Her, feel the touch of Her cooling breezes on your skin

When She is quiet you are not abandoned, it is only a punctuation before the next Word waiting to be spoken

When She is still remember that even your breath is filled with Her

In Her you live and move and have your being

She has stirred and taught and moved and awakened your sleeping Self

The inner world has grown and now awaits the poet’s action

Her stillness is a signal that there is Outer work to be completed, a new balance to be discovered

She moves at the will of the Creator continually calling forth the intention of you

A new creation, a path in the wilderness, a spring in the desert manifest on the material plane, awaits

The Outer life can be a trap and a trick, but so too can the labyrinth of the Inner

Her rhythm seeks harmony and balance, consonance

Her movement calls you in, Her stillness sends you out

It is never either/or but Both

The Word spoken from before the foundations seeks It’s incarnation in you

 

The Intention of the I AM

Standard

He ain’t scared! 🙂

I want to write something just because I can
I feel cocky and the wilder parts of me have been stirred up
I don’t wait for permission
Or some other’s indulgence
I am
I write for me because I wish it, cause I’m alive
I beat my chest and growl, I roar
I am present on the savannah
Hear me, feel me, wonder what I will do
I am
I feel my heart’s beating, my blood rushing
I fill my lungs with the fragrant life surrounding me
Feet solid, gaze unblinking, alert, unafraid
I walk as one with authority, the earth trembles beneath my steps
I am

And so are You

Roar for the joy of it

Run, jump, laugh, do your dance in spite of circumstance

All that is wrong is the belief that something is wrong . . . with you

Be Groovy! 🙂

Bubbles in the Dark (Audio)

Standard

There are times when my pathway is hidden.  When the next step seems to lead off a cliff in any direction.  I find at such times that there is an anxious impulse that will arise.  I will tend to consider things in dialectical categories; yes – no, good – bad, right – wrong, etc.  There are many times when reason is appropriate and can be a reliable guide.  But, there have been others when the choices break down and there is no good choice or even bad choice.  I think maybe the hardest thing to do sometimes is nothing.  The impulse to move, to act, to make a choice can become quite strong.  But how does one choose?  The wise folks of old have left some clues.  Be still  . . . Don’t be anxious about tomorrow . . . Go out not knowing . . . wait and your strength will be renewed . . . the farmer plants the seed but the Creator makes it grow . . . death before rebirth . . . the Creator will complete what was begun in you.  One of my mentors taught me a long time ago that if I felt like I must do something then run like hell.  There is less desperation now than when I wrote what follows.  There is a quietness and an awareness of the impulse to jump.  So for now I sit in the ferment of me content to watch what might bubble up.  Be Groovy!

Ferment

In the dark

Conversion

From one to another

Sweetness transformed

Energy released expands

Bubbles in the darkness

Changing, rearranging

Separate, watching, or not

It continues

Out of my hands

The fruits have been pressed

Latent potentials emerge

In keeping with the fruit’s nature

Patience, quiet Self

Watch the bubbles but refrain

The ferment requires no assistance

Bubbles in the dark

Reveal the Soul of the grape

 

 

Tap-Tap-Tapping (Audio)

Standard

Обои завязанные глаза, девушка на поле ...

I wish I could write something beautiful
I wish I could write something so real that it would change how things are
I can see it in my mind, a picture so clear, I can taste it and inhale its fragrances
The desires of my heart have burned me, they have hollowed me out
The landscape of my soul has been altered
Or perhaps it is just the overgrowth that has been cleared
For now I seem to see better the rise and fall and shape of me
It seemed as if the fire would consume me and I would be no more
As the last ember died and the wind hurried away the final wisp of smoke
I remained, still there, naked, scarred, and raw, but separate somehow from all that had been
I found only dry bitter ashes and the black barren solitude of my grief
I wandered in that place, alone for many days and many nights watering the ground with my tears
Remembering what was and what could have been, wishing for what is now, Not

I hope I will write something beautiful
I hope that my Soul will find Her voice and learn to sing a new song, one that has always been
I can hear a simple sweet strain rise and fall, strangely familiar like a dream of home
For now I make my way like a blind man, sight requiring new senses
Cautiously my words tap – tap – tap before me, through the ash and the unknown
Seeking their way, reaching out, feeling for the next step along this new path
Scribbles on a page, symbols seeking structure enough to contain the melody of Her
Clever words and ego were burned in the clearing of me, the illusion of my intellect brought low
Yet with what small vision remains I catch glimpses of green arising from the soot
Life indomitable pushes through the ruin and back into the light, buds break and blossom
The landscape is bare but not barren, even the ruin enriches and reveals the soil of me
Salt tears are still needed to water this place and in my laughter new seeds are sown
What was is no longer, what is to come is yet to be, so Now patient I wait, just tap – tap – tapping