What Shall I Write?
Is any concept, object or relationship
Calling my attention?
Is there a feeling I want to explore,
A word,
A shadow I glimpse in the periphery?
Is there something to let go of,
Something left undone?
An illusion to see through,
Something beautiful?
Is there tenderness for something hurting,
Gratitude for the knowing that experiences everything?
In an ideal encounter, a sense of timelessness
Would protect the movement of the writing
Toward its depth or expanse
Or suchness.
No Next Thing
What if I listen for guidance inside,
Like a benevolent presence on the Earth
Noticing what needs care
Or simply seeing everything with love,
Never feeling the pressure of a next thing
Because all of my being is poured into this.
I can devote myself to this writing
Because nothing is excluded.
The sounds of the house,
The light from the window,
The soft flannel shirt on my body,
The corner of the couch,
The wonder of a daughter and husband
Sleeping upstairs,
All hold and accompany me.
Nothing is waiting.
When You Don't Turn
Mooji said, "What are you
When you don't turn to the next thing?"
When you are not running away from anything,
When you are not seeking anything,
When you are still
In your being
Like a stone at the bottom of the ocean
Or a mountain that cannot be moved,
The still point in the dance of possibility
That is your life.
What Is a Connection to Place?
When I consider indigenous people's strong
ongoing connection to their land,
I feel I am missing something.
Maybe it was the early missing terrain
of my mother's body,
Maybe the many times I was
moved to different places,
Maybe all the time I spent indoors.
I do remember loving the smell of pine trees
and their quiet,
And the powerful, golden light
when I lived in California.
Every evening, as I prepared dinner,
the dark would move slowly from my window
across the valley to the hillside opposite.
That landscape was resplendent, shining in all its glory
For my astonished eyes
Every day.
To Receive
She thanked me
And didn't allow me to brush it away.
She revealed more about what she noticed.
She had received.
Her silent eyes made sure
I got the message.
She slowed down --
Enough for my heart to hear.
The blessing of the gift
Returned to sender.
Receive
My fledgling baby body was
Attended to by strangers.
A heavy pressure burdened my left lung
And limited
The
Breath
of
life.
But slowly, steadily, I learned
To receive that oxygen. To breathe in
The love of my black madonna,
To relish the gentle strokes of the hands
of my grandmother,
To inhale the scent of pine trees.
Then, to sing the songs of my family
And my community,
To speak for my muted little sister,
To read all the books to the children of my neighborhood,
To embody the characters of plays and musicals,
And, finally,
To write and sing my own songs
Which relieve the pressure
And bring oxygen to those who hear.
So Clean Inside
What would it be like to be
So clean inside, so open,
That every encounter
With family or friend
Offered a steady gaze of attention,
An easy intimacy
With the terror of the darkest of nights,
The subtlety of the earliest dawn,
The intensity of the brightest of days,
And the bittersweet joy
Of the ephemeral splendor of twilight.
She Did Not Know
You are a joy to love
And a blessing to the world.
This is the simple fact.
Remember it when your mother
Is misguided by her culture
And her longing for space and freedom,
Recognition and the resource of community.
Remember, when she withdrew
Her presence from you,
She did not know
That she was love, comfort,
Life-giving nourishment,
Or the oxygen
For the breath of your being.
Slow down, Sweetheart
Slow down, Sweetheart.
You don't have to carry on.
Take a moment.
This is hard.
Let your hands hold your heart.
Let your body collapse.
Let the tears come.
Be with this great sorrow.
Your Beloved has put you
Out of his heart.
This time, you will not abandon
The one who couldn't get it right.
You will carefully cradle her heart,
Reminding her that she is always,
And, especially now,
worthy of love.
The Nature of the Heart
I was aware that the sun was shining,
That I was standing by the footbridge
At O'Leno State Park,
But my eyes were filled
With the radiant man before me,
His sparkling eyes,
The aliveness of his face,
His ample hair and beard.
Though he was in the sun,
He was lit from within.
I no longer remember
The conversation we were
So happily engaged in,
But I can still hear his laugh
And see his light.
What Is Love?
Seeing the radiant uniqueness of a being.
Relaxing all other concerns and fully joining the moment,
I see my daughter's hand, now grown,
Competently typing,
Courageously showing up for the work.
Her nails are short,
Having provided comfort during a time of anxiety.
Everything is exactly as it is.
Of course, everything is always
Exactly as it is.
It's just that we are wandering in dreams
Of what could be
Or what was
Or what isn't.
Prayer to Be of Benefit
May I be willing to listen,
To trust the wholeness,
To see the sacred,
To know that we belong to each other,
To dive into the depths
Where nothing is excluded.
May I remember our natural
inclination to shine,
To be available to the clarity of love,
To scoop each precious being
Into my heart,
To dance with possibility,
To walk in peace.
May my stillness welcome the turbulent,
My silence hear the cries of the heart,
My courage free the hesitant ones,
My joy brighten the way for those
Who think they are lost,
And my love sing the song that we are.
What Do You Serve?
I serve life,
Nurturing its blossoming
By seeing its beauty,
Revering its wholeness,
Opening to its wildness,
Admiring its infinite creativity
Grieving its easy disappearance,
Loving its endless renewal.
To Stand and Sing and See
The mountain or tree stands--solid.
It will not be moved
Because it knows its place
In the tapestry of life.
The river moves,
Generously sharing its essence,
Never holding back.
The bird sings,
Knowing his voice
Belongs in the symphony of life.
And I am set free
To stand in my sovereignty,
To sing the river of my being
To see the beauty of life's inclination to shine
Because I have been known
By tender eyes.
Wondrous Blessing
My oldest boy recently blessed me with a two-week visit.
Our time together stretched long enough
to relax into loving coexistence.
He sings songs with resonant power
and agility--and a perfect memory!
He whistles! Beautifully!
A wondrous songbird graced my dwelling.
How Shall I Begin?
It all begins with an idea.
I can begin with one word
or one feeling
or one memory
or one desire,
one inquiry,
or one prayer.
If my mind is blank,
I can begin with a movement.
Everything is a thread
woven into the tapestry of life.
Anything can be a beginning.
It knows its own way. Follow the flow.
Discover the possibilities
of this kind of belonging.
All offerings are welcome.
Smell of Pine
It all begins with an idea.
The smell of pine all around me,
The feel of softness under my feet.
It is quiet outside.
The trees are still.
They cradle my being,
Beckon me to a new world.
The Wild Persimmon
It all begins with an idea.
Running barefoot on the sand road
Noticing small orange fruits on a scraggly tree.
Experiencing enormous delicious flavor,
but only when they are soft and ripe.
What a wild, wondrous gift!
In season, most days,
One was newly ready to be savored.
The offerings of the Earth are miraculous.
Life gives to life.