Where am I?
In the sea…floating…gracefully
Having left my shore, my home, my beginning –
I am here floating
Counting on the great watery vastness
because nothing else counts
There is no future or past
that can measure against this moment of birth,
this gem of becoming,
this blossoming under the moon
There is no structure made of earth or time
that can define boundaries of love
No words to describe what it means now
What you ask of me is too small
The sea is full of air
the air is full of sea
the cosmos full of rocks and stones
that are full of atoms, full of particles, full of space
Where is there an end or a corner to pin love to
and say, “this is how high,” or, “this is how deep,” or, “this is how long?”
You ask too little of me
I love you more greatly than this
A river of stars finds me dreaming
Inviting space to sculpt stone into waves
Where river and red sea meet
Where so-called laws of physics
Are tossed into depths unknown
And shadows bear witness
To blood and tears fueling the mallet
The chisel strike sparking points of illumination
Into thin air
To be held aloft in a vacuum
And doling out all
In a lucidity of timelessness
That gazes into the density of my abyss
And calls me beloved
“You are a worthless girl,” she says…and she says it again and again until the mirror cracks.
Then she studies the crack. Carefully. As it might well be a gift from beyond. Seeking a hidden message, she leans in and fingers the edges as her eyes scrutinize every jagged corner. She stands back and gazes from a distance. Arms folded. Knuckling fist to mouth…pondering.
“You are a worthless girl,” she whispers, re-examining the careless magic that summoned this unexpected visitor. “What does it mean?”, she wonders silently, eyes fixed on the glassy fissure. All day she is consumed by the question. It follows her through her tasks and obligations. It hovers over her. Slides beneath her. Envelops her.
And the crack in the mirror watches her. When she goes outside, it calls to her. And every time she returns, she studies it again.
She considers, tentatively, “you are not a worthless girl.” Then directly and squarely at the crack in the mirror, she declares, “you are not a worthless girl.”
The mirror does not mend.
But the girl…the girl is now fascinated by the possibility – by all possibility. What could come next?
“You are worth the sun and moon and all the stars in the universe,” she chances quickly.
“You are worth the planets and the ice and the oceans and every bit of life, seen and unseen,” she exclaims.
Nothing breaks, nothing mends. Everything is whole exactly as it is.
“You are worth time and immortality,” she dares. And at this, everything disappears.
She wracks her body this way and that, wanting to see every direction at once. Is it true, the nothingness? What does it mean? “What…is…it…worth?” she utters slowly as her face cracks the smile of consciousness.
We came out of a land
Rich with harmony and sacrifice
We built legends and legacies
And threw fire from our fists
Unto the firmament
We brought down gods upon our heads
We sought shelter in their arrogance
Devoured our fear like ripened fruit
And this is how we nourished our souls
Grew teeth in our throats to imprison them
Behind voices made lame by our dinner
Our hearts grew thinner
And our chests spanned wide
To shield and conceal our labouring breath
Convinced of our impending death
But our souls
Trapped in our breasts
Heaved through our skin
The immortal summons
Trauma, indignity, betrayal and other unwelcome visitors show up in some lives more than others. If they show up enough, a person might reach a point where they feel – they believe – they cannot withstand anymore. One more blow, and they will crumple and cease to be. They might plead and put The Great All That Is on notice: “Look, I can’t take anymore. I’m just letting you know this, in case you can find it in your heart to not send any more my way.”
Then, another blow – maybe a series of small ones, or one low-grade, crushing long one. Then, the person might just shut down – cease to even try negotiating with the powers that be. “What’s the point?” Now this person KNOWS, they really cannot take anymore. Truly, this time, the person will break when another wave comes.
Then, another blow. A big one. One that makes all the other blows seem like mere child’s play. And do you know what happens to our little person? Our weary, bedraggled, pushed-beyond-the-breaking-point little human, who has always had thin skin, but who now surely possesses no skin at all anymore.
It takes a long time, but this person opens their heart and makes themselves vulnerable – again. They do it. And they do it because now they really know something. Now this person knows something that is true: Life wants to live. It keeps going whether or not we can keep up. Life wants to live. So may as well embrace it. We are stronger than we think we are.
I’ve watched you break
I have felt every bone,
One by one, splinter into fragments
Into dust and rubble
Utter annihilation, not once
But many times
I’ve seen you stand up to tidal waves
I’ve seen you refuse fortunes
I’ve seen you run headlong into the mouth of a beast
And then another…and then another
How you emerge to run again
I do not know
But I’ve seen you reappear like magic…fully formed
Over and over again
I’ve seen the map re-write itself
I’ve seen the flowers bloom
And ruts in old roads replaced by mountain meadows
Purely by the sheer power of your will
I’ve seen you cry
Alone, abandoned and betrayed
And I’ve seen you walk outside and go right on loving
There is no give up in you
Even when you desperately wish it so
So may as well embrace this
This heart hurt
Because it is happening
And your heart will rise to meet you
With increasing frequency, I see around me a new and different kind of human. Most often they are young people, though not always. They have a wisdom and emotional intelligence, I would say beyond their years, but truthfully it is beyond what has ever been typical in humans at any age. They speak a language of acceptance and inclusion that is unprecedented and embody a depth of compassion that is eye-opening. They are acutely aware of what happens in the world and they act in hope. This too sets them apart – they see, they take action. And I have very often seen them respond to resistance and misunderstanding with openness, patience and kindness while remaining steadfast to principles of common good.
This is more than the optimism of youth. Their wisdom and depth of understanding at astoundingly early ages is at odds with long-accepted psychological theories of human developmental stages. I have come to affectionately refer to them as the new evolution of human, and I believe, as they step forward, more and more of us remember who we are and the power we hold in our innate love.
So FEAR, wherever you act in the world – whether through violent animosity, complacency, psychological paralysis, spiritual imprisonment or exile – you have been put on notice. We are led by a new evolution of human and we are taking back the human race!
I wrote this poem after reading about Parrotfish. They create entire beaches in Hawaii and help build reef islands in the Maldives by eating coral, digesting the stony bits and excreting them as sand. Yep, you read that right. I was fascinated by how these creatures can build whole beautiful beaches and even islands, a little bit of sand at a time. The notion then co-mingled with an image from a digital art piece I had seen that depicted an angel living on the ocean floor, and voila! Now, I’m not saying anything about the digestive habits of aquatic angels, but I had fun thinking of how we might all be elevated one grain of sand at a time.
We come face to face,
and I know there is more to this
In what world do winged creatures live in the dark deep?
I swim passed the hourglass that is shattered
– sand being more useful than time –
and I see that you are building an island
and I am your first guest – a child who knows everything to be true
How very wise of you
Though you know I cannot stay
I am the accidental messenger
The incidental friend submerged by wonder
and taken in by what should never be
If one believes the stories…but I don’t
For you are here amassing islands under sea
Proving all things possible
And when you spread your wings, do you fly or float?
Can there be any greater hope? You rise up either way
Even one grain of sand at a time elevates you
I am often grappling with the uneasy coexistence of absolute oneness and the seeming separation imposed by being in a physical body and of an individual mind – the condition of being an earthling, as it were. Here, the antidote to existential loneliness is an acceptance of a connection that is not knowable through my physical senses – a real surrender to my own beliefs. Physical touch is so much easier, yet this other kind of connection is so much bigger. But how do we live that kind of connection in our day-to-day physical world? We have to reach out our hands, answers my intuition. She gives no further instructions.
The Art Of Touching You
Telescope to the sky
A tingling darkness rises within
Shaping me tenderly
Resonating with things too far or too close for the eye to see
Things to be known instinctively
I sit alone with the universe
Embodying its great infinity
Contemplating the boundlessness
And the borders we impose
Intersecting at nowhere
And it is here that I laugh again
Because you are so close
That I can feel and know and love you
You are in my very own particles
And yet you are uniquely apart, as am I
But the art of touching you
This is the quest for which I turn to the telescope
The finer details eluding me
Out there we intersect, you and I,
At every point imagined and unimaginable
Here, I lie back and open my soul
To the immensity of that truth
My cosmology defining nothing while explaining everything at once
In this vast darkness swirling immeasurable light, I surrender and repose my longing
And reach out my hand and accept that you are here
I hear a lot of talk about the state of the world. Often, I hear statements that begin with vision and understanding and shift quickly into sentences starting with, “but sadly… .” I hear a lot of voices filled with resignation saying “I hope… .” The implication being “I hope I’m wrong about where all this is headed.” This is not hope.
Hope is not passive.
Hope is not waiting to see what will happen. Hope is not about outcomes. Hope is making choices. Hope is choosing what you do with your thoughts, where you focus your attention, what you do in response to the challenges in your world. Hope is not passive.
Hope is investing in life. Showing up. Being here – for however long you get to be here. You wonder sometimes, “is there any hope for us, for our world?” Youare our hope. Be here! I am our hope. Stand with me! All we have to do is show up, see ourselves in each other and choose accordingly.