Through Glass

She waves at him
through glass
and turns.
Not a word
nor gesture more.
An ersatz mother
a world away
seeing her aquarium
son.

As more come to know
and love him
they
come to know
how unkindly
forgotten
he is.

If you believe
that life is beautiful
and fair
you are correct.
If you believe
that life is ugly
and haunting
you are correct…

For I know a good soul
who lost in herself
all that was good
and taught herself
how to pretend
not to notice
and in that necessary
not noticing
forgot her children
her family
her roots…
she’s a stringless kite
a bird that can’t land
legs that won’t stand
a beach with no sand.

I’ve saw her become
a ghost
and haunt the lives
of those she loved.
Through the glass
she sees us
and never questions
why it is
that she can never touch us.

How do you tell
a ghost
they are a ghost
when they are sure
you are not real?

Through the glass
we watch her
not notice us.
To her,
we never were.
It never was.
She’s dreaming
of how it’s all
someone else’s past,
even as we are all
awake…wondering
if it’s humane
to move on
without her.

Do you look over
your shoulder
for your mom
if you know
that she’s
not ever
going to be looking?

I’ve watched the children
roam the castle of our life
following the leftover voice,
the memories of how
things were once sweetly said,
they are thinking,
“surely she too is looking for us”
but up on the parapet,
I see them see
she’s walked off into the woods
she’s on the edge of the moor
blurred
white
ephemeral
floating
in her necessary dream…

Helpfully,
people advise
to turn away
to live with our backs
to it…
but it is the glass through which
we three
see
the world
and nothing ever changes
that.
No matter which direction
we look in…
this loss is not something to
overcome,
but something to be
survived.

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Free

I want to have words.
I want keys
for the locked door,
to
the blocked staircase
to
the tower top
where the stars
wait for their observers
to ask questions.

When the sky wants
to have words
it makes people
like us
with questions
like water
in an Earth shaped bowl
spilling
over
with wisdom
that evaporates
when it strikes
the hot pan of
what we don’t understand
and falls again
rains again
on an unsuspecting
populace.

How few are we?
How many others rest
in this…absurd pretense
of peace,
that is built upon
the backs of strangers
they’ll never meet?

Show me a hand
filled with keys.
The doors must fail.
The people must be free.

Posted in Essay, Poetry, sacred poetry, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Foreign Languages

I am condensing,
taking the shape
of monoliths.
Standing in the center
so that she has
somewhere
to walk in circles
when she needs
to walk in circles.
This is
as ancient a religion
as any…
when they need water
will you have a full cup?

Dancing feet
now set
in concrete.
Flights of fancy
locked
in the hangar.
Sailing ship
wearing grooves
in a bleached dock.
I will wait this out
not because I can…
but because
someone
must.

And when you are
the only one left-
that’s you.

I seek to be the place
where they go
to see
themselves.

That’s what parents do.

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What If

We paved the land
over…we had to.
Where else would the cars go?
Without shoes
we couldn’t walk
on gravel
so we must
make
more
shoes.

Every city must clean
the water…before
it feeds it back to the people
who made it dirty.

Everything has a
price…it must.
How else will the money be spent?
Without prices…all we have is paper
and round metal tablets
that mean nothing
to anyone.

Someone makes
the “more” that you have.
If you aren’t one of them
then you don’t really know
what you’re paying for…
but they can’t forget
the way we can…
having “more”
tends to do that
to the human heart.

Who does what they love
for money?
No one would.
So we turn it around
and say
“do what you love
and the money will follow”…
But what if what you’d love
is for there to be
no money?
We think it’s like the Earth
and moon
or oceans and tides…
How can you have what you love
if money doesn’t buy it?
It’s an argument
that only burns
at the end of slavery.

Time is an angel’s dream.
It’s what happens when God
thinks about clocks.
It’s a pocket of space
where we can move slow
enough
to learn something.
Time is a place
small enough
to make us suffer
for otherwise
we don’t know how to…
there’s no physical location
upon which
a lesson can land.

What if we found out
that we come here
again
and again
as an answer to a prayer
we made
to be born?
What if God
is always answering us
from both sides
of the veil
between here
and there?

What if
I am only saying
“what if”
to placate the undecided?

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Pray For More Time

I have fallen
and never found land
to break upon
no rocks
suitable
no height
with which to acquire
the proper speed
where I may finally
shatter and rest.
I remain
unbroken.

I see shadows
when others see light
and in the darkness
all I see is bright.
Creation is the clay
and the kiln
and the hammer
and the rain that falls
on pottery shards
melting into clay.
It’s always a circle
it’s always that way.

Bones of misfortune
bleach over time
a skeleton is in our future
and in our past.
The form of us
the shape of us
comes and goes
but we always remain
forever
in remembered moments
of the living
and
recorded
loving, living
for all time
in places that don’t have names
that people with bones
can speak.

So while you can
speak
what will you say?
Who
will
you
hold?
What will you
love
with?
How will you fight
for others…or will you just
fight
with…others,
when all those “others”
are just those
you can’t remember
how to love?

When I see you
hate…
I fall.
I pray to break
open.

When you break
I pray.
How can we shatter
this illusion
together
when all that avails us
says
we are separate?
In this dream
how
can awakening
be more real for us
than the dream of power.

Wisdom can’t be given
because it’s not words
it’s experience
and that’s earned
through time
and not read about.

When you fall
I pray
for more time.

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Hurt Mechanics

The person hurting you can’t stop the person who hurt them.  That feeling needs a place to go.  Bottled up inside it destroys them.  Released upon another and it leads the person to feel somehow empowered, victorious even.  Through coming after you, they feel they honor the hurt by giving it a name and a face to attach to.  Through not being able to name or face the person who hurt them originally…their hurt has life through you.

The person who hates you…hates-and has been hated.  You are second on their list and they are first, they just have the two confused from time to time.  Through hating you, is likely the only way that they will unravel the truth of how much they have yet to love themselves.

When a human being is overwhelmed, other’s needs become invisible to them.  In their struggle to find the thread again of where their familiar life went, they will be looking narrowly and focused on the smallest of issues intensely.  It will be as if they are literally looking at the head of a needle.  When you belong, through association, to someone going through this, you won’t be able to matter to them.  An overwhelmed spirit in a body, having seen and experienced things that people shouldn’t have to…will go through times when surviving takes up all their life energy.  They are going places you can’t go.  To those around people going through this…it will feel as though you’ve been forgotten by them.  And it isn’t that your  are forgotten.  It’s that they can’t see you.  It’s that they are trying with all they have to remember how to see the good in themselves.  Sometimes God hides best behind the things that some of us should never see.

There are times though when a person can’t see past a thing.  A new persona is needed by them to create a different reality “set”…a reality version that is relatable, believable, sustainable to them.  A personality with a different script can come into being that explains to the overwhelmed, how things are, how they came to be…and to the outside viewer they will know that this new identity isn’t the person they remember.  But to the person surviving, the only way this protective personality can do its work, is if the survivor totally believes that they have always been this way…that their version of reality is totally undeniable.

At times this new persona who is “doing their best” can also display behaviors that can only be described as “awful”.  But are they awful people?

I think it’s the most accurate to say that we are all surviving.  Underneath our basic needs being met…once the food, water and safety are met…all of us are surviving what it means to be a human in a body, trying to make sense out of what happens to us here.  So called Awful People are literally doing the best they can.  So though it may not be good enough for us to want to be close to at times, it is still their literal best.

But anytime someone isn’t viewing the world in a loving way, it is always a symptom of feeling disconnected from God, from love, from a kindness driven purpose.  And if you live long enough, that not only describes people you do not like, it will describe people you care about more than any others.  And at times it will be a description fit for you.

Let heartbreak be your anchor.  Stay close to what hurts you and make friends with it. Nothing sneaks up on you when you are holding hands with it.

 

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Paying for Divinity

There is an online course that I’ll never offer.  There is an App that I’ll never charge money for.  I firmly hold to the belief that when you charge money for “healing” through an online venue where you are not even speaking directly to the person who is paying you money to help them, that the story of Christ turning over the tables at the temple applies.

An old friend of mine now charges $150 an hour for healing sessions via phone.  When I see videos of respected “healers” today marketing themselves as such I feel embarrassed that I ever was one of them, marketing myself in the same fashion at all.  I see people so ungrounded I might not let them house sit a cat.  I know everyone serves a purpose and we are drawn to whichever healer we are drawn to, or a modality is there for everyone-but it is still shocking for me to see what is being offered.

What’s available is a blatant selling of prepackaged “healing” offerings.  That the people paying for these things can’t discern authenticity from those who merely are certain of their authenticity, is striking.  I began teaching before there were websites for teachers, 1993.  I have been through the process of being excited and young and energized, brimming with possibility and feeling like I would heal so very many.  I am 45 now.  It’s 2017.  I’ve been “doing” healing work now for almost half of my life.  And I suppose a bit of a curmudgeon at this point.

It’s just that as time goes on I don’t see more wisdom in teaching here in the West.  I see far less as time marches on.  I see people have a single awakened moment, spiritually speaking, and next thing you know they are charging $100/hour for shaktipat transmission or offering weekend seminars to certify others in something that they themselves were literally just certified to teach…in a weekend seminar.  It seems that there is no center to it.  No apprentices, only people calling themselves teachers—but not teachers in reality, not yet.  When you “teach” from a mountain top you think because you got there that you have something to say.  But that’s just the first trip.  One must go down, and up again, and down…and up again, dropping things, losing loved things…before the journey begins to show itself as the path.  But what we have is people on the top announcing their ability to teach from the very moment they get on the mountain for the first time.

Perhaps I complain because it’s lonely being where I am.  Perhaps I miss the dreams of sagacity that once embroiled my life in those heady early days.  Perhaps though I really just miss not knowing people who are likewise on the other side of “I am a teacher” role.  I loved thinking I was special and different.  I loved having people think that I was as well, truth be told.  And the more that people came to revere me, the more I wondered “what would happen if I left it all behind?”  I knew it wasn’t balanced for me to allow others to hold me in high esteem that was out of proportion to just being human.  So, for the most part, I walked away from teaching.  This meager site is all that really remains.  My words, my poetry, an email address.  I still work with some who ask.  And now those sessions are  more rewarding to me than any others I use to have when I truly advertised.  Now I am no longer a teacher.  I am just a person who listens and talks.  It’s plain.  It’s simple.  It’s also unappealing to the kind of person who wants to pay $150 an hour for a shaktipat transmission from “the divine”.

I now favor the sublime that awaits in plainness.  I am not the kind of person to help you learn the expensive and futile lesson of paying for divinity.  I can’t be any plainer about it.

Posted in Essay, kundalini support, Meditations, prayer, reincarnation, relationship, Retreats, satsang, spiritual activism, Uncategorized | 2 Comments