In Essence

This perfect night. This night, like so many others. This night, hosted by a supermoon, bright behind the tempered edges of a gently clouded sky. 

A warm night, but cool enough. Windows open, still, even as neighbor sounds drift through. The luxury of laying up to our necks in clear, hot water, outside -- quietly, undisturbing, undisturbed.

We were not expecting this.  Expectations, fallen aside, no longer rule here. 

This is when it gets easy.

Might Have Aimed Too High

photo by JCW

Redesign

My sweet. My vision.

How surely, swiftly, you have fallen.

Fledgling still, pushed from the nest, barely a flap out of you.

A long way to drop, as it turns out.

You are broken -- beyond repair?

Shall we gather the pieces and light the match?

Dreams to dust;

Ashes to energy;

Rising. Rising.

You keep, after all, a fiery heart.

Will I recognize your emergent plumage?

A peck here, a flutter there. 

Shorter in the wingspan -- just a little brown job --

but you?

What If It Really Is All Good?

photo by JCW

Exactly Where You Were Supposed To Be

Who were you, duckling? You had such dreams.  Not dreams to you though -- possibilities.  Say your prayers, wish upon a star, why not?  Why not you?  Ah, if only you had known how to pray.  If only distant stars had revealed themselves as Gods.

 (Mirror, mirror, what are you saying? That this -- this is set in stone? Not the lesson for which one prepared. Not what one signed on for, surely.) 

Delight in it, you're advised.  Once chosen, behind door number three, just live with it.  What matter which way to turn?  Any direction, it all works.

But no.  You wanted what you wanted.  Or didn't want.  Makes no difference.

How hard it is, to feel your inconsequential pain.  Now, love -- love would open unto you.  Love would enfold you, smooth your scraggly feathers, caress you, croon to you, rock you.  Love would declare your swanning loveliness, would it not?  Would it ... Not?

Feel it, feel it, they say.  Don't run away.  Let it come, let it go, then -- then! -- you will fly.   Free. Beautiful.

Or not -- your choice, really.  Except you can't revert.  You can't project.

You are here.

Humbug

photo by JCW

Beloved

Say it, confess it, let me love you.

I would hold you, hold you,

unlikely as it seems.

Tell me everything -- 

let it up, let it out,

who am I to sneer?

You don't have to cry.

That's you, isn't it, 

unwilling to wail,

not about to give it up.

Others do that (we won't judge them)

but why not laugh?

It's the much same release.

You are a bad one, a bad one, a bad one.

Acknowledge it. Claim it.

There's a howl inside you --

not a protest, really,

this is you!  This is innocence.

The bad seed knows itself,

recognizes its lineage.

You will be comforted.

You are loved.

No Exceptions

photo by Jim

Exceptions to Acceptance

Is it resistance to say, 

Oh come on -- really?  

I mean, I won’t fight, I’ll do whatever.  

But enthusiasm? 

Is it required?

Cause that’s a bitch.

Okay, no jumping up and down,

but love -- hold it in love.

Compassion, empathy, 

AKA: love.  In action.

Love says, this is what you get.

Love answers, bring it.

I call your love, and raise you my love.

Now, let's get to it.

    

The Things You Say

photo by JCW

The Lamb in Silence

You’ve been mighty quiet lately.

A choice.

Oh?  What did the other guy look like?

A judge.  You wouldn’t approve. 

But not you.

Observation is different.

Because it’s voiceless?

Silent.  Out of the equation.

Totally?  Not a thought left behind?

Let me think about that.

Ah, touched a nerve...

I’m not without feeling!

Just above expressing it.

See, that is so …

What? 

Nothing. Forget I said anything.

Well, you didn’t say much.

Details won’t help.

You’re so sure.

I am pretty sure!  Why poke the bear?

He might lick your hand.

You don’t know many bears, do you.

So, you’re afraid? Of "bears," I mean.

It isn’t fear, to just know better.

Necessarily.

Why not simply let things go?

If you DO let go.

Let go — for now.

But stashed?  For later, I mean.

Some things I just know.  They don’t just disappear.

Indeed!

Truth is truth. 

Then why not say so?

That’s a ME thing.

More me than you, apparently.

And here you are.

Gravel, stuck in your craw.

Your point?

The birth of a pearl, perchance.

Or a kidney stone.

Now that would be a bad choice.

Maybe choice was the wrong word.

Wrong?  

Inaccurate.

Do choose your words carefully.

Or just shut up!  It’s an option.

Parsing helps.

Done talking here! 

Obviously.  Observe that.

Enough Said

photo by Jess

  

After awakening ... Make the Bed

Slowly, I am awakened.  

Not all at once -- no big ascending boom.  

Insistent whispers, heavy-lidded, 

pull me back.

Breath deepens. Feeling returns,

wordless, undeniable.

Here we are, awaiting nothing.

What would you have

that you don't have now.

It is written: The enlightened do their own laundry.

And so, awakened --

get up and make your bed.

Do it.  Now.

A stormy host of harried dreams advance,

anxious to cloud your sky.

Circle of Life

photo by GRW

Sword Play

I am ... not as a child.  Have I ever been?  

Is the kingdom of heaven locked unto me, as I lack those innocent eyes with which to see?

  

As if I understood innocence.  
In this moment, absent all there was and all that might become, what IS?  

Nothing? 

Purity?  

A room, swept clear, reclaims its dust, debris.  That same space, shrouded in returned detritus, may be clarified anew -- and again, and again.

Might I not be renewed as well?  

Revirginated, as it were?  Spiritually, as in born again --

unbourn, unbearing.  

Unbearable.

An old soul, some say.  Which sounds, somehow, comforting.  Surely, what with all its sojourns, the well-traveled soul would be wise.  Experience, experience ... the teacher;  but what have we learned here?  You can't take it with you.

And yet, are you free?  

The tension in your core has something to say to you.  

That venerable knot, awaiting Gordius,
if only he were present.

Voices In the Wilderness

photo by GRW

Conversing With Deities

Oh, you are a sly one, aren't you.

Never the open hand.

So collected,

you adjust my position.

You would top me from below?  

Try it.  

I might allow it.  

Juxtaposition

Photo by JCW

Prefer Me Not

How serenity becomes you.

My one, my only.

Were chaotic winds to scatter all surrounding; 

were cacophonous blasts to shatter harmony; 

would your leveling gaze remain 

so open, so wide?

For one who wields Occam's razor, 

is there any story left?  

Love, it's all there is, you say.  

That fondness -- just emotion.  

But truly, 

do you prefer me not?  

Perhaps I could be anyone

and you, interchangeable.

We would go there, do that --

Just the facts ma'm.

Excitement? We're so over that.

Details, details,

smothering the truth.

Please Allow Me To Introduce Myself...

photo by Thel