“And if the world has ceased to hear you say to the silent earth: I flow. To the rushing water, speak. I am.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke
Someone asked me what is the point of poetry and from her emptiness, I spoke…
That wealth may not be amassed by mere words, but only the riches of the gentleness of thought, that our own tears may flow together with the rest of humanity. That our small light may bring light to someone else’s darkness. That our depth of understanding may lift someone out of their own inner chaos and reacquaint them with joy.
So that wounded mortals will rise on tides of loveliness like flowers blossoming in the darkness because we have helped them belong to the beauty of everything with words.
It is sunshine and even rain that enables us to flourish.
No, our words have not brought us great wealth like dollars or rubles. We have not chased after such things, rather we have found the lonely and the afflicted in far corners of the earth and we have fed their souls with loving kindness and the magic of words.
Words fly to them on wings of faith, like prayers, unfettered by ambition or greed.
Words have the power to bring us back to life and reconnect us to the divine, and to reawaken our higher selves.
No, my friend poetry has not brought money into the coffers, but rather it has brought contentment, faith made whole. It has brought us friends who love just because love is their way. It has brought watercolored pictures into the minds-eye.
The riches of poetry are plain to see, they encircle the globe. You read books but not poetry, have you become wiser? and more compassionate from these?
Search your heart for the meaning of life, Search the archives of great poets such as Rumi and Rainer Maria Rilke and you will find joy and sorrow entwined. You will find prophesy and wisdom beyond what time ever imagined. You will see through the eyes of great suffering and joy and you will meld with the light of every being. You will become a blend of heaven and earth.
Poetry is a message beyond the veil, a channel of something more beautiful than can be bought with money.
If you can’t find meaning in poetry that’s okay, your time has not yet come, for you are not ready to behold the loveliness that resides deep inside you and enfolds you everyday.
Everything in this world will pass away but love will remain and the articulate ones, the sages, the ones fluent in mystical things will recite beautiful stories your heart cannot imagine.
Go with them into the glory of what is, and is to come…
All you need is a spark to rekindle that which you were born to recognize with your heart…
“When we see the Beloved in each person, it’s like walking through a garden, watching flowers bloom all around us.” ― Ram Dass
I’ve been thinking a lot about superiority lately and not just race and gender, which I find equally abhorrent, but a gamut of other ways people come across as superior.
When I was a child, I felt horrendously ugly because basically, the kids in my class told me that I was. I had bright red hair freckles and crooked teeth, and they called me all sorts of names. It was a hard pill to swallow and for a time I was friendless, only hanging out with the other so-called “ugly ducklings”.
The superior kids, with clear complexions and straight teeth, looked down on me. I never hung out with the “in crowd”, though I secretly longed to be accepted by them.
This feeling has dogged me all my life. I didn’t have much going for me. I couldn’t even call myself a nerd because I am not of superior intelligence either. I failed dismally at school, really only qualifying as a dreamer. Oh, and I was never very sporty either.
Kindness and compassion have sadly not been an attribute that is highly regarded, we look more to the high achievers to which we award our honors. I really hope the change is coming and more people will begin to spread love around.
I have also noticed that people who have wealth look down on those who do not, perhaps they believe that the poor deserve what they have and should not be rewarded for basically being “useless” in their eyes.
I too have been on the butt-end of that, having never achieved great wealth, only just getting by on what I have. Through no fault of our own, we have had to scrape the bottom of the barrel because of circumstances beyond our control.
Please don’t get me wrong though, I feel blessed out of my socks in other ways, like family and nature and other light-filled beings.
I sometimes look at the street people and the car guards and wonder how awful they must feel because of their circumstances. I have a friend called Eric who is a car guard and one day he told me how people treat him and how they sometimes look down on him. In my eyes, he is a brave, kind, happy and gentle young man who I find to be friendly and very helpful.
We need to know their story, we need to change our minds about how we look at others.
I have found superiority among Christians who think they are much more knowledgeable about the bible and look down on those who prefer to hug trees and talk to the stars and the Universe.
It’s a very sad day when as humans we cannot walk in another’s shoes, for instance how many feel strongly that addicts are the outcasts of society because they abuse drugs or alcohol.
In fact, before a person decides who is acceptable and who is not should read the AA literature. Most addicts do not decide to become addicted and most, if not all hate being addicts, it is not a chosen affliction. I for one have been in group meetings where I have met the most beautiful and enlightened souls who somehow through their own struggles don’t look down on their fellow humans. It’s a beautiful thing.
I’ll say it again, I really hope that the world starts changing, I hope this pandemic has caused a shift in the cosmic realms, has made people wake up and realize that we are all one, that one man’s struggle is everyone’s struggle and we begin to see generosity, kindness, and love flow everywhere. It is actually a dream I have.
Sorry if this is a bit of a rant, it’s just that I feel very strongly about these things. I was not sent to the planet to lord it over anyone or think I am better. Thankfully I was given that lesson when I was very young. I cannot compete with the Kim Kardashians of this world and I really wouldn’t want to. If you have ever watched her channel, it would quickly become clear to you that it is a very empty life, when she shows you her freezer full of every flavor of ice cream and how to make your eyebrows appear curved. I do however believe that she could be a force for good, it is the potential of every soul who comes to earth.
It is a sorry state we have found ourselves in when we believe we are favored or even blessed because we have great wealth or a big house and fancy car and that those who live in poorer circumstances are “cursed”? I’m using a harsh word here to get my point across.
If you were to look at what the bible or any other enlightened writings say about blessings you may be very surprised…
for example “blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted and blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth”
Did you ever notice a very wealthy or famous person who is meek? (Meek meaning humble, quiet, gentle, and easily imposed on; submissive.) You can look it up for yourself.
I really cannot wait to see the meek inherit the earth!
Other examples of blessings:
The Quran says “Consider the human body. It is made up of one hundred trillion cells. Each cell is a blessing from God.”
The Buddha said “It’s not your station in life but your heart that brings blessings” and “experience no matter how hard it seems, holds within a blessing of some kind, the goal is to find it.”
Rumi says “Once the seed of faith takes root, it cannot be blown away, even by the strongest wind. Now that’s a blessing”
I will leave you with a quote from one of my favorite authors:
John O’Donohue… “Blessed be the mind that dreamed the day, the blueprint of your life would begin to glow on earth, illuminating all the faces and voices that would arrive to invite Your soul to growth.” — John O’Donohue.
“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” ― Mary Oliver
My father was a futurist, when he was a child, he predicted they would land on the moon, people just laughed at him back then.
I was a terrible disappointment to my father, I was an underachiever of the highest order. Somehow it never bothered me a bit, but it bothered him a lot. He would spend hours lecturing me on the benefits of academic greatness, and after a few toots it got even more hectic. I wanted to please him but nothing in me would allow me to be something I was not. Perhaps there was a force greater than myself at play. I did have some things in common with my dad, we both loved sci-fi and cartoons, and as the only one in the family it gave us a common bond.
I think he wanted me to have some kind of achievement so that he could add me to his brag album, like a trophy to be gloat on. My struggle always was to be accepted by him. I couldn’t wait to leave home and no longer be under his thumb. Sadly the world was not very kind to me and basically, I fell on my face. (for a while) I do sometimes wonder if I had done what he asked I would be at the very least a university graduate, if that is anything to write home about?
Having said all this I do find myself having great affection for my dear old dad, it’s been a kind of miracle in the making. I was compelled at one stage to forgive him for not believing in me and not loving me the way I needed to be loved. You know how that goes, it’s a very long and hard process, and sometimes an extremely painful one… it’s a giving up bit by bit of who I wanted him to be and learning to accept the life I have been given. Somehow within me I know that he did the best he could with what little he knew at the time. He had his own mountain of baggage!
Perhaps he even had a hand in molding me into the person that I am today, in a very strange kind of alternative way, learning through contrasts. When I was a child, he made me keep secrets and I never understood why, but I became a believer in truth, and in being real. To this day I am not very good at keeping secrets. Because of him I question everything, I’m a curious human being. I tell people I love them as much as I possibly can, something he was unable to do…
A few days before he died, he smiled at me with such great affection, it melted away much of the animosity in a single instant. It was like a window into another world where love covers all sins, a supernatural feeling, or maybe it was just because he was high on Morphine. Perhaps even a moment of enlightenment. In that moment he seemed to have pride in his rebel daughter, and I’m so grateful for that gift. It gave me a glimpse of the hope that does not disappoint us!
That was my beginning into the knowing, the journey into becoming, opening the box of darkness and seeing it as a gift.
(I wasn’t going to post this, but part of my therapy is saying things out-loud and talking through the hard stuff… If you got this far, thank you for reading!)
“We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness and affection. ― Brene Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection
In bygone times I would read between the lines and the resonance sounded out in laughter in memoirs of a book yet unwritten…. tangible moments, narrations that were once celebrated with a communion of words and images, friendships across the miles unbroken connections….
Now it reads like an echo chamber a seemingly irreversible rupture, a mere appendage of what used to be. Where once we forged communities, they now appear lost in timeless algorithms, stolen by unknown entities
And all that’s left are abstractions the bare bones of who we wish we were, maybe who we are yet to be. Just cut-outs of ourselves!
What happened to picnics on the lake, road-trips through eternity, conversations at moonrise!
Fear trapped us in a time, warp, a separation!
We have almost forgotten the beauty of gathering, the gracefulness of our flawed beings, our shared humanity, hearts that pour out with incredible love and the divine light that holds us together!
I read such a sad story on Instagram about a man who feels “forgotten, no longer seen, invisible” were his words.. At times like this when connection is the essence of humanity, are we lost?
“Be the reason someone smiles. Be the reason someone feels loved and believes in the goodness in people.” ― Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart
My Mother used to use the expression “like a death’s head at a feast” to describe a particularly disagreeable person at a social event. I was always amused by it and vowed to myself never to become one. As a child, I conjured up the image in my mind of something utterly grotesque!
I’ve encountered some “death’s heads” in my life and they aren’t particularly pleasant to be around. When I’m with them I feel like I’m being swallowed whole by their bad vibes! These days they call them buzz-kill or party-poopers. I was surprised to find out how many nouns there are for these grumpy Grouches. My favorite is the Grinch who just couldn’t stand being around people who were having fun, but thankfully, in the end, he was prepared to change.
I have also known people who leave a beautiful fragrance wherever they go, they bring life to the dead places within us. They make us feel better for just having been around them. They have delightfully positive flowing energy.
It got me to thinking about writing our epitaph, what would we want people to say about us when we die: that we were rigid and inflexible, quite joyless in our attitude to life, or filled with light and love, a delight to be around, cheerful and unassuming, concerned for others.
If we knew that all the actions on earth that hurt people were recorded in a book to be replayed to us later, to be relived, would it cause us to change? Would we tread more lightly into people’s lives and look into their hearts with great affection. Would we be willing to forego our own agendas and opinions and be interested in their stories? Would we make it a priority to find out about their hopes and dreams, their aspirations?
We are made in the image of the Divine with the light of love as our guide, destined to become beautiful light-filled beings…
“A great wind, we say, has come to this plane. You may hide from the wind, you may be carried by the wind, you may glory as the wind strips your clothes from you and leaves you exposed in your own relishing of truth. You can stand by and hold the nearest flagpole and assume your government will protect you from change. Everything will change because everything does. Your idea of safety has always been the known, but we promise you the new, if claimed in true accord, will be far better than what you have agreed to thus far.” ― Paul Selig from The Book of Freedom, A Channeled Text
Even when we think nothing has changed…. the stars still seem to be in motion, and the tides still ebb and flow…
the seasons change we are blown in every direction…
our beings age and grow, and the expansion of our hearts removes the husk…. it hurts!
suffering brings forth awakening, and compassion is emblazoned into our souls…
there is a presence at the turning of the tides, holding the particles of sand and letting them fall…
peace transcends the shoreline as the watchman hold vigils calling for the gathering of hearts to transform the earth and awaken the sleeper…
we are saturated in grace, though we drink from the cup of sorrow…
we eat at the table of forgiveness, for we are beloved beyond the narration of who we think we are, or who we think we ought to be…
and when the winds of change come and movement becomes fluorescent, and in true accord, our tears will be wiped away in the twinkling of an eye…
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there will ever be to know and understand.”
― Albert Einstein
I don’t really know for sure what my Father wanted me to be exactly, it was something in the line of Doctor or Engineer, it definitely wasn’t a poet or a dreamer. In some of his tipsy tirades, he would tell me he would love me more if I was successful, and to him, success meant having a degree or a doctorate or some kind of scholarly credentials. Being a rebel and a dreamy earthling, this didn’t resonate with me at all.
He would make me sit with him for hours while he fixed the washing machine and I had to memorize all the tiny parts. Maybe I was more of a *“handlanger” than anything else, but his plan was to inspire me to become an engineer like him. Having the ability to daydream while in a serious conversation with anyone has held me in very good stead over the years. It is actually one of my superpowers. Thanks to my Dad I became quite accomplished at not listening while pretending to.
I was born into a family of achievers, but secretly I never had much ambition. I preferred to watch plants grow, play with my pets, dress up, and pick flowers than get all serious and intellectual.
To my Dad, this was a weakness, and I often wondered if he loved me, because I actually failed his admission test. It bothered me for years and I grew up feeling highly inadequate, hiding in shadows so that no one would ask me what I do, too embarrassed to pronounce my occupation.
Perhaps my Dad knows now that I did become a Doctor and an Engineer, not the kind who stands up on podiums with a cape and hat being handed an award, but one who can diagnose humans and broken washing machines just by the noise they make. I’m not a specialist though, so I’m not afraid to refer them to experts in their field if need be.
So perhaps on earth, I disappointed my Father by being a dreamer, but in heaven, it could be quite a high achievement. Don’t get me wrong I’m in awe of people who build bridges, educate children, wangle numbers and fix bodies, but it seems they are defined by those things.
Recently a friend told me that her husband looks just like the accountant he is, and proudly so. It got me to thinking about what I look like, what defines me.
Do we all dress, walk, speak like our earthly careers, and what happens when our lifetime achievements get pulled from under us?
My Dad was an Electrical engineer, he should have looked like Albert Einstein with a shock of hair on top of his head. Instead, he looked like an old git in a safari suit.
Maybe he didn’t care back then like we do now. So much has changed. Who wants to look like a schoolmarm anyway?
People don’t ask me anymore what I do, perhaps it’s my age or perhaps I throw off a “don’t ask me” vibe. I’m disappointed though, I want to be asked….and this is what I’ll tell them. I’m a light-bearer on my 100th or so cycle through the earth. I’ve been all of the above and on this my hopefully last cycle I don’t need to be anyone. Actually, being a nobody is quite enough for me right now!
Is it just a pipe dream that I can discard these robes of ego?
Thanks to my Dad who came to make me feel very small and inadequate about myself while he was here, I learned to see other earthlings as vulnerable holders of light. To see through their façades right into their beautiful essence. Another superpower I hope to be proud of someday. He actually did me a favor…
We are spirits taking on a human experience, sometimes overwhelmed by the need to fit in or stick out, whichever fits. My recommendations always are watching more sunsets, smelling more flowers, sitting and doing nothing for as long as the mind will allow, and getting in touch with the incredibly beautiful beings that we are. If that ain’t a career, I don’t know what is!!
Ok well, I don’t get paid for it but every flower and dandelion appreciates the attention, and perhaps my reward will be in heaven after all….
If we really believed that we are all in this together and that we have been both peasant and king, and everything in between, wouldn’t we be singing along with the Beetles… “all we need is love”?
and thanks also to Albert Einstein for making me believe in the importance of imagination…
This poem started off as a journey of grief and how many things I don’t say because of shame. It turned into an understanding of the people who have suffered brutality for so long and have not been heard…
Perhaps it’s even similar to grief…
dedicated to my son Stevie, who always stood on the side of the oppressed and downtrodden…
There are volumes
to be written down,
memories too brutal
to become unbound…
utterances confined to padlocked crypts,
and stained manuscripts…
Songs that remain forever unsung,
hopes interred before they’d begun…
There are confessions
of a macabre dance…
Unpublished dreams in secret vaults,
and unsaid thoughts…
And grief’s exposure is where sorrow lies,
in albums of tears
where the brave arise…
These are events that change the world
burned into the flesh
of fearless souls…
And hope still floats in the in-between
as love moves forward in living streams…