life: acoustic & amplified

blazing saddles

 

I have to live with myself and so

I want to be fit for myself to know.
I want to be able as days go by,
always to look myself straight in the eye;
I don't want to stand with the setting sun
and hate myself for the things I have done.
I don't want to keep on a closet shelf
a lot of secrets about myself
and fool myself as I come and go
into thinking no one else will ever know
the kind of person I really am,
I don't want to dress up myself in sham.
I want to go out with my head erect
I want to deserve all men's respect;
but here in the struggle for fame and wealth
I want to be able to like myself.
I don't want to look at myself and know that
I am bluster and bluff and empty show.
I never can hide myself from me;
I see what others may never see;
I know what others may never know,
I never can fool myself and so,
whatever happens I want to be
self respecting and conscience free.

❤
Myself by Edgar Albert Guest

~ each line in this "found poem" is the title of a meditation book on my shelf  ~

It’s easier than you think:

You are here,

Awake in the world.

Pay attention, for goodness's sake.

Peace is in every step.

When things fall apart,

Don't bite the hook.

Don't do something, just sit there.

Start where you are.

Happiness is an inside job,

A journey of awakening.

Nothing special,

A path with heart.

Be here, now,

Living beautifully.

No time like the present.

Wherever you go, there you are.

Think on these things:

The still forest pool,

Landscapes of wonder,

Full catastrophe living,

The doors of joy.

The wisdom of no escape,

The places that scare you.

Comfortable with uncertainty,

Taking the leap.

Everyday blessings,

Moments of mindfulness.

Thoughts without a thinker,

A heart as wide as the world.

Breathing through the whole body,

Everything arises, everything falls away.

Stumbling toward enlightenment,

Your true home.

Claudia Cummings poem and image above on facebook and via her website

( poem )

BURN IT DOWN

next day —

 after

the titles on the bookshelves 

 themselves

came to a kind of life

 as a unified theme

 Eclectic — the small town in

Alabama — may

 just own the right price

& be skilled

 at

pinpointing the narrowed 

 gossamer light

— loosely shaking in fits

 a third plank — is

the mission burning

a fourth plank — is

 the mission burning 

down

 — asleep inside

or any

 inverse & twisted lock on it

 a fifth plank — 

is the metaphor they all become

 — every bit as alive

TILT is the same as

 the carnival

muscle bell ringing

 loudest on 

Sundays — instead

it was always just a building

 that whoever wanted to

— constructed

 even you yourself —

 make as though you’re safe

— even as

 each ghost in turn

wanted 

 to succeed 

in trapping you

like 

 they were your last & 

only real chance..

BURN 

 DOWN 

THE MISSION

,

 ,

,

 ,

,

 miguel.J.escobar

(c) ‘17

Drop fire from the sky but don’t name me

as reason. My sister is lost on the longest lit road

 

in the world. She wanders into shoe stores

the hour before close and chews the stock

 

back to rawhide. My father’s workshop tools

have broken into open rebellion—he worked

 

and worked them to the bone. Any second now

the circular saw will churn through the basement door

 

and into the kitchen, gnawing the floor to spit

and sawdust. Out West my cousin has soldered

 

the mirrored lenses of police-issue sunglasses

over his ocular cavities. All he sees is wrong.

 

Alert the Department of the Interior: our enemies

are inside the fence. Drop fire from the sky

 

but don’t expect it to purify their hate.

Or, if it does, it’ll burn me clean with the rest.

 

Here’s my hope for salvation: when the stranger

comes knocking, open my arms wide with the door

 

and give him whatever he takes.

❤

the smoke of the country went up by Iain Haley Pollock

 

stick with me

gloom is cheap
the end of the world is always coming
let us do the hard thing
live our highest and best lives…whatever that means to each one of us
kiss each other deeply right there in the kitchen
reach for each other in the middle of the day…via whatever route possible
give all our deepest love in this moment of right now
declare all our burning passions with conviction…bringing our possibilities into transformations
share our most important truths…even if our voice shakes
celebrate every little thing we give and receive with all the joy we can feel
❤️
Amy Lloyd

Does it matter if we meet on every level?
You first saw me as your antithesis,
not knowing I was bearing
your earliest wounds underneath
an aging smile. Never mind
that your hair has grayed softly,
or that the lines have deepened beside my eyes
as the years carried us toward one another.
Craving understanding, we finally recognized—
as if for the first time—
our beautiful reflection revealed, and in an open mirror
we share awareness.
It’s all right that your clothes are worn in disarray
or that my scrambled words don’t always make it to you
in the full context of their meaning—
for when we unveil our fears,
then release all the false ideals,
we embrace a clear perception
and become what is real and lasting.
And while I stumbled along in my own world
knowing you were in yours,
the days seemed so disheveled
without you in them— incomplete shambles.
Once joined, it all fell into place—
it grew to make perfect sense.Will we need soft music coiling within seductive lighting
to climax into blissful realization?
Or can we soar to unimaginable heights
entwined in one another’s eyes, encouraging our visions
into ripe, edible fruit to nourish us the rest of the way?
Will we remain enamored without the excess,
and not be swallowed up by life?
While we’re captivated by the wondrous forest inside,
we learn there is so much more to explore,
with all the rest to uncover.
As we complement everyday living
with our most passionate desires
we stay wrapped around each other,
two vines climbing time—
my dreams ‘round yours,
yours around mine.
Do you know what determines our bond
then keeps us affixed? And what
fused our soul connection?
What holds us is that you saw me
in my most vulnerable of moments,
and didn’t turn away.
What melds us is that you genuinely placed your
innermost heart in my care,
and I kept it alive, nurturing its every pulse, tenderly.
What matters in the design of love is this,
that two beings show themselves
to one another every day,
then ride out the storms
secured in the strength of their trusting embrace.
The sweet, resilient fastening between truth and love
is the most divine and sacred alignment.
~

Aligned by Susan Frybort

Images found on pinterest / al513

with a little love

Authentic love is where two solitude’s border, protect and salute each other.
– Rilke

I give you an emptiness,

I give you a plenitude,

unwrap them carefully.
— one’s as fragile as the other —

and when you thank me
I’ll pretend not to notice the doubt in your voice
When you say they’re just what you wanted.

Put them on the table by your bed.
When you wake in the morning
they’ll have gone through the door of sleep
into your head.

Wherever you go
they’ll go with you and
wherever you are they’ll wander,

smiling about the fullness
you can’t add to and the emptiness
that you can’t fill.

______________________________
Presents by Norman MacCaig

….We must “protect” each other because we realize that the solitude that each one has is the source of inner wealth and inner revelation; we “salute” because we understand that the work of solitude, the work that goes into solitude, the heart work, the yearning, the longing, the deep contemplation of one’s gifts and one’s faults, is a sacred work that is the secret foundation of healthy relationship. In too many relationships in our current narcissistic model, what threatens the person most is the solitude of the other.

In a true evolutionary relationship, what can exhilarate one person the most is the other’s solitude, because we know that solitude has the potential to make them a billionaire of generosity, of insight, and of creativity.

❤

excerpt from Evolutionary Relationships:
The Seven Requirements Of Love  BY ANDREW HARVEY (edited)

There is no end to transformation, because divine love is infinite.

memes found on pinterest / al513

preferences of heart

I was just guessing

At numbers and figures

Pulling the puzzles apart

Questions of science

Science and progress

Do not speak as loud as my heart

…

I’m going back to the start

❤

Christy Anna Beguins

just a few of my very favorite things…

art and adoration and adventures

berries and bounty and beauty

choice and chocolate and colors

days and dreaming and dragons

elephants and eggs and every-little-good-thing

friends and fun and freedom

green and generosity and grace

home and humor and honesty

ice and intelligence and integrity

joy and journeys and joining

kindness and kisses and knowledge

letters and listening and love

moments and memories and music

nature and nests and niceness

openness and oceans and orange

poems and places and people

quiet and quilts and quips

raspberries and rings and romance

stars and songs and silence

today and tranquility and trees

umbrellas and understanding and uniqueness

vulnerability and velvet and value

weather and words and wonder

x-mas and xylophones and x-tra

yes and yellow and yolo

zebras and zzzzzz’s and zeniths

❤
Amy Lloyd

I prefer movies.
I prefer cats.
I prefer the oaks along the Warta.
I prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.
I prefer myself liking people
to myself loving mankind.
I prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand, just in case.
I prefer the color green.
I prefer not to maintain
that reason is to blame for everything.
I prefer exceptions.
I prefer to leave early.
I prefer talking to doctors about something else.
I prefer the old fine-lined illustrations.
I prefer the absurdity of writing poems
to the absurdity of not writing poems.
I prefer, where love’s concerned, nonspecific anniversaries
that can be celebrated every day.
I prefer moralists
who promise me nothing.
I prefer cunning kindness to the over-trustful kind.
I prefer the earth in civvies.
I prefer conquered to conquering countries.
I prefer having some reservations.
I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.
I prefer Grimms’ fairy tales to the newspapers’ front pages.
I prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
I prefer dogs with uncropped tails.
I prefer light eyes, since mine are dark.
I prefer desk drawers.
I prefer many things that I haven’t mentioned here
to many things I’ve also left unsaid.
I prefer zeroes on the loose
to those lined up behind a cipher.
I prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.
I prefer to knock on wood.
I prefer not to ask how much longer and when.
I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility
that existence has its own reason for being.
______________________________________
Possibilities By Wislawa Szymborska

there is no me stuck in the middle

if I move slow it’s because it’s my current pace of preference

after all that pushing up hill

gaining no ground

I refuse to kiss and tell

Im not a careless whisperer

though I am easy as Sunday Morning

and twice as nice as you’ve previously heard

these crows feet I’ve earned

by laughing in the face of it all

are my pride and glory

this current number is my favorite

raise your glass if you love your own face

there will be no disparaging of the word: Life

it is our gift

sand between my toes

stardust in my eyes

let’s get real

I mean really real

I want a love that will last

If you get what you ask for…

what will the supreme question be

????

think about them apples

come on get happy this very day

then come on up onto the stage

and sing it like you mean it

along with the choir

there’s always room for one more

welcome to the show

you’re very welcome here

❤

Amy Lloyd

 

Photos found on Google images

heat of the summer

There was a midsummer restlessness abroad—early August with imprudent loves and impulsive crimes.
– Fitzgerald

To everything, there is a season of parrots. Instead of feathers, we searched the sky for meteors on our last night. Salamanders use the stars to find their way home. Who knew they could see that far, fix the tiny beads of their eyes on distant arrangements of lights so as to return to wet and wild nests? Our heads tilt up and up and we are careful to never look at each other. You were born on a day of peaches splitting from so much rain and the slick smell of fresh tar and asphalt pushed over a cracked parking lot. You were strong enough—even as a baby—to clutch a fistful of thistle and the sun himself was proud to light up your teeth when they first swelled and pushed up from your gums. And this is how I will always remember you when we are covered up again: by the pale mica flecks on your shoulders. Some thrown there from your own smile. Some from my own teeth. There are not enough jam jars to can this summer sky at night. I want to spread those little meteors on a hunk of still-warm bread this winter. Any trace left on the knife will make a kitchen sink like that evening air

the cool night before
star showers: so sticky so
warm so full of light
🌠
Summer Haibun by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Keys upon keys
Silver and gold
on black and white
Unlocking doors
musical chambers
Secrets of the heart enfolded
oh so naturally unfold
within revealed visual
poetry of eyes
awakening our minds wildest imaginings
frozen music
melting into warm summer evening songs
silenced hearts
listen to this moment the soul captures
as the music crescendos
flames alive within us
all our burned out passion
struck, as with a fresh, dry match
the band, as usual,
is playing our song
on and on
don't worry,
the dance of love never ends
🎹
Amy Lloyd

MY DARLING, the way you hear Me is unlike anyone else. The way I shape you, move you, wrap my arms around you. You are my dance partner. You are the one I choose. You are the one I cannot resist and to whom I come running.
I run to you.
I hear the music, the rushing water, the rustle of grass. There is a place we dance where it is just ours. Our floor, our clearing amidst busyness and worry.
I clear away doubt and shadow. I clear away trepidation and sorrow. I clear away despair and self-contempt. I clear away comparison and envy. I clear away disease of the heart, the kind that makes you pull away from Me.
I write notes no one before has heard. I am the orchestra, each instrument, the voice of every song. I sing for you. I dance with you. I feel the swell of each beat, each rise and fall. It is not mysterious to Me why you are precious, beautiful, captivating, stunning—all together so bright. You bear my image. You light a room because you bear my fragrance, my frame, my voice.
Yes, I hear my voice in you.
Sing now, daughter, the song I teach you to sing—the one I’ve already taught you. You’ve forgotten some notes and some you have yet to discover. Come now, the orchestra is waiting. Your music needs to be played.

Loop

Beach photos by Michael Harris

https://youtu.be/0tdVuNqzGRw

look for burning bushes

Earth is crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees
Takes off his shoes –
The rest sit around it and pluck blackberries.
– Emily Dickinson

I was a terrible believer in things, but I was also a terrible nonbeliever in things. I was as searching as I was skeptical. I didn't know where to put my faith, or if there was such a place, or even what the word faith meant, in all of it's complexity. Everything seemed to be possibly potent and possibly fake.
– Cheryl Strayed

Before there were Ten Commandments
Or the book of the Law
Or rules about eating pork,
Moses came upon a burning bush
That Talked!

Who are you, he asked.
As if the answer were ever as simple as life,
God said, “I am.”

In the most profound directive ever issued
From the mouth, as it were,
Of a burning bush in the desert,
Which was not consumed.

You lived through trying times,
You felt passion,
You tried to live.
Be, burn, you will not be consumed.
People get obsessed with rules
They forget to be,
Forget to feel,
Forget to live.
They are surprised to find,
That every day,
They feel less.
They seem less.
They are closer to death.
They are consumed.

They missed the most basic commandment,
Given that you are made in my image;
I am;
Go be.

🔥
Life Over Law by Charles Cooper

and at the end of my quest for magical connection
In the basic human need of tribe
you gave me the trickiest of boxed gifts
which contained the greatest bombs of all
the triggered switch of rejected isolation
which destroyed my current level of calm acceptableness
of my lack of familial loving kindness
my placid state of white flagged surrender
leveling my built stone walls
allowing me to break my own set of accepted truths
and causing me to free the firmly locked monstrosity out of its secret sealed cave
my heart now burning with the anger of lost innocence
my fists now clenched in fighter stance on the ready
my voice now ringing with released anger at such injustices served to those younguns' unsuspecting…like me
my inner little girl speaking in terms and tones never before attempted in the face of bullies and narcissistic victimizing
I wake this morning and feel the need to say to your smug face,
Thank you for this gift
Fuck you for this gift
You are in my heart
I cannot deny
I love you for it all
💞
Amy Lloyd

You have to set yourself on a path where you’re progressing every day step-by-step so you know tomorrow will be better than it was today, that you know tomorrow you’ll become more of who you know you can become, that you know tomorrow by your simple choices and sets of disciplines and habits that you’re going to evolve into your highest self.

Brendon Burchard

https://youtu.be/Na_rciqZxmo

accepting

When a great adventure is offered, you don't refuse it.
– Amelia Earhart

the wind whips around
the thoughts that kept her
stationary…as she yields
to touch the peripheries
of a new found lifting

up through the the fringes
of late summer leaves- beyond
to taste the clarity of defying
gravity–as flight replaces
all that is earth bound

flying in a flood, a rush
of new blood in sky air
a hush of august rain

to these truths she cannot
abstain—but naturally
with warm rain does wear

~kate lamberg (c) '17

What if you didn’t
make it to the front of the line,
finish the marathon, or
beat the crowd?

What if you didn’t
inspire vast ripples on the web,
go viral with your gospel, or
create new cyber trends?

What if you didn’t
learn to speak another language,
drive a car across country, or
blossom into a true blue yogi?

What if you didn’t
use more time to just listen,
be still and reflect, or
simply hold out your hand?

What if you didn’t
permit yourself passion,
take one more chance, or
allow your soul to be seen?

What if you didn’t
give heed to your heart,
feed all those fears, or
walk boldly through that door?
~

You will develop in each season
to ripen wholly into your prime.
So what does it matter,
the things you did not do
in this blessed allotted time,
when the tour de force
is within every treasured moment
you cup your worthwhile life
inside the love of your divine hands
to kiss full on the mouth,
all its cherished
wonder.

*
*
The intention of this prose is not to point out what one didn't do with this gifted time, or what one accomplished, mastered, or completed…not even to focus on the idea of entering the uncertainty of a 'what-if' debate. For good reason, many refuse to squander over such matters. Yet, there are those still trapped in that burning question. So this is for you who find yourself anxious in life, wandering for your purpose or intention, scrambling to make it to the finish…
Be still for a moment. Trust life. Breathe in new possibility now and then. Exhale all your frustration with the unnecessary pressure to arrive in time.
You are already there…

~ Susan Frybort


Carry on….

https://youtu.be/hitU2jGC41o

if the stars were mine

I close my eyes as dreamscape falls gently down around me

Dream chaser, tenderly take my hand

carry me away in your passionate embrace

let’s dive deeply into the liquid rainbows

Dream catcher, pull me into your web of light

spilling me softly out into this sparkling milky way

keep daring to dream the impossible dreams

oh, sweet dreamer, dream sweetly

there are no limits in this dreamers world

the same moon shines brightly, dream lover to us all

the sands of time run ever dreaming into the winds of change

live like there’s no tomorrow

dance while the stars turn blue

love whether smiles or sorrow

dream like they’ll all come true

❤

Amy Lloyd

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking
out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk?

 

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.

 

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes.

 

Last night as I slept,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.

 

❤

Last Night as I was Sleeping by Antonio Machado

>

>

if I could give you
every star that shines
in the clear
night sky
I would.
every wildflower
that blooms
I would.
every birdsong at dawn,
every radiant sunset,
every lover’s sigh,
I would.
instead I have
given you
my body,
my heart,
my love.
I would give
you more
if I could.

scott lockhart
austin texas 2017
find Scott Lockhart on Facebook or at his website
writer.artist.photographer

 

star and meme trackbacks found at pinterest.com / al513

shadow dancing

I am the darkness that is light

I am the shadow that is dancing

                                                  – Gaia Blooming

The angels you’ll have to wrestle with most often
are no strangers:
they’re your anger, fear, control, defensiveness,
your despair, blame, insecurity, avoidance.
You won’t get away without a fight.

They may also be God’s forgiveness,
the Beloved’s absolute acceptance,
God’s serenity in the face of your betrayal,
God’s accompaniment in your troubles.
You won’t accept them without a fight.

You’re not wrestling with what’s happening;
you’re wrestling with your feelings about it:
not the problem but its difficulty,
not the suffering but how you take it personally.
The angels are not your world, but your self.

So wrestle. Grab them firmly.
Feel their breath on your neck,
their body against yours,
the weight of their intent.
Let your sweat mingle.

Learn their moves.
They’re your sparring partner,
not out to destroy you
but to shove you into the face of God.

Who knew divine intimacy
could be so hard?

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

I said to Poetry: “I’m finished
with you.”
Having to almost die
before some weird light
comes creeping through
is no fun.
“No thank you, Creation,
no muse need apply.
I’m out for good times –
at the very least,
some painless convention.”

Poetry laid back
and played dead
until this morning.
I wasn’t sad or anything,
only restless.

Poetry said: “You remember
the desert, and how glad you were
that you have an eye
to see it with?* You remember
that, if ever so slightly?”
I said: “I didn’t hear that.
Besides, it’s five o’clock in the a.m.
I’m not getting up
in the dark
to talk to you.”

Poetry said: “But think about the time
you saw the moon
over that small canyon
that you liked so much better
than the grand one – and how suprised you were
that the moonlight was green
and you still had
one good eye
to see it with

Think of that!”

“I’ll join the church!” I said,
huffily, turning my face to the wall.
“I’ll learn how to pray again!”

“Let me ask you,” said Poetry.
“When you pray, what do you think
you’ll see?”

Poetry had me.

“There’s no paper
in this room,” I said.
“And that new pen I bought
makes a funny noise.”

“Bullshit,” said Poetry.
“Bullshit,” said I.

– Alice Walker

 

I bow to anyone who has the courage to stay with their doubt when the whole world is pathologising it, urging us to go ‘beyond’ doubt, calling it evidence of our ‘lack of evolution’.

I bow to anyone who has the nerve to hold fear close, when every guru and self-help teacher is judging us, shaming us, trying to lead us into some fearless state (a state that’s secretly at war with fear).

I bow to anyone who can be present with their anger, breathe into its burning core, allow it in, even when the mind is spinning old stories of ‘unsafe’ and ‘bad’ and ‘damaged’ and ‘unspiritual’.

I bow to anyone who can be fully present to their sorrow, even if it’s for the 573th time, even if everyone around them is telling them to ‘cheer up’ or ‘stop wallowing’ or ‘raise their vibration’.

– Jeff Foster

 

Blessed are those who refuse to listen

It takes time to empty your ears

of the spoken toxic intention

to hold your own sweet knowledge

truth for one

is not truth for all

❤

Blessed are those who refuse to listen

It takes strength to say no

to the path of least resistance

presented as the fastest route to get there

you can take any road

if you don’t care where you’re going

❤

Blessed be those who refuse to listen

It takes power to stay the course

to write your words

to speak your passion

to be loyal and true

to believe in what you believe in

beyond the set formulas of the mass

to allow for the unlimited possibles

when nothing is certain

anything is possible

………

and I say..

star light star bright

I wish I may I wish I might

Have this wish

I wish tonight

❤

Amy Lloyd

dazzle

 

everyday is a full gift by itself

the dazzle and glow of the small miracles compounding

mixed with the stuff of the ordinary and the bizarre

it’s what makes life so extraordinary

each & every day

❤

Amy Lloyd

I love the small history of places
history made by folks walking through their days
determined to not only survive
but leave something valuable
behind them for us

I love walking on paths and sidewalks
where fantastic, simple life things happen…

George Washington walked/rode/stayed here
The Amsted Slave Ship docked right there
Amelia Earhart wrote this letter here
Paul Revere rode his horse here
The Boston Tea Party took place on this tiny spot of harbor
Here is where the Battle of Bunker Hill started and
where the first local farm man lived
and died right on his own rocky patch of farmland
Here is the beginning of the Underground Railroad
Here is where the first frisbee was created
from students throwing empty pie pans at each other
I love singing Amazing Grace standing in a spot where, years before, stood Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
I love singing in the pulpit of Harvard Memorial Church
where the legacy of preaching makes me tremble as I stand
I love learning nuggets…
the Longfellow’s had a vineyard in Mount Adam’s
where they made champagne named ‘Golden Wedding’
which inspired Henry Wordsworth to write a poem naming Cincinnati
The Queen of the West

it’s all these small details making life deep and meaningful
we are just here to play our unique part
no one else can play it for us
the ones who come behind will get their own goosebumps
while walking over the latest layers of footprints
which now include ours
adding to these beautiful patterns
and keeping our songs of faith alive

❤

Amy Lloyd

what if I never see this spot again?

what if this is my last day to see this particular blend of beauty?

what if I never again feel the depths of the oh-so-perfect imperfection of who I am at this place in the world?

what if I never again have a conversation with these polka-dot-tailed seagulls?

never see these particular shades of blue and green/grey metallic ocean

reflected in this little piece of the sky

never again see this sand dotted with these aged-green-mossed-stoned-edges and these raggedy, fragile, wisp-clouds?

what if the sun doesn’t ever hit my eyes again with this same blinding glory-glare,

this playtime, fun-time, of winter sun or summer sun heat

mixed with hints of seasons upcoming?

can I drink enough in this very moment?

can I permanently record the glorious, salty, smell of this one ordinary, extraordinary, morning

into my eternal bank account of favorite things ever?

will I be present enough to this once in a lifetime experience of right-this-very minute-ness,

to hold it inside my bones for life?

can I absorb it into the very fabric of my dna,

so that it actually becomes me?

so that every future conversation

with all the grieving, broke-down, hearts;

all the rioting, joyous, hearts;

all the skipping.a.beat won-der-ing,

or sandbag.heavy wan-der-ing hearts;

in this world,

will be informed by this instant of exquisite soul beauty I hold.

will they be able to feel this exact moment

massaged into the broken hope of their lost wholeness?

will they feel the bubbles of it in the champagne of their happiness?

see the beginnings of the road home within their weary, dusty, blistered pilgrimage feet?

will I be able to allow it to glow,

flow,

sing

freely

to every child of God?

will I be able to remember the most important thing?

this light is the light of everything.

we are each God’s most beloved

❤

Amy Lloyd