on a day like today
time after time…
yet this time more so
I lock up suitcases filled with tears.
don’t you think it’s strange,
how a shared pancake can be life changing?
the opposite of the final straw.
a volcanic catalyst for the rising curtain of new beginning,
starting a chain reaction
Life-changes of Biblical proportion.
an all new free-fall dive
into the inner deep.
silence tearing up the very foundations
of my ocean floor
as you walk away.
I am moving very slow.
dizzy and off balance.
Even with this life lived on the extreme edge
of the radical cliffs of self-examination.
Seven days of seismic eruption
create chaotic activity so great
that life will never be the same.
dreams gestating in the souls womb
burst
stillborn
yet ready to scream
in their own voice…
PLEASE…do not let me die…
this truth no longer able to remain hidden
inside its clay container.
Seven days so extraordinary
they have forever changed my world
as I have always known it.
Leading to the uncomfortable uncovering of the bones of my very foundation.
exposing the shadowy villains of my learned weaknesses.
giving me new zeal to heal those naked, shattered places.
keep letting goooo
Keep choosing to be soft,
in spite of the gripping fear.
for now, vulnerability, must be my only guide,
forward
the only way out is through
into the fury of places I have long avoided.
in all of this,
grieving a weeks glimpse of what creation looked like
before the great fall of that one small bite
this aleph-vision-long-awaited life I’ve held in faith that could be.
and so because of
I swear I will no longer hold back anything in this lifetime
but fully, wholly, inhabit my own destiny.
Myself
as
I am
when I fall completely,
head over heels,
in love.
💞
Amy Lloyd
The great cathedral, reliquary of dust,
stones slowly vanishing, not one on another,
glacial, archaeological, yet prayers still hover,
the vast city built on a plan now lost, underfoot,
abandoned, inhabited now by the unknowing,
descendants of descendants, but still dancing,
the shirt you loved longest, tattered like Grecian isles,
a screen, threads gently departing one from another,
the years it recalls, also faded, emptied,
the characters you’ve played, all victory and debacle,
the strength to bend this world to you—all is husk.
Your flesh, your proof, your precious dust—all go.
Let them go, let them be, or not be. The husk gives way.
The miracle, that most is, is in the seed.
You are the growing child within your aging womb,
the love your flesh inhabits, unfolding, unending,
renewing, chrysalis after chrysalis, your tender Lover
working every wound and find and step into a gift.
This is who you are, the river, not the bank,
the flowing, heaven’s breathing, new, and new,
and every moment singing, “Let there be light.”
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
life: acoustic & amplified 