poetry…
then I was awake…
and it was late afternoon…
and I felt heavy,
but so grateful,
to be able to finally get that rest,
to hear that sweet sound of rain,
to feel the soft of the squishy pillows,
to smell the fresh cut flowers by my bed,
to experience the healing power
of sleep.
to gain the clarity.
to allow the next question.
to prepare for the hard next steps.
to feel ready.
sleep is a magic source of strength.
a necessary part of living well.
But, really, I was just reading poems…
😴💤💤
AL
Poetry is the art of the spoken word, a tapestry of emotion sparked by a single phrase, that impacts the deepest resonances of a heart….that holds it’s meaning through history.
Better to live your life open rather than exist on borrowed time, waiting for the great unmasking.
– Kate Jacobs
love is the flame
all people yearn for the flame
some people never discover there actually is a flame
some people ignore the flame
some people avoid the flame
some people examine the flame
some people research the flame
some people control the flame
some people fear the flame
some people are fooled by fake flame
some people admire the flame
some people use the flame
some people walk on the flame
some people dance with the flame
some people dance in the flame
some people become the flame
some people are consumed by the flame
your choice…
how will you burn?
🔥
AL
Those who are drawn to the root of love are mystics. Mystics are not satisfied with the surface patterns of love, with the emotional tangles and insecurities of human loving. They seek a purer wine, a more potent passion. They need the essence of love, its divine substance.
~ Irina Tweedie
On the day I died
water ran through pipes,
footsteps identified people in the house and
the dogs nails clicked quickly on the wood floors above my head,
insisting it was time to go out for relief.
I still needed coffee,
light with cream,
2 sugars.
The sun was bright
and I remember the sky was that deep blue,
romantically named, azurite.
There was cockscomb,
half alive in pots near the wooden footbridge I walked over.
I used to love them when I was alive.
I touched their red, velvety, blooms seeking to feel something.
I mistook fluttering angel wings for birds,
battles fought,
just beyond where I lay
on the words of Wendell Berry –
the only thread
keeping me tethered to this world.
I sat on benches beside ghosts
of those who had gone before me.
I could still only feel them beside me,
I was in the world between worlds.
There was darkness, a fire swamp, screaming, clashes of swords,
I could not save myself.
God was everywhere.
I found myself in a boat,
where I stayed for 2 years, until,
in recent weeks,
the call came to step out,
to start walking on water.
Late in the day,
I stood in the bathroom,
accepting the most insulting job offer I have ever received,
then sat on a stool,
trying to act as if I was alive,
pretending to look for puzzle pieces,
slightly aware of the colors and shapes,
singing echoes of songs I used to love,
with my beautiful Robin,
who seemed very much alive.
🔥
AL
In Memoriam of my death, consumed by the flame,
December 3, 2012 –
may I be remembered as
Daniel J O’Connell having the:
Spirit of a warrior
Soul of a poet
Irradiat your mind with the light from within, allow your existence to move along within the unbroken continuity of nature. The ideal of authenticity lies deep in the heart of one’s union to the world not the possession of it. The grandeur of unity holds a definitive place in the infinite. When you calibrate your spirit with that of the world you are left open to respond to your life harmoniously with the universe. Unmask your illusions from those artificial ideas you have build your lives upon with walls and boundaries solidifying your thoughts about a tragic disassociation to nature. It’s up to you to be open now or wait for the great unmasking…the choice is yours but unmasking now allows you to reconcile your existence while you still have the chance to live it.
– Lissette T. Hesmadt
We have known and have believed the love that God has for us. God is love, and those who remain in love remain in God and God remains in them. 1 John 4:16
No matter the results and outcomes,
the thousand possibilities,
you are here now.
Why even try to trace
what the beggar will do with your money?
Let your giving be the whole horizon.
Be lovingly present
and wars and stars and grief and cats alike
will be unable to trouble you.
At the center of the world and in each breath
this is the holy temple, the birthing moment:
giving and receiving love. That is all.
This is the sacred point,
the love in you
meeting the love in the world.
However broken or weary you are,
Yeah, so, the past month has been an intense one for me in every way. A bit emotionally brutal. We can all relate, I’m sure. It’s shown me a lot of new things about myself, also revealed some new glimpses of this mystical mystery named, so simply, “Love,” in our language.
I’ve been a student of the nature of Love for the past 7 years, which doesn’t seem very long, now that I write it down, but, I have to report, just this short time of study, it has changed me in every area of my life.
My studies are always, first and foremost, practical. To me nothing I ‘believe’ is worth anything if it does not actually work in my living to bring me healing, make me a better human, remove my baggage to reveal my highest and best self, lead me into paths of peace and load my arms with fruit to share with fellow pilgrims along the way…and, so, I began by asking God to reveal what love was and how love worked.
My first flash came in 2009, riding on a CT commuter train from New Haven to Branford, looking at the marsh fly by. I had been asking for some days, intensely seeking, when God showed himself to me as ‘LOVE.’ That brief instant changed everything for me. I experienced the Aleph of The Mystery and left that train, completely changed a flash or, in real time less than 30 minutes…
Many wonderful writers have helped me along this open-ended, unlimited path of discovery on this topic. I must give much beautiful credit to Henri Nouwen, who helped me early on in my excavation of this topic. His revelations, and life surrendered to this mystery, have inspired much learning in my own voyage on this simple, yet so radical, path.
Over these years, I felt lead to share some of my tiny bits of insight with others – it has just been so amazing! So beautiful! So everything – I just wanted others to open to it as well, to learn and heal along with me! Over these years I have learned to be a writer and a poet. Until recently I didn’t feel I could claim those ‘titles,’ but I do now, just another way love has changed me. I am so grateful.
This brings us to yesterday, which brings us to Frederick Buechner’s 90th birthday! Buechner is one of the best, most beautiful, writers ever. Sometimes I stop breathing when I read his words. I won’t say more, at this moment, as this is becoming a very long post, but here’s my best advice: read him!
Recently someone, somewhere, on Facebook, posted words by poet, Fred LaMotte. They deeply touched me and so I ‘friended’ him. Then he began posting his words and I found myself on Amazon ordering one of his books. I received it last week, and it has been moving me into some very deep waters.
Yeah, so, back to yesterday, I re-posted a happy birthday write-up about Buechner and then…
I got this comment from Fred LaMotte:
He was the reason I became a teacher and a school chaplain. When I was a 10th grader at Exeter Academy (near Boston) he was the school chaplain. It was before he became a writer. One dreary morning in late Winter, we were 700 half asleep boys in morning ‘Chapel’ (it was just an assembly really), and decided to read to us. He read the entire 7th chapter of ‘The Wind In The Willows,’ ‘Piper at the Gates of Dawn.’ It was very long and I think I might have been the only one stayed awake. It was amazing. Not only did it show me my first real piece of spiritual writing, but I thought, “Wow! This is his job? Reading to people about the great God Pan? I want to do this!” Thank you Frederick Buechner.
💞
WOW!! Then Fred LaMotte shared that chapter of the Wind and the Willows, ya know, the one that inspired some pretty intense poetry, which is, at this moment plowing up some new fields in my back forty…
I have not read The Wind in the Willows since I was a teenager, and, at that time I remember thinking it was rather stupid. My thoughts being something like, ‘Good grief, what in the heck is this about?’
Yesterday, I finally ‘got it!’ I broke down. I took my shoes off and bowed to the glory. Yesterday, a gift of love I offered was returned to me, unaccepted. I ‘got it!’ I broke down. I took my shoes off and bowed to the glory. There’s no right or wrong here, just gift. I choose to be only grateful to continue on in the, ‘yes and amen!’ of it all.
I have no idea what Love (God) will teach me next. I am a very humble beginner. No Master here. Just a girl who cannot believe how lucky I am to be on this narrow road. A very unlikely pilgrim, I. Always wearing inappropriate shoes for climbing these steep hills, but somehow, always getting the view of the most beautiful sunsets imaginable. I guess it’s true what Babe Ruth said, ‘You can’t beat a man who keeps getting up!’
Here’s a song I wrote for my children’s musical about my life of faith, named: The Fantastical Inside-Out-Upside-Down Journey of a Rich Little Poor Girl
You Otter Know (verses spoken in the style of Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant/choruses in Sinatra style)
I was walking in the forest
I was feeling all alone
The birds and bees were sleeping,
the weeping willow weeping
Then I heard a little creature
Start moving oh so slow
and the little brook began to play
music with its toes
the woodpecker was keeping time
upon that tall oak tree
and I could not help start dancing
cause I knew it was for me
and as I whirled and twirled about
I came upon a log
and the beaver and the otter (Frank Sinatra style Beaver. Sammy Davis Otter)
were acting more like hogs (pushing each other to get to the log stage with microphone)
and then they each began to croon
they’re words were oh so rare
I stood there for a moment
my foot still in the air
and they sang to me…
You otter know I love you
loved you from the start
(if you’ll beaver me
then I’ll beaver you
You never walk alone)
You otter know I love you
love your precious heart
(beaver me it’s true
I’ve always loved you
You’re never far from home)
and the band it just kept playing
and my happy heart did gasp
Cause this was so much better
than that silly talking a**
uhhh donkey
Then my heart it felt so happy
and my eyes at last could see
That though I hadn’t been aware
You’d never once left me
and as I danced on down that path
I swear I sang this song
The one my friends had written,
which had been there all along
and I sang…
You otter know I love you
loved you from the start
(if you’ll beaver me
then I’ll beaver you
You never walk alone)
You otter know I love you
love your precious heart
(beaver me it’s true
I’ve always loved you
You’re never far from home
💞
AL
Ephesians 1:4
Even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes.
New Living Translation
You don’t have to melt
until you are ready.
Remember this:
Each moil of your unoiled joints,
every numb stiff gristle of resistance,
cramp of anger, clabber of shame,
clot of envy, opinion or belief,
is simply a mass of refusal
contracted into “me,”
a particle afraid to waltz
with its field, a wave
that will not settle to its sea,
a sky who thinks it is a cloud,
of a junked tire,
peaches fallen into putrefying splendor,
lightning of naked twigs on Autumn sky,
hieroglyphs that signify how jaggedness
resolves into awakened space.
This isn’t just pretend, it’s how
Christ beholds the lilies…
Let that eye of kindness lead you
back to the vulva where your clan emerged,
womb-amber chaos all our dreams
entangle in, the quintessential element
of seeing, where we suck
the nipple of original otherness.
After love making, some mother
must have swept our ashes up
in the wake of her heartbeat
where we could smell the mulch
of opposites, the musk of the dead
in a bundle of throw-out hyacinths.
We tasted rubies and moonlight,
the bitter yeast on golden grapes
un-gleaned at vineyards edge,
first fruits for homeless strangers,
those lovers of losing their way…
from the heat of the composted loss
the packed blackness of our sorrow
suddenly sprouts bejeweled graces.
I’m still stumbling home from that
first fragrance, friend.
You’re not as drunk as I am yet,
but you’ll get there, you’ll get there.
🍷
Leaven by Alfred K. LaMotte
love warriors walk through this world
love dripping from open hands
falling onto shattered pieces of the broken
staining bits of the kaleidoscope of hurting hearts
stepping carefully
yet confidently
slowing down
pouring out what is so needed
brutally defending tenderness
as the ones who have forgotten to know
appear to do battle…
fearful, hardened, defense
not knowing what they have forgotten…
oh, dearest, please wake up,
please allow yourself to remember
we are all the light
we are each the beloved
please let me hold you
touch those wounded places
touch your face
breathe your soul into mine
until we are completely one
rub love on your sore spots
until you remember
what you already know
stay here with me
for a long long while
let’s walk together
talk about all this beauty
connecting
hands
hearts
love
ah yes
love
as we go forward
allowing this drip to become
a pour
a fountain
a river
an ocean
the very universe
let’s dream together
as we sail our sea green ship
into this mystic world beyond the stars
beyond the moon
and once again
find ourselves home in the sun
living this exquisite ecstasy
drunk on the love brew
only we
can create
together
🍾
AL
The Love of the Soul wells up within my heart; and understanding, pity, love and self-forgetfulness arise. I carry love to all I meet. I meet men’s love with love and remember not myself.
——–
Discipleship in the New Age I
Alice A. Bailey
Page 176
The Tibetan D.K.
There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight
of walking in the noisy street
and being the noise.
Drink all your passion,
and be a disgrace.
Close both eyes
to see with the other eye.
Open your hands,
if you want to be held.
Sit down in this circle.
Quit acting like a wolf, and feel
the shepherd’s love filling you.
At night, your beloved wanders.
Don’t accept consolations.
Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lover’s mouth in yours.
You moan, “She left me.” “He left me.”
Twenty more will come.
Be empty of worrying.
Think of who created thought!
Why do you stay in prison
when the door is so wide open?
Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.
Flow down and down in always
widening rings of being.
🍥
A Community of the Spirit by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
life: acoustic & amplified 