life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “awareness”

a toast!Β 


Presence is the leaven that makes earth rise. 

We knead this loaf by walking gently,

honoring ecstatic raspberries 

that tumble through the crippled zero 

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.

πŸ₯

A Community of the Spirit by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

if you look for me…


Nature, 

my teacher

my school

my temple

my shed

my friend

my lover

my passion

my peace

my darkness

my shining

my opening

my knowledge 

my quests

my mystery

my luminosity

my path

my return

my budding

my harvest

my seasons

my eternal 

my connection 

my uniqueness

my blush

my beauty

my ravaging

my savaging

my circle

my arrow

my path

my journey 

my longing

my desire

my tryst

my trust

my hope

my haven

my safety 

my risk

my skip-itty-doo-dah

the hair on my chinny-chin-chin

my space

my intimacy

my solitude

my family

my found

my faith

my dancing

my lame

my music

my words

my rhythm 

my song

my vision

my sight

my lost

my found

my sin

my soul

my tears

my laughter

my being

my belonging

my life 

my love

my looking in

my letting go

my begging

my abundance

my start

my stop

my end

my beginning

my heart

my skin

my senses

my fences

my flash 

my fire

my living

my death

my creator

my Spirit

my wound

my healer

my receiver

my giver

my adventure 

my wild

my silence

my sound

my doo-be-doobie-do

my fa-la-la-la

my going

my coming

my heaven 

my home

my ashes

my resurrection 

my grounding

my wings

my births

my deaths

my everything 

🌸🌻🌺🌾🌷🌹

AL


photos by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT


in the heart of the yellow sun

the great current

the blinding white stars 

over a blue sheet

.

when this age has passed

and thunder rolled back its 

ringing flames

nestled in the high pines                 

of course these wild atoms of your heart

.

swallowed by the great current

the burning wings

the wedding at cana

and so it happens

to each and all

water to wine

flesh to light

.

it is summer now

in the skies long house

a rib cage of heat and fragrance

surrounded by 5000

your a lifted fish 

or a loaf

in the hands of christ

.

it is no wonder now

you are surrounded 

by immigrants and thresholds

 as vulnerable as dew

 in a field of fire

.

it is useless now 

to utter

the unsayable

why would you want to burn redemption

when the whole world is an open secret

totally lifted 

and out of proportion

🌞
Adam A DeFranco

stand up now


The World needs people…

Who cannot be bought;

Whose word is their bond;

Who put character above wealth;

Who possess opinions and a will;

Who are larger than their vocations;

Who do not hesitate to take chances;

Who do not loose their individuality in a crowd;

Who will be as honest in small things as in great things;

Who will make no compromise with wrong;

Whose ambitions are not confined to their own selfish desires;

Who do not believe that shrewdness, cunning and hardheadedness are the best qualities for winning success;

Who are not ashamed or afraid to stand for the truth when it is unpopular;

Who can say “no” with emphasis, although the rest of the world says “yes”.

πŸ’ͺ🏽

    – Ted w. Engstrom, from Motivation to last a lifetime


It doesn’t change when we stare at it from across the room. It doesn’t change when we sit in prayer and wish it away. It doesn’t change when we skirt the edges of the shadow. It doesn’t change when we pretend it’s all Go(o)d. It changes when we cross the sacred battleground willing to die to our truth. It changes when we look the lie in the eye until it has nowhere left to hide. It changes when we pick up the sword of truth and cut the falsity until it bleeds right through. The era of the sacred activist is upon us. Not the warrior run amok, but the benevolent warrior who fights for our right to the light. Some battles are worth fighting.

πŸ’ͺ🏽

     – Jeff Brown


It’s not easy 
to do the hard thing
to lose 
to stand
to eat 
to sleep
alone
to wait
to be patient
to be strong
to allow the pain
the grief
the tears of exhaustion 
frustration 
weariness 
to press on
to refuse to settle
to believe in spite of loss
to keep the fire warm
to build wells
to send out love
to melt your defenses
to keep touching the lepers
to allow healing to come
to ruthlessly let go
to remain open 
and ready
to keep saying yes

not easy, 

well worth it
πŸ’ͺ🏽
AL


where do you go from here?


Nothing happens by chance, no one goes on a quest without a reason, without the pull of the magnet there is no action.

πŸ’ž

    – Rumi


When all the world is young, lad,

And all the trees are green;

And every goose a swan, lad,

And every lass a queen;

Then hey for boot and horse, lad,

And round the world away;

Young blood must have its course, lad,

And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,

And all the trees are brown;

And all the sport is stale, lad,

And all the wheels run down;

Creep home, and take your place there,

The spent and maimed among:

God grant you find one face there,

You loved when all was young.

🌳

Young and Old by Charles Kingsley

I lay and watched your final breath

Lay in a pool of steel, blood and nashing teeth

All knew your smile and humor

I saw the life you were to live

So much love you left behind

So much more you had left to give.

 

Every breath I took was fire

Not desire, No silent repose

That life I was given back was given to chasing ghosts

No action, no deed, nothing ever was my own

From reverie to taps, a life spent chasing ghosts.

 

In times such as this,

What is born of such circumstance?

Death gives birth to so much mourning

That spawns life and living.

Your death gave birth to me

Achievements you will never see

Tears, monuments, poetry and prose

You gave your life,

I gave you those.

Just another life spent chasing ghosts.

πŸ‘»

Chasing Ghosts by Charles Cooper




And then there comes a moment

when all you have suffered,

all you have learned,

all you have lost and found,

rise up and become. 

and suddenly you are 

here,

you are 

who you dreamed of being,

so many years ago. 

suddenly you have arrived

at what you caught glimpses of

for so many years, 

and the search,

the free fall of broken dreams,

broken hearts,

broken everything,

tumbling down rabbit holes,

stumbling over the feet 

of your own lack of knowledge,

is over.  

you find yourself on solid ground. 

stable. 

steady. 

raising your Ebenezer, 

those tributes to God, 

for all the mighty stones of help,

building this foundation,

on the solid rocks of your soul 

you know so well.  

and though the pilgrimage may continue,

though the journey is definitely not over,

though life is fragile,

and security an illusion.

there is a new sureness to your step,

a trusting unshakable,

a calm in it all, 

a new assurance of provision,

a new traveling song to be sung as you walk forward,

always forward.

always pilgrim ready for new adventures.

forgetting the names of what lay behind,

you press on to your calling,

the prize set before,

reveling in the mercies, ever new,

for each new day. 

there is no stopping now.

you have found something

which cannot ever be taken. 

you have arrived here by your own determination,

reached a place, 

both spiritual and physical,

a place of such magnitude 

the light shines from every angle,

it has sealed up the oldest sores,

bound up the deepest wounds,

satisfied the deepest longings,

changed everything, 

settled old scores with finality. 

no longer will you settle for less than you deserve. 

no more will you tolerate anything less than your own best and highest offerings.  

you must be all you can be. 

that is all. 

gratitude fills you for this place,  

a place so lovely,

it can bear up 

even under the weight 

of your hearts wildest desires, 

with just this simple name

it resounds inside our souls like a bell –

    home

yes, beloved,

     you are home. 

right where you belong. 

🏑

AL

This road is not for the timid or the faint of heart. not at all. But there is no other road. No one will simply wave a magical wand over you. It is a road of destruction and the question is, β€œHow much are you willing to give up? How much can you endure?

Greg Calise read full article:

https://www.scienceandnonduality.com/you-must-die-to-live

commit to the process Β Β 


LIFE – the temptation is always to reduce it to size. A bowl of cherries. A rat race. Amino acids. Even to call it a mystery smacks of reductionism. It is the mystery.
As far as anybody seems to know, the vast majority of things in the universe do not have whatever life is. Sticks, stones, stars, space – they simply are. A few things are and are somehow alive to it. They have broken through into Someone, or Something has broken through into them. Even a jellyfish, a butternut squash. They’re in it with us. We’re all in it together, or it in us. Life is it. Life is with.
After lecturing learnedly on miracles, a great theologian was asked to give a specific example of one. “There is only one miracle,” he answered. “It is life.”
Have you wept at anything during the past year?
Has your heart beat faster at the sight of young beauty?
Have you thought seriously about the fact that someday you are going to die?
More often than not, do you really listen when people are speaking to you instead of just waiting for your turn to speak?
Is there anybody you know in whose place, if one of you had to suffer great pain, you would volunteer yourself?
If your answer to all or most of these questions is no, the chances are that you’re dead.

πŸ’ƒπŸ»

~ Frederick Buechner 

 originally published in Wishful Thinking and later in Beyond Words

maybe we should redefine the human body

this fleeting flash of existence

into something more manageable 

possibly use an oracle from a lost tongue

or something children can grab 

.

even the physical fact of your face

 stubble of rough beard 

its really an undiscovered haven of wilderness preserves

or some flashing blue temple of luminous fibers

.

you are a cloud capped tower 

the souls fiery predilection 

untamable fire 

 a great globe          

           a gorgeous palace 

melting into thin air

.

this coat of you

garment of flesh and blood

a miracle of armor protecting us from dust and plague

a kaleidoscope moving at the speed of light

 provoking an epiphany of star poems

.

law me down a border on the edge of this constellation 

so I can escape an ejected primordial comet of revolutionary escapades 

 before too long let us each and all reclaim human regeneration

and so welcome the clean space to become perfected art

.

you – 

 this blinding flash of condensed atoms 

breast arms and legs 

turmoil totally unmanageable 

welcome me into this new undefinable rouge ecstasy

like a galloping red bird of infinity  

before the dark void swallows me whole 

into a veritable contradiction of neo-forms

__________
Adam A. DeFranco

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1699576296948473/




I wonder if writing this poem
will spill you out of me
through my fingertips
will the ink become your blood 
this paper your skin
for me to touch 
again and again?

I wonder if stretching my hands to the sky,
while standing on my tiptoes
will release your wings
so you can fly free with me
into the starry sky
discovering all the worlds we have inside?

I wonder if I stand as tall, and as still, as a tree
you will come to me
climb up inside me
twist your arms and legs into my branches 
hold me close and never let me go?

I wonder if I sing you a love song
if I will become a part your soul
and you part of mine
both of us sewn within these chords
of mine and yours
absorbing each other 
into our very dna? 
Will we become each other? 
Forever becoming each other’s other?
mirrors of beauty
to dance inside the aleph
where heaven meets the earth? 

I want to know…

🌳

AL

thanks-living Β  Β 


From this bench 

I can see four Miles

I have walked Miles ahead with each

two have shared 

this very spot with me

in flesh and bone

two have been here in the spirit

of friends benches

and Anam Cara soul connection 

Miles

and 

Miles

and

Miles

a dog named Miles –

and many the Miles

to come –

each of my Miles inform my living

have had vast impact 

in my heart 

Letting go is my continual lifework

surrender my career

I’ve let go of everyone,

everything,

I’ve ever loved. 

I carry them,

green, rooted trees,

within me. 

I am done with questions,

I am committed to this process of my becoming. 

I am a force of the nature of love. 

I have no regrets,

no demands. 

I fly with the seagulls,

bend low before the burning bushes,

I sit in the holy hush of the Sound of silence,

letting go,

seeking new understanding. 

the deep places within me

give thanks for each piece of love I have experienced,

The blue sky shouts out to me 

all that is coming…

the best is always yet to be,

Yes, coming to me and through me,

as I break the newly discovered 

hardened edges of my heart

to allow 

freedom

for you

and 

me

πŸ’œ

AL



this spud’s for you


The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.

     / Elie Wiesel


Pomme Frites

drizzled with truffle oil,

sprinkled with sea salt…

who can stop,

once you’ve tasted heaven?

Why have we been taught to protect our hearts?

to live without passion?

told that our sensitivity is a weakness,

not a gift?

We settle for what we consider control,

which is a sham,

an illusion of the most fragile,

arrogant tomfoolery. 

We shut down,

become indifferent,

avoid the messy feelings,

shields holding our hearts at bay, 

afraid of breaking, 

in desperation, keeping grief out of our business,

allowing life, and love, to go limp and cold, 

lying in the oily, paper-lined, basket,

no one wants to eat this. 

What will it take to taste ourselves again?

to reach for another emotion,

and then another,

unable to resist,

as we do for another hot, crunchy, delicious french fry?

Only when we allow all of our emotions,

the full spectrum of our living,

pain and sorrow,

love and joy,

all felt passionately 

within our living moments,

our numbered days,

can we become our true selves,

will we allow our highest and best to be revealed?

Only then, can we even begin to step into our lives,

our true hearts,

the love, which we truly deserve,

our humanity. 

Once we have have been stripped of our need for perfection,

love begins,

once we get a taste of this,

we can’t stop reaching,

exploring the shadows,

and the light,

eating the good fruit of the ground,

opening further and further 

to the mystery dug in this ground. 

Only then can we begin to open into our own unique and precious gifts

Only then,are we finally ready to begin authentically sharing ourselves, 

and our gifts,

with others. 

🍟

AL

let us never forget to make our days count and be aware that how we live, and what we leave behind us, matters. 

return to me Β Β 


The time will come 

 when, with elation 

 you will greet yourself arriving 

 at your own door, in your own mirror 

 and each will smile at the other’s welcome, 
and say, sit here. Eat. 

 You will love again the stranger who was your self.

 Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart 

 to itself, to the stranger who has loved you 
all your life, whom you ignored 

 for another, who knows you by heart. 

 Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, 
the photographs, the desperate notes, 

 peel your own image from the mirror. 

 Sit. Feast on your life. 

πŸ’ž

Love After Love by Derek Walcott


     I want to make a poem
that slips into the heart stream 
quietly, with no great splash
just a graceful entry, 
with minimal ripples
which plunges deeply upon entering
and allows the mud to settle gracefully around it. 
I want to make a poem
which allows the heart to trust,
to open,
to flower in it’s own time
knowing, for sure,
   it is dependable,
steady,
Words written to last a lifetime,
through the fiercest storms,
    though the world burn,
and the mountains crumble. 
Words of love
    so beautiful 
           so eternal 
they come to life
   each time they are read,
    or spoken,
and anyone who dares to read the poem I make
cannot help but
   find within themselves  
clouds of peace
   wrapped up in thick blankets of joy 
  and will forever know for sure 
    they are 
          beloved
πŸ’ž
AL 

I smiled at myself 

in the mirror this morning

said, ‘good morning’ 

to the crazy haired girl

looking at me with happy eyes

I make happy coffee 

and smile as the heaven-brew

hits morning tastebuds 

I have many thoughts this morning

plans and inspiration 

floating through

I smile at the fresh pink fuzz

on the backyard tree

at the birds hopping through grass

at the dirty pig statue

looking so perfectly thrilled

To be so dirty

I believe I will live this quote today:

The only thing that ultimately matters is to eat an ice cream

cone, play a slide trombone, plant a small tree, good God, now

you’re free.

– Ray Manzarek 

Hmmm wonder where I’ll find that trombone?

πŸ’ƒπŸ»

AL


page turner Β Β 


A hill or edge or precipice,

horizon out and mystery

above, beneath, within.
Departure, limen: driveway,

pier, or gate, or aisle,

a road; and a goodbye.
A parting; sorrow, mostly

masked, and wonder.

Fear of what is next.
Riven wide enough for light,

made empty space enough 

for pouring in of this:
a breathingβ€” listenβ€” low,

a hope, a vision, passion, 

story told and still unfolding,
woven in your bones and 

pouring through your veins,

and every other soul.
In all those faces, rapt

or gaping, still unknowing,

God has set a flame
not yet but soon to burst,

to shine, to speak. That’s why

Christ came, and came again: 
to breathe it back into us. All

the love of God is there, now,

in your hands, your wanting hands.
The space awaits. The silence 

breathes. The road an arm, a hand.

Begin. 

__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net


Strange to realize 

on our very worst day of life

someone else is having their very best. 

Every death 

is countered with birth. 

Every grieving tear 

with belly laughter.

On the night we see the stars fall

the sun is rising on the other side of the world. 

The human spirit cannot be conquered

we rise again with each fall,

else we do not rise at all,

and come to the end,

which is another new beginning. 

Tides come in

as tides go out. 

With every broken heart

there is an answering new moment of love. 

For every first kiss 

a final slamming of the door – 

figuratively or literally. 

For every threshold we cross

we must cross again in a new moment. 

We each have moments of glory 

moments of defeat. 

Worry is the paper tiger 

which strips our moments of joy. 

Illusions of control hide behind our eyes

always revealed to be a waste of our precious resources. 

There is a time for every season. 

In all we are to bring the sacrifice of praise. 

It is the amazing hat-trick to the healing of our wounds 

that in every single circumstance 

we stand in the truth of that moment

and we give thanks,

or curse the darkness. 

Our choices lead us ever onward

toward the life

we will leave behind,

life happens while we make plans,

all we have slips daily through our hands. 

What will we do with your extraordinary, astonishing gift?

πŸ–πŸΌ

AL


photo sources found at http://www.pinterest.com

stillpoint


Psalm of the Threshold
Eternal One, I praise you on this threshold;

         the door opening is to you.

Under your eye I pack my belongings;

         in your arms I move to a new place.
By your Spirit guide my hand

         to take only what you give me

         and leave the rest;

to bring with me what is truly need

         and leave behind what is unneeded.

Give me faith to trust 

         what cannot be left behind,

and to release what I thought was part of me

         but was only the leaves of a season.

Give me grace to say goodbye

         even to myself

and turn and welcome the new day,

         even in my own soul.
God of time and story,

         may I ever dwell on thresholds,

between then and not yet,

         in the present, moving.

By your grace open doors;

         by your grace lead me through them.

For every door is your eye

         and every path is the palm of your hand.

__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

so I stand at the threshold 

of everything new

looking for the key

to the open front door

I stand at the edge 

of all that I am

wanting what could be

instead of what is

afraid of not knowing

yet knowing I know

cause I’ll never walk alone

The best is yet to come

πŸšͺ

AL


I will not die an unlived life. 

I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days, 

to allow my living to open me, 

to make me less afraid, 

more accessible, 

to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, 

a torch, 

a promise.

 I choose to risk my significance; 

to live 

so that which came to me as a seed

 goes to the next as a blossom 

and that which came to me as a blossom, 

goes on as fruit.

πŸ‡πŸŽπŸπŸŠπŸŒ½πŸ’πŸ“πŸ‹πŸ‰πŸ‘

Dawna Markova


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