life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Change”

blinders off

 

 IN A FAR OFF CORNER

In a far off corner of a wide wide world

lies the circumstance that faces another.
A circumstance so abject that life

never really begins. And then it

dies quietly, announced by

an unheard whisper.
And from our corner of this world,

safe and secure under bejeweled roofs,

we pay our cursory glance of sympathy.
We forget that all corners connect, and

that the experience of each life lives

within us all. Albeit in disguise.
And we miss the possibility hidden

in the circumstance of another.
The possibility that compassion might soften

the edges of our own uneven experience,

and that the simple act of togetherness

might liberate our disheartened lives.
There are no far off corners

in this wide wide world.
And there are no separate lives.

💔
Nic Askew 

Home

  

I ride Greyhound

because it’s like being
in a John Steinbeck novel.
Next best thing is the laundromat.
That’s where all people
who would be on the bus if they had the money
hang out. This is my crowd.
Tonight there are cleaning people appalled
at the stupidity of anyone
who would put powder detergent
into the clearly marked LIQUID ONLY slot.
The couple by the vending machine
are fondling each other.
You’d think the orange walls
and fluorescent lights
would dampen that energy
but it doesn’t seem to.
It’s a singles scene here on Saturday nights.
I confide to the fellow next to me
that I suspect I am being taken
in by the triple loader,
maybe it doesn’t hold any more
than the regular machines
but I’m paying an extra fifty cents.
I tell him this meaningfully
holding handfuls of underwear.
He claims the triple loader
gives a better wash.
I don’t ask why,
just cruise over to the pop machine,
aware that my selection
may provide a subtle clue.
I choose Wild Berry,
head back to my clothes.

🌎

I Ride Greyhound by Ellie Schoenfeld 

  
I spot one. 

a coin laudro-mat

I feel blessed to be able to wash my clothes. 

towels and unmentionables. 

a small bag. 

I walk into the familiar,

yet for a while now, 

Blessedly Unfamiliar. 

I remember the years of this in my life

my most missed luxury in all of life

was washing and drying clothes

at home. 

So hard this part of life became. 

So challenging and humbling. 

$4.50 to wash 

a quarter for 5 minutes to dry. 

I struggle to adjust. 

I hadn’t planned on this. 

I don’t look the part today. 

I have to ask questions to reacquaint myself with this system. 

Here in the midst of 

hard working-and-living men, 

tired mothers and crying babies,

the immigrants and struggling,

These to whom I belong. 

those who make their living 

through making clean the dirty.
I stand and watch the circle go round 

Hot tears stinging my eyes

I remember. 

Those days. 

Those tough-as-nails days. 

Plunged from luxury to poverty

in a heartbeat-break of life. 

So soon we forget…

So quickly we remember…

I watch the water rise – 

  I didn’t put in enough soap. 

      There are no suds. 

I pray that hot water I chose 

for those 2 extra, hard-earned quarters,

 will do it’s work

and my clothes will smell good. 

I will not prolong my stay –

or use more of my precious coins. 
I pray each of our guardian-laundry angels 

will bless each of us

doing laundry every day 

in all types of conditions. 

This would be pure luxury in parts of this world. 

I pray for grace. 

I pray to remember. 

I pray to be grace. 

I pray to be The Words of God to heal the broken. 

I pray for grace. 

I pray for the crying baby,

and the tired man,

whose current outfit could use a good washing itself. 

I pray for the immigrant family,

quietly folding together,

speaking Spanish in hushed voices. 

I pray for the fabulous girl at the dryers,

with the faux Burberry scarf flung jauntily over her shoulder,

I hope to carry myself with such flair and dignity. 

We are all here –

Bearing the high cost,

and inconvenience,

of poverty in our society. 
I pray as quiet tears run. 

I stand in my washer’s corner hoping nobody sees my memories. 

I blow my over-productive nose. 

and give thanks for all things. 

Especially that I have known these struggles.

That I know how this feels. 

That I am part of this humanity. 

Not separate 

I am one with all God’s created people. 

All seeking clean clothes,

washing machines

and hope. 
The crying baby starts to laugh

I smile as well. 

God is always good

I am always blessed – 

If I am willing to see the blessings –

even if it takes years and years to see them.

🔘

AL

  

history 

  
Every poem has been written before
at least fifteen times.
Every song
sung better.

The Neanderthals discovered caves
already painted with the story of their lives.
They invented fire
over and over again.

And you & I
whisper the same sweet nothings
we were born with.

💞

History by Andrew Gent
  
  
  
today is the 5th anniversary of Life: acoustic & amplified!! 

spring fling 

   
    
 
After long icy months

the little frogs emerge,

thaw out and sing 

their joy to be able

to sing for joy, sing wonder,

sing their longing, and ours,

a more than mating call,

naively throwing their hope

into the air, and ours, 

not just for the more 

but for the someone.

There’s little to do about it

but to notice the longing

and make a habit of knowing it,

even without words,

trusting it, even just

the high, earnest sound 

of our mating call for God

and the faithful waiting,

married to the promise,

which has also been faithful

for millions of years.

You walk along the pond and listen, 

let your heart rise a little,

and wait. 
__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

 

 As I approach, 
it comes to me quickly – 

all four seasons are flowing,

visible residents 

of this mornings beach. 

Here are bands of snow 

from this spell 

we call Winter. 

Here, layers of leaf-surf to shuffle through the memories, 

we called Fall. 

Which, seems to me, 

was just yesterday? 

The sands dna carries the Summer sun,

still warm, 

within its restless, shifting soul. 

It whispers promises of returning warmth and sunshine as I stand, here and now, in cold, driving rain, 

working through markers of time,

arriving, right here, at my favorite season, 

Spring!

Grief, death and hope are front and center,

as Vinnie’s beautiful, driftwood cross 

still stands as a memorial to his mother’s recent passing, 

as well as, the hope of springs arrival! 

Easter carries the sharp winds of death,

alive with the eternal mystery of resurrection. 

I realize there are many symbols of spring, 

on this mixed media stretch of grainy life: 

The all-weather gulls floating, trusting, 

eternally free. 

The rhythm of the waves forever dancing with, 

continually kissing,

the shore. 

Then there’s me,

aware and alive, 

with possibilities 

of love, 

music,

even that slippery word, 

happiness,

surrounding my steps!

It doesn’t matter

that you aren’t here yet. 

Knowing I am worthy of this is enough. 

There are awakenings,

rising strong on mended wings,

trusting the healing path taken, 

even as the work continues. 

Allowing these

shy, twinkling lights 

to glow and illuminate 

the most fearful, secret corners 

of the darkest rooms 

of my heart. 

I smile and silently shout, Yes! 

I promise to love and be loved!

I am willing to let love all the way in! 

Can you hear me, wherever you are?

Will your heart shout out as well?

I can’t stop smiling. 

March and Courage,

these fearless lions,

who will lead us all home –

right where we belong. 

😍

AL

 

  

 

I want… 

  
But I don’t want comfort.

I want poetry.

I want danger.

I want goodness.

I want freedom.

🔥

   – Aldous Huxley

  
adventures don’t always lead to a good nights sleep,

I’ve found comfy beds are somewhat a rarity 

on the road less traveled. 

there’s an occasional soft, fluffy, sweet sinking into soft sheets,

hot water. 

and though they appreciate those amenities when they come,

pilgrims don’t get used to those things. 

the gifts of adventure are many and varied –

the very best of these gifts is

folks sharing themselves,

their food and drink,

their spare beds or sofas,

their conversation and hospitality,

their inmost parts vulnerable and open,

revealed completely

in the intimacy of how they live,

as, mostly unaware, they entertain angels. 

no matter how humble,

or uncomfortable, 

or even frightening and shocking at times,

we will find people living uniquely,

creating their own version of what works for them. 

every lifestyle carries learning and vast wisdom. 

receiving these amazing gifts of hospitality are one of life’s grandest joys and lessons. 

I have found it true,

there are many things more important than physical comfort. 

some of my most cherished memories,

the most generous gifts I have ever received,

include 

smelly,

stinky,

lumpy,

hard,

sleep-depriving 

surfaces 

on which sleep is just a whimsical wish. 

The blessing of adventure opens all the avenues of grace,

if we are willing to 

open our minds and hearts in new ways,

then continue to explore past our need to be comfortable. 

🔥

AL

  

the same moon

  
What light?
look yonder. 
Is that a candle in the window of a stranger?

Is it the moon, which shines for all the same? 
or could it be the glow of love
from the heart of a friend?
a fellow pilgrim with shining eyes.
a brother or sister,
who may not look like me,
may not talk like me, 
but with whom I share the same royal bloodline –
the light of hope 
which lives within all
created by God
for goodness sake
let me come near to you
let me share your pathway 
let’s walk in this light together for a while
so I can learn your songs
and you can learn mine

🌝

AL

  
  

progress 

 

 In this long dark, logic and plain sight are useless. You navigate by the diffuse and reflective attention of the moon and stars. Bringing a deep, penetrating silence to the knowing that lives in your bones, stirs in your womb and emanates from your dreams, you recognize that you are no longer who you used to be and not yet still who you will become. You are both, you are neither, you are perfectly between things.

Even if distantly and dimly at first, abilities you never had during the day are coming alive. Where you used to seek leadership outside yourself, now yours is the deciding voice. Fear is becoming your strange ally, as you learn to honour and cradle its soft underbelly. Instinct and the mystical pull of your feeling leads the way. You can sense the density of objects around you, hear the songs of stones and know things are coming even before they’ve left.
For you, brave pilgrim, I hold this lantern at the crossroads. While others are anxious to see you arrive, I praise your vast withstanding of the uncertainty from which all meaning is born. 

❤️

– Love, Toko-pa 

http://www.toko-pa.com

 

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 

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 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 best and highest offerings 

you must be all you can be 

gratitude fills you for this place 

a place so lovely 

it can bear up 

even under the weight 

of our 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

   

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

full investigation…   

 

 Author Kent Crockett tells this classic story about his two year old son, Scott, who was sitting on the floor crying. Kent went into the room to investigate and he noticed a plastic baseball bat on the floor and asked his four year old daughter what happened. His little girl, Hannah, said, “He hit his head.” Kent said, “On what?” She pointed to the floor and said, “The bat.” Kent said, “Where was the bat?” She said, “In my hands.”
 

  

  

Where there is love

Where there is people

There is pain

Disappointment

Misunderstanding

Differences

Separation

Tears 

Imperfection

Where there is love

Where there is people

There is joy

Inspiration

Community

Understanding

Connection 

Life is about love

Life is about people

Embracing it all 

Feeling it all 

❤️💔❤️💔❤️💔❤️

AL

  
   
  

  

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

keep building  

  
Mark Nepo tells us to, 

‘put down what doesn’t work – 

so that we can find what is sacred’. 
What worked so well yesterday, 

may not work today. 

We wear out our structures of known truth, 

the frameworks of what we use for living,

for healing. 

Let them go,

trust in the new architecture – 

modern, 

with our personal, classic twist. 

We are always becoming. 

Watch for the signs of structural failure, 

build the new bridge, 

delight in this magnificent design,

those amazing cranes hanging in mid-air,

strong, foundational columns,

the rusty, hard rebar of our personal growth,

rising from deep within the waters muddy bottom, 

creating the new skyline of your life, 

welcome this new place of crossing. 

It can handle rush hour,

or heavy foot-traffic. 

Continue the build, 

always creating with the future in mind,

before the old fully implodes underneath our feet. 

🏗
AL
 
  

 

Oh yes! 

  
What a great day! and now this gift from Richard Rohr!! 

Unlearning as I go today! 

that feeling 

  
Yesterday we obeyed kings and bent our necks before emperors. But today we kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love.

❤️

~ Khalil Gibran

 

We often confuse unconditional love with unconditional approval. God loves us without conditions but does not approve of every human behavior. God doesn’t approve of betrayal, violence, hatred, suspicion, and all other expressions of evil, because they all contradict the love God wants to instill in the human heart. Evil is the absence of God’s love. Evil does not belong to God.
God’s unconditional love means that God continues to love us even when we say or think evil things. God continues to wait for us as a loving parent waits for the return of a lost child. It is important for us to hold on to the truth that God never gives up loving us even when God is saddened by what we do. That truth will help us to return to God’s ever-present love.

❤️
– Henri Nouwen

 

   

‘In all the languages in the world, there is the same proverb: “What the eyes don’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve over.” 
Well, I say that there isn’t an ounce of truth in it. The further off they are, the closer to the heart are all those feelings that we try to repress and forget. 

If we’re in exile, we want to store away every tiny memory of our roots.

 If we’re far from the person we love, everyone we pass in the street reminds us of them.
‘The gospels and all the sacred texts of all religions were written in exile, in search of God’s understanding, of the faith that moves whole peoples, of the pilgrimage of souls wandering the face of the Earth. 

Our ancestors did not know, as we do not know, what the Divinity expects from our lives – and it is out of that doubt that books are written, pictures painted, because we don’t want to forget who we are – nor can we.’

______________________________
(in “Eleven Minutes”, by Paulo Coelho)

  
 

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

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