life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

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a little breaking to know you’re alive


HEARTBREAK is unpreventable; the natural outcome of caring for people and things over which we have no control, of holding in our affections those who inevitably move beyond our line of sight.
Heartbreak begins the moment we are asked to let go but cannot, in other words, it colors and inhabits and magnifies each and every day; heartbreak is not a visitation, but a path that human beings follow through even the most average life. Heartbreak is an indication of our sincerity: in a love relationship, in a life’s work, in trying to learn a musical instrument, in the attempt to shape a better more generous self. Heartbreak is the beautifully helpless side of love and affection and is just as much an essence and emblem of care as the spiritual athlete’s quick but abstract ability to let go. Heartbreak has its own way of inhabiting time and its own beautiful and trying patience in coming and going.
Heartbreak is how we mature; yet we use the word heartbreak as if it only occurs when things have gone wrong: an unrequited love, a shattered dream, a child lost before their time. Heartbreak, we hope, is something we hope we can avoid; something to guard against, a chasm to be carefully looked for and then walked around; the hope is to find a way to place our feet where the elemental forces of life will keep us in the manner to which we want to be accustomed and which will keep us from the losses that all other human beings have experienced without exception since the beginning of conscious time. But heartbreak may be the very essence of being human, of being on the journey from here to there, and of coming to care deeply for what we find along the way.
…If heartbreak is inevitable and inescapable, it might be asking us to look for it and make friends with it, to see it as our constant and instructive companion, and even perhaps, in the depth of its impact as well as in its hindsight, to see it as its own reward. Heartbreak asks us not to look for an alternative path, because there is no alternative path. It is a deeper introduction to what we love and have loved, an inescapable and often beautiful question, something or someone who has been with us all along, asking us to be ready for the last letting go.

💔

‘HEARTBREAK’ From 

CONSOLATIONS: The Solace, Nourishment 

and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words.

© 2015 David Whyte



If I wrote a poem today
it would be the saddest one you would ever read
It would break your heart into small pieces
and scatter them all over the world
It would cause you to cry new oceans into existence,
and all the stars would burn out from the pain of its essence 
Global chaos would ensue 
the world, as we know it, end
Therefore, I will not write a poem today
I will wait for another day 
when love has found me again
and my heart is a riot of joy 
rather than sadness
Then I’ll write a poem so brilliant
so brimming with happiness
it will create a new heaven
and a new earth 
where we will dance forever 

under skies forever blue
👫
AL

feeling it down to the marrow 


Life itself is the great sacrament through which we are wounded and healed. If we live everything, life will be faithful to us. 

❤️

  – John O’Donohue


this birth of awaiting changes
this for that
tit for tat
tuxedo memories
pinstripe debonair
glamour hangs
like confetti in the air
life goes 
round and round
flinging dreams
synthetic roads
leading nowhere 
screams and laugher 
hardest when not fair
up one side now
down the other there
we hang on
we stomp our feet 
and swear
this ain’t right
this we cannot bear
life goes forward
ever on and on
wanting only
to change our point of view
we are loved
no matter what we lose
love will win
love always life’s sweet muse
sight or blind
the vision ours to choose
❤️
AL

Men must endure / Their going hence even as their coming hither; / Ripeness is all. 

    – William Shakespeare / King Lear 

nothing to hold


I am the watcher

I keep faith

I am here to observe

the passage

to be the extra set of questions

the guardian of the process

I cannot give you the will to live

I cannot bring happiness

I cannot set you free

I cannot influence the outcome

or your choices

I can only be the keeper of the light

I can only be the vessel of prayer

I can only carry hope in my heart

I can only move aside and allow love to flow through me

I can only stand with courage

I can only see you just as you are

I can only allow you to be your you-ness

I can only love and love and love

That’s what I am called to do

every place I go

😍

AL


my heart hurts today

for the pain you suffer,

for the pain you inflict. 

I feel great sorrow 

for what you have chosen to accept. 

for the manipulation you chose to live in. 

sadness sits on me 

like a heavy fog

as I drive

I wait. 

I pray. 

I pay,

the smarmy man,

with the weird goatee,

wearing the faded Jack Daniels t-shirt. 

It’s all happening outside of myself, 

even my drive home. 

I walk a mile quickly

upon my return, 

my angst, 

mixing with my grief. 

my tears haven’t stopped all morning. 

I walk this beach,

so familiar, 

yet always new. 

I pick up rocks with cold, sandy gloves,

filling my pockets. 

I stand while the gulls float,

so secure,

so assured,

so secure.

As I watch

peace finally descends,

fills me. 

I let go of you…

of my disappointment…

of my desire….

This is never easy for me. 

I fight letting go.

trusting is a ruthless business. 

I choose to live ruthlessly. 

I believe in it! 

I’m a just small part of this masterpiece of life. 

I acknowledge the blessed truth I know for sure:

I am uniquely loved!

beloved!

helped!

held!

Peace descends.  

I walk home in the calm, cold, air. 

I am never alone. 

I will never be abandoned. 

I am loved. 

truly and always. 

Amen. 

🙏🏻

AL

two jobs,

two stories,

two worlds even,

in one movement,

love and need and

nothing now or ever

to come between the two. 

💞

  – David Whyte

it always comes down to choices       

Only when we rest in God can we find the safety, the spaciousness, and the scary freedom to be who we are, all that we are, more than we are, and less than we are.

             – Richard Rohr


The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,

The full round moon and the star-laden sky,

And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,

Had hid away earth’s old and weary cry.

And then you came with those red mournful lips,

And with you came the whole of the world’s tears,

And all the trouble of her laboring ships,

And all the trouble of her myriad years.

And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,

The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,

And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,

Are shaken with earth’s old and weary cry.

😔

The Sorrow of Love by William Butler Yeats
———
Do you have any idea how many princesses have gone unrecognized by their prince because of logic? Or how many princes have gone unrecognized by their princess because of pride? 
How many dreams were dashed when the handmaiden answered the door? Or when the gatehouse was mistaken for the mansion? Or when the calm before the storm of abundance and good fortune was viewed as a sign to retreat? 
Happily, we’ve got forever and ever. And fortunately, it’s never too late to see what one’s missed, remain focused on the dream instead of the hows, and move with unwavering faith. 
Yeeeee-haaaaaaaaaa!! 

         The Universe

           www.tut.com


freedom, 

oh freedom,

that’s just some people talkin’

cause your prison is walking through this world 

all alone. 


there is terrible beauty in every human heart 
tell me a story that will live with me forever
love always shares grace always wins
you can’t miss out
pay attention…
the message is always revealed at the appointed intersection 
letting go brings the right miracle
at the right time the song playlist repeats 
crazy love flows into mystic waters
deep calling to deep
honor chooses to say yes to the best invitations
making the call brings me the messages I need 

there is always more than enough to share

gratitude buckets fill and overflow
removing scales from blurry, tearful, kaleidoscope eyes 
as perfect peace falls into rightful place
color shards blooming into new masterpieces of never before seen glory
diamonds dance on the water

herons bring messages of great importance, 

delivered via my beautiful Mama Bird, 

fluent in language of bird, tree, dreams and laughter…just to name a few. 
flaming beauty evolves, drives me to my knees,
shedding shoes, and fear, 
as I pray
I lift my face to the evening sky 

and soar free
full wing, open soul, with the hawks,
who always fly in trust that they are enough
right here, and in every tick of time,
in, and in-between, every click of the second hand,
around the bend of eternity and back again

💞

AL

fruitopia 










Anticipation of 
coming back to life
moving through the grey
into new 
love
joy
peace
light
There is no guarantee of anything in this lifetime
however there are amazing things hidden
which bring forth their fruit
in their season
Sometimes it feels like it just won’t happen,
then…

before you know it…
flash, boom, bang,
you got more okra than you could ever eat

grown clear-up to the second floor windows! 
Go ahead, 

live with the hope
Plan with the expectancy
of all good things
come in their time
💞
AL 

read all about it


Especially in the afternoon when light slants

through the window, grazing her cheek on its way to the page.

For a woman who appreciates that kind of light for reading. 

Especially in mornings, when coffee makers groan. 

When everyone else is still climbing, still hand-over-handing their way

up from dreams. 

For the book

that fell into the bath

and was fished out — quickly. 

For the line

that swam before her as she fell

asleep. 

In stolen time: 

the check-out line, 

the way to work.

In fits and starts of traffic, 

in the press

of bodies. 

Especially

for anyone who’s ever missed her stop. 

For anyone who’s laughed out loud while reading

in a restaurant. 

Or ever thought of writing

to a stranger:

You told my story. 

How did you know?
Especially for a teenage girl whose touch

turns bookmarks into ash. 

And so she uses rubber bands, 

a roll of tape, 

a stray sock, 

a receipt, 

or my book

to hold her place open. 

Who won’t

come to supper till she finishes her page.

For a grandmother I know

about, who stirred with a book in one hand. 

For everyone stirring

with words in their hands. 

For anyone who’s ever grasped a book in two hands.

Hold your breath, and crack it open.

For books that have burned to be written. 

Books thrown into the fire

because supper wasn’t ready, or her chores had not been done.

For anyone who’s ever had anyone tell her:

All that reading makes you think too much.
 Especially when the leaves against the window

are a chorus from another time.

When evening comes, a woman stretches one curved arm to reach

the light behind her. 

She is reading while the birds take roost, and punctuate

the branches. 

Reading till her book is finished. 

Reading like a girl. 

📖

~Sue MacLeod


I didn’t intend to eat my 

Chocolatini Godiva Truffle 

until the very last. 

It was my shooting star. 

my most special to look forward to. 

my magic bullet. 

my favorite. 

Intented for the ending of the box celebration.  

saved

cherished

savored

but then I finished my book!  

I finished reading 

The Night Circus 

and my chocolatini was the closest thing

I could find to a chocolate mouse…

and so, I had to eat it! 

to celebrate!!!

What a cool book! 

Reading is my life,

books my passion, 

the smell of old libraries one of my favorites. 

Yet, I have not read a novel for a long time… 

have not found one that captured me in years…

until now. 

No hesitation with my truffle choice today,

it was the best show of respect

and gratitude I could give. 

The circus arrives without warning…

the circus of dreams…

and we are swept away by the very taste of it…

📚

AL

say it…live it…be it muchly


that is all for today…

Make me sweet again, fragrant and fresh and wild, and thankful for any small event. – Rumi


Passion is a feeling that tells you: this is the right thing to do. Nothing can stand in my way. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says. This feeling is so good that it cannot be ignored. I’m going to follow my bliss and act upon this glorious sensation of joy.

― Wayne W. Dyer


I dreamt we walked together along the shore. 

We made satisfying small talk and laughed.

 This morning I found sand in my shoe and 

a seashell in my pocket. 

Was I only dreaming?

🌊

      – Maya Angelou

I see you


A woman in the city, who was a sinner,

stood behind him at his feet, weeping,

and began to bathe his feet with her tears….

He said, “Do you see this woman?”

—Luke 7.37, 44

……………………..
No, we do not see.

To one of Jesus’ most arresting questions,

we have to answer: we don’t see her.

We see our prejudices and stereotypes. W

e see our fears and projections.

We don’t see this woman;

we see what we think of her.

We see a sinner.

We see someone disrupting our dinner.

We see someone who makes us uncomfortable.

Which is to say, we see our judgment,

our expectations,

our discomfort.

We see our own stuff.

We don’t see her.
But Jesus saw this woman,

really saw her.

He saw her pain and her strength,

her gratitude, her courage,

her transformation.

He saw the precious value of her gift.

He saw her soul at work.

He saw God’s grace in her.
Jesus really saw people.

He saw who they were and knew their story,

not because he had ESP

but because he paid attention.

The woman at the well,

the bent over woman,

the rich man,

Bartimaeus,

the woman who touched him in a crowd…

he really saw people because he wanted to. He

paid attention.

And there was healing in his seeing.

What he saw in people was not their flaws

but the mercy of God.

And seeing the grace was like sunlight on plants:

it made people heal and grow and bear fruit.
God, help me really see.

Help me set aside my feelings and judgments,

and see whole people,

your beloved,

precious souls.

Help me see myself:

help me notice my projections,

and name my fears and expectations;

help me confess my blinders

and set them aside so I can see.

Beloved, help me really see people,

really see your grace,

really see at all.

Beloved, I want to see.

 

__________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net



At dusk, by the irrigation ditch

gurgling past backyards near the highway,

locusts raise a maze of calls in cottonwoods.

A Spanish girl in a white party dress
s

trolls the levee by the muddy water

where her small sister plunks in stones.

Beyond a low adobe wall and a wrecked car

men are pitching horseshoes in a dusty lot.

Someone shouts as he clangs in a ringer.

Big winds buffet in ahead of a storm,

rocking the immense trees and whipping up

clouds of dust, wild leaves, and cottonwool.

In the moment when the locusts pause and the girl

presses her up-fluttering dress to her bony knees

you can hear a banjo, guitar, and fiddle

playing “The Mississippi Sawyer” inside a shack.

Moments like that, you can love this country.

—–
“Passing through Albuquerque” by John Balaban


I wanna take this moment to look into your eyes.
Linger there with courage, allow your soul to rise
Feel your loving spirit
Touch your hidden dreams.
Let you know you’re not alone

that you’re finally seen…

Now’s there’s one less stranger in the world.

One less lonely heart in the night.

Lift your eyes and look at me

now there’s one less stranger in the world.

If you speak right from your heart
and let me do the same
If you allow my point of view
As we grow and change
If we both ask questions
to answers we seek
Then just sit in silence
allow our hearts to speak….

There’d be one less stranger in the world.
One less lonely heart in the night.
Lift your eyes and look at me
now there’s one less stranger in the world.

💑

AL


TRUE LONGING 


When you forget or repress the truth and depth of your invisible belonging and decide to belong to some system, person, or project, you short-circuit your longing and squander your identity. To have true integrity, poise, and courage is to be attuned to the silent and invisible nature within you. Real maturity is the integrity of inhabiting that “immortal longing” that always calls you to new horizons. Your true longing is to belong to the eternal that echoes continually in everything that happens to you. Real power has nothing to do with force, control, status, or money. Real power is the persistent courage to be at ease with the unsolved and the unfinished. To be able to recognize, in the scattered graffiti of your desires, the signature of the eternal.  

💞

John O’Donohue 

Excerpt from ETERNAL ECHOES


TOUCH is what we desire in one form or another, even if we find it through being alone, through the agency of silence or through the felt need to walk at a distance: the meeting with something or someone other than ourselves, the light brush of grass on the skin, the ruffling breeze, the actual touch of another’s hand; even the gentle first touch of an understanding which until now, we were formally afraid to hold.
Whether we touch only what we see or the mystery of what lies beneath the veil of what we see, we are made for unending meeting and exchange, while having to hold a coherent mind and body, physically or imaginatively, which in turn can be found and touched itself. We are something for the world to run up against and rub up against: through the trials of love, through pain, through happiness, through our simple everyday movement through the world.
And the world touches us in many ways, some of which are violations of the body or our hopes for safety: through natural disaster, through heartbreak, through illness, through death itself. In the ancient world the touch of a God was seen as both a blessing and a violation – at one and the same time. Being alive in the world means being found by the world and sometimes touched to the core in ways we would rather not experience. 
Growing with our bodies, all of us find ourselves at one time violated or wounded by this world in difficult ways, and still we live and breathe in this touchable, sensual world, and through trauma, through grief, through recovery, we heal in order to be touched again in the right way, as the physical consecration of a mutual, trusted invitation.
Nothing stops the body’s arrival in each new present, except death itself, which is intuited in all cultures as another, ultimate, intimate form of meeting. Nothing stops our ageing nor our witness to time, asking us again and again to be present to each different present, to be touchable and findable, to be one who is living up to the very fierce consequences of being bodily present in the world.
To forge an untouchable, invulnerable identity is actually a sign of retreat from this world; of weakness, a sign of fear rather than strength, and betrays a strange misunderstanding of an abiding, foundational and necessary reality: that untouched, we disappear.

Excerpted from ‘TOUCH’ From 

CONSOLATIONS: The Solace, Nourishment 

and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words. by David Whyte


let’s do something new
me and you
let’s travel uncharted territory 
make new maps of all we find

let’s create a new heaven
and a new earth
just by touching each other’s souls
tracing hearts around each other’s scars

being kind to one another

let’s do something extraordinary 
something spectacular 
 something world changing
something wild

let’s create a brand new star
just by loving each other
so completely 
it starts a supernova of epic proportion

let’s do something fun
something we can laugh at forever
something to bring joy into the room
peace into this broken world

💞

AL

Things take their own time. The seeds planted do not sprout the next day, but that does not mean they never will. Be patient. Your life only gets better when you do. Work on yourself and the rest will follow. You will bloom to the person you were always meant to BE. — Unknown

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