life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “inspiration”

rest in the miracle that has always already happened!    – Fred LaMotte


When the world does not conform

to the story in my head

I get a feeling that

“something’s not right.”

Why is the story in my head

not down-loading properly?
Why do I sense that the world

needs to be fixed

and I must repair what is “wrong”

by imposing my story

onto the mystery

of the ineluctable?
Yet the world is not a problem.

The problem is

there’s a story in my head
but it’s not quite the same

as your story, is it?
And so there is conflict,

there is suffering,

even if our stories are about

salvation, about justice

and equality, the perfect

marriage, the cleanest

environment, or gaining

enlightenment…
Happiness cannot arise

if we slather the world in the thin

veneer of our narration.

Happiness is the dance

of atoms ordered by

the dynamics of chaos

in the heart of the now

when we let both story

and teller disperse

like a fine mist,
when we let things clarify

all by themselves

the way silt filters and falls

through a mountain brook

in liquid transparency.
Now rest in the miracle

that has always

already happened.

Just shut up and see.

A rain cloud vanishes.

There are crystal drops on

blades of grass, each containing

the sun.
💫

SOMETHING’S NOT QUITE RIGHT by Alfred LaMotte

Let us go forward quietly, forever making for the light…

   Vincent Van Gogh 

these anniversaries 

the marking of dates

building Ebenezer memorials 

from the stones of help

bringing me to this place

tasting again

the bitter herbs

the roasted lamb

the flat bread

the milk and honey flowing over everything 

the fresh dates and figs 

of now

sitting with this

bitter-sweet

sweet-bitter

this life

this love

this past

this practice 

this present 

this grateful 

that gratitude 

that changing

this constant

this birth

this death

this resurrection 

always this love

ah this love

just. 

this. 

love. 

always the path of thanks

always the gifts presenting 

along the diamond road

this is my tradition

my version of holiday 

each one

my best of days

my worst of days

feeling it wrapping around my senses

these memories clouds 

wrapping around me

enveloped from behind me

me always facing forward

always facing toward the rising moment just ahead

the path before me the most important 

always remembering,

along with that other Southern Belle…

tomorrow is another day…

the best is always yet to be! 

🗓

AL 7/23/16 gratitude/tradition


Life

                                    truly             

                            is beauty                

                    beauty                                     

           salted                                                     

        by rare moments                                           

of exquisite suffering.    
 Life

  truly             

    is suffering               

              suffering                                    

  peppered                                              

           by rare moments                                           

of exquisite beauty.    

         

🌹                   

https://www.claudiuskeepsakes.com/collections/frontpage/products/duality-of-life-mug


there’s this summer song

of cool wind on my skin, 

playing sweet percussion through the tall, lush marsh grass

gentle water

invisible birds singing in surround sound

my heart resonates with the language we have spoken

the songs we have sung

the rich vibrations of our connection

over the past few days

the new sun warms my back

my shadow sits large

writing poems

this silence my gratitude

this morning my pleasure

this day my gift

this moment my life

thank you for reaching out 

for breaking through the darkness

for holding my hand
💞

AL


The worst isn’t the last thing about the world. It’s the next to the last thing. The last thing is the best. It’s the power from on high that comes down into the world, that wells up from the rock-bottom worst of the world like a hidden spring. Can you believe it? The last, best thing is the laughing deep in the hearts of the saints, sometimes our hearts even. Yes. You are terribly loved and forgiven. Yes. You are healed. All is well. 

     – Frederick Buechner 

      The Final Beast


Then I walked 

straight forward

out of the gate,

through the wood,

along the river,

toward the mountain
and I thought of the future

I could make in the world

if I walked toward it

like this,

with my face toward the hills

and my eyes full of light

and the earth sure

and solid beneath me,

walking

with a fierce anticipation,

and a faithful expectation,

with the sun and the rain

and the wind on my skin

and that old sense…

of many paths

breaking from one path.
So learning to walk

in morning light

like this again,

we’ll take our first 

light step

toward mortality,

walking

out of the garden,

through the woods,

along the river,

toward the mountain,

its simple,

that’s what we’ll do,

practicing as we go

and

we’ll be glimpsed, 

traveling westward, 

no longer familiar,

a following wave,

greeted, as we were at our birth,

as probable 

and slightly 

dangerous strangers,

someone

coming into view,

someone about

to find out.
Some wild 

and improbable risk 

about to break 

on the world again.
..
David Whyte

Adapted from LEARNING TO WALK

From RIVER FLOW: 

New and Selected Poems


growing wild 


Dark and early in your story someone fearful

of your inborn glory took it 

and buried it behind your house,

and you, innocently, and wise to save yourself

from their greater wrath, 

believed its absence. 

It’s not a pompous glory, 

insistent on regard, but sure and quiet 

as a wildflower’s, asking nothing.

And so you’ve lived—so have we all— 

without it, your heart shoveled over

with self-doubt and apology, as if 

you have no place or voice here

among angels. 

We see you in the cripples who flocked

to Jesus, the mute, the paralyzed,

bent over, shut out, gone mad. 

And all he meant to say was this: 

you shine. You bring a gift 

as no one else, and you belong. 

Your Word deserves a hearing,

and this world needs your beauty 

and your grace. There is no rank

you fall below, no worth you fail to match.

Your shuttering was evil, and God 

wants it undone, and wants you whole.

And so she takes you by the hand

and raises you to stand, to walk, to speak.

She listens to your song with joy. 

She rains upon the earth

until you are unafraid of your radiance

and all our houses are surrounded by wildflowers.

______________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net


Wildflowers grow without

discipline,

rooted in the secret order

of quietness.

Edges get rounded down.

Nature offers no straight lines 

or right angles.

Wouldn’t you rather run your

fingers through black loam

than scroll through golden rules?

What you really seek

is the fragrance of chaos,

like a moth on a purple aster,

the intimate fragility

of mountain meadows.

Surrender first.

Strip off the armor

of Should.

Then fight your valiant battle

for beauty.

___________
Alfred K. LaMotte


Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow:

they do not toil or spin. 

~Matthew 6:28



Do you suppose she’s a wild flower?

Dancing light and free

Do you suppose she’s a wildflower? 

As we all wish to be 

Let yourself go 

be drawn to what you love

   – Rumi


God made black sheep and dandelions 

God said they were good

God made your heart sweet

He sees you cryin’

Oh now can’t you see

God made you and me

just like every star

to shine just as we are
 there’s a garden many know

pretty maids all in a row

looking all they same are they

mother, may I? they do say
some folks see wishes

some folks see weeds

some folks see diamonds

whiles stones others see

some folks don’t get me

as I need to be

I am a wildflower

dancing so free
God made black sheep and dandelions 

God said they were good

God made your heart sweet

He sees you cryin’

Oh now can’t you see

God made you and me

just like every star

to shine just as we are
there’s a sky above we see

stars come out to play at night

they don’t ask what they can be

they shine their light for all to see
some folks see storms clouds

some folks see rains

some folks see nightmares

whiles dreams others see

some folks don’t get me

as I need to be

I am a star child

twinkling so free
God made black sheep and dandelions 

God said they were good

God made your heart sweet

He sees you cryin’

Oh now can’t you see

God made you and me

just like every star

to shine just as we are

💫

AL






buy this goodness!

soul feelings

He Played Three Violin Parts At Once, The Result Is A Spine-Tingling Version Of ‘Hallelujah’ You’ll Never Forget.


Music has been used for a variety of purposes, but many uses have been forgotten and lost. Work chants were used with sailors, field workers, slaves and soldiers to increase their productivity. Musical rhythms created patterns of organization and control movement – for an activity such as rowing a boat. It created unity and cooperation among workers. The musical rhythm set a work pace. It also helped people focus on the music and not the hard, and arduous work.
Some songs give people identity, like “our” song, and songs for a sports team or a group or nation. Jingles can persuade people to accept a certain point of view. Jingles are used extensively in China to promote political points of view and in advertising to encourage people to buy a product.
When ancient conquerors came into a new land, they quickly outlawed local music – as their music strengthened identity in a culture and its old ways. The Russians did this in Finland during World War II, outlawing the music, Finlandia, as it gave the local people courage and strength. Music has more power than we give it credit for.
Special uplifting music can change a person’s outlook, creating a window to heaven – a new way of feeling and thinking. Ancient people referred to music that altered and uplifted a person’s conscious as the “music of the spheres.”
Author Viola Pettit Neal, wrote about a novel use of music, “The conquest of evil will ultimately be accomplished by use of rituals of sound and form. For evil is that which is disharmonious and cannot exist in harmonious pattern of sound and form. The word ‘ritual’ in its true definition is an orderly movement of sound and geometrical form in sequential patterns.”[1] Neal suggests that harmonious music can overcome disharmony (evil). Many African tribes surround someone who has behaved badly, singing their name and song to them – reestablishing harmony. It makes sense that Osama bin Laden outlawed music for his followers. Guess it would be hard to prepare for a suicide bombing mission, when you were humming a breezy Beach Boys tune. Such harmony would make it near impossible to get people do heinous deeds.
Could we use music to change people that have done unscrupulous things? Why not use harmonic and healing music: In prisons, with children in trouble or business with poor reputations? Where negotiations are taking place? What about on a war front? How serious could people be about fighting, when everyone was singing Silent Night?
Research has shown that people easily believe others in a distant country are enemies – if they don’t know them. In contrast, if they know the people, they don’t want them to be hurt. What about sharing songs from countries to lesson international tension? If people like a country’s music, it will be harder to demonize their people – as the enemy. For example, racism against black people declined in the end of the last century, when young people loved black rap music.
The people of Estonia, a small Romanian country, had been slaves for thousands of years. As slaves, they were demoralized. When the abusive Czars were shot, the Estonians saw their chance for freedom, but had no courage to seize the opportunity. In a country of only a million people, half of them sang nonstop for a week. The energy created from singing – realigned their “will,” determination and spirit. They rose up and boldly gained their freedom.
Shortly after Hitler took control of Poland, Russia overpowered the Romanian countries. Under Stalin’s rule about a third of Estonians were randomly forced to work in Siberia. Most died. This practice terrorized the people. Later, Hitler as well as the Russians, enslaved Estonian men and forced them to fight against each other, with brothers killing brothers. Pain colored the Estonians with fear, shame, and horror; once again, breaking the spirit of the people.
After World War II, the Russian occupation created harsh conditions, little food, no jobs, no places to live, but plenty of fear. When the communist regime fell, the Estonian people found themselves again beaten down with no strength to gain their freedom.
Once again, the Estonian people came together with a song-festival for five days, with a half of million people attending. Afterwards, the Estonia people gained their freedom, crediting their courage to the energy created by singing. To this day the Estonian people hold a song-festival every five years.
Sound and music is chock full of hidden energy. Music is invisible, but its powers are greater than we ever dreamed of.
[1] Viola Pettit Neal, Through the Curtain, 1962. 

by 

Jill Mattson

 jill@jillshealingmusic.com


I love you wild –

like oceans, volcanoes, tsunamis and bees

I love you natural –

like seasons, rainbows, and falling leaves

I love you large –

like Grand Canyon’s,   

the mountains and sky

I love you small – 

like the atom, lady bugs, birds flying high 

I love you tender – 

like mamas with babies, 

and soft, falling rain

I love you strong – 

like soldiers with orders,

and wind on the plains

I love you like every cliche ever written

I love you with words that can never be spoken 

I love you in mystery I can’t understand

when hearing your voice

or seeing your hands

I love you deeper than knowledge

and wider than life

You fill me with beauty,

I am music, 

yes, music

you are my life

🎼

AL


photo sources at pinterest.com

threads that won’t break 


On Dec 3, 2014 (2 year anniversary of my living death in the dark night of the soul, I got a post titled Love never Dies from Jen Lemen at Hopeful World http://hopefulworld.org

Here’s a taste of what it said:
I am struck also as I write to you from this wintery desk, that building our capacity for stillness helps so much when the wild comes to our restless souls. Without that practice of being quiet, it’s easy to be scared when our wild, instinctual thoughts pop up. It’s easy to think that they are bad somehow or in need of corralling. But the practice of quiet and stillness helps us recognize our instinctual knowing for what it is: a call to our most true nature. A call to a kind of expression that is more vibrant, more textured, more passionate, more alive–even if it’s a little bit messy. Even if it kicks up a little bit of shame that we are this human, this raw.
So I invite you today to sit with me for three magic minutes. I’ll be right here with you, my own mind a rollercoaster of crazy, of frantic, of nonsensical worrisome things. I’ll sit with you and notice everything in my own soul, while you notice everything in yours and together we will begin to knit together an understanding of what’s underneath that noise: a gorgeous, exquisite tapestry of human longing designed to carry us to an awake magnificent place.
Will you join me?

Setting the timer now.

Let me know how it is on the other side.
With so much love,

Jen
It’s now 3.5 years later and Jen Lemen is still bringing all that, and more to me, to you, to the shaky, hoping world, to the edges of eternity…love never dies. 
Today, in this crazy, brutal brutal place, where we ask…
how can these two people be our Presidential choices?
how can people keep killing other people?
how can I deal with the grief and the fear of this? 
how can I help?
what is the solution? 
what is my part? 
Jen Lemen is doing her part. She’s offering Soul Snacks – 
http://www.thewayofdevotion.org/soul-snacks
Amazing gifts to all of of struggling, hungry, hurting, angry, frustrated pilgrims and poets. 
Right now she has open enrollment and I have just this…
Don’t wait! http://www.thewayofdevotion.org/soul-snacks
Gobble this up, savor it a bite at a time, eat them from start to finish, or nibble from the middle to each edge of crust. Savory, delectable soul-spices involving all your most subtle senses. 
http://www.thewayofdevotion.org/soul-snacks

💞

Keep wrestling, burn, scream, let go, melt, let your heart keep breaking for the sake of your heart, keep saying the names of your people, fiercely defend your tenderness, think, grieve, repair, renew, continue to do what’s in your heart to do…each thread matters…each color makes the world more beautiful…
in the end, only love is eternal, only love remains…
http://www.thewayofdevotion.org/soul-snacks

🔥

AL


We are God’s thread

weaving through the tapestry,

the masterpiece is slowly 

created. 

Potential for beauty, we can’t know,

    unfolding,

       becoming,

          revealing glory 

so bright 

it makes the sun squint 

and reach for sunglasses.  

Brilliance so far beyond ourselves

we go shining into the gray

as we open to the new jewels appearing,

sparkling in the moonlight. 

As we step into the needle’s eye 

the angels catch their breath,

cheering our blazing garments,

dazzled by the vision

God is revealing through the creation. 

As we surrender to the greatest mystery,

the beauty we inhabit 

becomes us,

walking in humble clay

eyes out shining the stars 

set in the heavens. 

Until we totally disappear and all that’s left

is holiness 

so pure 

all we can do 

    is 

bow in wonder 

at ourselves

and give thanks 

as the silk thread 

becomes liquid gold and silver

pure and simple

glory

as we realize our place in the whole. 

We are the temple of our creator. 

The home of God. 

😎

AL



As deftly and finally as one pulls out a thread

someone is weaving them, gracefully tying them,

minute and irreversible.
In the towering sky, even under the fortress, 

root tendrils muscle in and bind ligaments

through an abyss we had been told was absolute.
No enormity of terror

can keep up  

with the steady, unseen healing. 
Before the assault, the horrible wound, 

gaping and exposed,

the stitching has already begun.
Even as we sigh in our own world,

moving on, separate,

we are being sewn in. 
In the earthquake, the collapsing mountains,

not a bit of rubble falls

on the path from the temple.
If you could hold your immortal soul

in your hands, you would hardly recognize it

from one moment to the next.
Your grave is already empty. 
__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net


photo sources found at pinterest.com

the hum of Sabbath and poems


There will be the clutter and clatter of pans,

the rumble and jumble of traffic and trains,

the brambles of papers and lists and calls,

the beaten paths, the errands, the chores.

You don’t have to rattle and run with them.

You can do one thing at a time.

You can stop 
and sit at the feet of the moment,

pay reverent attention to whatever it is,

and listen to the silence beneath the hum,

and simply be

in the the presence of the presence.

In all your doing that you surely must do,

you still can just be.

And your being

will become

what you do.

In the stillness within the action

sits the Beloved

who is not distracted with many things,

but only wants to sit awhile 

with you.

__________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

I was reading…
yes, that was it…
reading…

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.

💞

By AllPoetry fan, Taylor S.

💞

Do you agree? 

How does poetry impact you?



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

play me  



Lying here quietly beside you,

My cheek against your firm, quiet thighs,

The calm music of Boccherini

Washing over us in the quiet,

As the sun leaves the housetops and goes

Out over the Pacific, quiet—

So quiet the sun moves beyond us,

So quiet as the sun always goes,

So quiet, our bodies, worn with the

Times and penances of love, our

Brains curled, quiet in their shells, dormant,

Our hearts slow, quiet, reliable

In their interlocked rhythms, the pulse

In your thigh caressing my cheek. 

Quiet.

🎹

Quietly by Kenneth Rexrothg


🍅
when life gets hard

and love is dry

when hearts get hurt

and eyes just cry

there’s just one thing that’s left to try

pour some music on it

when times are tough

when money’s tight

you try to make it

with all your might

just one thing will make things right

pour some music on it

pour some music all around

on your head

on the ground

That’s the way that joy is found

just pour some music on it

when the night 

is dark and grim

the day is gray 

and hope is dim

Just wait for light, just fake a grin

and pour some music on it

pour some music all around

let it out 

let it pound

Just pump it up, dance to that sound

just pour some music on it

are you tired, are you fat,

are you wearing thin?

just pour some music on it

are you happy, are you sad, are you wearing skin?

just pour some music in it

are you red, are you white, are you feeling blue?

just pour some music on it

are you old, are you young, are you feeling new

just pour some music on it

🎼

AL




peace. love. seal the deal.   – Miles  


White and black cannot be found

in the ruins and valleys of a human face. 

You’re the dust in a wrinkled rainbow,

whorled pallet of earth tones,

ginger, sorrel, burnt sienna. 
Who called you “white,”

that disdain for shadows,

color of the fear of falling 

through the prism of contradictions?
You are not white, you are oak,

apple wood and dandelion. 

Make wine of yourself. 

Make a barrel of your bones. 

Acquire the flavor of your ancestors. 
Who called you “black,”

that abstraction of a laughing tear?

You are not black, you have sown

sunset in your cheek furrows. 

You are banyan, and mahogany,

kola nut and olive, cocoa bean of grief,

kinnikinnik of the sacred pipe. 

You are the night. 
Voracious love has dipped us both

in honey, meshed our dreams

in darkest cilia, netted our souls

like mushrooms in sweet loam,

the wild manure of one dragon. 
Through innumerable pungent roots

the same juice bears us upward

into starlight. 

🌠

Who Told You? by Alfred K. LaMotte



my heart hurts today

for this pain. 

I feel great sorrow,

shattering grief,

love cracks me open,

allows me to feel this

hurricane of rage,

this fraction of our creation –

soul division. 
for what we,

as human-kind,

have chosen to accept

within the soil of our borders,

our birthright is so much more. 

we are each beloved. 

we are royal, each and every one. 
sadness sits on me,

a heavy fog,

as I drive,

wait, 

pay,

that smarmy man 

with the weird goatee,

wearing the faded Jack Daniels t-shirt,

I try to love him – 

I humbly admit my failure today,

I promise to keep trying, 

it is my only hope to change this world.  

I return to my place in this universe,

the one I belong to for this moment –

I walk a mile quickly

my angst 

mixing with grief 

tears won’t stop

I walk this beach,

so familiar,

yet always new.

I pick up rocks, 

I move from rocks,

to sand,

to benches. 

I stand while the gulls float,

so easy,

so secure,

so assured,

so secure,

so loved,

so free. 

As I watch

peace fills me…
I let go…
always a brutal struggle for this stubborn girl, 

(I prefer to name that quality ‘determined’)

always, always, worth it. 
trusting life is a ruthless business. 

I choose to live,

I choose to feel,

I choose to open,

I choose to pay attention, 

I choose to connect,

I choose to participate,

I choose to love,

ruthlessly. 

What about you? 

💞

AL


God grant you the eyes of heaven

         to see each person’s divine belovedness

                  and so find joy.
God grant you a listening heart 

         to hear the cries of the silenced, 

                  and so gain wisdom. 
God grant you humility

         that unburdened by yourself

                  you may be free.
God grant you courage 

         to enter the world’s dark wounds, 

                  and so bring healing.  
God grant you patience, 

         to know the strength of the long journey, 

                  and so be given hope. 
God grant you a heart of love, 

         to be moved to action, 

                  and so receive deep peace.  
God grant you God’s own spirit 

         to share in the healing of the world, 

                  and so know God’s deep delight. 

__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net



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

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.

💞

    – 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.

👻

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, “How 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

page turner   


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 breathing— listen— 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?

🖐🏼

AL


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

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