life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Letting Go”

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



perspective ;)



No! ne’er was mingled such a draught

In palace, hall, or arbor,

As freemen brewed and tyrants quaffed

That night in Boston Harbor

       – Oliver Wendall Holmes


fireworks photos by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT

Freedom only belongs 

to those who choose to use it, 

but ‘belongs’ is not really the right word,

because freedom will only exist for those who let go completely,

those who allow it to stay free. 

Freedom, unused or manipulated,

is no longer freedom. 

Like any great gift,

the cost is great, 

even so, 

freedom does nothing 

until it is received,

open handed,

open spirited,

used in practical living. 

I’ve sat in prisons

for many years

not realizing the doors were unlocked. 

Granted, many of the doors were difficult to get open,

people I trusted TOLD me they were locked,

some were rusted over,

others had puzzle latches

I had to figure out,

but one by one they all opened,

and I stepped out into 

sunshine. 

Increasingly lighter,

increasingly comprehending of this grace-thing called freedom.

The mystery, the magnitude,

the path, the fire, the gift

called freedom. 

There I go again,

falling in love with free will,

falling in love with free air, surf and sky,

falling in love with me. 

πŸ‡ΊπŸ‡Έ

AL


God of love set us free

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


nothing is more powerful than beauty in a wicked world…Β  Β  Β – Amos Lee Β  Β 


I asked the earth, I asked the sea and the deeps, among the living animals, and things that creep. I asked the winds that blow, I asked the heavens, the sun, the moon, the stars, and to all things that stand at the doors of my flesh…My question was the gaze I turned to them. Their answer was their beauty. 

   – St Augustine


Lovers find secret places inside this violent world
Where they make transactions with beauty. – Rumi

Close your eyes. 
Fall in love. 
Stay there. 
                       – Rumi

We live, shields up,
prepared for battle,
expecting war. 
We harden ourselves, 
with the best of intentions. 
Our best defense is protective prevarication. 
Our best offense is distracting laughter. 
Violence becomes a way of life. 
Tenderness becomes a thing we try to remove from our children 
as early as possible. 
We think we know this – 
if we can control the carnage, 
if we don’t allow our weaknesses to drag behind us
like toilet paper stuck to our shoe, 
No vulnerabilities allowed to peak out like saggy undergarments. 
No imperfections leaking out of our ears or fingertips,
we’ll win.  
We got this. 
We set life up without possibility of change,
without allowing any new circumstances to come to us…

then love comes 
with it’s un-understandable mystery 
and finds us not ready. 
Who could ever be ready for this?
then we seek places,
benches, beaches, back seats…
places to share with the other. 
unexpected moments of joy and connection 
find us at newly found secret spots
where shields are lowered,
vulnerability given,  
tenderness ruthlessly
invades the moment
and beauty is transacted. 
soul’s mingle,
hands touch. 
Life gets messy and wet. 
Car windows steam up on drizzly mornings
as love comes peeking through
working to melt stony hearts,
to return us to joyful living 
these are the moments life was made for,
two souls torn from the same clay,
loving each other for a million years and more,
suddenly find each other within the same moment,
and it takes our breath away. 

or 

we build an igloo 

and refuse the gift. 

It’s always our choice. 

β€οΈπŸ’”

AL





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

omnia vincit amor* :Β  love conquers all Β 


Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,

With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,

When first on this delightful land he spreads

His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit and flower,

Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile earth

After soft showers, and sweet the coming on

of grateful Evening mild; the silent Night,

With this her solumn bird and hisfair Moon,

And these the gems of Heaven, their starry train;

But neither breath of morn nor rising sun

On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower

Glistening with dew, nor fragrance after shower,

Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night,

With this her solumn bird, nor walk by Moon,

Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet

πŸ’”
John Milton


I’m a world away

In a thousand ways

Tossing and turning

Heat is burning

I stand and sway to the tunes I love

As the night sky fills my heart with love
And we’re looking at the same moon

Bella Luna

And she’s looking back you see

And we’re reaching for the same star

Bella Luna

In the silence can you feel me?
You’re a lifetime away

Where you need to be

Laughing and worrying

Life is swirling

I wonder, do you ever think of me?

As the lights go on in the evening sky
And we’re looking at the same moon

Bella Luna

And she’s looking back you see

And we’re singing the same songs

Bella Luna

In the wind can you hear me?
And I can’t think of you

Can you think of me?

You are there 

I am here

How it has to be
And we’re looking at the same moon,

Bella Luna

And she’s looking back you see

And we’re dancing to the moonglow

Bella Luna

In her eyes can you see me?

🌝

AL


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

all roads Β 


it’s not a dead end if it takes you someplace you needed to go

           – unconditional 

There are beautiful wild forces within us.

 Let them turn the mills inside

 and fill

 sacks

 that feed even heaven.

πŸ’ž

     – St. Frances of Assisi

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