life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “People”

soul dancin’ swayin’ to the music…  


When we choose indifference, we betray our world. Yet the world is not decided by action alone. It is decided more by consciousness and spirit; they are the secret sources of all action and behavior. The spirit of a time is an incredibly subtle, yet hugely powerful force. And it is comprised of the mentality and spirit of all individuals together. Therefore, the way you look at things is not simply a private matter. Your outlook actually and concretely affects what goes on. When you give in to helplessness, you collude with despair and add to it. When you take back your power and choose to see the possibilities for healing and transformation, your creativity awakens and flows to become an active force of renewal and encouragement in the world. In this way, even in your own hidden life, you can become a powerful agent of transformation in a broken, darkened world. There is a huge force field that opens when intention focuses and directs itself toward transformation. 
John O’Donohue
Excerpt from 

 TO BLESS THE SPACE BETWEEN US (US)


quote by Wayne Dyer

here’s the thing…
what’s a girl to do with all this happiness?
what sort of containers can hold this amount of wild joy?
will howling at the moon help?
or dancing in a beautiful fountain with you? 
will you take a back road to see me? 
tell me  I’m the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen?
will you love me?
living well doesn’t depend on it…
but it would be nice…

 to share this happiness with you
do something wild?

spend some beautiful time together 

on this beautiful journey?
Let’s allow joy to flow in big puddles all around us,

do some soul dancing, 
till we swim in the ocean of all this amazing grace!

💞

AL

Anytime I feel lost, I pull out a map and stare. I stare until I have reminded myself that life is a giant adventure, so much to do, to see.

       – Angelina Jolie 

what am I missing? 

The speaker points out 

that we don’t really have

much of a grasp of things, 

not only the big things,

the important questions, 

but the small everyday

things. 

“How many steps up to your back yard? 

What is the name of your district representative? 

What did you have for breakfast? 

What is your wife’s shoe size? 

Can you tell me the color of your sweetheart’s eyes? 

Do you remember where you parked the car?” 

The evidence is overwhelming.

Most of us never truly experience life. 

“We drift through life in daydream, 

missing the true richness and joy that life has to offer.” 

When the speaker has finished we gather around to sing a few inspirational songs. 

You and I stand at the back of the group and hum along 

since we have forgotten most of the words.

😜
The Speaker by Louis Jenkins


Mary Oliver reminds me

to let go of any need that might linger in me

to, even try, to impress anyone. 

But to stay alert to the extravagant impressiveness around me, 

puddling at my feet,

drowning my life with goodness. 

To be easily astonished,

easily filled with wonder,

to let life boggle my mind.

To stay a child of joy and nature,

a collector of miracles. 

To stay in awe of sunsets

and dandelions,

coffee shops

and grasshoppers.

To gasp every time I get a view of the ocean,

to be breathless at the view from a mountaintop road at sunset. 

To feel wonder when I see a leaf change color.

To crane my neck, every single time, to catch a glimpse of sunlight on water,

to thrill everytime I touch the curve of a babies cheek. 

To get a chill of macabre delight

at gnarly, old toenails,

and bats hanging upside down

in a dark damp cave,

or flying around a street light as darkness falls slowly through the air. 

Such things keep me alive. 

These are the true riches of our living. 

Extreme miracles everywhere around us. 

We are here to witness, 

here to share descriptions of such beauty, 

even our feeble attempts are so amazing

they boggle the mind. 

Thank you, Mary Oliver, for this reminder, 

with your every beautiful, glorious word. 

We are each here to do our part,

to record our miracles

in our own voices, 

pens,

paints,

dances,

lyrics,

artistry,

we make up this tapestry,

we record the blazing glory,

the divine masterpiece. 

We each add notes to the grand symphony,

allowing the rocks to stay silent – 

at least for those who

don’t care to listen for the exquisite, out-of-this-world music they share – 

we play on through each day 

with such brilliance, light and passion,

savoring delight, 

everywhere we go…

until we are gone, 

and those who come behind us

find it all fresh and new once more,

and begin to tell their part of the story, 

in their own beautiful, unique ways. 

💞

AL 

all things new 


God is not doing an old thing. God is not doing the next thing. God is doing a new thing and new things don’t fit in old vessels. As I was praying I believe the Lord is saying that He is making old vessels new again. Shedding off the old and making it new. This may mean old ways of thinking, repetitive ways that don’t work anymore or don’t yield results as they used to. Old bodies that don’t function the way they used to. Feeling any younger yet? Old and achy bodies will be regenerated into young, flexible and new bodies for the new thing to be placed into. New wine doesn’t go into old wine skins. God needs us 50ish people (give or take a few years) to impart into the younger generations and we need to be as active as they are.

🌎

      – David Hoffman


I meet you in the dark 

with my secret information,

my furtive questions.

I bring my grainy picture.

You bring me out into light

and give me yours, so much better,

for you too have been observing 

even more keenly

and loving even more deeply. 

God I come over and over

to give you 

my view of myself

and walk away with yours.

__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net


warming trends


        On May 24, 1738 John Wesley recorded in his journal: “In the evening I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street, where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.”

God, I thank you for your love, alive in me without my knowing or feeling. Open my heart to trust your grace.  
I pray for those whose hearts have not been warmed, who do not know they are so cherished, forgiven, gifted, blessed and loved. I pray for all who are afraid you don’t love them, for those who live under a “law of sin and death” enforced by abuse or violence in word or flesh, who have been labeled, violated, condemned, judged or rejected. I pray especially for those who have been hurt by life and its hurtful teachings. 
I pray that I may bear your love to all I meet today, that I may be the sign, the word that your grace may warm their heart. For all who may come “very unwillingly” to this life, may I be a gentle, welcoming, saving word. Amen. 
__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net



your poetry is just ‘eh’


I googled it

what was the history?

the meaning?

my ability to write,

along with me,

had just been put into this container – a paper bag

that I couldn’t write my way out of???

It felt like a throw down challenge.

how difficult is this challenge?

and, by golly,

how did I get into the this giant paper bag?

armed only with pen,

quite obviously

a silly decision.

Why didn’t I think to bring scissors?

or

chocolate?

If I had chocolate

I wouldn’t really mind being in this paper bag

I should have seen this coming

been prepared…

just in case I can’t figure out

how to write myself out.

Of course,

I didn’t really intend to get stuck here

in a paper bag –

it just somehow happened.

I got caught in a cross-fire

of two people

with razor-sharp writing skills.

(are they better than mine –

or do we all just have our own voice?

hmmmm)

maybe I’ll just stay in this bag

and take a nap.

it’s pretty comfy here.

Oh nice, I have an orange in my pocket.

I can write myself out later

I’ve never found myself in a paper bag before –

think I’ll just enjoy the novelty of the adventure

before I go home for dinner.

🎁

AL



when you’re ready     


I don’t think that anything happens by coincidence. No one is here by accident. Everyone who crosses our path has a message for us. Otherwise they would have taken another path, or left earlier or later. The fact that these people are here means that they are here for some reason. 

💞

        ― James Redfield


I make a distinction between relationship challenges that are sourced in trauma and those sourced in developmental stages. Quite often, they are inextricably linked, but not always. Sometimes what is blocking someone’s emotional availability and fueling dysfunctional behavior is primarily related to unhealed  traumas. But sometimes the deeper issue is that they are at a different emotional stage. In the latter case, it is not simply a question of holding the space for their healing. It’s a question of waiting, often for years, in the hope that they reach the stage you are at. An impossible scenario, both because you will have to stop growing yourself if they are to catch up, and because you really don’t know who they will be at the next stages of their developmental journey. They may grow into someone perfectly compatible with you, or they may move in another direction altogether. Perhaps the most important questions we can ask about a partner relates to their emotional age: How emotionally mature are they? What areas have they developed and integrated? What aspects are still under-developed?  And how will their stage of development intersect with ours? Don’t be fooled by chronological age. Stage—not age—is what matters most.

💞

(~Jeff Brown an excerpt from ‘Spiritual Graffiti’)



I am no teacher

To teach you how to love,

For the fish need no teacher

To teach them to swim

And birds need no teacher

To teach them flight.

Swim on your own.

Fly on your own.

Love comes with no textbooks

And the greatest lovers in history were illiterate.

💞

~Nizar Qabbani

We must not give up. It takes so much time to heal because we are not just healing our own wounds- we are healing the world’s wounds, too. We think we are alone with our ‘stuff’, but we aren’t. With every clearing of our emotional debris, with every foray into a healthier way of being, with every excavation and release of old material, we heal the collective heart. So many of our familial and karmic ancestors had little opportunity to heal their pains. When we heal, their spirits breathe a sigh of relief. We heal them, too.

💞

   – Jeff Brown


Lissette Hesmadt

Lover’s Leap Bridge

January 2016

easy for you to say…  

 

 
A word about Communication:
“In promulgating your esoteric cogitations, or articulating your superficial sentimentalities and amicable, philosophical or psychological observations, beware of platitudinous ponderosity. Let your conversational communications possess a clarified conciseness, a compact comprehensibility, coalescent consistency, and a concatenated cogency. Eschew all conglomerations of flatulent garrulity, jejune babblement and asinine affectations.

Let your extemporaneous descantings and unpremeditated expatiations have intelligibility and veracious vivacity, without rhodomontade or thrasonical bombast. Sedulously avoid all polysyllabic profundity, pompous prolixity, psittaceous vacuity, ventriloquial verbosity, and vaniloquent vapidity. Shun double-entendres, prurient jocosity, and pestiferous profanity, obscurant or apparent.

In other words, talk plainly, briefly, naturally, sensibly, truthfully, purely. Keep from slang; don’t put on airs; say what you mean; mean what you say.”
And DON’T USE BIG WORDS! 

         -Cybersalt

  
try reading this aloud! 🙂  
 

  

  

    

  

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,

with music,

yes, 

you fill me with life. 

👫

AL

today’s study’s 


Some people move through your life

like the perfume of peonies, heavy

and sensual and lingering.

Some people move through your life

like the sweet musky scent of cosmos

so delicate if you sniff twice, it’s gone.

Some people occupy your life

like moving men who cart off

couches, pianos and break dishes.

Some people touch you so lightly you

are not sure it happened. Others leave

you flat with footprints on your chest.

Some are like those fall warblers

you can’t tell from each other even

though you search Petersen’s.

Some come down hard on you like

a striking falcon and the scars remain

and you are forever wary of the sky.

We all are waiting rooms at bus

stations where hundreds have passed

through unnoticed and others

have almost burned us down

and others have left us clean and new

and others have just moved in.

👫👬👫👭👫

The visible and the in- by Marge Piercy


my fellow exalted, beautiful beings,

full of grace,

as we touch and pass,

respectfully remember to forget:
surrender struggles to catch it’s breath,

then falls soft

as evening prayers at twilight,

gathering into the corners of our hearts

before falling full onto the center of our living circle,

free and happy as ‪Friday night‬.

next morning’s sun fills us,

each day, each season.

nurture moves with grace,

evolving slowly thru

our caring hands,

our grieving hearts,

our shared experience,

our acts of courage,

the healing salt of our tears.

with pieces of our true love,

we fly flags,

of prayer,

of peace,

of poems,

of our own making

to heal the worlds –

within us/

without us.

we allow –

simply complex.

we understand –

clearly unclear.

we stand and fill our world with the beauty

of sound,

of hum,

of voice,

of music,

protecting us

from lesser gods,

the terror all around.

love is the shield,

love is the answer,

love is the choice,

love is our glory,

our salvation,

crowning us

sons and daughters

of stars and starships.

at times,

in spite of our broken pieces,

shattered places,

our refusal to believe,

even our own darkened hearts.

astonishing,

isn’t it?

ok, now forget it all –

and practice tenderness.

💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻

AL

 

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

  

look no further 

 

 But all your losses brought you here to walk
under one name and to walk under one name only, 

and to find the guise under which all loss can live; 

remember, you were given that name every day 

along the way, remember, you were greeted as such, 

and treated as such, and you needed no other name, 

other people seemed to know you even before you gave up 

being a shadow on the road and came into the light, 

even before you sat down, 

broke bread and drank wine, 

wiped the wind-tears from your eyes: 

pilgrim they called you again and again. Pilgrim.

🚶🏻

Excerpt from the poem ‘CAMINO’

From ‘PILGRIM’: Poems by David Whyte

 

 I ᖇEᔕOᒪᐯE 
TO ᗷE ᗩᗯᗩᖇE

TO ᔕEE ᗩᑎᗪ ᔕEEK

ᗪIᗩᗰOᑎᗪᔕ ᗩᑎᗪ EᗰEᖇᗩᒪᗪᔕ 

TO ᗯᖇITE about 

ᗩᑎᗪ 

ᗪOᑕᑌᗰEᑎT TᕼEᗰ

EᐯEᖇY way

EᐯEᖇY day

I ᖇEᔕOᒪᐯE 

TO ᔕᗩY 

‘I ᔕᗯᗩᖇE’

 To ᑕᗩᖇE and CARRY

ᗰIᖇᗩᑕᒪEᔕ ᗩᑎᗪ ᒍEᗯEᒪᔕ

TO ᔕᕼᗩᖇE

ᗯITᕼ TᕼOᔕE I ᗰEET ᗩᒪOᑎG TᕼE ᗯᗩY

EᐯEᖇY ᗯᕼEᖇE

I WILL BEAR

THE TALES OF THE PILGRIM

💃🏻

AL

 

The road seen, then not seen, the hillside hiding 

then revealing the way you should take,

the road dropping away from you as if leaving you 

to walk on thin air, then catching you, holding you up, 

when you thought you would fall, and the way forward 

always in the end the way that you came, 

the way that you followed, the way that carried 

you into your future, that brought you 

to this place, no matter that it sometimes took 

your promise from you, no matter that it always had to break 

your heart along the way, the sense of having walked 

from far inside yourself out into the revelation, 

to have risked yourself for something that seemed 

to stand both inside you and far beyond you, 

that called you back in the end to the only road 

you could follow, walking as you did, in your 

rags of love and speaking in the voice 

that by night, became a prayer for safe arrival…

👫

Excerpt from “SANTIAGO”

From PILGRIM: Poems by David Whyte

  

photos found at http://www.pinterest.com 

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