life: acoustic & amplified

airy ponderings

Respectfully given,

exalted being

full of grace,

remember to forget that:

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 the King.

at times,

in spite of our broken pieces,

our refusal to believe,

even our darkened hearts.

–

astonishing,

isn’t it?

❤️

Amy Lloyd

You thought your inhalation

was nothing but air.

Now, through the Master’s grace,

you know that every breath

is an ocean of stars.

You thought that your mind

was an electric ghost

in the neurons of your brain.

Now, through the Master’s grace,

your body floats like a thistle

in the blue sky of awareness.

Your heart overflows the golden

galactic cup.

There is no difference at all

between silence and creation

when you drown in the Master’s grace.

Your stillness is seva,

the storm-like power that

sweeps the earth clean.

Even when you sleep

that eye does not close

whose gaze is your Being.

Now dream and sing, dance and cry,

die and be shaped like a tear again

in the womb of a fearless love.

💞

Fred LaMotte

What a woman wants

we are here to impact the world

in special ways

each of us play some small part

in the greatest story of all

…and God spoke…

God created…

God keeps creating….

we keep creating…

It’s who we are…

our design is to design…

having impact takes destruction

from chaos comes order

beauty in every part of the process

Can you see it?

Can you live there now?

step into the blasted uncomfort-zone?

stay there for as long as it takes for the mud to settle,

for the bones to pop back into place,

with no guarantee of a pleasant outcome…

will you stand up and be counted?

keep stepping into the void

knowing the value of the work

knowing the well-being of the world may well depend on us standing in our own over-sensitive skin

speaking our own shaking words of truth

choosing what we truly want to eat from today’s menu

💞

Amy Lloyd

“The more sincere your questions, the more sincere your answers,” I rattled off on the phone to her after a long, exhausting day book writing. I was sharing where I was in the process, recapping the flow of the map I’m creating, worrying that the first step was too hard, the first invitation too challenging. “You know? Like when we ask the wrong question, a shallow question, a question looking for quick results, we get unfulfilling answers, rushed “realizations” or “solutions” that don’t stick — not for long. I want them to ask deeper questions. The kind that put them into real alchemical processes. The kind that inspire them to live the questions, as Rilke says. And I want to teach them how.” “Rach, don’t worry that they can’t go deep. Just take them there and let them decide. That’s your job. You’re allowed to challenge.” “You’re right. You’re right.” And I told her how I needed this practice for my own damn self right now. Because I’ve been asking the shallow questions, getting shallow answers. Afraid of the intimate truth that real inquiry reveals. Afraid to be that close to the quiet sacred beauty of birth and death, beginnings and ends, miraculous light and miraculous loss. Afraid to see myself soaring like a self-directed sage in a fog of majestic motion. But our fears reveal our truest questions. Can I see the light through the fog here? Can I love the hazy unknown? Can I feel the blessing here? Can I embrace this epic wild?

The more sincere your questions, the more sincere your answers. “What is your truest question?” Isn’t something you can answer with your conscious mind. You must take the time to go out into the world and look with symbolic sight for the oracle nature delivers, the messages you receive when you make yourself a humble receptor, when you let your subconscious wonder. What jumps out at your blood and bones? What do you see that feels like a poem? And how might this oracle reveal a deeper question? Honest questions call in honest transformations. And while it can feel intimidating to be so intimate with the truth, it is this awe inspiring intimacy that you truly long to remember — that feels like healing, even when it’s hard.

❤️

Rachel Maddox

The Idea isn’t enough,

You will need Guts.

Guts isn’t enough,

You will need Wisdom .

Wisdom isn’t enough,

You will need Resources.

Resources isn’t enough,

You will need quality People.

People isn’t enough,

You will need Leadership.

Leadership isn’t enough,

You will need Action.

Action isn’t enough.

You will need Direction

Direction isn’t enough,

You will need Grace.

Grace isn’t enough,

You will need an Intent.

Intent isn’t enough,

You will need Humility.

Humility isn’t enough,

You will need to be a Learner.

Learner of all phases can help you,

To Be Human Enough.

Human Enough,

Seems Good Enough,

Seems Good Enough.

– Ingredients 🙂

Jayesh Suri

#IdeaToOrganization

Crazy Holy Grace

A Crazy, Holy Grace

A CRAZY, HOLY GRACE I have called it. Crazy because whoever could have predicted it? Who can ever foresee the crazy how and when and where of a grace that wells up out of the lostness and pain of the world and of our own inner worlds? And holy because these moments of grace come ultimately from farther away than Oz and deeper down than doom, holy because they heal and hallow. “For all thy blessings, known and unknown, remembered and forgotten, we give thee thanks,” runs an old prayer, and it is for the all but unknown ones and the more than half-forgotten ones that we do well to look back over the journeys of our lives because it is their presence that makes the life of each of us a sacred journey. We have a hard time seeing such blessed and blessing moments as the gifts I choose to believe they are and a harder time still reaching out toward the hope of a giving hand, but part of the gift is to be able, at least from time to time, to be assured and convinced without seeing, as Hebrews says, because that is of the very style and substance of faith as well as what drives it always to seek a farther and a deeper seeing still.

There will always be some who say that such faith is only a dream, and God knows there is none who can say it more devastatingly than we sometimes say it to ourselves, but if so, I think of it as like the dream that Caliban dreamed. Faith is like the dream in which the clouds open to show such riches ready to drop upon us that when we wake into the reality of nothing more than common sense, we cry to dream again because the dreaming seems truer than the waking does to the fullness of reality not as we have seen it, to be sure, but as by faith we trust it to be without seeing. Faith is both the dreaming and the crying. Faith is the assurance that the best and holiest dream is true after all. Faith in something—if only in the proposition that life is better than death—is what makes our journeys through time bearable.

💫

⁃ Frederick Buechner Originally published in The Sacred Journey

Poem…

The little girl quietly walked away

from the real and scary world

through the secret door

where no one could follow her

into the world of make believe

where everyone loved her

and understood everything she needed to say

where the play was all about play

and the laughter was not at her expense

the angels loved her singing

and all the magical fairies were her true friends

For so long I grieved my losses

extreme as they were

but now

right now in this magic moment

I am learning

I have learned

to love the sound

of my footsteps

as I walk away

from those people and things

who cannot,

who do not,

love me

and so,

are not meant for me

as hard as that can be

it is all grace upon grace

beauty stacked on beauty

there is more goodness in this world than anything else we will ever find

and so it goes

💫

Amy Lloyd

all some of the time

AN AGNOSTIC IS SOMEBODY who doesn’t know for sure whether there really is a God. That is some people all of the time and all people some of the time.

There are some agnostics who don’t know simply because they’ve never taken pains to try to find out—like the bear who didn’t know what was on the other side of the mountain.

There are other agnostics who have taken many pains. They have climbed over the mountain, and what do you think they saw? Only the other side of the mountain. At least that was all they could be sure of. That faint glimmer on the far horizon could have been just Disneyland.

Frederick Buechner

– Originally published in Wishful Thinking

A FABRIC

I will fail you

And you will fail me.

Its inevitable.

Strains are necessary

in the fabric

of love’s covering.

A baby in the womb

lengthens its limbs

and curls its fist,

in preparation for life’s journeying.

Tears appear

not because we’ve failed,

to steel our love against tests.

But because

love is strong enough

to stretch,

to allow failure and hurt

to raise its voice

and then repent.

To tend to wounds uncovered.

The fabric of love

in truth

is not something that’s never been torn.

But rather

something that’s gained its beauty and strength

from its reinforcements.

Its tears repaired

again and again,

until goodwill’s

restored.

Love’s a patchwork quilt

of remembrance

that can raise when needed.

To catch the undercurrents

and to provide

a platform for uplift.

For us all to rise

and catch our breaths,

to then gain the distance needed,

to value our attachments.

To recognise the strength

of love’s encompassment,

a fabric that bears any strain.

That covers the wounds we

impart in our

selfishness.

That measures us

again and again

not by how we fall

but how we rise once again.

A quilt of a thousand uses

and counting.

Ana Lisa de Jong

Living Tree Poetry

January 2018

Photo by Bailey Zindel on Unsplash

‘Two are better than one,

because they have a good return for their labor:

If either of them falls down,

one can help the other up.

But pity anyone who falls

and has no one to help them up.

Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.

But how can one keep warm alone?

Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.’

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

a long time ago someone said to me,

“I don’t want your God.”

and I could understand their pain…the loss was too much.

But, the thing was, it wasn’t their loss, it was mine

And it was sacred, it still is.

their projection of God didn’t change my journey

because I had my own path to walk

but I saw a battle that began that day

that froze that person

their journey…still afraid that God will bring more than they can bear…

You can’t package God

any more than you can choose the conversation that

awakens the wound…

but,

having given up believing in fear helps,

just as much as knowing that the God of love

heals and transforms the heart…

for all those suffering this night…

I wish you the constant compassion that you need to heal

and for you to have believers who will hold you at just the right moments so that you can breathe…

so you won’t freeze…

your lungs will remember there is beautiful life

waiting for you

so don’t hold your breath too long…

it is ” breathe in…I am known by the God of Love…

breathe out…I am known by the beat of my heart . ”

Beauty,

Rev. Donna Knutson

taking care of personal business

So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years–

Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l’entre deux guerres

Trying to learn to use words, and every attempt

Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure

Because one has only learnt to get the better of words

For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which

One is no longer disposed to say it, and so each venture

Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate

With shabby equipment always deteriorating

In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,

Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer

By strength and submission, has already been discovered

Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope

To emulate–but there is no competition–

There is only the fight to recover what has been lost

And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions

That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.

For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

💫

East Coker by T.S. Eliot

The only way down is down, leaving the

light for the dark, allowing the surface to sink,

under the shimmering deepness, to the depths

where float our desires, to the things that the

world and our minds made, where all of

them no longer are.

A round black ball, an obsidian sphere,

rolls in my hand, turns on my fingertips, as

body and mind roll around it, slide like a serpent’s

coil over the deep black eye of the egg: fixed and

immovable, immense, around which the

universe turns, the world silently glides.

The Silence shimmers under the new snow;

the cat watches from the window as slow flakes

wind their way down. Whiteness covers the

upper edge of everything as darkness peeks

out from below—the light’s support, the

unformedness under it all.

I am a weaver casting his shuttle, a fisherman

casting his line. Each throw my soul sails

out into Emptiness. Someone invisible tosses

it back. All day and night we play this game:

Life breathing life in and out, weaving our warm

black blanket, a universe wrapped in stars.

Winter Solstice from The Book of the Garden, © 2014 by Richard Wehrman

disappointment dangles precariously on edges of lofty hearts

filled with misguided expectations of what another can do us

Spreads out over days, weeks, years

leaving love dead and sadness

as large as that blubbery shell of a whale

washed up on this sandy beach

tides rising high as ink blobs staining fingers

from fresh pens enclosed in the failed promises they hold on their sleeves

the year of noble men proclaiming their innocence even as they lash the truly innocent with their whips of misdirected anger

misogyny takes its place among all our bookshelves lined with classic literature

what a woman wants has never mattered much

will this fine New Year usher in a brand new thing?

today begins the year of the duckbilled platypus

followed in short order by the year of the dodo bird beginning tomorrow at 5:53 am

ending a hot minute later

with National Donut Hole Day

nothing makes sense in a world where common sense is not common practice

I watch karma unfold right in front of me

in complete recognition of what was going to happen as it played

starting with the old joke…

a drunk lady walks into a bar…

the beginning line of the rest of the night

In my memories I find her delightfully sincere

I smile as I feel her love of the music

I will always sing Annie’s Song just for her

I have more than a sneaking sensation she was Jesus…

Just sayin’ I’ve seen him act like this before

life steps out of time into eternity for unguarded moments

which become so much more than just moments

then they begin again as we take a new breath

start a new year

watch the glittery ball drop

light a fresh dry match

and watch the old –

plays, stories, loves and bridges –

explode

into the adventurous new

the future is always coming

brighter than the sun

shining like a star

stronger than the wind

ready to begin again and again

and again and again

always and forever

I am here

Thank God,

I have arrived

right here

now

💫

Amy Lloyd

Snow Day

Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,

its white flag waving over everything,

the landscape vanished,

not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,

and beyond these windows

the government buildings smothered,

schools and libraries buried, the post office lost

under the noiseless drift,

the paths of trains softly blocked,

the world fallen under this falling.

In a while, I will put on some boots

and step out like someone walking in water,

and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,

and I will shake a laden branch

sending a cold shower down on us both.

But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,

a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.

I will make a pot of tea

and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,

as glad as anyone to hear the news

that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,

the Ding-Dong School, closed.

the All Aboard Children’s School, closed,

the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,

along with—some will be delighted to hear—

the Toadstool School, the Little School,

Little Sparrows Nursery School,

Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School

the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,

and—clap your hands—the Peanuts Play School.

So this is where the children hide all day,

These are the nests where they letter and draw,

where they put on their bright miniature jackets,

all darting and climbing and sliding,

all but the few girls whispering by the fence.

And now I am listening hard

in the grandiose silence of the snow,

trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,

what riot is afoot,

which small queen is about to be brought down.

.

.

.

“Snow Day” from Sailing Alone Around the Room: New and Selected Poems (New York: Random House, 2001). Copyright © 2001 by Billy Collins.

The whole world is a poem today

I walked 2 miles in snow paradise

Hoping I would remember each amazing

Beautiful

Breathtaking

Moment

Even the port-a-potty

Looked romantic

Covered in it’s white cap

With it’s blue door welcoming

the desperate stranger

I found a discarded pair of snow pants

Hoping the loser

Was some place warm by now

It was too wet to use my phone

So it stayed in my pocket

Until…

I made the most amazing snow angel EVER

And couldn’t resist trying to get a quick shot

I was mostly alone in my magical land except for the occasional snow plow doing it’s duty

and one lone woman raking piles off her car

Hoping to get somewhere safely

I tramped through piles of unmarked snow,

Dirty black muddy snow

And Slushy melting snow

splashing on my boots

I followed some footprints

which were so far apart

I had to take two large steps to reach each one

I wondered if it was a yeti getting his snow on?

I felt like I was an explorer off on a great adventure

Like Sir Edmund Hillary climbing Mt Everest

Ha! Visions of grandeur.

I battled the elements

Legs feeling new muscles

not used in a coons age

My gloves got wetter and wetter

From the snow,

and oops,

I forgot tissues again

It was like walking in a just shaken

snow globe world

(Without the dizzy side effects)

I cleared a spot of heavy drift

and sat briefly on a bench until the wet

freezing thru my pants

forced me get up and dance

The water and sky were gray

Meeting about 50 feet from the non-existent shoreline

no beach today in highest tide

Seagulls and ducks floated on the water

Watching the beauty

having conversations about it

I think they were excited to see me

by the amount of chatter between them

On my second mile I stopped back by my brilliant snow angel

Already filling in

I fought my way back up and down

past the river

Where I stopped for another

eye-feast of beauty

making my way carefully

so not to slip

Thinking of another

fun-friend-shared snow day

when I did.

It never gets old

This walk

This view

This gorgeous world

I hear my breathing

In steady rhythm with my steps

My core is as well heated

As my nose is cold and drippy

I make one last snow angel

outside the kitchen window

and then strip in the mud room.

Soaked to my chilled-reddened skin

I laugh as I run up the stairs

for warm dry clothes

Full of joy

and exhausted

I settle in to write it,

then on to a nice book

and a warm cup of potato soup

Buddy the dog

had an adventure in the snow

this morning as well

and is now sleeping off his excitement.

I watch the snow dance

outside the window

as I wash morning dishes

teasing me to come back out and play

the snow angel winks at me

I realize we know each others secrets

It knows my delight in it

I know it’s truth and beauty

We are more than friends

I have just been intimate with this storm

We are lovers

Yes, I have made love to the world

For the last hour and a half

and I am completely satisfied

❄️

Amy Lloyd

we are as much the spring

as all of winter’s cold

discovery’s light is too bright

to not share in the january air

our inner fire burns alongside

the chill of wind and snow

impossible to know how

this simple thought

can eradicate

the fear

of our fate

angels are always near

in times of crisis

as well as in peaceful times

if you knew they would not

give up on you- would you

then trust them to deliver

all the grace, wonder, freedom

and bliss?

to be kissed by an angel

is something not to be missed!

💋

words ~kate lamberg (c) ’18

veils

“It’s all empty, empty,”

he said to himself.

“The sex and drugs. The violence, especially.”

So he went down into the world to exercise his virtue,

thinking maybe that would help.

He taught a little kid to build a kite.

He found a cure,

and then he found a cure

for his cure.

He gave a woman at the mercy of the weather

his umbrella, even though

icy rain fell and he had pneumonia.

He settled a revolution in Spain.

Nothing worked.

The world happens, the world changes,

the world, it is written here,

in the next line,

is only its own membrane—

and, oh yes, your compassionate nature,

your compassion for our kind

💞

Enlightenment by Vijay Seshadri

we are all

children in the room

holding our breath

ready to feel something

anything

real

again

David Whyte tells us

all we really need to live

this moment

is to be half a shade braver

by tomorrow morning

or at the end of this day

or this sentence

or this breath

I take the hopeful inhale

moving into the

courageous exhale

that small victory

releasing me towards

the moment

when he tells me

to turn and look at myself

through the torn veil

and ask myself

that question

I have been refusing

to ask myself…

Yes, it’s right there….

What would it look like

if I really lived as my best self?

💞

Amy Lloyd

THE OTHER SIDE

The sun shines on both sides of our world.

When it sets for you

it rises for me.

When the snow settles

in silence upon the trees

and all growth halts,

here it has blossomed

and life is rife

among bird and bush.

Yes, at the toss of a hand

the coin flips,

between death’s door and life’s threshold.

The seasons change,

or the day’s light declines

before we know ourselves.

The glow of twilight

a last burning

before the descent of night.

A coin lies in His hand,

yet however it falls

it’s right side up.

Somewhere the sun is shining still.

Held in summer’s embrace

we can attest to that.

In winter’s chill

and dimming light,

we need someone to recall to us,

what’s on the other side.

💞

Ana Lisa de Jong

Living Tree Poetry

January 2018

May morning be astir with the harvest of night;

Your mind quickening to the eros of a new question,

Your eyes seduced by some unintended glimpse

That cut right through the surface to a source.

May this be a morning of innocent beginning,

When the gift within you slips clear

Of the sticky web of the personal

With its hurt and its hauntings,

And fixed fortress corners,

A Morning when you become a pure vessel

For what wants to ascend from silence,

May your imagination know

The grace of perfect danger,

To reach beyond imitation,

And the wheel of repetition,

Deep into the call of all

The unfinished and unsolved

Until the veil of the unknown yields

And something original begins

To stir toward your senses

And grow stronger in your heart

In order to come to birth

In a clean line of form,

That claims from time

A rhythm not yet heard,

That calls space to

A different shape.

May it be its own force field

And dwell uniquely

Between the heart and the light

To surprise the hungry eye

By how deftly it fits

About its secret loss.

💞

John O’Donohue

make no mistake

Here I am

running shoes

Brand new

year

state of the art

momentum

Heading towards

this new

resolution

hearts and arrows

pointing in a new direction

dimensions

ready to turn this page

drinking fine

soul sista

barefoot dreaming

calling me

onto sandy shores

the color of oatmeal

she crabs repenting

of comfortable zones

moon waxing full right before

the cock crows

the clock stricken midnight

two words

Rules broken

Music plays underneath my skin

breathing and stretching into the pain of it all

the sheer bliss

the blessed love of it all

These cards always make me laugh

at my own silliness

these gods smiling

smiling on us

life is for us

me and you

finding each other

for good after all these years

a partridge in a pear tree and

three little birds perched on top of tea lights

making this heart of mine

smile

for miles

traveled and yet to go

bittersweet memes and memories

arrows in this labyrinth facing lovely sunsets

Im Happy

Oh so happy for you

My girl

Just these words…

I love you

and all is right

in this storybook

all will be well

So right

So well

with life

and years

and moons

and this

and that

for now

and forevermore

yes

yes

yes

Amen [selah]

💞

Amy Lloyd December 31, 2017

“And now let us welcome the new year, full of things that have never been.” Rainer Maria Rilke

A THRESHOLD

To bless the year we live in

is to receive its blessings.

Nothing can be contained

but everything can run through us

with a river’s constancy.

Rapids of fresh graces

to renew

our inner springs.

Winds of mercies

blowing out the cobwebs

and airing out our rooms.

The mind’s dusty corners,

and the hearts

defended places

swept with air

as clear as the new year’s

dawn.

To bless the year we open

is to unwrap its fortune.

A thousand different colours,

shapes and forms

yet to encounter.

Not resenting or deflecting

but asking ourselves,

‘What is this I’m holding?’

Treasures found in unforeseen places,

stones that might

be worth more than they look.

Griefs that carve out beauty

hitherto not imagined,

spaces to then fill with more of our joy.

Part of the joy

is anticipating

what is coming.

Standing by the threshold

and then opening.

Ana Lisa de Jong

Living Tree Poetry

New Years Day 2018

running to meet you

Here I go

running into a brand new year

full force and hair blowing

All IN

shoutout to all the haters

may Jesus

(who may be named Anne in this lifetime)

be with us all

and guard each of us

and whoop too loud for our accomplishments

and shhhhsh others to listen to us

and be willing to go to jail just to hear us sing

and break glasses on nasty peoples faces to be able to stay in the room with us

and be completely vulnerable and ready to declare how much they love us in easy ways

May we recognize our own music which is our gift to ourselves and to Anne (who is Jesus) and to the world

May we live your time knowing it is our tool and our treasure

May we laugh and love and start as many days as we can with bacon

May we stand with friends adoring the sky and the moon and the ocean ready to laugh at every little wonderful thing

May we pay attention and hand out awards as we go to everyone who needs one

May we BE

come

lieve

stow

happy

May we walk holding the hand of God no matter what the weather or shade of light or darkness finding our steps sure

May we be ever ready to kneel and kiss the ground in our cute purple coat taking as many pictures as possible

May we have our best most whole most miraculous year to date and be ready to empty it at the appropriate moment to make room for the next one

May 2018 be full of all goodness and may we hold each other in the joys and sorrows sure to come – which is the very thing that makes each year and each life the greatest one ever

xoxo

Amy Lloyd

As the year ends and the year begins…

Trust in what is here, now,

and trust in what has gone.

Trust that you cannot trust sometimes.

Trust in your moments of doubting.

Trust the path you are walking,

and trust the paths you have not walked.

Trust in the moment.

Breathe into the discomfort, the joy, the sorrow.

Relax into what’s here.

Settle into this immediacy.

Stay close to yourself.

Have a beautiful 2018, friends.

Jeff Foster

out / in