She unfolds as she sees fit.
No need for expectations
Impatience or needs.
All your needs are met.
She sees to them as a gift-giver.
She gives the gift of life,
The gift of joy,
The gift of awakening,
And the gift of love.
It’s not patience you are lacking
Her divine selflessness,
Her ability to know you
And your deeper dreams,
The ones you haven’t told
The ones you keep close.
Trust she hears you and
Trust she cares enough.
Lower your shoulders
Release your jaw
And feel her comforting pulse.
That beating in your chest
It’s her knocking at your door.
She’s ready to gift you.
She’s been waiting for you to answer
And where have you been?
Go to her
There is no fear here.
She may have pain,
She may share agony
But beneath that Pandora’s box
There lies what you seek.
What you’ve always been seeking.
That soul-shaking connection
A love that vibrates inner knowing
And multidimensional, unconditional, unrestrained, limitless and great
Take off your clothes
Walk to her naked
Open the door, open your light
And receive her.
She is gifting you now.
I lit a candle and even that was too bright.
I tried to sleep, and wanted to write, but
It’s meant to be dark.
The only illumination-
Your lighthouse glow.
A sea of crumpled, doodled paper,
Envelop the lost sailor,
Tea getting cold
And the embers of a last lit candle wick
Begin to succumb to the night wave.
That breaking evening,
And the striking beauty of her ascent.
I am reminded to rise,
Declarations of epiphany
But more specifically,
I hear incomprehensible silence.
And that’s the point.
Silent in Love
How do you do that?
I’m sitting alone, but
There you are.
Your hands are touching my back.
Your tongue is in my mouth
And it has been too long since I’ve
Felt such warmth.
Do you feel this?
No more words now.
The nameless old man walked slowly down the street.
Purposefully he placed each foot
Like a gentle kiss on the Earth beneath him.
Walking towards her
A beacon, on the sun-drenched stoop.
Her golden, red hair and head in prayer,
Quietly he approached her.
Not to break either meditative concentrations
But with thought, he asked,
“Why are you so sad, little girl?”
The sleepwalking sweetheart only raised her head.
Like a buttercup humbly accepting the first amber glow of day.
Her arm extended like a morning stretch
Moving through water,
Breath low in her belly.
She simply touched his arm in connected relief.
Without breaking any code of silence,
He heard her unspoken words.
His body a bristlecone pine,
A living witness to more than a million sunrises and sunsets.
The ground became a symphony of economy
And her, the conductor.
Stillness lowered the gravity of the air around them.
And just for that moment,
The only two people in existence
Were the nameless old man and that sad little girl.
The Little Inventor
There once was a little girl
Who invented a time machine.
Sitting underneath her pine tree.
She clanked the parts together
Screwing a bolt in here
And hammering the metal down flat.
No one would believe her
Except something was different
The day that she came back.
Her voice had changed
Now soft and quiet.
And her eyes had aged, too.
Neighbors whispered, “problems at home.”
Her distant parents didn’t know what to do.
Teachers would advise private school,
Doctors peddled medicines,
The little girl just sat calmly, staring lightly
Awaiting more problematic comparisons.
She saw this day, the days between
The days before.
Wearing an uncomplicated smile
Of the memories at the shore.
She kept growing up, growing older
Almost surprised with every year.
Lovers tried to learn her
Family always concerned with her
As she lived a life free, and without fear.
She saw her parents die,
And bore many children.
She loved, and loved, and loved
Yet, only the moon understood
How she circled ’round and ’round
Admiring and witnessing
Watching and waiting,
But never really feeling
Her feet plant in the ground.
Without questions and patiently present
Dancing in her favorite dream.
Reliving and rendezvousing with
Familiar faces, in slightly new spaces
Projecting from her mind
Onto a private movie screen.
A once young time traveler
Now faded and aging into her foreshadowed scenery
Elasticity leaving her once supple skin.
Lovingly longing out the window at the pine tree greenery.
Why did she come back to this life, one might wonder?
The stars sang of exaltation, relief of recognition
The moon now sighing at the poetry of her rendition.
She jumped in puddles,
Kissed a doe on the nose.
Sang so loud her voice gave out
And smelled an evening primrose.
Now standing at the foot of her shore,
Awaking as the little girl once more
Under her pine tree,
On Earth’s loving floor.