The heart that is no heart,
Broken yet whole,
Fluid in the nothing,
Being in the free,
Disintegrated beyond particle
And solitude,
Blended and indistinct,
Dying and alive,
Timelessly destroyed,
Obliterated,
Overwhelmed
And pounded from existence
Into existence’s open arms,
Until nameless,
Until faceless,
Until placeless.
Upon me rolls the wave
Of being,
Brought by the voice of the bird
Invisible in the thicket.
With the pick of her beak
And blade of her song
She cuts
The monoculture of mind
Bent on blandness
And domination,
And frees me
From the world of my cage
To world of my own.
Tell me there is no God
And I shall die in my garden
Breathing the wonder,
My brain obliterated
By the green spring
And the blackbird
Fluorescing
Music and magnitude
And wielding the shrill knife
Of beauty’s grievous wound,
And I will say nothing,
But put the pen
On the paper
And write my pitiful, joyous attempt
At the writing of it,
And die in my tears
And laugh in my tears,
And cry for the love
That kills me
As I feel
Its world-ending enormity.
The sun gives
Without question,
Pulsing with energy
In an ever outward movement,
Gifting without requirement,
Being because it is.
And we, the myriad life
In all our forms
Receive this gift,
And dance
In light transformed,
Wholly containing it.
The inner sun,
The sun of our heart
Is not different
Or a photon less
Than its heavenly reflection
Benevolent beyond our sky.
The Scots pine glows red-skinned
In the morning light.
He is always there,
Watching over my life.
Sometimes he stands out,
As beautiful as beauty itself,
And sometimes he is invisible.
Today, his presence is called
And warbled by the birds
Hopping among his branches.
The breeze too has its say
In the vibration of a myriad needles.
The mother gives
The gift, the life, the energy.
She is
In the shape of
The mother beyond the world,
Who breathes life
Into existence.
The mother is deity in earthly form,
No less than God
But no more than the mothers
In time, who populate the ages,
And bring new life
Time and time again.
They are her
As she is them.
In their hearts
They know her
Although not all resonate
With her full magnitude.
When she gives
The world is more
For she is the blood in the veins
And breath coming freely,
Filling the lungs,
And elevating the body
And the mind
With the gift of Source
Given infinitely
As a stream of love without end.
I walk in reality, breathing the breath,
Feeling the body, seeing with the eyes.
The world is beautiful
For it happens
Despite the thoughts in my head.
The garden grows, expands into spring,
The foliage lush with promise.
The cat sits by the pond, under the
Blossoming trees, and amid daffodils.
He breathes the air too,
Watching, always watching,
Thinking not one moment beyond the
Moment he’s in.
New air,
The first in the world
And light as spirit imbibed,
Holds the scent of morning.
And there is twittering
Of innumerable birds,
Joyous as the magnolia buds
In voluptuous opening.
For all things are expressing
Their being in timeless rebirth,
The song of spring
Once more alive.
Love is movement,
A gift,
Unowned
Yet given.
You can not hold it
Only ask
Or make a beautiful wish
Or speak a prayer
To expand and broaden the world.
It is not yours
But you may use it,
Feel the expansion
As it flows away,
Your life acknowledged
As it leaves,
Yourself made Infinitely fertile.
For as it is given
The well refills
The source expands
And you are changed,
Lighter for the affirmation,
Joyous because you are more,
Loving because you gave it all away.
Gentle, gentle, gentle light
You are the mother’s smile
Upon the newborn child,
A gift
In loving wonderment.
And who upon the earth
Is not lifted by this?
Whose heart is not afloat
Despite the wretched mires
Of fearful belief?
Whose heart does not beat
In time with this deeper song?
Thank you for this gentle light
Bathing both body and mind,
Infusing the raw matter
With the seed of life
And holding the heart aloft
In its rightful place,
In love’s essential spirit.
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