Chapter 2: Life's Gifts

These poems fall into a category that salutes the gift of life and consciousness. If it is true that we are ‘here’ to experience – to expand the Creator’s creations – then tapping into those aspects that we can access via our creating out of all possibilities those manifest things, events, emotions, thoughts – the creations of consciousness – means we are ‘doing our job!”

The Joys of a Moment

The droplets of life
Are held in a crashing,
Tumultuous Sea –
Riding the tides,
Their ebbs
And their flows.

Sad it is
That what was once
Washed upon the shore
Is gone –
Except that we know
They were here.
They have existed;
They have made their indelible
And distinguishing marks.

Life is richer for the cycle --
The chance.
May we never lose
Awe of what transpires.

Remember

Remember
All the times;
All the places;
All the people;
All the events.

Remember
The specialness of our planet;
The sweetness of air and water;
The magic of a smile;
The lift of sound, of color, of light –
The way a baby ‘knows.’

Remember
The thrill of sensual
And sexual attraction:
The letting go of orgasm;
The loving of a partner:
Giving and receiving.

Remember
The getting caught up in a game;
The forgetting of time;
The Being
In the Here and Now.

Remember
The beginning and the end;
And the beginning – again;
And the trip to the edge

And beyond.

The Day The Rainbows Came

Here’s a triptych of Rainbows – catch ‘em! They ‘played’ in and around my trailer home at the Omega Institute.

It was Sunday morning:
Father’s Day –
I ‘slept in:’
6:40 A.M.

The sun hit the crystal
Hanging at the upper window
Of my trailer at Omega –
Rainbows appeared everywhere;
The first time
I had seen them
In the 75 days I’ve been here.

“Hey, y’all,
Welcome.
Yes, this is a place
For you to dwell.”

And how they arranged themselves . . .
Everywhere and all around.
A twist on the crystal’s ribbon
And multi-hued angels
Were flying everywhere.

It was Sunday morning;
I returned later –
The rainbows were waiting.
All the ‘stuff’ out there:
The brushings poor ego
Has to take;
The “I don’t know why’s,”
The “me,” “me,” “me’s.”

Maybe I can climb
Into the crystal
(continued)
And shoot out
Into Rainbow World.
Hurry, though,
The sun is moving,
My rainbows are almost . . .
Gone.

It was Sunday morning,
A little later.
The space was empty –
The rainbows gone.

Can I visit Rainbow Space again?
Is it in my heart?
Can I climb into Rainbow World
And spin in and out of the crystal?

Sunday morning:
Rainbows . . .
Life, love, experiences.
Ah!
If you are patient,
The Rainbows
Will come.

Sharing Rainbows

A rainbow,
Crystal focused,
Moves across my wall.
It is long;
It is warm;
It is magic;
It is a gift.

I am transported
To times
We shared rainbows
On your wall.

Think of me
And “we”
When you see rainbows.
My love throbs
With the pulse.

Oh . . .
To share
Rainbows
With you.

Hello Rainbow

Rainbows
Form on my walls.
They float in air
And light on the ceiling.

Sunlight,
Captured by cut glass;
Focused in spots,
Bringing a smile.
Look directly into the prism:
The world explodes!

I remember the light
You brought into my life –
The full spectrum of feeling;
Of being alive.
I call the rainbows
Thee!

Look
Directly into the prism –
What do you see?

Each morning,
The rainbows come.
They are part of my life:
The sun, the light broken.
Rainbows;
Memories;
Laughter.
Love.

Hello, you.

Letting Go

If I had to pick one piece of advice I would give – one thing that I have learned:

from the good and bad ‘stuff’that I have directly experienced
from the training I received as an Empowerment Facilitator
from all the studies I have done through the years I have been privileged to enjoy on this planet, and
from the wisdom that so many of those who have shared their wisdom in so many ways,

What I come up with is the great gift there is to be able to “let go.”

This involves ‘letting go’ of all that holds you from moving on in life; from forgiving yourself and others; from being in the Here and Now; from conquering the fear involved in change – in coming up with what you really want to put into the space that is created when you let go.

Perhaps the most significant thing I have read comes from Carlos Castanada in describing his walk along the mountains in Northern Mexico with his mentor, don Juan:

“The twilight is the crack between the worlds.” don Juan says. “It is the door to the unknown.” He then points with a sweeping movement of his hand to the mesa where you are standing. “This is the plateau in front of that door.” He then points to the northern edge of the mesa. “There is the door. Beyond, there is an abyss and beyond that abyss is the unknown.”

You stand transfixed, looking across the mesa at the edge. “You will now be like dust on the road,” don Juan tells you. “Perhaps it will get in your eyes again, someday.” Don Juan then steps back into the darkness that has descended.

You feel very alone. It is unbelievably quiet. All you hear is the beating of your heart. Suddenly – a strange urge, an irresistible force, seizes you. You run to the northern edge of the mesa. You see darkness ahead. You jump off the edge. You are alone.

At some time in each of our lives as we travel our path, we come to an edge, a challenge, a decision-point. What do we do? Some decide not to take the challenge and fall back to the road they have been on. Some jump and perhaps crash. Some jump, survive, and resolve never to do that again. Some jump, survive and can’t wait to do it again.

So: tomorrow’s task is to plunge into the unknown by yourself. Sit there and turn off your internal dialogue. Go to the edge and jump into the abyss. You may gather the power needed to unfold the wings of your perception and fly to that infinitude. Create.

So, walk to the Edge, spread your wings, fly off to that infinitude

Letting go –
Is a place;
Is a time;
Is a space.

Letting go –
Sometimes a pain;
Sometimes numbness;
Sometimes gain.

Letting go –
Of the memories that are bad;
Of the arguments we had;
Of times that were sad.

I let go of those things;
Of those times;
Of the zings.
Instead, I choose not to ever lose;
And I will retain those things where we gain.

Smiles and laughter;
Creation and elation;
Security and maturity;
With these make a nation.

Letting go isn’t easy;
And, yet, we know
It’s the path to take –

And, yet, we know
It’s the path to take –
From the learning
We grow.
So – let go . . .
Of what fails thee;
Focus on
What enthralls thee.

There is a beginning
To each end;
Letting go
Can be your best friend.

The Untangle Machine

At first glance,
It seems there is no way
The morass
Can be ordered.
Step back.

How does an untangle machine work?

Find the beginning
(Or the end) –
Of the tangled thing,
Be it a space station
Or a piece of string.

Then . . . be focused;
Be meticulous;
Be ordered.
Wear the Buddha Head,
The Royal Robe;
Assume the mantle
Of the Creator.

And, then . . .
Listen.
Hear those who are restorers;
Hear how it all matters.

So . . .
Step back;
And
Begin.

We Turn

Curled up, around
Pulling so close
To make outside
In.
How can you know?
And you do

Time is split;
Each meeting
Becomes a new dawn . . .
Rising tentatively.
Heat and light
Begin again, and . . .
The sun really doesn’t rise.

We turn,
Making the warmth rise,
The smiles flow –
Creating an aurora
Of peace and bountiful silence.

Time
Pushes and pulls.
It is forever.
Can we lay with it?

Let it flow all around;
Keep it close’
Celebrate together,
As all are joined
By the fleecy edges
Of breeze-blown fluff.

Thunder and lightning:
The gathered energy
Of the infernal machines
Carry the bright, speckled eddies

To quiet pools at sky river’s side
To wait forever
Until . . .

We turn,
Making the warmth rise,
The smiles flow.
The aurora of peach
And bountiful silence
Flow on fleecy edges
To silence
The infernal machines forever
Until . . .

Lost & Found

One can get lost
On the River of Time,
Navigating the Past,
Questioning things
That don’t rhyme.

One can get lost
In the Forest of Time,
Never looking up
To the light
Of the sublime.

One can get lost
In the vastness of sky,
Exploring nether reaches,
Always questioning:
Why?

One can get lost
In the bowels of the earth,
While the weight of the world
Obfuscates all of our mirth.

One finds one’s self
In the Here and Now;
Relax,
Enjoy it,
You know how.

Mariposa

Butterflies are perhaps my favorite flying things. Their colorings and shapes so attract my eye and my imagination – they are such a fabulous example of transformation. In special times in my life, butterflies seemed to ‘show up’ – certifying that at least at that time that what was going on, what I was seeking, was there and was blessed. Mariposa is the Spanish name for butterflies.

Winged friend: Mariposa;
You flew circles
While I waited for love to arrive.

You incarnated in each place –
Cupid-playing
While bathing in the vibes
Of love’s unfolding.

Winged friend: Mariposa;
You were there,
Trailing twinkles and love dust
Wherever we looked.

Dear Mariposa,
Winged friend –
Love’s messenger –
Come fly
On the bosom of enchantment.
You have earned
A place in our hearts.

Morning Glow

Early orange glow,
Whose source is hidden
Just beyond the end of the street:
Down
Or is it up,
Or just plain out?

Thinking about finding
The pre-dawn chill,
And by bright caress
Producing (pollution-fee)
Warmth.

Would it be the same
Without: street, buildings,
Trees, lights, cars, dogs . . .
People?

These make a funnel for my eyes,
And inject a spring to step;
A life to mind;
A turn at each corner
Of my mouth . . . UP

The glow is cool,
The color illusive.
Words here serve
Only as picks
To memory’s eye –
And, as a lid opener
On capped feeling
Of early orange glow.

Whither?

Whither?
The mountains rise up on all sides;
The valleys pierce the peaks
To sky’s falling off.
Paths run off everywhere
Through the wood;
While white-streaked streams
Rush off this way and that.

What to follow?
Which to conquer?
Why follow?
Why seek to conquer?
Why choose at all …
Just because they are there?
Because it is
Our God-given mission?
Because heritage calls?
Meanwhile psyche pushes --
And that nagging knot
Incessantly pulses.

Love
Whispers, beckons,
Flashes its signals;
And that hook –
That handle inside
Which is for reaching for
And pulling upon
Exists.

By reaching out
And opening up;
By giving, and giving,
And giving . . .
The choice is made;
The road is covered;
(continued)
Mountains are bridged;
And valleys flown.

I flow out to all,
Cover each crevasse,
Walk each path
Its full length
Until . . .
It begins again.

Remember
Be
It is all an experience.
And so we live.

Beach Thoughts

Strewn weed and pebbles,
Fascinating hordes
Of shell shapes,
Washed upon a shore,
Driven by yesterday’s winds;
Shaded and baked,
Stepped upon and flung up;
Caressed and admired.

Some kept for only a moment –
Others perhaps for a lifetime;
Alone or crowded together –
According to the whims and wiles
Of today’s fashions:
The gathering group
Of babble-tongued hue.
Together and indistinguishable –
Is there a goal?
Survive for now –
For this life --
The current ‘eternity.’

Shine bright in light;
Move in the still struggle
To the top –
Efforting to be admired
And picked.

So many pebbles;
So many straws;
Too many decisions
About which shells to pick.

Destiny to be broken
Into myriad pieces;
To lie a hundredfold

Beneath the glistening surface
Of the Eternal Sea,
Waiting for the next Eternity.

In the while,
Seek to glisten
Just a bit more;
Strive to be taken up
And cared for.

Floating Souls

In cool, ice-strewn waters,
White-flecked with the floe
Of our humanity,
Float our souls.

Iceberg camouflaged
With volcanic hearts;
The tips only show
Of mammoth Being –
Stretching into unfathomed depths
Of unsounded potential.
The sun curtsies
To sister power:
Light and heat shared.

What shoals to traverse;
What temptation to resist –
To lay quiescent
Within the weed-laden tip,
Hidden in backwater,
Stagnating and barnacle baiting.

Far horizons glimmer,
Sing and call honeyed songs of promise;
Of fulfillment, of worth.
How far the voyage?
Which way the course?
How true is the company that points?
From whence the power
And drive to traverse?

Each soul in its casing
Works a wide swath,
As it attracts and grows
Within the Sea.

Veneer-stripped rumblings
Approach critical mass;
Explosion and power
To feed the souls –
Both beneath and above,
To glorify
And fulfill the Mission
To go, open and burst forth.

The life of a soul.

Floating On The Sea

(Aboard the SS Nieuw Amsterdam on the way to Europe - 1963)

What you push down
Rises up;
Time and space are the vital dimensions.
Round about, all buzzes:
Burgeoning banalities boom;
Cacophonic calls crack;
Delirium dementia droons . . .
Bottoming.
As one seeks a sounding,
Surroundings close in with a surge;
Pushing;
And as we bottom,
We rise.

The loftiness becomes exhilarating,
Fluffy white,
Myriad shades of blue,
The air filled with salt spray,
As gulls cry and soar.

The mind is restarted,
Kindling the fire
Of the soul’s burner;
Stimulating a panoply
Of raw, half-baked, and full loaves –
Conceptualizations to feed the path
To conscious realizations.

What, then,
Are the vital dimensions?

What Could You Be?

Try this formula:
Humankind in some
Not too distant future
Is to humankind today
As humankind today
Is to caveman and cavewoman.

[past <present> future]

Our skills, senses, thoughts, capacities
(so advanced today when looking back)
Are but primitive waking
To the offspring
Of our offspring.

Perhaps,
This is why
We negatively hold and categorize
So many tastes, smells, sounds,
Sights and touches.
Our senses get lost
To the media gods
And electronic devices,
And to all the other companions
In no-think-land

Why do we outlaw
Mind-expanding substances
But legalize depressants?
Why is the creative thinking
And experimenting soul ‘crazy,’
While “normal” is
The lowest common denominator?

Do we fear the creative voice we hear?
Shouldn’t we be evolving
To be more of ‘our’selves?
Can we let go of the image
And fill the space created
With the visions
We get to allow?

We incarcerate the true self.
We analyze until we paralyze –
All in the name of law,
Of progress, of normalcy.

Let us remove the barriers;
Let us move the line;
And move the line:
Tolerate
Cogitate
Investigate.

I am more than “me,”
You . . . You
Think of what
YOU can be!