i have these mind-numbing, life-enhancing
pieces of a divine spark
to share
yet
when i try to let them unfold through me
onto the page
for you
i
just can’t seem to find the words
maybe i’m trying too hard
or it’s one of those where
i can’t say i just
i
have to give it up to the wind
let the wild
take ahold
and
create with me
for all to
see
As a child,
much was said
about waking up.
Wake up for school.
Rise and shine.
Give God your glory.
Sometime after being a child,
I spent alot of time
asleep, physically,
mentally, spiritually.
It wasn’t until the last few years
as I pondered my attendance
in the school of life
that I’ve been able to wake up.
I suppose the more we rise,
the more we can shine
and give the world
its glory.
At night,
I dream…
I dream vast and colorful stories. Stories with the many characters and their energy that reside deep within the unconscious. There are times, when at night, and I dream, that I see trees…
At night,
I dream…
I believe that the trees so filled with life are not just trees of my dreams but more so are the nature of my dreams. It is in this nature, that I know, for once, I am reaching a place in life where I have not spent much time, a place of peace.
The carpenter taught that
the Kingdom of Heaven
is within. It is there
that the relationship with God
can be fostered.
A Vietnamese Buddhist monk,
whose writing I was once fond of,
wrote, peace is within, to find it,
look inside.
Meteorologists say
that the eye
of the storm is
the only calm,
the only peace
that the storm knows.
There have been
many times in my life
where I looked out
at everything around me
and all I knew
was a storm.
These days are filled
with much clearer weather.
I try to know the eye,
try to see inside.
as it seems that
is what people
have been saying
all along.
The pen (a sigh)
The pen (a pause)
The pen has not touched the paper in some time. The tip yearning to share its knowledge in ink, stretch its arms, spread its wings across the endless horizion of the paper’s surface.
I (a sigh)
I (a pause)
I have not written masterpieces nor have I fought the fights that I yearn to write, yearn to fight, each day, each night, to share what I’ve learned, stretch my arms and be all in one, encompassed, fulfillment of self-actualization.
We (a sigh)
We (a pause)
We are no more while at the same time everything and anything, all at once, and perhaps, never again. My heart’s door shudders to a close when I explore the pain We inflict on everything that We are: each other, our ohana, this world. Yet still, it swings wide when I think of yet another chance of glorious, of glorious, of glorious,
…
Dot.
Dot.
Dot.
That remains to be written.