Orientation.

Orient yourself;
Chair and desk,
Moraine, and spinning, bursting stars,
Beginning of time, yours, now.


How was it that you found yourself,
Right then, in the meadow;  your arm a
Windbreak, haven for a red dragonfly?
'Needed you, as others have.
All the way along...


How is it, through all of this;
Storms, shrapnel, endurance,
That you have somehow
Tapped into the swelling ache?
'Heart's beauty and tempo.
Relentless...


How will it be to awaken with
Calm ecstasy,
When you find you have landed?
'Found your haven.
Finally...


Finally.


When?
Where?
And under which star?

Wiring.

There is no trick.
There is no scheme afoot.
No stutter in the turn of the earth,
Bent on your imbalance.
The answer to all of it is still
Right there inside of you,
Steady as it has always been.


You knew it earlier on.
You did.
You knew to let the winter wind kiss your cheeks.
It was natural, an easy tilt to marvel at perfect flakes,
And to twist to examine the footprints that confirmed you.
A smooth, tender part of it all, you
Processed the beauty of the world and 
Looped it back; your very heart wired in to the
Thrumming pulse at the centre;
It kept you safe,
It kept you lithe,
It kept you deep in the adventure.


But now, for some reason, you think it strange,
'Not for you ... when nothing could be
Further from the truth.
Remember your wiring.  It's still there.
The thrumming hasn't changed;
'Hasn't quieted.
'Never, ever weakened,
All this time waiting for you to come back.


Just shed your bark.
Relax your shoulders so your ribcage can move.
Soften ... and your heart will dovetail right back into it;
Match up with the pulse as if it never missed a beat.
And it will flood you.
It will flood you with wave upon wave of the 
Love that is right here for you; never ending.
And you will realize that your place in all of this is still,
Safe,
Lithe,
Deep in the adventure ...
As it is for all of us.


The others?  Those that have pushed you to
Cracking with trouble and bluff?
You can't wire for them.  You can't.
They wont' let you.
That's how this works ...
But in tending to yourself;
Loving yourself,
Sincerely,
Intensely,
There is a chance, if they get close enough;
Curious of your bliss,  they'll get
Washed, drenched in your waves,
And wire in without even knowing it.
No trick.
No scheme.
... no extra effort.


Just you.

For Winter Solstice...

Feel her.  

Feel her roll, and sigh.
Gently, gently feel her under the stars,
Shifting, turning, sighing in the dark;
Deep, deep in well-earned slumber.

A shame to not look on her, to not 
Be there and watch as she dreams;
Remembers the summer's work,
Autumn's glory, and
Delights in themes of spring's surprise.

Hold her close, our earth, in all her beauty,
As we nod tonight to the sun and its return.

Brief,

This moment of change, tipping toward
The blink of dawn;
A flicker, now charged to beat the last,
Marking the coming of puffed days,
Fuller and fuller of trumpet's call;
Duty, adventure, and the hunt for love's blush.

The night gives way, with each of her turns
Until, once again, she finds the longest day
Adorned in sun's tender shadows.


But now, tonight, we are a half from that,
And though eager to pass right to spring,
Slow here at winter's door. 

Take stock of yourselves.

Soften your edge, and rest, because
You too have turned;
Weathered the seasons, some easily,
Others with great effort.

Those triumphs you have had, those successes that have
Somehow lost their vividness, faded–
Bring them forth again.
Sharpen their images and make no bones about just how
Important they are; each and every one.

And challenges?

All of us.

Be grateful for these, and look to them, depend on them
To summon the very best that is in you;
Your strength, your brilliance, and the
Realization of just how powerful you are;

– and you really are.


Through all of this, adventure, breath, comes the opportunity,
The gift, at just the right time, to 
Tap into something bigger than all of us;
A wellspring of love, rooted deep within the earth.
It's always been there, turning with her, but now
Tonight, we can feel it tugging at us,
Offering its embrace and guidance as this dark
Gives way to light.


Take it;
Shake free of the past.
Brush off the old dust and tedium, and
Emerge. 

Emerge to the new light, with all of this
Love, and grace, and beauty;
Fill your lungs– you are

Remarkable.


Stand and raise your glass.
Welcome the sun, the lengthening day, and the
Fresh chance to move ahead with clear perspective,
A re-energized heart, each,
And the fondness and respect we have for each other, here,
And those dear to us, presently, elsewhere;


To the sun!

Hold Tight, Your Arms...

Hold tight, your arms around me my friend.
There is no rush and I am not brittle;
But the tender of me lacks lately.
'Could stand to stop and be held up a minute,
If you could, I mean, if you wouldn't mind.
I think it is a tiredness has taken hold;
'Found its way in for some reason.
'Silly, all of this.


Oh that?  Not tears my friend.  Not me.
No, I think a virus perhaps, or dust...
'Stay near a while, just to be sure,
Sit here close. Sit here.  Close.
I feel a wave of something;
Gladness that you're here,
Just to be sure of course.
Ridiculous, these eyes.


I know, 'sounds crazy, but humour me;
My hands, hold ... I am trembling, aren't I?
It must be a chill, I'm sure, nothing more.
Not loneliness shrouded in.
'Couldn't be.  Not me.
It's nice of you though, holding my hands.
'Funny, me being lonely!
'Awfully nice of you.


Tell me again, that thing you said;
"The heart's truth leads even in chaos.
Trust, trust, be brave and trust,"
Or something like that.  I can't remember exactly.
No, it's not a big deal.
It's just taking a long ... well, it's been a long time.
That's all.
'Not a big deal.  I can certainly manage.
I can.  I ...


I'm glad you're here.  You have no idea.

The Giddy Wind.

Such a thought;
Go back and start from there; then fly ahead.
Do it; catch the biggest wind.
Pick a point when you can remember the 
Smell of dirt on your knees,
The feeling of running your hand through your curly hair,
And how glad you were that your little tanned arms were
As strong as they were.
No one else was around;
It was you, in the meadow, with the sun and a
July breeze, giddy to be there with you.
Pick this point and just come ahead from there,
From your perfectness.
Skip everything in between;
So little of it lit you up.
That July breeze would be splendid, and
Absolutely glad to help ...
It loved you so much.


Or the pond;
Catch the wind that sent ripples, like kisses, across the pond
When the tadpoles lined the shore like black lace, and
If you were lucky, a snake under the sweeping walnut tree;
Always a garter or a copper belly, but they swam like pythons...
The afternoon spent drifting on the raft, 
Teasing the stuck shade of that tree,
Watching the clouds and the boatmen bugs, and content 
Not to be in the house, so dark and thick, even on a sunny day.
That wind, that very wind was part of your stories and
Moved you along, cooled you, loved you,
Would be so glad to float you ahead.
Yes, skip everything else.  None of it was yours,
Yet it was put upon you; weighing you down instead of 
Raising you up.
This wind; 'drop everything in a heartbeat to help you.


The winter wind,
Wound around the door of your snow fort;
Made the most horrendous sounds as you
Dug deep in until you could stand,
Mitts sopping, but the quiet, dampening
Hush of the snow pack captivated you,
Soothed you as you dug out your shelves and bed.
So quiet in there.
Your heart; your ravenous little heart was all you could hear,
Until you finally emerged to the howling, impressed wind;
Blustering and busting, wanting nothing more than to
Send you on ahead;
To pick you up and carry you over all of those
Disappointments; drifts of sadness.
This one loved you, loved all of you.
This wind celebrated your
Braveness, appetite,
Saw you look to the sky,
Notice the flakes, and
Knew that you felt it and all that it was made of ...


Then it confesses; these winds, all the same wind;
Saw you, waited for you to escape the house each day;
Caressed you, your brilliance,
Your radiance in early days and then watched with
Such sadness as you 
Disappeared within yourself, out of wind's reach.
It watched you through the seasons and the years;
Your meadow, your raft, and your fort turned to a 
Somnambulistic ramble down concrete streets.


... until a short while ago, someone woke you up.
They woke you up and guided you,
Sleepy head, to feel that wind again, and
Delight;
Delight in its recognition of
Who you really are.
And though you can't go back and start from the meadow, 
You can acknowledge and trust in why this wind,
This ever-faithful wind, loved you so very much;
And is, once again, "giddy" to be with you.

I'll See You When I Can.

Drop to your knees at the setting of the sun,
... If the day it marks only joins the last to the next.
Describe to me, the hours, impenetrable and unyielding,
Stuffed, gag-full, with minutes and seconds,
Bound and bruised to see you fail.
Mimic your preparations, the approach you have planned,
For when the conditions are just right.


And I will see you when I can.
But I cannot wait.


Unwrap your hands and reveal your wounds
Nourished as you crawl,
Searching for the better launch.
Fold yourself deeply into your layers
Against the penetrating chill of unfamiliarity;
If that's the way you see it.
And finally, give in and step down.
Swallow the mantra to endure and settle;
'More room for others if you withdraw.


And I will see you when I can,
If I can find you.


Because you see ...


I have decided to mark my day with the rising of the sun,
And fly, with no hesitation, to
Unpack the hours and minutes;
Scattering them, impatient to exhaust each one,
My imperfect efforts finding a way in, somehow.
And gradually, I am picking up speed;
I am  picking up speed towards monumental change.
I can taste it; feel it as its distance crumbles and the
Crated idea of emerging into wholeness, vibrant,
'Thought only for others,
Falls open to ...
Me.


The action IS difficult; I don't blame you at all for
Hesitating,
Avoiding;
Frustration, fear expected, but
In the committing ...
In the absolute committing to it;
The belief that I wasn't born to beige,
Momentum grows too strong to withdraw.  And the
Unfamiliarity that you see, is the
Thrilling possibility that I see;
Intensity and pulse bathed in the
Warm, rich texture;
The sensuality of truth.


There are days that do seem only to separate others,
But the shifts and footholds,
Each discovery and achievement peels closer and closer
To ... to bliss.
And believe me, my friend, I will tell you all about it.
I won't leave anything out.


... But I'm just not sure when I can get all the way back to
Where you are.

Default Setting.

That connection you have; your love,
Don't set it aside for 'just the right time.'
Don't keep it only to emerge and fill while
Soaking in the symphony and the swell of the strings.
That's a given.


You know and expect the feeling triggered by 
That painting you love, the film, whatever art or
Pastoral setting it is that soothes and fires your soul.
That's easy.


And of course, the most direct route; to be woven into
Someone's arms, captivated by their eyes and
Caressed by the soft tones of pure romantic love.
That is bliss.


But so much of your day is spent between the moments;
Moving from scene to scene;
Navigating the margins, the pauses;
Time that, for some reason, you feel that it's
Okay not to be connected.
It's okay to get from here to there, to be stiff and wound,
Walking, moving in jagged, awkward, wrenching steps,
Or you feel there is nothing wrong with managing daily routine
As if you didn't exist.


But imagine.
Imagine if you allowed yourself, expected to feel this love,
This connection throughout your day.
You are wired for it.
In fact, there is every reason to believe
This is the point of it all.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing that is more important.
So ...
Summon it.
Beckon, right here,
Right in the middle of the grocery store,
Underneath the sucking neon lights;
Find it.
Make this connection, this feeling of rooting to the
Earth and its love for you,
Make it your default setting.
Make it the constant that takes you through your day.


Wouldn't it be lovely to be wrapped in the feeling,
The embrace normally sparked reveling in the 
Sun's morning kiss;
The amazement, the kindness, your place in it all,
... as you fill your cart in the soup aisle?


That, through all the struggle, is your goal.

Beautiful Sequins.

Take a cue from the Earth;
Soften.
Stop and watch, before the freeze, as she takes a breath,
Earned after her summer's work.
Stretching, yawning hills rolled into each other;
Sensual textures of the tilled, dark soil,
Like flaked chocolate caught in the sun's late day kiss,
Melting to the thinner, felted carpet of grazing pasture,
Massaged and nibbled by marshmallow sheep.
The herd moves glacially, calming the field;
Soothing it thoroughly between the fence rows,
The forest, and the meadow of long grasses.
Those fronds resigned to endure the winter without cropping,
Have abandoned their early summer stiffness for
More forgiving curls and waves among the autumn winds.
The forest trees, some still frocked,
Others readying for new fashion,
Dutifully watch for approaching fronts, and
Mark the speed of the sun with
Busy shadows, gathering the dewy glints and sparkles
Covering the hills like sequins thrown in a breeze.


Really, take this cue.
Avail yourself; get close.
This is not just a separate pastoral setting; not a curiosity.
You are part of this.
And as you quiet to hear the breath,
Let your soul absorb the 
Realness,
Unmatchable richness, and the
Enormity of how much you are loved.
Softness is the key, and if you can
Embrace this as your default setting,
You will find that this sensuality will move you so easily,
Rolling,
To exactly where you need to be
Among the sun,
The winds, 
And your own beautiful sequins.

The Thing Is.

The thing is; the way of it, the difficulty is
To learn to speak the intensity that you feel.
The intensity;
This is new for you.
You have gotten under yourself and pulled yourself
Up and out,
Realized, slowly, that you can stand here;


Away from where you never existed.


You can stand and be absolutely overwhelmed to see,
To see your shadow.
Your steps,
Your steps leave prints.
And now your words,
Your words, as you find they are starting to land,
Your words have changed.


Make no mistake; you are not composing a battle cry.


There is no need for that.
You are not challenging anybody.
You don't have to.
All you feel compelled to do,
Moved to do,
Is to speak the intensity that has replaced the
Brittle shards of your attempts at living,
And describe in soft, deep tones, the
Breathtaking sensation of the passion resonating off of your bones;
The relief of your muscles flexing in bliss instead of fear,
And your newly found confidence in who you are.
Such a task befits you, engaging you in a connection so deep that
You sometimes feel,
You sometimes feel in another realm.


The thing is, the way of it, the difficulty is,
That now,
Now you can never, ever, feel less.

Your Fear.

If you are true,
If you have listened to your heart,
If you are rolling ahead toward such
Great Change,
Then the fear that is testing you is not your enemy.
This fear is something else.


This truth, your truth;
There is nothing more important,
Derived from the sepia stories told through
Deep eyes framed on your wall, it has woven
Heartbeats, desires, clenched fists, and travails into a 
Pulsing life force so eager to arrive;
Wanting nothing more than to loop through and
Fire your soul.
When you listen and the sound fills you,
When you witness and the scene floors you,
And you find that you have to step aside,
Stop to compose yourself ... you feel so deeply,
Then this is your truth;
You have found Beauty.


This heart; your heart;
No part of you more powerful;
Wrung with the loneliness and exhaustion of so many that
Endured, settled for sadness;
Made it their own.
But no longer;
You heart has whispered to you, begun to inflate;
Filling your chest with such feeling;
A thundering, powerful beacon connecting you directly to the 
Pulse;
The overwhelming pulse that draws you to such
Fullness that you have to step aside,
Stop to compose yourself ... you feel so deeply,
This from your heart;
You have found Love.


This change; this great change;
'Nothing more encompassing;
Uprooting so to fix your orientation toward
The waves and clues, eager, so eager to
Move you ahead; no other option.
Such a shift demands the whole of you;
Routing you through the difficulty of
Accepting a new paradigm,
Winding and bursting with the
Beauty and Love, sought by so many,
Nourishing you to a fullness that you didn't know you had room for.
Stop to compose yourself ... you are overwhelmed.
This change is an Emergence;
You have found yourself.


So look at this fear as you take on such intensity;
Your Truth,
Your Heart,
And realize, as you sit with it, that it isn't really 'fear' at all.
It is, instead, the birth ... the wonderful pain,
The unavoidable, unstoppable,
Unbelievable
Birth of your real potential, 
And the unfathomable, untethered, fulfilling
Life that you were meant to lead.

Howl.

Let it go.
Open up and let the hard howl of your inner traveler
Echo off of your back teeth;
The frustration of this trip.
Seize, with a gasp, one worn claw of the 
Fear bristling at your future,
And pull it all up and out; incoherent at first, but
Soon constant and cathartic.
Squeeze all of the air out of your fists.
Fall apart.
Completely fall apart, and 
Twist, relent to exhaustion.


Spin as you feel.
There is no procedure,
No punctuation or critical path.


There is no wrong way to be sad.


And as you seek calm,
Jousting with the hitch in your breath,
You'll find my arms around you; 'been close from the start.
And I will hold you, and
Hold you, and
Hold you,
Because I've done that dance.
I've searched for the smooth pulse and the
Composure I was supposed to have.
I've fought against 
Falling apart.
But eventually, I know, the beast, healthy from
Feasting each time you're unsure; sadness and fear,
Tears through.
So yes,
Let it go.


Those never moved to howl cannot imagine ...
Cannot even come close.

The Most Exquisite View.

Reach a little higher. Climb one more limb to the
Most exquisite view.
Go on.
Shake off the tendrils; the expectations that you 
Stay on the ground.
Grab hold, and ride with the bending centre as the
Leaves catch wind then shuttle it ahead.
Brave, you, but expect no tips.
The others, heads down, will not notice you.


This you do for yourself.


And once you get the hang of it, it's not so bad;
Tipping with the centre, relinquishing to all directions,
Discovering treasures all around you.
Everywhere.


Sing a little louder; though not with voice.
Resonate with all of you, your giddiness at the adventure.
Go on.
Relent.  Let your body 
Vibrate with the notes of your deep, deep connection to
The core, the centre, the trembling beauty.
The action changes you, 'can't help it.
Brave, you, but now, perhaps a nod.
Some others, though scuttling, may be taken with you.


This you become of yourself.


And once you get the hang of it; it leads you,
Moving, resting in a different realm; deliberate, full.
You need nothing but allow it.
Flourish.


Touch a little deeper; no other temper for you now.
Fewer of you but beacons strong.
Go on.
Keep tipping and singing; brimming with the ancient pulse,
And find your tide. Let it roll through you with the love,
The profound love of those waiting for you, expecting,
As you, in your new elegance, fully expect them.
Brave, you.  Embrace your truth,
And suffer the ecstasy of its vivid reveal.


Significant you are to the world.


And once it gets the hang of you; so grateful.
Your power and tenderness; specific, whole;
Shuttling through the twisting, bending plumes of
The "sense of it all"; the love of it all.


What would the world ever do without you now?

Bend With You.

I can bend with you; find cover.
I can watch over your shoulder for you as you
Figure your tickets and tithes.
I can hold you secure on this ledge as you try to
Outwit the mistakes in your dreams.
You didn't think it like this;
Trapped in the wind and wash of others, and now you hurry to
Recalibrate.
Don't be afraid.  I can take up the
Extra room in your shadow that you find so unsettling.
And for you? I can translate the moon's questions, mainly,
"Why is it that you never look up?"


It is clear that you need to mend.  Drop your guard.
I can go with you into slumber and navigate through
Your deep concern while you descend further to oblivion.
Relax.  I can roll you to the surface again and
Ease you back up onto your feet.
There is no tremor here.  Not with me.
I can slow you to steady step; your own path still,
But not so lonely, not so bleak,
No longer an exercise in endurance.
Now a delightful dawning as the easy notes,
There all along, peak through at you like the
Sun through the curtain's break.


I can search with you.
I can hold open the loose fence board and follow you through
As you try to figure where it landed; that vision you had,
Tossed, out of despair at its size.
'Turns out it wasn't too big at all.
I can help you carry it, weave it into your sail and then ...
Watch and sweep in arc around you, always within reach
As it begins to take shape.
It fits you perfectly.
I can marvel at you; maneuver to meet you,
Join you, banking and coursing with your own momentum.
Look at you.
Look at you.


I can't look away.

Your Sword.

There is no need to walk with sword drawn.
You can unclench your fist.
And your jaw?  Let it relax and float.
Send the dogs back to kennel and leave the gate.
Look at you.
Such a state.
My dear friend, you are not under attack.
Believe me, you were not born to manifest fear,
And yet you are simply dripping with it.


I have seen your hardness, your posturing,
'Heard you revving your engine, your chariot 
Laden with stickers and magnets;
"Support This," and "Fight That."
Signs on your lawn that show you belong;
Let you be confrontational.
Hackles up!
So, you are a force to be reckoned with.


But somehow this does not help you sleep.


My friend, I know you can rage.
I have seen you charge and bluster.
But consider, for a moment;
Consider the pounding waterfall, churning and boiling,
Trying to cleave the Earth; to drive right through.
But at its core, it seeks to soften to the most delicate, 
Hypnotic trickle.
Consider the gales, invisible tyrants racing to level the horizon;
Winds that succumb to the sensual delight of their 
Quintessence; the softest, most delicate breezes.
And consider just beyond the bellows,
Beyond the torched houses, consumed forests;
And bursting forth at lightning's whim,
The ravenous fire; a beast that leaps and rolls, screaming fury,
And yet, at its core is the most beautiful, delicate flame;
Bewildering as it balances; a teardrop on a candle,
Gently weaving and dancing, so happy to simply glow.


You too have a tender aim.  So leave off your chase for a time, and
Summon, instead, the quiet flame you have hidden inside,
Locked so tight that you have forgotten what you were protecting.
Let it up to air and you will find that its warmth, its glow,
Even from something so small,
Is more powerful in its grace than any
Flexing muscle or shattering strike.
And perhaps, with a simple nod, sans twisting or strategy,
You might happily jettison your posturing and magnets,
Pull up your lawn signs, and wonder, as you
Retire to easy slumber,
What all that fear was about in the first place.

Ease.

The way of it all is to ease.
Mark any force with time or temper and follow its 
Inevitable slide to repose;
Water rushes to sea or pool; shakes off the froth of its journey and
Sighs with relief in the calm.
Churning magma spits out its heat; blazing to coolness in its
Desire to blend and age.
And you; your frenzied rush under the sun's arc subsides, as your
Children grow and embrace their own momentum.


The forces of emotion run parallel courses;
Anger, triggered from blockage and clutter spends itself
Finally to calm.
Sadness, the fumes from weak, unfocused nurturing,
With diligence, clear to contentment.
And your wild fear; your belief that you deserve the
Despair and loneliness clawing at your skin from inside,
Wants nothing more than to 
Escape, scatter, and leave you tall and soft.


There is romance about this; nature's wish to 
Reveal itself in grace, and to dovetail its tenderness with the
Beauty of your very soul.
This, my friend, is the most powerful Love;
An almost unbelievable rooting into the energy and 
Faith of your own existence, and the understanding that
You,
Your waves and particles,
Your sighs and desires,
Don't need to fight so hard;
Don't need to suffer.
And as you find your ease,
And you learn to forego all the froth and frenzy,
So, my dear friend, will you find
Your Love.

Your Time.

This Time you have, that you seem so afraid of,
It's yours, you know.
All of it.
It wasn't made for anyone else.
It is all for you;
The whole, full swath.
You don't have to move off onto the side so more worthy,
More significant can pass.
You don't have to sneak in and pick at it then step aside
So others can dig in.
This Time is yours, to navigate in with broad sweeps and runs,
And to feast upon in your gleeful search for spice.


And this fear it triggers in you?
Make no mistake;
Time is not your enemy.
It is not the canvas for your failing.
It is not the scattered rush to take any shot.
This Time you have is gentle and tender,
If only you will stop gritting your teeth about it.
Soothe and slow for a second, for a minute, to embrace it,
And parse its quiet rolling in and off;
Time is opportunity bound in the fabric of your attention,
Guiding you ahead, always ahead to its eternity, and the
Discovery of your unavoidable success.
It is only when you tangle and contort in an effort to harness it,
When you have forgotten the centre and see only the edges;
The coming and going,
The ticking,
That you misconstrue it as adversary.


What benefit of Time to finish with you?
What gloating to fashion impossibilities and snares?
What triumph in our frustration?


Time's only flaw, only weakness, is its troubled tolerance of 
Stagnation and loop;
Thieves, both, in their illusion;
Lateral and meandering, slowing growth with the venom of
Pathos and self-doubt.
But again, time beckons, and perhaps, with an ache or a
Touchstone, urges you back to the fresh voyage;
Not with vengeance,
Not with judgement,
But with elation at the thrill of new steps.
And once you are back enroute,
Time will reveal, when you are ready,
Its offer of ecstasy;
Its invitation to raise your head and boldly maneuver, in
Your own Time, to an unbelievable paradigm
That you once considered for all but you.


The funny thing is,
You were never, ever, meant to be a spectator.


Not for a second.

Your Feathers.

Those feathers you have, those wings, not meant for such tedium.
Look at you.
You are built for the sky.
You are built for gales and calms;
Summer's easy satin breezes and winter's hard-edged torque,
And all in between.
And I know you have seen the others;
Envied them in their speed and magic.
Considered them special, different,
And tripped to doubting yourself.


Ruffle.
Go ahead.
Move your feathers.
Ruffle.
Let the sun catch the sheen of them.
Look closely at how intricate;
Ribs and hooks.
Perfect.
Intentional.
Specific.
Raise them up and rotate to catch the wind and then
Let it go again.


Crouch down, just a little, and let your wings work.
Look at you.
You were made for so much more ... and part of you knows it.
Climb through the ether and find the thermal;
I can see you in it.  You absolutely belong.
Look at the others rising and coiling through gravity's fingers;
Paying the Earth no mind in their
Ecstasy.
Believe in yourself and take the leap.


Jump.
Commit to your gifts.
No more languishing.
Jump.
The wind is giddy and swooning to escort you;
Impatient jester bound to
Blow your mind as you abandon your misery, and
Wind toward your achievements.
They sit,
Busting in anticipation.
Waiting for you.
All you need is to go.
Just go.


And ... with a glorious twist you break your mind's tether, and
Arch your back around the high rays of the sun;
Moving upward with such grateful ease and glow,
Tingling, unspeakable relief as you out-fly the debilitating
Tendency toward fear and mediocrity.
Instead, with each maneuver, you embrace the reality that
Those feathers you have are there to bring you to your god in
All that you create.
... and you turn, and rise, and float, 
As if you had been doing it all your life.

A Tree is a Tree.

With the most gentle breath, the Earth wakes,
Slowly rolling and stretching;
Pulling back the night's curtain to reveal the
Rich treasures left yesterday in heaps and
Broad swaths.
Such tangible rises and waves of colour
Bending around each other through cities,
Through gateways.
Through fens,
And along like fingers working through forests and grasses;
Proper domain of creatures,
Quick and diligent.


And sometimes there is envy;
Curious of the solace, the comfort in
Any tree, or
Any river curling without a 
Stutter or any sign of the struggle to
Know, or overcome.
The measured simmering from one season to the next;
Leaves grow or change,
Water cools or warms,
And the creatures ready without fuss.


It is in this dependable setting that she rises, each day,
Uniquely conflicted and unsure,
Charged intrinsically with the task of finding the
Deep, soothing connections,
Balm to the scrapes and wounds suffered in their belief.
Through seasons and landscapes she navigates and
Wonders why the task is so specific.
Why not everyone a perfect fit?
Why?  But
A tree is a tree; it merely grows.
A person, of tempo and pulse, is cursed with the
Stutters and struggles of
All that she knows, and
All that she must overcome,
Manifesting any myriad of tones of the Earth:
Delight or challenge, as in the 
River's swiftness, or the meadow's rise.
Brilliance or frailty, as in any manner of
Accepting or fearing change.
And, either an almost
Frothing, tripping desire to set out upon each waking,
Or a tunneling retreat from the reveal, if, in the flow to present,
The travail has left a timid, brittle shell threatened mortally by any
Vigor or thrill.




The trick; to stay mindful of the breath of the Earth, and to
Trust,
Definitely,
Trust,
Without a doubt, the
Sincerity and intent at work to guide her, eventually into the most
Tender and passionate arms;
Bending, shattering ecstasy,
Easily trumping, by leagues, any memory or tendency to anything
Unremarkable.


There is no reason,
None,
For any breath,
Any rolling or stretching
To any effort at all
Towards a lesser aim.

Listen.

Listen, in the quiet.
Settle and let your muscles slide over your bones to rest.
Let go expression and move off your concerns until
Your only spice is calm.


Listen.
There is so much to hear in this pause;
Never nothing.
The Hum of the Earth underneath;
Chugging and firing,
Shifting and raging one season into the next;
The months, days and moments, 
All dripping clues to bait your desire.


Listen.
Static from the sky;
Remnants of the first blast,
And others twinkling in and out;
More clues to your place in a
Vast domain.


Listen.
Your breathing and pulse; the 
Texture and form of your body as you
Adjust and twist.
Acknowledge yourself,
Your force.
You.


So listen,
And take to heart the sounds, messages, of
The powerful desire that fires you,
The remarkable galaxy that hosts you,
And the busting momentum flourishing you through it.