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Poetry

Rocking Chair

By | Asking the Question, Contemplation, Contemplative Journey, Natural World, Poetry, Spirituality, War, Wisdom/Compassion | No Comments

I am one who likes sit and dream
Or hold a child while I read to her.
I have supposed only a mother might invent a rocking chair,
To meet the need to lull a child to sleep
In an easy gentle way.
Who made this chair?
It was long ago, that I know.
Did he work long hours in a factory
with mullioned windows and dim light?
Did he take time to rock a child to sleep at night?
This chair has been with me many years.
I was the lucky one to find it
On the third floor of a Salvation Army store.
The leather seat, then torn and dusty,
is now repaired with autumn-colored plaid
To match the golden oak.
I have read my children many books in this chair
Rocked them to sleep in my arms.
That has made my life and theirs
Something worth living.

Surrender Dorothy

By | Contemplation, Contemplative Journey, Ingegral Spirituality/Psychology, Mysticism, Poetry, Spirituality, Wisdom/Compassion | No Comments

The wicked witch skywriting on her broom–
Surrender Dorothy–
Hardly seems aware
Of the Love that wants to
carry her above the cloudy horizon,
The Love that Loves her preciousness while
Adorned as she is in her black dress
And pointed hat
And her own feeble power,
The One who Loves the splendor of her crooked teeth,
Sees her shining soul in the depths of
Her own hell
And cannot wait until she lands
In order to embrace her.

Blue Lines

By | Asking the Question, Current Issues, Nonviolence, Poetry, Saying the Unsayable, Social Justice, Spirituality, Uncategorized | No Comments

Seeing the blue line appear under my words
as I type
I wonder who is keeping me in line,
telling me forthrightly I have misspelled a word
Telling me how to say something differently
When maybe what I am saying is how I want to say it.
Can I go on and leave the line there?
Going boldly where no one has gone before
into an unknown future?

Who is seeding the world with this correctness?
Is there a master-mind?
A data collector?
An algorithm?
How many errors will I be allowed before
my Microsoft Word is shutdown
and I am hauled off to sit again in spelling class?
Fingered to be re-grammered?

Blue lines are appearing everywhere,
Not just on my screen,
but on the streets,
dressed in riot gear
holding batons
Faces shielded.
They seem to mean business.

Blue lines have got me wondering.

Shock and Awe

By | Asking the Question, Contemplation, Contemplative Journey, Ingegral Spirituality/Psychology, Mysticism, Poetry, Saying the Unsayable, Spirituality, Wisdom/Compassion | No Comments

The light shines in the darkness
Revealing its own infinity
And our incapacity to comprehend it–
The beginning of real awe.

The light shining in the darkness
Shines on our own inner darkness
As initial shock–
Revelation of our little self at work–
As invitation to awaken.

Some People

By | Current Issues, Ingegral Spirituality/Psychology, Nonviolence, Poetry, Saying the Unsayable, Social Justice, Spirituality, Wisdom/Compassion | No Comments

don’t have a dollar.
Their numbers keep growing.
Some don’t have a job.
Some people have three jobs
And still can’t make ends meet.
Some people have ten dollars.
Some have a hundred stashed in a box
Some have a thousand in the bank
Just trying to save
For a rainy day.
It rains a lot these days.
Some people have a thousand thousand.
That’s a million
Used to be way more than enough
Even for the rich.
Some people have a thousand million
They don’t need a job.
They live off the work of other people.
They get richer and richer
Their numbers keep growing.
The way things are going,
Someday someone’s going to reach
A thousand billion.
Maybe someday soon.
And that still wouldn’t be enough.
There’s more ways than one to be poor.

How?

By | Asking the Question, Contemplation, Contemplative Journey, Ingegral Spirituality/Psychology, Mysticism, Poetry, Saying the Unsayable, Spirituality, Wisdom/Compassion | No Comments

How could it come to this?
This not wanting to be good
For anybody.
(Not a meanness)
Just a wanting to leave
The stage
Where goodness merits applause.
And the critics
Hold your fate in the palm
Of their hand,
Where one slip could end it all
And there goes the train
Leaving the station without you.

Makes one feel important
When all is going well.
Salvation  a morality play,
All hanging on for dear life
To the script.

Where’s the wildness?

(Not a sowing of more oats)
Mainly the freedom
To walk away
From the confines
of the organization,

toward the One who deals
only in unabashed love,
whose Beauty keeps ambushing me,
revealing infinite mutual longing.

To stop refusing
Such generosity
that doesn’t care to hear
that I deserve only banishment
to the servants’ quarters,
when all this Love wants is
to put a ring on my finger,
sandals on my feet, cover me
with a royal robe,

And nothing else seems
To matter– except to
welcome me home.”

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The Fading Shine of the Golden Ring

By | Asking the Question, Contemplation, Contemplative Journey, Contemporary Issues, Ingegral Spirituality/Psychology, Mysticism, Nature, Poetry, Saying the Unsayable, Spirituality, Wisdom/Compassion | No Comments

This path I have walked,
My life
Has been circling round
Back to
Fearful, clinging places,
More like promises of brambles.

I labeled the lessons a nuisance,
failed them
Cursed my fate.
Hard lessons,
More like crucifixions.

My faith
In the golden ring
Has worn deep the path
I have trod.

At least now
I am heading toward the precipice
Overlooking a fiery inferno
To receive it.

God help me–

To walk away divorced.
This time wanting only the true bride,
The one my soul has always
Yearned for.

Ringing the Bell and Hiding in the Bushes

By | Asking the Question, Contemplation, Contemplative Journey, Ingegral Spirituality/Psychology, Mysticism, Poetry, Saying the Unsayable, Spirituality, Wisdom/Compassion | No Comments

If nothing else, what is called religion
ought to be teaching us to be attentive to those
border crossings of the Trickster who lives within us.
We ought to be alerted to our being
Sons and daughters of a Pure Generosity
Who can’t wait to come to us as Spirit and Light,
As Living Water, as Bread, and who
surprises us, often when we least expect it,
leaves a cornucopia of spiritual food on the doorstep
rings the bell and hides in the bushes.
We ought to be alerted, so when this happens,
we can say with clarity we have been visited
by the Divine Grocer and Artist of the Beautiful,
who gives us this bread and living water,
Spirit, and Light, and often
crouches smiling as we stand on the step
gazing out, hoping for a glimpse
of the One we knew would come.
If religion does this right
we will be glad,
that our Lover is out and about,
and can’t stop thinking of us.

Imperial Soldiers

By | Ahimsa, Asking the Question, Contemporary Issues, Current Issues, Nonviolence, Poetry, Saying the Unsayable, Social Justice, War | No Comments

How easy to end up
A soldier in a strange land,
the empire dressed to kill.
Freedom isn’t found like
that. Too late to question,
You only seek to survive.
Those praying for your safe return
go about their business,
While you do the business of those
who have played you.

How many villages must be laid waste?
How many cities rubbled, bridges bombed,
connections severed,
While those who really seek freedom
cry out in pain for a place at the table,
denied them. Cursed as they are to be born
in lands of plenty, and to have none of it.
They keep rising up and are shot down
in their own streets.

How can it be said,
that the empire is fighting for its freedom
When it is only taking
What it wants from others?
Do you see what I mean by asking the question?

In war, the poor keep killing the poor,
With no recognition of common plight.
Those who survive, return home
Dragging their medals. They roam the streets,
Forgotten, empty shell-shocked casings filled with
a story too sad to tell.

While Moving Along

By | Contemplation, Contemplative Journey, Ingegral Spirituality/Psychology, Mysticism, Natural World, Nature, Poetry, Spirituality, Wisdom/Compassion | One Comment

As I move along in time and space
Sometimes I get stuck
Or maybe I’m just lingering
before circling back
To pick up something missed
Or undo something done,
if that were ever possible.
Or to try again and this time embrace
Or let go more gracefully.
To own something stuffed away back then
And to carry forward, no shoulds or oughts
or have tos this time.

To look more closely
at what was once forbidden
To skip some beats
While humming old tunes
To laugh out loud at the absurd
when before told to be silent.

I keep picking up my old tracks
Taking longer strides
Or shorter ones, depending on something
different now. A little
out of sync,
while smiling at the first time passer.

This returning, never quite the same,
spiraling higher, dipping deeper–
I’m casting myself
and flying over a stream
before lighting once again on the moving water,
wondering at being devoured,
Yet, knowing I am tethered to a line
of infinite length and unbreakable.