November 21, 2015

This is our healing

Let us surrender to love, my friend. 

Tell me, where is your wound? I feel the ache. We will both carry unease until we let the light in. You see, there is no separation between your cuts and my healing. 
No barrier between love and the void of it. 

Are we not all breathing the same air? 
Under the same sun? 
Cradled by the same moon? 

Narrow the distance so we can see we are not what we fear of each other. 

I surrender to love, my friend. 
I cannot see without your light. 
This is our healing. 
This is our reason for being. 

Don't you marvel how we all define joy because we share the same sensation?
Have we all not shed tears? Your tears are made of the same elements as mine. 
Does your smile not come without thought and is its shape not the same as the lift of my lips?

Down to the detail. Down to the nails, to the hair, to the teeth, and tongue that can taste the bitterness of what is not right. It can also taste the sweetness we all crave and enjoy. 
We are all in search of the same sweetness. 

We are the same, you and I. 
Tell me, where is your wound? I feel the ache. 
Let us surrender to love, my friend. 

When we stop scratching away at our own skin, we will realize that we cannot make an enemy out of a brother. We cannot blame fear on our sister. Anger and sadness is housed in our own skin. It is up to us to cleanse what we hold. We are the same. We are one organism. The disparity and separation we create is reflective of the disparity and separation within ourselves. The distance we observe in another is the exact bridge we need to build to extend our love.
Someday, you too will need a bridge to reach for you. 

We are the same. 

Rather than pushing away and creating boundaries, in times like these; at all times, we need each other most. To heal is to surrender to love. To thrive is to face the truth that there is no separation between us. Where is the wound, my friend? I too have felt it. I too have suffered. We need the other equally. It is no coincidence our bodies are symmetrical. It is no accident that we are mirrors images. We are no accident; structural and molecular walking miracles. 

We will always shed each others’ tears. We carry each others’ pains. We are freed by each others’ joys. We are one organism, finding peace within. 

We are the same, you and I. 
Tell me, where is your wound? I feel the ache. 
I surrender to love, my friend. 

unearth me

maybe that’s what has been stalling me
maybe i’ve been distracting; digging depths around me
finding roots that aren't mine
looking for answers in places; not of this time

maybe I’ve been wedging distance from the heart of it
wanting to fall in love with something outside of it
asking the world to unearth me
maybe i’ve been afraid of falling
in love with me

nothing would ever be the same
this gated heat; a breath away from flame
I would burn flying wildfire
done with silencing the breath beneath the shame
oh, my wild heart unleashed under love’s powerful spell

i’ve been wishing to fall in love
to burst open
wanting love to unearth me
maybe i’ve been afraid of falling
in love with me

witness the unbound roots
the cracking open of ground
taking the first sip of sky
passion beyond reasoning ideas beyond the shackles of design
will beyond anyone’s need to confine

don’t fear your own light
shadows larger than you
heart mightier than the mind

maybe that’s what has stalled these yearning dreams
maybe that’s what has frozen me to follow through
wanting love to unearth me
maybe i’ve been afraid of falling  in love who I know to be

i would fly so fast and far
there would be no turning back
if i lived for the spirit inside,
i would be a recluse for change - i would take no direction and live outside this cage
i would have unearthed what took years to dim
i would fall in love with me.
extend my hand and it would be the beginning of everything.

November 11, 2015

Remind me

Remind me dear spirit. Remind me when the wind comes again and I mistake the bending at my roots with weakness. Remind me that this sway and fluid body is not survival or proof that I can't keep it all in order. Remind me that it's not my job. Predictability is a staged and forced state, robbing our breath of its existence as our guide. 

Remind me gentle heart. Remind me that when I want to surrender all effort, it is not a sign of failure or a display of life's lack of love towards me. When my heart is weary, remind my heartbeat that it is merely time to rest. I am being reminded to fall into surrender and unclench the struggle. Oh gentle heart, remind me that opening is the only way to see and be seen; to love and be loved. It is the epicenter of our existence. 

Remind me of faith, graceful soul. This body hasn't carried you for very long. It forgets that the earth always cradles my body; securely firming up into me. Falling is merely an illusionary sensation. Remind me to allow myself to be held by our Mother Earth. She always has us. This body frets about the unknown. Remind me that you always know the way. Faith and trust are tickets to the next and it is up to me whether I choose to enjoy the ride or worry along the way. We end up at the same place regardless, through to the next reveal, that all is well. All is always well. Remind me, graceful soul, to embody that knowing. 

When I deny my flexibility and fight for a result, remind me that the pieces fall into place for my highest good. Remind my ego that possession is nothing but a mirage of safety. Remind me, my uninhibited spirit, that it is up to me how high I am willing to fly. How grand I am willing to feel joy in any circumstance. How much light I exude. How willingly I to trust that I am, enough. 

In the despair of the discomfort, remind me that my body responds to my heart. Allow my heart to lead it through always. The body responds to the heart as if it had never been held down; as if it wasn't aware that it's wings were invisible. Like a lover's gaze in awe of your magic, the body can save the world with the heart behind it. 

Remind me my compassionate soul, that my boiled anger is always welcome. That these fits of tears and resistance for what is, only bring me closer to peace. Remind me that my shouting to the sky in pain is why I am here. It is a conversation with God and a prayer to myself that needs to happen so that I may catch my breath, wipe my tears, and see the parted storms reveal the forgotten sky. Remind me however you can, that this life isn't meant to mirror anything else I've ever witnessed. There is no counterpart twin to this soul's path. And so, in my loneliness, remind me that I, in fact, am exactly where I need to be. I am accompanied by everything that came before me and everything standing by my side, so that I may be me, here. 

In this hopeful breath, remind me always dear light in my belly, of possibility. When my fingers are numb and my sight blurry, remind me that time will come again when excitement will fill my lungs. Remind me that waves are meant to pull me back as needed for the next surge ahead and that you know exactly how much preparation I need to welcome that in. Remind me that my longings are heard and my spine caressed as my head bows down in doubt. Remind me at my root of knowing, that I have got this. I can do this and waiting for the tide of energy to come in will get me there. Oh fire at my core, remind me when I forget, how potent my drive is and how accompanied it has always been. Remind me it is all in my favor. Remind me I can and I will. 

Gracious light, remind me of who I am when I am not brave enough to look into the mirror. Lift me up and hold me. Infuse love into my veins and cradle my overworked spirit. Breathe your sun into my chest, so that I radiate the warm glow that brought me here in the first place. 

Remind me. 

September 28, 2015

A Love Letter

Youth is beautiful. There is no denying what the eye can see. A consensus effortlessly presented, allured, and enjoyed. Youth carries that. A beautiful innocence and existence of living on the surety of inexperience. It is a state of being without truly knowing its juxtaposition. Trust without questioning its value. 

Youth comes with a faith that exists without resistance or leverage that develops from being tested. There’s a freedom that just is, at no cost or effort. The road intended for youth is untouched, clean and new. There is tremendous beauty in youth. Whether observed by those who have expended it or those able to observe while still breathing its sweet age. Physical beauty. A young face and body. A young heart. An unobstructed energy. It is indeed beautiful. 

There is also the kind of beauty that unfolds with age and experience. It is depth found after digging in muddy trenches with tested trust and freedom. This Beauty is found in trembling vulnerability and earned belief. The surface wrinkles and hair turns grey, as the spirit sparks and is reintroduced to itself. We have seen first-hand what was once given to us. We have repeatedly fallen until we learned and the skin we carry tells our stories. 

Beauty that comes with age is in the bones and roots unseen to the naked eye. It is a felt beauty. Beauty of the spirit. Beauty grown by humility and experience. Beauty that has birthed our souls and weathered our physical exteriors. This beauty shines from the inside. It is manifested through our resilience. 

It is a peace in the discomfort. This kind of beauty fuels a magnetism from your core, felt only by others who recognize the will. It is what propels life forward in evolution. Beauty unfolded through age is the heartbeat of all possibility. It is where change is fueled. It is the opportunity that perseverance creates, the surrender that strife for change offers, and the blossoming of authenticity. 

It is you, unfolding. Opening. 

September 14, 2015

Never Alone

You see it? It's there. 

A Universe inside of you. 

A sustainable and boundless supply of stars and constellations. 

I see it. 

Go ahead. 

Take a deep look. 

Unveil it. 

Unleash your full expression. 

Fully equipped. Fully supported. More than enough. 

There is no separation between you and the world outside of you. 

Never alone. 

Always with purpose for being. 

September 3, 2015

Santosha

What are you running from that pushes you to run towards, my darling? 

Can you stand still and be at peace with what is? 

The bad won't hurt you and the good won't leave you. 

You will see that in stillness. 

You will see that behind the seen. 

It is then when the world comes to you. 

Trust it will come to you. 

It will find you. 

You just have to let yourself be found. 

'The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away' - John Steinbeck 

Dear, Time.

Oh, Time. How we humans have tried to define you and control you. How we wrestle with your presence and our place in it. We carefully watch over you. We build everything in our lives around you. All of our efforts are bound by your existence and we measure ourselves through the appearance of staying ahead of you. We try and try to dominate you before you have a chance to dominate us. 

You slyly smile with a smirk, allowing us to pretend. You know it is our fear of you and our lack of control over you, that pushes us to grasp you so tightly.  

Time, you dress up so nicely as a metaphor. 

We cannot see you or touch you, and yet we get older still. Days pass. Nights come and go, as you remind us to live; to live as if your existence wasn't suppressive, but inspiring instead. And so we battle within to stay present and enjoy you without counting. As a wealthy person would lose his wealth by spending days counting it instead of producing more. 

How will we spend you, dear Time? 

Shall we hold your hand like a loyal companion or race you with a blindfold hoping to be a step ahead of what is? You are always alive, even when we aren't. We wake up one day and realize you have been busy. We wake up and see ourselves older and count our wealth in experiences and lessons. Our children are taking over where our memories had left off and our parents are far beyond our grasp of comfort; reminding us of your truth. 

Oh, Time. You clever and mystical companion. Observing as we sleep through our days. Patiently waiting so that we may discover for ourselves, that we only have so much left of you.

On that magical day, once we have taken enough advantage of you, you shake us awake into this art of truly living. You help us to crack open into the acceptance of what once was; the surrender of what is, and into the courageous vulnerability of opening to the unknown ahead. 

Oh dear, Time. How shall we celebrate you?