At times your life will show itself
arriving in the dancing sunlight,
landing with a soft stirring of air.
Knowing that the anchor
was thrown too far from the boat
all that time ago
reunion can’t come soon enough.
I want to say it’s alright.
I want to say you can sleep now,
but then I think of Rumi…
Those first lines
now forgotten,
hidden in the blinding green,
lost in the flurry of life’s business…
You’ll come for yourself eventually,
walking backwards from the future
or flying up behind like a mighty wind.
Between earth and air
lies the language of sun,
speaking,
responding in clouds.
There should be one
for the moment I saw her
through a telescope
and cried…
Do all the if-only-I-could things
all of the pointless, wonderful things
To be able to swallow the broken
we must feast on what is still whole—
Let go the hand of the known,
and of not-knowing.
There is no sense of time lost
or of a life wasted
when you finally know who you are.
When gifted an early morning,
when something wakes you, holds you
in its pre-dawn hand and will not let you go…
Come, meet your power.
Ask—what do I want instead?
We wake into a day
already alive and waiting,
wake into a life already pregnant
with the thought of us…
Sometimes we have to go back to go forward.
Sometimes the answers to what lie ahead
are behind us.
Sometimes we come loose
from the fabric of our life,
our fingers too sore,
our eyes too tired
to find the way back in.
No matter the treasure bestowed on you
in the night, when you wake,
keep something for yourself.
Every original thing has come
from the invisible beyond
We pull things to us,
try to cloak, clothe and comfort ourselves
but every new layer stifles,
leaves a polyester itch.
It’s not just the birds I know
singing from places I recognise,
landmarks I chart and check by sound—