Category: Poetry or Prose

Great Expectations

Great Expectations

So much of my life, I have waited.

Waited for jobs. Waited for love. Waited for prosperity. Waited for what was not.

One day I woke up—eyes wide open.

In my realization I recognized that being on the path to something was more important than actually attaining it.

As I look back, I see life wasted on expectations, withered away, crumbling amidst a sea of wind.

Time is nonrefundable.

Regretting time lost, solves nothing.

Wishing I had said what I hadn’t, brings pain.

Hoping for what is not, brings heartache.

Believing for what could never be, leaves me hanging in space between heaven and hell.

Action trumps talk.

Doing paves a path.

Walking on the path, I meet my heroes, my nemesis, my lover, my teachers, and my God.

Expectation along the path takes my eyes and focuses them forward—not a bad place.

But what about looking side-to-side and top to bottom?

Have I missed the fun, the joy, the tipping and the teetering to run faster toward something that may never be?

And for what? To miss what is…

I walk along the good path most days, but sometimes I carry with me a heavy load.

I hold my accolades, my enemies, the could-be’s and the would-be’s of my life in a torn open heart, losing blood and life force.

Time spent wondering is time lost again.

“Let go!” I hear from spirit. “You’ll gain an empty heart to refill along life’s path.”

Tick, tick, tick. I’m fifty-one, soon to be fifty-two.

In letting go, do I gain?

Today, as I lay on my yoga matt, something unhooked in me, and I lay still—maybe more motionless than ever before, like a grain of sand on my forehead.

My head let go of my mind, and my heart breathed in ephemeral mind.

I need not achieve anything more than what I am.

I am completely, unequivocally, in the hands of God.

I can try no harder than can God easily.

I can only release and let go to be more me, more authentic, more unusually peculiar and spectacularly made.

With every ache, with every pain, with every sadness, with every goal attained, nothing really changes within me.

I have always possessed all that I am going to be and yet to be revealed.

I hold the key to unlocking my passion, not God.

I turn the key to my joy, not God.

I sustain happiness in and with my life, not God.

It is only “because of God” I can finally let go God’s creation to the Creator and say, “Fascinatingly made. What an interesting road for me. I choose joy and love on the path and toward the light.”

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A Dance with My Shadow Self

A Dance with My Shadow Self

A beautiful client who has grown by leaps and bounds suggested I write about this subject. So, I dedicate this poetry to her:

Today is light-filled and wonderful.

I walk strong and proud.

Faithful to myself I stay.

Howling wolves from the past echo in the wind.

Until now silent, but suddenly vicious green eyes stare me down

Stop me in my tracks.

The temptation to heed the call of the wind is

visceral,

nagging,

breath-taking.

I turn from the moment and walk toward a lonely beacon.

The best of me is a vestige of newness

still awkward.

I trip on my own grace most days.

When I look in the mirror,

I still see her—small and frightened,

Sick and lonely

Dark and playing with the moon.

Again, I remember the howling

I’m scared.

This new spiritual creation is a veneer or is it I real?

The moon casts a shadow on my body,

long and dark,

leading back to memories I hoped would no longer plague me.

In this tender moment of authentic honesty, I don’t trust the now.

I see the past

It feels too familiar

I grasped it with my entire heart.

Now the path I choose is faith—ephemeral.

No touch

Not so famliar.

Music starts

A Tango plays in the moonlight.

Before I know it

I danced with my shadow.

Hauntingly black,

warmly familiar,

prickly and passion-filled

Yet completely empty.

I remember today and the light.

I remember today and the light.

I am empowered by my new Self,

walking toward peace and away from emptiness.

The dance of the tango becomes furiously strong.

I stomp on my own shadowy past.

Though it has no feeling, it gives me power to overcome

I push the past away like the scorned lover in the dance

I hold my hands over my head and clap twice

For me

For my future

For the beacon ahead.

Though I may dance with the shadow,

I am no longer in relationship with the shadow.

Though I may hear the howls of the wind,

I have no reason to answer its calls.

Though I may be confronted by the venomous eye of a shadowy past,

I can find compassion to understand the cause of my darkness.

I am stronger now from looking back.

I dance my dance with the spirit of love

Never rejecting my joy and always calling me to my deepest sense of peace,

Now, Love dances on with my shadow.

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The Blossom

The Blossom

A top a sturdy stem

Waiting patiently for time

A perfect light

Perhaps the dead of darkness to unfold

Beauty lies shrouded ‘neath a few thin layers.

I hold my breath

Never knowing when

God’s own hands will touch

A feeding from the torrent of rain

A tug from a hopeful bee

A nudge from dangling butterfly legs

Beauty must wait for the perfect moment

On the breath of spirit magic sends the final decree

Purge the freedom veil, so petals float

Creeping silently from cocoons on majestic wings.

A perfect twist of fate

A bloom appears while blinking,

Never while watching

As if gods know that green magic is sacred

Cannot be misused by human will

Rainbow of beauty grace my windowsill

Know your surging loveliness mirrors the divine

Smiling faces grace every star-filled bloom

As I also watch you fade as life often does

Sometimes too fast… sometimes overdue…

A top a sturdy stem,

You and I wait with patience for time to bloom—to unfold in grandeur

In the darkness we gather energy

In the light we gain power

But only with the time of God we manifest perfection.

“God of our being,

Give us Grace to wait.”

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